Verizon has teamed up with Fashion Power House, Dooney & Bourke to create this chic wristlet. Although the wristlet can be used for all cell phones, verizon is promoting it with the chocolate phone. It features Dooney & Bourke signature multi-colored white look, a magnetic flap closure, a sky blue lining, a cash/ID pocket, and  a removable leather wrist strap. The wristlet is available now in most verizon wireless stores across the country. $49.99

gizmodiva

Looks like Marc-y Marc Jacobs went Single White Female on Chuck Taylor:

Marc by Marc Jacobs’ Converses canvas baseball boots are an unglossy, boss black that shadow the classic sneaker, echoing the timeless design while lacing up to the ankle, sealing themselves with a subtle circle.

And though the sneaks snuck below their original $295 tag at Net-a-Porter’s summer sale, they’re still a buck-seventy-five. Which means they’re cheaper than a keychain by Monsieur Louis.

But if a girly girl’s paying that much for flats, for shoes sans an artful arch, they ought to magically stretch your legs long like Giselle’s. Or at least be stamped gold with “MARC JACOBS,” so people know why you’re wearing ugly sneaks.

Just because Sienna Kate Moss Miller Lohan rocks a fancy fedora— is exactly why you shouldn’t.  Don Vivre’s wide-brim portrait hat, instead. A fabulously floppy hat vibes JLo circa P Diddy, until its stiffed in straw, tiered with black licorice crochet, and pinched pretty for an urban cowgirl fit.

A sunblock more boss than Prada’s overpriced SPF, the hat’ll also obscure your face from the pap. Or just nosy neighbors. ‘Cause unlike Lindsay Richie Nicole Lohan, you’d rather really live luxely—privately.

Clutches make cute arm candy, but they’re like high-maintenance BFFMs (BoyFriends For Five Minutes)—they’re always hanging off your arm, always needing you to hold hands, and that they’re likely to get lost is drama since they hold most your money for the night.

Try Stella McCartney’s velvet wristlet instead—a faux patent leather bangle cuffs your wrist and leaves you free to mingle; one hand can cup a soy latte while the other can gesticulate while telling the story of how you dumped dude. 

And even though your cash carries safer now that it’s tethered to your wrist—

Keep at least twenty tucked into your panties. 

If only because that feels boss. 

[Via BagSnob]

Though I’m not for picking arm candy that clashes with my wardrobe —

I’ve got set ideas about what works and what won’t, I know how to style for both pleasure and profit.

— Sometimes I’ll snag a dude that prefers Jessica Simpson to Brigette Bardot, who thinks spending five on a soy latte ridiculous, who questions why I never swap a flapper frock for just jeans.

And while variety may nicely spice life, I prefer that translating into choosing from various snakeskin clutches, into picking between four- or five- or six-inch heels, I say —

Ditch the dude, but not before I snag his Italia Independent aviator sunglasses .

Both basic and boss, at least there was one thing we agreed upon. 

Though I’m burning through my early 20-something years, I feel a quarter-life crisis coming on—

The decade I grew up in, the ’90s, are something people sentimentalize.

I’m getting a prescription for Retin-A knowing that Hollywood’s Viper Room being back on the radar means it’s making a comeback, not simply lukewarming up, that there are sites dedicated to ‘90s nostalgia, and that flashy Fresh Prince neons vibe cheeky-chic retro in a way normally left to ’50s-ish polka dots.

A recyling of early post-yuppie, dressing to the ’90s still keeps the shine on ME ME ME. Fendi’s buckle wallet is a neon advertisement of money, its highlight yellow and red and blue logo leather is a bright celebration of conspicuous consumption.

Just be careful how you flash your cash holder in that seedy Internet cafe while you get your caffe latte.

Dudes play Porsches as pricy peacock feathers, while women pushup bras to pimp breasts their boy bought them.

And girls named Kristopher prefer to slip Diane von Furstenberg by H. Stern’s “Power” ring on their right-hand ring finger.

Structured of clean lines of 18 karat white gold, 4.6 carats of pavé diamonds are a constellation solid like your life: bright pinpoints compose a singularly bold display of success.

Tagged $19K, almost what my NYC faux education cost, the boss bauble would probably say “Success” more successfully than my still-in-its-envelop college degree.

I’m totally marrying myself with this ring.

[Via Luxist.com]

Raised between two boys, my porcelain skin runs rather thick: if a Dukes dude would punch me, Dad would politely advise me to beat the hell out of my brother so he’d learn not to hit me again. 

And despite my dad’s constant questioning why I couldn’t just put on a jeans and a T-shirt  for godssake, he was a rather hands-off parent, allowing me to always force forward—and though my steps were sometimes clumsy, I learned to refuse to ever step backwards.

Just like a rhino. 

Which is why Dad might enjoy  Emma Franklin’s cufflinks as much as another pretty protrait of his daughter.

All heavy beauty and hard brains, Vivre Selection’s convertible bag is wholey boss: that it converts into a classic clutch equals less baggage on your weekend jet-away, while its drawers store your little drawers for a clever carry-on.

Two-in-one without being cheesy, does it vibe too ten to be true, like that Ken doll who quoted Nietzsche—then mentioned menage a trois?

You’re right, I’m sure the bag is really a waste of money, a total scam; don’t buy it, it’d be embarrassing.

I’d rather not bump into you toting yours, too.

Though I prefer expertise to opinion, facts to beliefs, I tend to stay true to my (tiny, underfed) gut.

I stick with writing though I know short term I might make money more easily other ways, I pile on pounds of black eyeshadow though boyfriends profess to prefer me with less than three coats of black mascara, I—

Buy gifts for people based on what I’d like to receive, and less whatever I know their lifestyle to be. Gap tank-loving girl friends (from the past, all dolls so un-dandy are dashed from my black book) get brassy bold vintage cuffs, a photographer brother who doesn’t pick up books with fonts sized 11 gets an Ayn Rand novel for his 21^st, and Dad, who constantly questions why I can’t just put on jeans, gets John Varvatos’ embossed satchel .

Tagged almost a grand, distressed croc-embossed leather is a thank you that cannot be said enough, the bag is a priceless tribute to half the reason I’m alive and enjoying the world, the bag —

Is so unlikely to get used by my dad who’s likely—and rightly—to dub it gay.

Which is fine with this Kristopher.

It’ll go great with my little nude dress. 

Perhaps Chinese manufacturers heavily, illegally, inspired by Louis Vuitton’s signature monogram jotted a note that their sweatshop is falling into real sleep after staring at so much fake gold and brown.

Maybe Marc-y Marc Jacobs soul is twelve steps into being more sensitive after rehab and he felt your pain when—last you toted your LV-stamped “Speedy”—your boyfriend asked, “Isn’t that the bag Jessica Simpson carries? And Kimora Lee Simmons? I heard they’re single.”

Possibly pearly patent leather with white-on-white emboss is just obvious, easy pimping.

Either way, Louis Vuitton’s Reade PM tote moves Monsieur Louis’ mark from flossy fossil to fresh, from dusty designer dud to a clean ten that’ll stay spotless—

So go ahead and smack your boyfriend with it.

Some kittens prefer cats for animal companionship, more dames dig dogs, still others love a significant other.

And I collect the company of glammy dead animals—snaky clutches, ponyskin pumps, seal muffs—much for the same reason average Angies buy dogs: they get attention when I’m walking, they have me meeting other animal lovers (“That’s not real, is it? It is, isn’t it?”). And unlike Fido, whose charms wear fast, dead animals retain their value.

My latest lust is a Victorian doctor’s bag, detailed with actual alligator hands. Equally urbane and primal, it’s a celebration of being on top of the food chain, it’s a carnivore’s carry-on ensuring an empty seat next to you on the plane, it’s a practical bag for sensitive souls opposed to constantly killing cotton for clothing.

Totally ten, only I wonder—

Think there’s a version made with a vegetarian’s paws?