Two black and white lovelies from Paganne.

As you know, goslings, I have a cherished Paganne dress with a psychedelic Egyptian print in marvelously unbreathable polyester that I trot out on the coldest winter days. I'm sure these dresses have the excellent construction one can always expect from a Paganne.

I love the energy of both prints. I love how the lion's mane is subject to static cling, though I must admit that the animal's face reminds me of Anne Klein's logo from the 80's. This is a dress from a tall tomato.

The leopards in the bamboo is also a maxi dress with a lot of length. I just love how the bamboo appears to encircle the waist, and the anarchic quality of the bamboo plants themselves, running riot and roughshod over this print.

Black and white is always crisp and elegant. But too simple for me.

There is a marvelous black and white Shaheen skirt that alas I cannot show you in sufficient detail, since the image is copyright protected, but have a look here. I've managed to post the small photo of the lady who reclines in a psychedelic garden in a glorious dress made of delirious flowers whose swirls mirror the undulation of the vegetation around her. And how I love that massive pile of hair. If only the shameless wearing of hairpieces would come back into style.

At least false eyelashes are back.

Now I don't go in for what the industry calls Beauty. That is: potions, ointments and hair gel. I know, I know. This makes me a rebel. Absolute strangers stop me on the street to demand that I get some kinda product to control my Jew'fro. Demand. I resist. I am skeptical that something in a bottle can really change much about me, unless it's scotch. I think all that stuff is snake oil. That none of it does even half of what it promises. That there ain't no substitute for good genetics, which is precisely what I ain't got. I am content to schlep around with frizzy hair and an uneven skintone. Especially since my efforts to fix these problems have yielded clumpy, stiff hair and a complexion resembling stucco.

Besides, who wants to get addicted to a product? What if I am kidnapped by the Sri Lankan Tamil Tigers and upon my release have to face the international press with nothing my chapstick on my lips and some coconut oil in my hair?

Perusing the New York Times' Style Section I suddenly found myself in the world of beauty bloggers. Most notably, Tia Williams of Shake Your Beauty. Ms. Williams is a devotee of old movies with fast talking dames and even name-checks my main inspirations in life The Women, Mommie Dearest and What's Up, Doc?. I was especially fascinated by Ms. Williams take on hair issues, which lead me to read about hair products involving figs that might possibly banish bad hair days forever. I got all dewey-eyed and even clicked on the link and everything.

But then the skeptic came out. Won't this just be like all the other times? Won't I be disappointed yet again? And $28 is not exactly cheap. But then, isn't this how I feel about everything?

I mean, love only lasts about 6 months, sometimes a year if you are lucky. Children are just little parasites, and then you've gotta put them through college. Success and failure are merely two sides of the same coin. And no matter what you achieve you're gonna die in a way you find painful and inconvenient. And I told everyone that the housing bubble was going to burst over a year ago, but no one listened.

Is it depression? Or am I just too realistic?