From Frumpy to Fabulous

What a marvelous transformation! Guinevere Ecclescake was suffering from a severe case of the dulls, dressing as though it was the 1800′s and scaring small children with her goblinesque features. Tell us what you did, Filamena…

 Well Polonius,  the key here was hiding the bad parts and accentuating the good. Let’s just say this makeover was mostly about concealment. A floppy hat to cover that strangely half-bald pate and rein in those ears, not to mention casting a shadow on that complexion. And giant sunglasses to mask as much of the face as possible. I had already selected the suit before I realized what a hairy chest Miss Ecclescake had, so the scarf was a last minute addition, but I think it looks simply marvolous!

Guinevere Ecclescake: Charity Makeover

Oh my eye, eye, eyes!

We at the Institute believe in the importance of charitable acts, which is why we are constantly inviting aspiring members to send in their pictures for our critique. And then, even though it stings our eyes and infuriates our good taste, we the board go through the lot and select the saddest sack of the week. And here she is Ladies and Gentlemen, Mrs. Guinevere Ecclescake of Antananarivo, Madagascar.

Now we all know that Aye Ayes are notorious for their poor sense of style, but this is more of an Aye Aye Aye! Those patterns are like oil and water, the dress adds at least 20 pounds (that’s double your weight Guinevere) and that dress colour does dastardly things to your skin tone.

Never fear, Guinevere, we’ve set course for Madagascar and should be there in time for dinner tomorrow!

Kooky Winters: Resident Elvis Impersonator

A Big Hunk O' Love

Appearing at the Institute Nightery tonight, and every night starting with M, T, W or S, Ladies and Gentlemen, Mr. Kooky Winters!!!!

I happened across Mr. Winters 10 years ago at my favorite gin joint in Pahrump Nevada. On a side note, may I take a moment to highly recommend Pahrump as your next vacation destination. “The Heart of the New Old West” is not only the former home of Michael Jackson but the current home of historic Chicken Ranch, a brothel surpassed only by those in the Mound House region. Not that I would know anything about that!

Luckily Kooky was down on his luck, and for the price of a Whisky Sour and a pack of Kools I was able to secure him on an exclusive 20 year contract with the Institute.

I do hope he plays Queenie Wahine’s Papaya tonight, his rendition is impeccable.

Filamena Finklestein

Greyhound is the new Black

Ladies and Gentlemen, I am pleased as punch to introduce you to Filamena Finklestein, Institute stylist.

Let me tell you, Filamena is one super stylish bitch. She is not simply a stylist to the stars but a stylist to the stylists to the stars. Rachel Zoe was once her prized apprentice. That is til Zoe tried to use Filamena to accessorize an over sized Vuitton and Filamena pretended to mistake Rachel’s face for her favorite chew toy.

Lady Petunia Petalsworth

Mahvalous frock darling

I am often asked how the Institute can afford such a lavish headquarters, replete with motorized island, and manage to keep its board members so flawlessly styled -- without producing a single saleable product or service. Well, I do have plans for a line of couture destined to make Lagerfeld swallow his fan, but until then allow me to introduce you to Lady Petunia Petalsworth: Benefactor of the Board!

Lady Petunia is the heir of the famed Petalsworth LSD fortune, and her hallucinogenic instincts surely have a great influence on her fashion. Here, LPP is modelling a Bjorn Flugelhorn original. Tres Magnifique!

Diablo Jones

Now that's Smooth Flavour!

Diablo Jones is so cool that one must don cashmere knitwear just to get close to him. One part gigolo, one part lounge singer, one part prosimian, Diablo is one whole package o’ class.

Diablo is currently in charge of the curriculum for the Institute’s School of Elan and Pizazz (I have an honorary doctorate from this esteemed establishment.)

Andelora Dulliswinkle

Never call her stocky...

Reader, these are not pock marks you see on my proboscis, they are the scars I bear for a loose tongue.

You see, I had already had several sips of sherry at Ginny’s Little Longhorn Saloon in Austin Texas when Andelora sauntered up to the bar. It was not a pretty sight. She was wearing a trucker/hipster fiasco on her head with a rude picture of a cat and a mouse. And no pants. I happened to mention to her that she bore a striking resemblance to legendary linebacker Dick Butkus. Sometimes the truth is much more painful than fiction.

How on earth could such a brute be on the board, you ask? Think of it as muzzle money.