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Friday, July 22, 2005
Yesterday's fashions today
"Hold still, Beaver. The fifties are almost over..." 
Crazy-assed bitch Michelle Malkin jumps to the defense of John Roberts creepy family:
Time and again, Washington Post Style reporter Robin Givhan hides behind fashion snarking and culture reporting to savage conservatives. She did it with Katherine Harris and Dick Cheney and John Bolton--and I'm sure you can remember many more examples of partisan mockery.
Well, today's conservative-bashing Style commentary sinks to the lowest low. The piece, "An Image A Little Too Carefully Coordinated" attacks the wife and children of SCOTUS nominee John Roberts for the neatness of their clothes:
It has been a long time since so much syrupy nostalgia has been in evidence at the White House. But Tuesday night, when President Bush announced his choice for the next associate justice of the Supreme Court, it was hard not to marvel at the 1950s-style tableau vivant that was John Roberts and his family.
There they were -- John, Jane, Josie and Jack -- standing with the president and before the entire country. The nominee was in a sober suit with the expected white shirt and red tie. His wife and children stood before the cameras, groomed and glossy in pastel hues -- like a trio of Easter eggs, a handful of Jelly Bellies, three little Necco wafers...
For God's sake, a mother and her children just wanted to look nice for the most historic moment in her husband and their daddy's life--and the Style attack dogs turn it into an opportunity to sneer at and dump on a loving family. Read the whole thing if you can stomach it.
Malkin then makes the logical leap and points out that Mrs. Roberts could have dressed like Alexandra Kerry and the kids could have dressed like lil pimps and hos, because, well, because that would be the only alternative, you know.
First off, nobody wants to see Mrs. Roberts dressed like Kerry. She's already ball-shrivelling enough. Secondly...well look at them. Who the hell dresses their kids like that? The boy is wearing black & white fucking saddle shoes. Why not just name him Paris and get it over with?
As Givhan points out:
The wife wore a strawberry-pink tweed suit with taupe pumps and pearls, which alone would not have been particularly remarkable, but alongside the nostalgic costuming of the children, the overall effect was of self-consciously crafted perfection. The children, of course, are innocents. They are dressed by their parents. And through their clothes choices, the parents have created the kind of honeyed faultlessness that jams mailboxes every December when personalized Christmas cards arrive bringing greetings "to you and yours" from the Blake family or the Joneses. Everyone looks freshly scrubbed and adorable, just like they have stepped from a Currier & Ives landscape.
Malkin then links to the profoundly boring Charmaine Yost who is, as always, a pair of sensible shoes in a world full of fuck me pumps:
Just a caution for my male readers: if there are any extant photos of you from the '70's in plaid pants, better get rid of them now. And it's not just the evidence of questionable fashion sense. Apparently now that's the goods on being gay.
Call it the Mary Cheney Strategy. Call it desperation. Some on the Left have started a "maybe he's gay" whisper campaign against John Roberts.
[...]
Of course it is the height of hypocrisy for the (allegedly) pro-tolerance crowd to start questioning someone's sexual preference. It's a strange and twisted tactic for those who are allied with the gay rights movement to try to make an issue out of someone supposedly being gay.
Who cares?
Well, that's just the point: they think we do. They think that they can undermine support for someone among conservatives if they can dredge up some sort of homosexual connection -- or, in this case, just the manufactured whiff of a question.
No. Actually we don't care if you care. We do it to annoy you in the same way that you annoy us with pictures of your marginally cute kids with their stupid nicknames: Diva, Dreamer, Dude, Dancer, and Darlin' Boo . . .
Excuse us while we fwow up.
Yes, you have children. Bully for you. But it's not half the talent you seem to think it is (although, to give you credit, it's something that the Roberts couldn't manage to pull off on their own). But if you want us to admire the miracle of how wonderfully wonderful your most specialist of all special kids are, well lady, you're too late. Kathy Lee Gifford rode that train to hell years ago with Cody and NotCody.
You've got a kid and I've got a kid. Swell. We like to tell stories about them. Also swell. But nobody wants this overly cutesy-poo rendition of childhood served up like sugared Rice Krispie treats to the world, least of all your kids who will hate you for it later. Remember, the child with the stupid nickname today is tomorrow's sullen Goth who will scream "I hate you, you fat drunken cow!" at Thanksgiving dinner with Grammy and PaPa.
Oh. By the way. Mary Cheney is gay.
...you fat drunken cow.
(Updated): Captain Cubicle, whom we are pretty sure is an elastic-waist Dockers kinda guy, chimes in from the SS Banal:
For God's sake ... this wasn't a fashion show! In fact, on Fox the only shot we saw of his family during the announcement was a head shot of Jane Roberts. I didn't even know the kids were there until I saw still shots of Jack getting impatient. To me, it looks like a normal family outing in what used to be called their "Sunday best," trying to look nice and unobtrusive for Roberts' nomination announcement. Perhaps Givhan would have considered it more realistic if Jane showed a little bit of a thong and Josie dressed like a Bratz girl?
Highly disappointing. I thought that the Washington Post took politics, and journalism, a bit more seriously than this.
Um. It was in the Style section. Which is maybe why Captain Ed didn't get it. Terra incognita and all that...
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