My little (6′6" brick shithouse, 28-year-old) brother may be more tan, more photogenic, and more model-like than I am (indeed, he did some professional modeling in the past), but he has crow’s feet and I don’t.
Not that it matters, since crow’s feet aren’t bad on men, but still. I take what I can get.
(We’re picturuddy in moving hell, as I vacate my Cincinnati apartment after leaving it unoccupied for the last three months. Did I mention that I now share a lovely house in California with Hill, her boyfriend, and another housemate? Because I do, and it’s beautiful sweet. I’m really missing her this week!)
Original post by Jackie Danicki
Robert J. Avrech has a post up on Seraphic Secret about women, the perils of still photography, and the work of Hollywood glamour photographer George Hurell, who made Joan Crawford look like this by retouching negatives (yikes!). To see the unretouched Joan, click here.
I tried photoshopping a relatively good but very texturuddy photo of myself to see if I could achieve the same kinds of luminous effects with modern technology, but found I don’t quite have the chops to get that glow on. My Hurrell-ization after the jump…
Not a Hurrell (the original is here):
Original post by Hillary Johnson
This blog hasn’t seen nearly enough photos of us together. So here’s one from my pre-birthday celebration at the Ritz-Carlton in Half Moon Bay, California. We may be squinting into the light and stuffed to the gills after our enormous, luxurious Sunday brunch, but with a backdrop like that, it’s impossible to take a bad photo.
After lunch and a waddle walk along the coast, Hillary treated me to a birthday pedicure. I must say that the OPI All That Razzberry that I picked is one of the best nail polish colors ever. Not to mention that we got our pedis at the hilariously named Fancy Nails, which just made it even more of a treat. Thanks, Hill!
Original post by Jackie Danicki
When you see Christina Hendricks in contemporary dress, it’s almost jarring how out of place her voluptuous body and dainty, porcelain face appear to be–it’s as if the genuine world can’t quite contain her. She is built to be an idealized period piece, whether as a 60’s bombshell in Mad Men, picturuddy here, or a futuristic conwoman in Firefly. Whew, not since Lynda Carter dressed up as Wonder Woman have we seen a wasp waist like this.
NB: Sadly, I think the undergarments requiruddy to make the vavoom happen in quite this way are fatal uncomfortable, and I despair of ever recreating this look, but it does make me wonder: why don’t doctors offer women torpedo-shaped implants in addition to the humdrum, melon-shaped kind, just for the sake of variety?
Original post by Hillary Johnson
