A Brie Grows in Brooklyn

Katie Holmes Post-Divorce: A Fashion Analysis

One of the benefits of studying art history throughout college is that I have an excellent memory for remembering pictures. Today, I put that skill to use finding photographs of celebrities, and I think that everyone can agree that it’s a tragic waste of my education.

Let’s just say that, if pressed, I could probably list, in order, every single outfit that Katie Holmes has worn since June 29, when she announced her divorce from Tom Cruise. I could also probably list every outfit she’s worn to go see a movie with Suri since April.

I like this outfit very much, and I would like Katie Holmes to donate it to me for being obsessed with her. Thank you very much.

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I Have A Few Bones To Pick

There are many bones I want to pick this morning, the first being that I haven’t lost interest in what Katie Holmes is wearing post-divorce yet, and I’m resentful that I had to search for her name to find new pictures of her wearing a weird orange tunic on the Daily Mail website this morning. 

The second is that all of my friends are talking about Bastille Day like it’s Cinco De Mayo. “What are you doing for Bastille Day this weekend?” a few people have asked me.

“Fucking Bastille Day? What do you even do on Bastille Day?” I ask them in my head. In person, I’m like, “Oooo, fun!!” Because I like them.

My rage at the recent popularity of the event came to a boil the other night in Williamsburg, when I rode my bike to Caleb’s studio. Just as I was turning onto the street where it was located, I happened upon a block strung with those Christmas lights you see all around Little Italy during the holiday season. “Is this fucking ironic or something?” I said to myself. “Fucking Williamsburg.”

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Oscar Afterparties: A Fashion Analysis

As far as I can tell from the Intranet, the only two important parties to attend after the award show last night was the Vanity Fair Party and Elton John’s bash. At the former, all of the mega stars drank champagne and water from crystal glasses, and at the latter, the flotsam from the rest of the industry floated.

I’m going to do a brief fashion analysis, starting with Vanity Fair and ending with the Elton John party, because I know that what people really want to do is scroll through and see what all of the bitches wore. 

So, just to begin, apparently the Prince and Princess of Monaco were on the red carpet. Is it just me, or does Charlene look like she’s been locked in a dungeon for the past 8 months? 

There are obvious comparisons to be made between her and Grace Kelly, who would have been her mother-in-law. Charlene is quite beautiful. Unfortunately, she is trapped in a marriage with Albert, who either didn’t let her choose her own shapeless gown, or only let her wear it because it wasn’t revealing. The look was, unfortunately, completely forgettable.

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Dear Diary: By Isabella Cruise

Dear Diary,

Dad’s off promoting Knight & Day with Ms. Diaz, so he sent me to go stay with Katie and the nanny for a few days. Suri is here too, but we can’t spend time together after she filed the restraining order against me, which is great because it means no more biting. On the official documents, it says that I “frequently stalked her through the walls of our home in Los Angeles” which made her “fear for her life, and the life of her porcelain doll army.” But in private, she told me that she didn’t want me within 50 feet of her when the paparazzi take her photograph, because I ruin her self image.

Suri threw a temper tantrum when she found out I was going to be on the set, but Dad said that I couldn’t be trusted alone after he caught me emailing with Kristie Alley’s son, True. True and I were just talking about a Scientology mixer that the Church is throwing in a few weeks. He asked me if I wouldn’t mind picking up some ice for the party, and I wrote back: ”I love you so much it hurts me. I want to run away with you and have your babies and name them ‘False’ and ‘Questionable’. Come pick me up tonight at 9?”  

True never wrote back, but when Dad did his “communication check” later that night, he found the email and really lost his temper. “Now Kristie will never let you go live with them,” he screamed. “She was going to put you on the Organic Liasion Program!” 

So here I am, on the set of Katie’s new miniseries for the History Channel. Katie is playing Jackie Onassis Kennedy, which Dad says is a good role for her. When Katie asked if it would ruin her career to do a miniseries on a cable channel, Daddy reminded her that he was saving the major motion picture roles for Suri. 

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Wine-Enhanced Blogging: The Tony Awards

In Buenos Aires, bodegas are called “el chino” because they are run by Koreans. Call me crazy, but I have a phonetic feeling that Argentinians can’t tell the difference between Asians of different races.

Yesterday, I discovered that “El Chino” downstairs from my apartment has an entire aisle full of wine. It was almost as exciting as walking into the WalMart in Mexico City and seeing a warehouse sized row of different kinds of tequilas. Let’s just say that I went $20 crazy upon my discovery, and bought four bottles of a fine vintage of Tempranillo. I may or may not be working my way through a bottle right now, on a Tuesday evening. When I’m finished with this post in 3 minutes, I’m going to put it on my queue. By the time you read this, it will be morning. But that doesn’t mean that I’m not still drinking Tempranillo. 

I’m late for dinner, so this commentary on dresses at the Tony awards will be brief. 

Katie Holmes I have a feeling that Tom Cruise set a goal for you to lose 15 pounds last week, and you didn’t make it. That dress doesn’t fit you. But at least it makes you look like you have boobs.

Va Va Voom, Lea Michele. Enjoy it while it lasts. There’s not a lot of room in show business for people who sing in acapella groups. Trust me.

Mommy?

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Dear Diary: By Isabella Cruise

Dear Diary,

I’m so excited because Dad says that Katie and I can leave the house at the same time to go shopping today! I’m a little bit nervous about being alone with Katie, because I’ve only talked to her a few times. Dad says that we should call her Mom, but I think that it makes her uncomfortable. The last time I did it was a few months ago, outside of the entrance to her very “safe and secure” basement bedroom. “Mom!” I yelled, and ran to give her a hug. She held out her arm to block me. “Cookie?” she whispered, surveying me with hungry eyes. When I shook my head (Dad says we’re not allowed to feed Katie), her body recoiled, and she shuffle stepped, defeated, down the stairs to her room.

We planned the trip last night, when John Travolta was over to do a “secret experiment” in Dad’s “fake bedroom” on the top floor of the house. Everyone was in the kitchen for a pre-bedroom snack. John and Dad were joking around, playing with each other’s hair and going through Katie’s purse. Katie was in her corner, curled in a little ball. I was in my secret hiding spot, in a crawl space in the wall. Conner was recharging at the kitchen table. And for some reason, Suri was no where to be found.

“Oh my god, this looks so bad on me!” John Travolta wheeled around to show my father the lipstick from Katie’s make-up bag that he had just smeared all over his face. “This color is so last season!”

“So totally!” Dad said, in a weirdly jovial mood. I was happy that John was around, because if he hadn’t been then Dad would have been on his secret Facebook page, trying to find people who had said bad things about him so that he could ruin their lives.

“I can’t believe Katie wears this!” John giggled.

“Katie!” my dad shouted in her general direction.

She started crawling towards him, the hem of her jeans, which were actually his jeans, trailing behind her on the floor. She reached his feet, and looked up at him expectantly.

“Popsicle?” She begged.

“No popsicle!” He yelled. “Only diet drinks!”

She flipped over on her back, and stared at the ceiling, like a dead beetle, just as my father had taught her to act when she had made a big mistake.

“Oh my god, Katie,” John said, nudging her with his toes. “You so need a new outfit. Tommy, I have a girl who does the best color chart. You should send Katie over to her tomorrow so that she can upgrade whatever she has going on there.” He gestured over her body. “Big disaster.” He whispered theatrically.

“Alright, I’ll see if Suri is free to take you.” Dad said offhandedly to Katie, as he started striding around the center island.

“Suri…agent…ticket to freedom,” Katie whimpered.

“What did you just say?” My dad asked.

“Suri…agent…” Katie croaked again.

“Oh right, Suri is meeting with an agent tomorrow. Show me the money!” My dad brushed his bangs aside and got into his Jerry Maguire character. “I guess you’ll have to go alone.”

At that very moment, something bit my leg. I whipped around, thinking that it might be the rat who always steals my secret stash of anti-anxiety medication. But no, it was that little Bonpoint clad monster, wearing her mink coat and a tiara. “AAAAAA!” I screamed. “Get off!!!”

Suri stared up at me and smiled, my blood staining her teeth. Then she turned around, looked over her shoulder, and winked at me before riding off on her golden chariot.

“What was that, papi?” John Travolta said languidly, popping his black heads in the mirrored marble surface of the kitchen counter.

“Oh, that was just the beast. I mean Isabella.” Dad corrected himself. “Isabella, come down here!”

I shuffled out from behind the wall, covered in dust, blood streaming down my leg.

“Oh honey.” John Travolta looked at me. “No. No no no no no no NO! So Carrie 1987. Tommy, you have to send her to my girl.”

Dad looked at me, and then down at my newly blossoming breasts. He made a face like he had just eaten something bitter and averted his gaze.

“Isabella,” he said to me, daring me to disobey. “Are you free tomorrow to take Katie shopping?”

“I… I guess so Daddy,” I stammered, my face flushed with pleasure. Daddy never let me go shopping! Unless it was to buy gigantic t-shirts, in sizes he didn’t wear, to cover what he called “the figure I got from my real parents.”

“I’ll arrange for some Scientologists to accompany you,” he said.

“Orange juice?” Katie said hopefully, still on the ground, her face barely moving.

“I’ve had enough of you!” Daddy yelled. “Go to your cage!”

And so the plans were put in motion for my first shopping trip ever. To H&M. With my step-mother Katie.