Your memory, and more importantly mine, did not fail me -- my favorite Glammer and her daughter! Proving without a doubt that style is hereditary, carried on the Nordstrom gene. Nordstrom's loves them so very much. How much? Mom's silvery dress and super slick space age kicks and daughter's fantastic pink crystal clutch that was def used on a vintage episode of Star Trek to unlock a secret door in a gigantic space boulder -- that's how much. A Balmain shoulder pad's worth of love. They walk into Nordstrom's and assistants run to light their Cigarillos. Bottle service? You bet. A bevy of vassals follow them around with Cristal and Swarovski flutes.
Remember last year, the fille was wearing a mermaidy flutter of silk and was planning on getting a goshdarn job in the Big Apple? I'll be dadgummed if she isn't now gainfully employed at a small financial firm in NYC that bears no responsibility for the financial crisis whatsoever. Win-win! She came back to her natal shores just on the off-chance she'd run into me again. She's upholding the very high style bar she set last year, through a high-tech miracle, matching the bandages de bustier and pumps precisely with lemon lime Laffy Taffy. The whole super elastic bubble plastic with sheer pleated asymmetric enterprise is straight from some Meatpacking atelier. I don't remember the name of the boutique as it's been more than 7 minutes since we spoke. See you next year ladies (that's what I say to my peeps at Great Clips).