Fabiola Beracasa

October 21, 2009

Fabiola Berafuga

You guys, I am useless when I have to work at The Coffee Bean. Not that I'm not unappreciative of its ability to provide me Internet access when my DSL fails me, but this particular one has only two outlets, both of which force me to sit somewhere near the surface of the sun and squint and wear sunglasses in order to see my screen. Half the time this means I don't even have a good sense of what I'm looking at in the photos. I am reasonably sure this is Fabiola Beracasa, but if you e-mailed me and said, "How could you not notice that she's wearing a vest made of parrot feet?" then my response would be, "Because I am 90 percent blinded by the sunlight." Parenthetically, my home phone and DSL provider (who shall remain anonymous, but it rhymes with Way Fee & Fee) is going to get an angry letter from me: I have two infants at home and no proper 911 service for a week now, and supposedly they're not fixing anything until Friday night. What if something happens to them? What if I were a cell-phone-free little old lady with no way to call anyone in an emergency? What if someone breaks into my house to steal the twins? What if there is a fashion emergency and I can't see the photos? What if I fall and I can't get up? What if my house explodes and the only thing standing is my land line, and no one can use it to call the authorities? What if Intern George only has my home phone number and he's been trying to call to invite me to his villa and he's about to give up because it just rings and rings and rings? Come on, Flay Schmee & Schmee. For real. IT WAS JUST A LITTLE RAIN. MY GOD. GEORGE CLOONEY. BABIES.

Ahem. On to Fabiola:

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I am not ENTIRELY sure, but I think this is the stuff the Wynn casino in Las Vegas uses on the awnings over the table games, and/or that she is working catering at a Mystere-themed cocktail party. But since my eyes are not a reliable tool today, I need you to confirm or reject my assessment.

June 16, 2009

Fabiolfug Berafuga

Fabiola Beracasa is fast becoming my favorite socialite of the bunch -- which might not be saying much, since I don't tend to think about any of them unless we're at Fashion Week and are tasked with trying to distinguish one from the next, but that doesn't make it any less true. This woman is RELIABLE. Remember this? And this? And these? Well, there's more to add to the collection.

Let's start with the old -- somehow, back at the beginning of June, I completely missed this:

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[Photo: WENN.com]

It's like she strapped on her orthopedic ankle braces and walked to the funeral of the dude who invented the paper shredder. It will be so moving when she removes her crown of fake blossoms and places it tenderly on his coffin, right before it's shoved through a wood-chipper.

So we've covered something old, and something blue -- let's hit up something new, in the form of what she wore last night:
This woman is on a roll. I'm not sure I've typed her name in five years as often as I have in recent weeks, and it's because of gems like this:

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It's like a very badly blurred still from a soft-core movie about a grieving librarian from Olden Times, who takes solace in the Dewey Decimal System and the man who built the card catalog. With predictably sexy results.

April 24, 2009

Fugiola Berafuga

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FABIOLA BERACASA: I am here. WHERE is Karl? I must see him.

JULIA RESTOIN-ROITFELD: I wonder why I agreed to stand with this person.

FABIOLA: Take me to him. He will adore this. He will spread me on a cracker and serve me with pate.

JULIA: Seriously, has she not heard of moderation? A velvet dress that looks like she drew a chalk suit-jacket on it, a coat made of Cher's old wigs, a metal glove AND a ring, and yet more flesh-colored leggings? Has she lost her mind? And do I look like I APPROVE of it by hanging out with her?

FABIOLA: I will say, "Karl, I liked this, so I put a ring on it," and he will high-five my aluminum hand and baptise me in champagne.

JULIA: I'm just going to pretend I'm not here. I'm in Tahiti... I'm in Tahiti... I'm in Tahiti...
Once we'd seen shredded ones and pairs with kneepads, I really thought there was nowhere else to go with leggings. I am so, so naive.  Why must I be such an innocent? But seriously, did you expect anyone to come up with THIS variant?

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I'm sure Macca's new lady-friend Nancy Shevell is a very nice woman, but she just willingly, knowingly went out in public wearing leggings that might be made out of Miss Piggy.

And she's not the only one:

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