I first spotted Madame Fortuna’s “Relic” line at a great little shop called Sleep in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, and immediately asked the sales lady who designed them. All the Relics are delicate hand-blown glass globes that contain a meaningful object - a Victorian die-cut, a petit-point rose, a scoop of red soil or yellow coral, or my favorite, an exquisite little feather from a robin, peacock, or cardinal.

The prefab pieces are seriously breathtaking, but Madame Fortuna will also custom-make a Relic from the tiny object of your choice - putting an elegant new spin on the time capsule. It’s early to start thinking about Valentine’s Day and all, but I can tell you now that no woman on earth can resist a personalized memento housed in a pretty little sphere - as long as it’s in good taste, of course (hint: not her medication).

From $175 at Etsy.

For me, 2008 is all about classic, understated luxury, and nothing exemplifies this aesthetic like timeless black with gorgeous gold accents. Evocative of art deco and 30’s New York, as well as 1950’s swing, the look is impeccably tailored and delicately trimmed - the gold should provide a whisper of stately grandeur, not an unstoppable torrent of bling. Think Grace Kelly after the wedding or Dominique Sanda in “Il Conformista” - subtly sexy, mysterious, and unstoppable. And besides - what could look better next to a tall glass of champagne? Don’t wear it out til next December…

See more of my Black Gold list at ThisNext.

For those of us serious about dance - not capital-D Dance in a studio with a bar and a requisite body dysmorphic disorder, but dance! in a space packed with friends, no restraints, no regrets, and no cover - 2 things are essential: amazing music and room to move. Music meaning sick beats that not only make you want to dance, but make you have to dance, and room to move as in hot, free-wheeling joy-clothes and dancing shoes that never hold you back.

See more of my D.A.N.C.E. list at ThisNext.

Jules Smith is an un-virgin Virgin Islands girl, giving out gold kiss (necklaces), tossing out life saver (bangle bracelets), throwing carwash (earrings); Jules Smith is as comfy in Reef’s flip-flops and Monsieur Louboutin’s “Fox Trot”s; Jules Smith is the creation of Gina Nigrelli, designer of jewelry line Jules Smith Designs. With her Jules Smith jewelry worn by LiLo and other A-listers, ThisNext had to play Q&A with Gina.

TN: Any sneak previews you can share with ThisNext readers?
GN: It’s getting naughtical up in here…

TN: Biggest response a product of yours has received from consumers?
GN: “Life Saver” stackable bangles; they are colorful, versatile, & fashionable.

TN: The product that’s had the biggest influence on your design?
GN: Products don’t influence my designs, it’s my lifestyle and the people I choose to share that with.

TN: If you were a piece of jewelry, you’d be a ________.
GN: Vintage David Webb brooch.

TN: Your favorite product discovery in the last six months… Or something that inspired you?
GN: The decorative buttons on the spring Fendi coats and dresses.

...continued: Who Is Jules Smith?

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.

Dark and handsome, the Dunlin bag is pure boss: it’s leather washed rough so it softly carries your all in three mini pockets, it conveniently collapses compact when you don’t need so big a body, it’s —

Got a waiting list longer than that Pinkberry the pap hopes a post-prison Paris’ll show at.

Go ahead and do the line. Unlike that froyo—or drinking on stomach empty of anything but Pinkberry and driving—Dunlin’s bag is worth doing time for: it’ll cost you $324, half off its usual $648.

Yeah, I know you could have times two its tag yourself, but I thought “half off” and “Paris” and “Pinkberry” might’ve left you a touch distracted, lover. 

During the summer I love camping—

Out at a cafe in Hollywood, observing artificially beautiful people in their natural environment, grazing on organic lattes and raw sugar pastries.

Armed with my MacBook and Paul Frank’s boss camping kit  — stuffed with over a buck-twenty-five in Urban Decay cosmetics — I dust on its included Baked Bronzer to camouflage in the fake-baked city, I slip on the kit’s limited-edition Paul Frank glammy glasses to go undetected.

If the natives get wild after realizing after somehow sensing I still use plastic grocery bags, I’ll toss XXX Shine Lip Gloss for them to chase and fight after while I get away.

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 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]

Years ago, when I’d have school papers for my dad to sign, he’d ask, “What grade are you in, again?”

“I’m a senior,” I called out once, not looking up from my Mac.

“A senior?” my dad said. “Wow.”

So it’s no surprise that, while I’ve been blogging about Pappa’s Day gifts for weeks—

I just really realized today’s Dad’s Day.

Never fret—dude won’t cry like Mom if you’re a few days late on his Hallmark holiday, and there are easy last minute gifts.  During my daily pilgrimage to Starbucks to exchange five bucks for some sanity, I might pick up a gift card, which is always a perfect last minute gift. 

Though maybe you don’t dig investing a large fraction of your disposable income in overpriced soy milk, sugar, and caffeine.

I’ll pretend I understand, and suggest  Vivre’s choco croco-embossed wallet. Slotted for plastic money, passports, and paper, and officially titled a “Ticket Holder,” I might order two—

Besides inheriting my dad’s espresso addiction, I’ve a genetic disposition to speed 85 on the 101, while driving stick, in heels. 

Live-working in an A-list beach town, since I moved back to La La Land from NYC over a year ago—

I haven’t dipped my toes in the Pacific once, and I think I’ve peeked at the great big blue maybe thrice, depending how often it was visible from the Getty Center while I downed hazlenut soy lattes and admired naked Greek statues.  

Vivre’s pearl and shell ring is as beachy as I get:  its cowry shell is barely recognizable as it’s been tooled into a boss bauble frosted with pearl mabe.

Still, maybe I could hold the cocktail ring to my ear and hear waves kind of crashing, like with a seashell.

Though for $600, I’d rather it echo Jay-Z’s chorus of “cash, money, hoes.”

Maybe it’s the heat turning hot, but lately I’m stripping my life even leaner, flipping through my calendar and closet and weighing what’s worth less that I ought to toss, lightening my life so it’s only heavy with high quality.

I delete appointments that won’t bring me pure pleasure or profit, I edit out any duds that aren’t silk softly flattering my bod, and I look at my fat platforms and consider swapping them out for long lean lines of Gianvito Rossi’s “Summer Strass” sandals.

The thinnest four-inch heel supports an ambitious arch, a clean curve that your foot’s laced to with two black lines. Boss with its brains and beauty, Gianvito Rossi’s sandals are a reminder of how life should style: efficient intelligence that’s clean of anything but form happily married to function.

Rich in its minimalism, I’m inspired—

Maybe I’ll swap soy lattes for snorting lines of espresso grounds.

[Via KRiSTOPHER DUKES.com]

Sentimental sans vibing saccharine, locket cufflinks—

Like the better things in life:  cigars, cars, and shows

—Are more boss, more clever than their classic chick counterpart.

Sleeky chic, smart Chiclets of silver hide four photo frames. Gift your sugar daddy and slip some secret naughtiness in for the 17^th, or fill the cool silver mini-frames for your real father, with real warm pics of yourself and siblings.

Your dad’ll dig checking your and your bros’ grins while he hustles hard. Seeing your mugs while he’s money-making, he’ll remember why he really works and he’ll lift the Lawd a prayer of thanks—

With all you kids graduated from that six-year college plan, his dollars are finally fun again.

Since marriage rings mean nul—I think dudes get more girls with them—and I only get shiny eyed at the institution for its tax deductions, I’m courting Soixante Neuf’s “Taken/Available” necklace ($148) instead.

A tiny chain made of hooked hearts hangs a hammered 14k vermeil pendant, which you can flip between “Taken” and “Available” depending who’s double-checking you.

So happily single, I know which side I’ll mostly be sporting:

“Taken,” since I’m sexing myself. 

Always in frilly flapper frocks and impractical hooker heels, eyes smoked out from Sunday to next Saturday, 9 a.m. to 9 p.m.—

I look too much like a prissy Krissy for people to realize I think like a Kristopher: shopping is an errand, not a competitive sport; my bedhead, Brigette Bardot bun is less sex kitten and more a time saver; and packing for travel isn’t about maxing out my luggage, but minimizing my package.  Gear for 48 hours of business in New York and fluffy stuff for four-day weekend in San Francisco jam into my favorite white, blackhole of a bag: a few dresses, tiny triangles of underwear, and I rock a single pair of heels. And while I don’t mind Starbucksing on Sunday a.m. in rhinestoned platforms, Jour & Nuit’s convertible shoes, heels designed to get you through day and night, are a bosser option.

Each shoe features patent-pending, removable straps to control the glam factor of platform sandals and kitten heels: pick between a sleeky chic, eel-skin strap or a rhinestoned one, enjoy your options—

Style “jour” for few stares at the subway, go “nuit” and have a fellas pardon their French for you. 

[Via Shoewawa]

Waspy waists went out with ’50s housewives, so cinch your chic more modern, a la an old-fashioned Gigi Caron “Victoria” ring ($6,250). Inspired by finger candy popular during Queen Vicky’s rule, you can inscribe the boss buckle ring with your lover’s name.

Since 18K gold and diamonds are serious shiny shiny to stamp a dude’s title on, I’m torn—

Either I’m tattooing my fav Starbuck’s barista’s name on the ring, or “iced green tea soy latte, no water, only two pumps of melon syrup.”

Or maybe just “KRiSTOPHER,” since I’m sexing myself. 

If you were smart enough to realize that appearance is everything, you’d stock up on eyeglasses—

Because they make you look smarter.

L.A.EYEWORKS’ collection pieces—designed by Gai Gherardi and Barbara McReynolds— along with exotic collections from Kirk Originals, Alain Mikli and more are 20-70% off, from today until Saturday (June 9).

So buy a pair or two—

If you sport tortoise-shell Rx lenses, you might invent the cure for cancer.

Or at least realize it’s time to ditch your dude. 

7407 Melrose Ave. (cross street Martel)
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