Dude, Who’s My Designer?

Homer-BlankStare-1Giuliana Rancic: So let’s hear it … who are you wearing?!?!
Celebrity: :::Crickets:::
Giuliana Rancic: :::Confused look:::
Celebrity: Umm …
Giuliana Rancic: … does it start with a J?
Celebrity: :::Frantically looking for assistant to find the name::: yeah umm … give me a minute … JENNIFER GET OVER HERE. JENNIFER. HELLO. JENNIFER.
Giuliana Rancic: :::Awkward::: Alright … let’s get Jennifer over here. Hey Jennifer, girl!
Celebrity: What? Who? Jay Mongel? No, that isn’t it. Wait. Oh yes. Right. Herb Jones. Yes. That’s it. I’m wearing Herb Jones.
Giuliana Rancic: Thanks so much … now over to you Ross in the skycam.

Seriously, though? The amount of celebs at the Emmys who didn’t know the designers they were wearing from shoes, to earrings, to clutches, to dresses was astounding. And quite frankly, for no apparent reason, pissed me off thoroughly.

I suppose I put myself in the shoes of a designer, regardless if they are established or up-and-coming. Mostly I felt horrible for the up-and-coming bastards. Could you imagine? Holy shit … Julia Louise Dryfus’ stylist called you and wants clutch options for her Emmy look. I would die. I would probably embarrassingly enough pee myself with joy. And then turn on disco music and start jazzercizing in place.

You either make a clutch to match her dress or send her options … and then she chooses one. You think, “this is it. I’ve made it. Here I am standing next to JLD, and we are officially best friends.” You will be her Kate Moss to a Marc Jacobs. Wait. Strike that. Reverse it. No longer will you be that poor bastard in the billowing over-sized shadows of Michael Kors, you will be known, dammit, KNOWN.

So you gather your crew. Host an Emmy watch party. Pop some popcorn, pop some bub, pop your booty with joy. And wait for the moment when JLD graces the red carpet. Okay, it’s here. It’s happening. JLD is chatting with Guiliana Rancic … she’s putting her clutch on the freaking nonsensical “clutch cam,” and the moment arrives. All of a sudden things start slowing down in only a way that  makes it prominently known something insane is about to happen.

Guiliana Rancic: So tell us who made that amazing clutch!
JLD: Ummm … wait … hmmm … uhhh … fuck … JENNIFER!

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!! You fall to the ground in actual pain caused by the carelessness of a celebrity. “She wanted MY clutch. She hugged me. We shared laughs together. I was making her a friendship bracelet for fucks sake.”

When people see something shiny, they want it, they need it, they just have to know everything about it so they can either, A. max our their credit cards to buy it, or B. daydream about it in a series they like to call “my life would be so much better with …” So when you are getting interviewed, remember the little people, would ya? Who is that clutch by? HERB JONES, ladies and gents, HERB JONES (I really feel like the fake designer known as Herb Jones would bring a lot to the table, don’t ya think). Then everyone with a line of drool coming out of their mouths will Google and oogle all things Herb Jones. Then Herb Jones will be famous … kickin’ it on a yacht with P. Diddy.

So for shame, celebrities, for forgetting the people who made you look so fantastic. And, oh yeah, let’s not forget about your damn stylists. When do you ever hear a celeb give props to their stylists. Umm never. We aren’t idiots. We know “you did NOT wake up like dis.” The jig is up, friends. Ya had help … now maybe throw up your thanks, just a little.

Oh you want to know what I’m wearing today? Dress by Zara, gladiators by Coconuts, necklace by the lovely and talented Nikki Virbitsky. That is how you DO. :::Drops mic:::

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