Ok, Consumerism, You Win.

So I'm not really into material things, which is lucky, because I'm fucking poor. But every now and again, I come across objects that are weird or amazing or amazingly weird or weirdly amazing (aren't you glad I picked just two adjectives), and I salivate like a rabid husky and think about knocking over old ladies for fast cash. Well, not really. I salivate more like a rabid chipmunk, because those are just the features I was born with, ok?

I'm a graduate student currently in penury, and, because the economy went the way of my childhood guppies (they exploded, but that's for another day), I'm likely to remain in penury until things get so bad that we start exchanging empty wine bottles for produce and I become the richest man on the planet. So I decided to blog about the things that get me wantsy. Maybe it's therapy. Maybe it's a comment on consumerism. Or maybe I just really hope people start sending me things. If you're both rich and generous (ha ha ha ha ha, I know right!!), you could start by commissioning Miu Miu to get their fucking act together and make these lovely-to-the-power-of-mental collars for those of us fashion-crippled by that pesky Y chromosome.

Yeah, that's right Keira; not even all that pancake can disguise your evident smugness at having got one over on me. You win the battle, lady...

So the collars come in a number of prints, including little sparrows and squiggly cats. But the naked ladies collar, as sported by nemesis over here, is obviously the big win. Some people have posted make-your-own tutorials, but I don't recommend it. First, it will look like shit, unless you are actually brilliant. Second, I will laugh at you, unless you are actually brilliant. Third, you are not actually brilliant.

I don't even know how I would wear such a collar; I'd probably just start cutting the collars off of all my favourite shirts. Which means that when I got over it, I'd be stuck with a lot of gross shirts with collars (I'm looking at you 2002, River Island loving version of me) and a lot of great shirts rendered utterly unwearable. So maybe poverty is my friend after all.