Katy Keene, Valentine Queen

Skirt: Delia's, Dolls Kill

Shoes: Jessica Simpson Collection, DSW

To the Swoon and Back Necklace

Bag: Katy Perry Collection

Sweater: BCX, Macy's

Shoes: Betsey Johnson, DSW

Regal Romance Necklace 

Just when you thought Valentine's Day was over, Cupid drops off Katy Keene.  I found this one-season-wonder of a cancelled Riverdale spinoff on HBO Max and was hooked.  Having started life as an Archie Comic, Katy Keene's got the goods on dark glamour.  The intrigue!  The romance!  The fashion!  It's a drama that hits upon all the best and worst parts of being young and fabulous and broke in New York City, where someone just may be out to get you.  Title character Katy Keene (Lucy Hale) works as a personal shopper for the imperious Gloria Grandbilt (Katherine LaNasa) at Lacy's, a kind of spoof on Macy's, only much more high end.  But by night, she's a fashion designer, creating incredible one-of-a-kind costumes for her bestie Jorge (Jonny Beauchamp) to wear in his drag show.  It girl extraordinaire Pepper (Julia Chan) and new roommate Josie (Ashleigh Murray) -- yes, of Josie and the Pussycats fame -- round out Katy's coterie.  And then there's her hunky boyfriend KO (Zane Holtz), who's been by her side since high school.  Despite being a boxer with his own big dreams, his top priority is always his girl.  Yet for Katy, settling down with KO starts to seem less like a fairy tale ending and more like a middle working class rut.  What's more, despite Katy's pluck and determination, trying to break into fashion is fraught with struggle and heartbreak.  But perhaps her most daunting obstacle of all is finding out her dead mother's secret.  

Okay, so that's all very riveting.  But why is Katy Keene the Valentine queen?  Because she wears her heart on her sleeve -- and on her skirt and shoulder.  The girl hearts hearts, just like her mother before her, a flair affair reflected in her over-the-top outfits.  Peter Pan-collared tops, capes, and other feminine garb in red and pink fill Katy's closet.  Her look is very iconic, very bold, very glam noir comic book, befitting a dazzling denizen of the Archie universe. Yet more importantly, like all the best fashion, it tells the world who she is.

That's why it's so, er, disheartening when Katy falls in with (and to be a bit of a spoiler, under) misogynistic designer Guy LaMontagne (Luke Cook).  Successful but insecure, he preys on his young female apprentices, stealing their sketches and telling them what to wear.  In Katy's case, this means no hearts because they remind him of his nemesis, Gucci.  Not wanting to risk her career, Katy complies, pivoting to striking but soulless black.  Although she still looks fab, we know that her light's gone out.   

The series ends with a hopeful yet classic cliffhanger.  But I wanted more.  I don't know why the CW canned such a great show, but it's not like I haven't been there before (Good Girls, Zoey's Extraordinary Playlist, At Home with Amy Sedaris, that other Lucy Hale show Life Sentence . . .).  TV isn't always built to last, much like a honeymoon or every Bath and Body Works scent you ever loved.  So that's why we need to appreciate it while it's around.  My sister likes to think of a single-season show as a really long movie.  And when it ends ambiguously -- as it always does -- she leans into the ending she wanted.  Which is a lovely way to watch TV.   

And to live.

So, Katy Keene, Valentine queen, I say that you and KO rode off into the sunset after you became a  fashion designer bigger and better than Guy and Gucci combined.

And also that Guy got herpes. 

From Texas to LA to Phoenix: Never Judge a Book by its Lover

I'm unsure about the wisdom of promoting a pop princess post with an allusion to Aerosmith lyrics.  Then again, I never bought a Jessica Simpson album or watched MTV's Newlyweds either, so very little of what I'm about to say is vetted.  Still, of all the Y2K-era Top 40 songstresses, Jessica Simpson seemed like the most glamorous -- and the nicest.  Like if you saw her in an airport, she'd say hey instead of having her publicist give you resting bitch face while she slinked off behind her Gucci sunglasses.  Yet it wasn't until Simpson launched her fashion line that I became a genuine fan.  I'd see her clothes hanging in Macy's and think, respect.  Which is funny because the stuff I snagged comes from Boscov's, Marshalls, and ROSS.  Well, at least until last week when I ordered this top from Macy's:

  

Top: Jessica Simpson, Macy's

So, when I heard that Simpson had written a memoir called Open Book, I knew I would read it.  And I'm glad I did.  It's gotten many glowing reviews, but the one that speaks to me comes from Ronan Farrow: "I kind of feel like we all owe her an apology." You know.  For the Chicken of the Sea jokes and dumb blonde digs and other stereotypes that fame -- and we -- forced her to perpetuate.  I get that it's tempting to say that Simpson, like all celebrities, knew what she was getting into. 

But I'm not so sure.  

Open Book draws upon the journals that Simpson kept since she was fifteen, frequently addressing the reader and telling it like it is.  She takes us from her church-singing childhood in Texas to her failed Mickey Mouse Club audition with Christina Aguilera and Britney Spears to her struggles with anxiety and alcoholism after "making it."  Even as a kid, she wanted to fix her family's money problems.  (I once read an article about her having to keep the tags on her clothes because her parents couldn't afford them.  I always thought that was sad; little did I know it was the tip of the iceberg.)  That's a lot of pressure for a little girl, and I can't help but feel that her family -- especially her dad -- took advantage.  This cross, coupled with the sexual abuse Simpson silently endured for years (although not at the hands of her parents; let's not get it twisted) created the perfect storm to tornado through her adult life, leaving her to pick up the pieces. 

Shoes: Jessica Simpson, ROSS; Top: Jessica Simpson, Zulily 

Then there was her storied (but not storybook) marriage to Nick Lachey, which began when she was just twenty-two.  Nick was her first true love, but marriage showed her a new side of him -- and not in a good way.  He wanted a wife who remained in awe of him, who would stunt her own career to cook for him and let him shine.  Competition, jealousy, and plain old lack of common ground rounded out their mere three years and change as Mr. and Mrs.  Their split seems to be the result of what happens when a girl ties the knot before finding out who she is.  (And, okay, stars in a much-hyped reality show designed to pick apart a young marriage.)  That said, misogyny runs rampant through Open Book.  When Simpson was seventeen, her first record label insisted that she go from a healthy 118 pounds to an emaciated 103, planting the germ of the body image issues that would plague her for the next two decades.  And after her divorce, she fell prey to notoriously cruel playboy John Mayer and wolf in sheep's clothing Tony Romo.  Although she maintains that Tony's a good guy, he seemed like a slightly less chauvinistic Nick to me.   

Dress: Jessica Simpson, Marshalls

Anyway, Simpson relays it all with humor, grace, and candor, peeling away the layers of her public persona to show us who she is, flaws and all.  And the person she is seems so normal -- and vulnerable.  So when she reaches rock bottom and knows she needs help, we want her to rise up like the proverbial phoenix and shine.  When she does, she finally finds peace, making Open Book not a lurid Hollywood tell-all, but a brave account of growth and empowerment.  At the end of the book, Simpson writes:

"I knew that I would be ending this book tonight, and for a long time I feared this very moment.  There's a permanence to getting your thoughts down that can feel like a last testament.  . . . I worried that writing a book represented the end of something.  Now, I see my life is just beginning.  I have a better footing now for retracing the steps that got me here." (400)   

It's a heartfelt message for anyone, whether she (or he!) be a recording artist or a tone-deaf toll taker.

On that, ahem, note, here I am sporting a cruise-ship-meets-motorcycle ensemble featuring a Jessica Simpson top.  (Ptomaine-laden buffets being what they are, the bike is far less risky than the boat.)  It's the first (not to mention the most colorful) Jessica Simpson thing I bought, and as such is a much-treasured piece. 

         

Top: Jessica Simpson, Boscov's

Jacket: Candie's, Kohl's

Pants: True Freedom, Sears

Now I guess it's time to get on my bike and ride.  Even though I don't have a fat bottom (or a bike), and this isn't a post about Queen.