I didn't get to see the show, and I'm sure all the pro's choices were great, but the thing that slays me is Deb's expression in the 'after' photo. Talk about hawt!

Hair, clothes, colors, fabrics...all affected. That inner energy? Fabulous!

Geez this thread is moving fast today.

I'm hoping the tivo caught deb's thing. I wanted to get up and watch it while doing sit ups or something, but was too tired this morning.

I wish I had more time to join in on the clothes talk. I have easily spent over $100 on things, occasionally $200, rarely but not never $300, anything over that I just cant afford (but I probably would spend it if I could). I'm very lucky though to be able to get things at ultra bargain prices.

I just spent $140 for a pair of Beautifeels. They are the *only* pair of high heels I've ever worn to an evening party and come home with happy feet. Now that I'm in the years of plantar fascitis, the thin unconstructed slippers I used to love are No Longer An Option.

I've had two Coach bags and they wear like iron. The problem is that I've outgrown them; I bought them small on Jess's theory that then I'd carry less, but it didn't work out that way. Once you layer a major wallet, a checkbook, a pouch with medication, a cell, a purse brush, and a Pilot, small no longer makes sense.

Simon Weitzman

Stuart Weitzman, you mean?

I lvoe his shoes. I occasionally find them at Nordstrom Rack, marked down to a nice reasonable $50 or $50. Ditto Donald Pliner.

Jeepers. I'm still awake.

Betsy, I wish you'd talk some sense into my twin sister. She still insists on carrying a small purse but won't give up her essentials. Which consist of SEVEN shades of lipstick, cell, palm, checkbook, mirror, etc. She asked me to get her nail file out of her purse once and I had to remove every item to get to it at the bottom. Stupid purse. She refuses to see reason.

Betsy, I have a Coach bag or two. My enormous hobo-satchel thing is my favourite, Nic got it for me as a birthday present at the Coach outlet in Palm Springs en route to Vegas, it cost $139 down from $370, and will probably outlast things that can be carbon dated. My problem with it is, the damned thing is heavy when empty. Full of stuff?

It's like wearing a Le Creuset stockpot over one shoulder.

GAH! Owen has entered the clinging stage and it's driving me bugfuck.

Yeah, that stuff is a real drain. It's very frazzle-making. Though the tugging at your shirt/skirt/hand every other millisecond toddler phase is the one where I tended to flip out like a mammal at the end of the day. "Personal Space! Personal Space! No Touchey! You. Sit. Over here. You watch the TV. Do not under any circumstances yank on any part of me or my clothing. Do NOT constantly place yourself under the path of my feet tripping me at every step. GAhhhhhhhhh!" Then you run a lap around the living room flapping your arms like a muppet.

Simon Weitzman

Stuart Weitzman, you mean?

Yeah, I think Simon Weitzman is a Nazi shoe hunter.

The New Orleans corset, at $300 and change, is the single most expensive item I've ever owned (though still, I'm positive, at least a hundred less than a comparable corset at Dark Garden would be), but it's incredibly well-made and if childbearing doesn't throw my torso completely out of whack it should last approximately forever, or at least until I look really sad and stupid and attempting-to-recapture-lost-youthly-pathetic wearing it, at which time I can sell it on eBay or whatnot and probably get my entire investment back, plus interest.

Other than that, the vast bulk of my clothing hovers costwise in the teens-30s, with a few vintage items in the 50s or above. And shoes. Which I mostly buy for cheap, but usually for cheap at Nordstrom Rack, which means $30-50 shoes that are actually $90-150 shoes at heart, and are as long-lasting and as gentle and loving to the feet as their pricier brethren. The last super-cheap pair of shoes I bought at a big shoe warehouse, I actually had to throw away after one day and hobble home barefoot, they were so cruel. I will never, ever do that to my feet again.

BWAH! Oh, that's me, Hec. That is ME (when his father gets home and I can run and hide for an hour).