Our friend Lynn H is ‘mindful’ of fashion.  She’s ‘sleek and chic and magnifique’, which in addition to being true, saying so also supports my contention that if it weren’t for lines and terms stolen from movies and plays, I’d be a semi-mute.

Miss H recently retired from a career in medical administration, and having nothing whatsoever to do with her professionalism, I’m sure it was somewhat of a relief for her coworkers from the standpoint of her having set the bar so high for office attire.

For several years Lynn gave me a magazine subscription to Town and Country, admitting that it was a publisher twofer renewal thing, not an attempt on her part to reeducate me to the finer things in life.

When I finally confessed to her that I felt something akin to embarrassment for the people who allow themselves to appear on the pages of the magazine, she decided to switch me off to Vogue, also a twofer situation for her.

I shan’t reveal to her that the issues tend to pile up still in their mailing wrappers, because eventually I do leaf through them a couple at a time before they hit the recycling bin.

The other day, I tackled the at-least-an-inch-thick anniversary issue which always requires a real commitment.  I routinely even with the less exhausting issues rip out the scent sample pages and place them here and there around the house, which nicely whores-up the place for a couple of days.

Click on the image below for a webpage about designer Cristóbal Balenciaga (1895-1972) who “had a reputation as a couturier of uncompromising standards and was referred to as ‘the master of us all’ by Christian Dior.”

See below what appears representative of the House of Balenciaga in Vogue these days.  WTF.  Do not tell me that Señor Balenciaga is not twirling in his grave.