I just saw Stacy London at the gym, and I’m not sure why that seems strange because I figured out that she lives sideways across the street from the building after reading her New York Times, “A Night Out With…” from last month. I too, live in a Carroll Gardens duplex and have a cat so even though we're nothing alike it made me kind of like her. Single, childless females over 35 in the area are anomalies.
I just assume that even C list celebrities would live in a more fabulous neighborhood (unless you’re a young hipster mommy like Maggie Gyllenhaal or Michelle Williams and Brooklyn makes sense) and work out at swankier digs. I felt the same way when Mo Rocca sat directly in front of me in coach on a flight to Chicago. Like how much does a Mo Rocca or Stacy London make? Couldn’t a nuisance like Mr. Rocca afford first class?
So, on the elliptical trainer I had just been reading a blurb in Redbook on her kind of unbearable new show Fashionably Late (which is infinitely more bearable than Redbook, which was angering me with its middle American, not enough me time, overworked mommies tone, though I have to admit the non-luxurious brands they showcase in fashion spreads like Target, Nine West and Old Navy are my speed, despite totally being what not to wear. And despite their everywoman approach, they're not above Photoshopping the hell out of cover models) and since I’ve been home (about an hour) I’ve seen three commercials for the damn show (it's my own fault for watching TLC so much, but I've been DVRing makeover shows looking for images of women crying while getting their hair cut) What is Stacy London trying to tell me?