Under the Gunn

I so want Tim Gunn to come over, throw back a few stems of champers with me and get medieval on my wardrobe. I just can't bring myself to do it. I need him to help me be totally brutal with what I'm holding on to, and then take me shopping. And, by that, I mean pick it out and pay for it. I want the whole personal shopper experience and a Bravo/Tim discount. While I am far from a media whore, and do have a healthy reluctance to living on video (damn that YouTube), I'd totally put myself out there for a compact closet that is completely fabulous. Tim doesn't fluff around. If it ain't soul-stirring, that sheath is the frock out of there.

What a great day that would be. Tim and I would get giddy on the Veuve (though, he or Bravo, seems to prefer the Taitt) and have the sedan take us over to Bloomies (though, I would beg for Barney's, Saks and NM...come on, he's footing the bill, right?). We'd have the staff scrambling to fill rolling racks full of Tim's basic ten. Tim's a hard man to please. But his shrewd eye is impeccable.

In spite of my protestations, we'd end up lunching at The Ivy, though, I kind of figured Tim would be more the Polo Lounge type. After lunch, and more stems, we'd be adventurous and head Downtown. Catch up with Jeffrey and Santino. While their designs are fabulous, Tim and I agree that they don't go with the classic story of my new wardrobe. Therefore, off we go to visit Karl. Tim gets that I need to push the Chanelvelope. And a dash of Prada never hurt a girl (except in her pony pocketbook, but, remember, Tim's footing the bill). Then, quick stop in Manhattan to visit Marc. He does classic avec edge so well.

That's a lot of shopping for two people. Even if one of them is Gunn. We'd finish up on the deck at Shutters, sipping more champers, spooning out caviar, sharing a hearty chuckle as the sun sets into the Pacific. [Insert glass clink here.]

Instead, it'll just be me, some Hefty bags and a ruthless demeanor. Champers at the end if I'm good and brutal, though.