In a move that's a bit like asking Joan Rivers to give you a face-lift just because she's had eleventy-five of them herself, heiress and renowned do-nothing Nicky Hilton has begun designing clothes. And what perma-puckered-up shop would possibly plant so gushy a smooch on Ms. Hilton's Mystic Tanned behind? That would be the L.A. boutique Kitson, once fun but now intoxicated on the juice of its own ubiquity, which has fermented in the spotlight liberally afforded it by celebrity-stalking magazines.
So get thee to Kitson immediately if you want to buy a pair of jeans for $100 that a) look like Nicky based them on those old Calvins she drew on in fourth grade, b) have had the pockets removed, but boast a shadow of dark denim there as a nostalgic nod to what once was; and c) make a skinny model's butt look diaper-clad, or as if it belongs in orbit around the sun.
(And while you're there, don't pass up the rain-and-ice cream-themed hoodie, which I believe is either abstract art decrying lactose intolerance, or a picture Nicky drew in her youth entitled, "It's Fun When Nanny Cries").
