10 Things Wendy Williams Taught Me

I wish I could say Wendy Williams was my spirit animal, but she’s too fucking fabulous to even go there. I am not worthy. She’s a pearl; I’m costume jewelry. Other Wendy-related wishes/my bucket list: to be blessed enough to be on The Wendy Williams Show panel as a sassy “pop culture expert,” which would involve us together serving several cups of truth tea, which would mostly translate to shading Gwyn Paltrow (Wendy is not a fan, because she “takes herself too seriously” aka Gwynnie is basically just so vomit-inducing kinds of awful) and Kris “THAT WOMAN!” Jenner. Another wish: to have a tour of Wendy’s walk-in wig closet. This scenario visits my dreams often, which probably has something to do with my late night ritual of cuddling my cat/laptop whilst hardcore amounts of LOL-ing occur due to Wendy’s ‘Hot Topics’, which, FYI, is so much better than porn, late night Soul Cycle/Tracy Anderson sessions (Wendy would NEVER fuck with those messes), and other de-stressers. I enjoy Wendy’s “come close” moments on ‘Hot Topics,’ which is when the camera literally comes closer/zooms in on her beautifulness as she whispers some hot piping truth tea about [insert pop culture mess here].


here. I’m living for the Tori Spelling drama as of late.) Someone give me a budget and I’d be so down to produce an infomercial advertising the ways in which Wendy can lift all clouds of depression. She’s loud, she’s proud (especially of her Jersey roots), and, I’ll say it again, she’s fucking fabulous — I also would like to interview her stylists who’ve got a serious penchant for colorful, form-fitting dresses (I was really into Wendy’s recent Easter Sunday look), and whom she constantly shouts out and features on her after show. Oprah might’ve given away small countries to her audience, but Wendy calls her audience her co-hosts! (She’s so genuinely nice and real and etc!!!!!) Sure, she isn’t the most PC — she’s gotten shit from like every damn “community” there is, but that’s just another reason why I am obsessed with her. I mean, she doesn’t call it the “tell it like it is” show for nothing. There’s also the iconic and quite addicting intro song which blasts as Wendy makes her grand entrance (before sashaying SO CUTELY in her heels to her seat and using her note cards as a napkin when she’s not feeling the excessive lipstick).

Another highlight is when the self-professed “girl’s girl” demands her celeb guests to give the audience some “shoe cam” (a camera which zooms in on often times especially sparkly shoes) — my favorite always being Whoopi Goldberg’s quirky kicks, specifically the light-up ones. Perhaps the best bit is her crazy ass audience who perpetually queen out for Queen Wendy. I dare you to try not to smile as her audience/“co-hosts” greet Wendy back with her signature “how you doin?!” at the show’s start complete with the double wrist flips. I’m not sure why I haven’t been up in that audience yet, living my dream out loud. Sigh. Until then, I’d like to thank Wendy Williams for making me very happy in addition for teaching me a slew of imperative life lessons. Which brings me to today’s Hot Topics! I mean, the Fan Out: What I’ve Learned from Wendy edition.


There was a time when I attended some fancy event where I would meet Kelly Rowland (she’s lovely) and be too afraid to approach Jennifer Lopez. On that immaculate evening, I also met Wendy fucking Williams. But this was long before ‘Hot Topics’ would change my existence, so, no, I did not faint. I interviewed her briefly about her beauty tips, in which she revealed THIS:

“Chapstick and Aquaphor. But you know, I don’t wear a lot of makeup in my own life anymore, because I get so done up for the show. So now I have an appreciation for sunglasses and Chapstick… and a wig, of course!”

(She also told me that I have a beautiful smile.) P.S. She wore THIS.


Wendy’s always discussing what she made her beloved hubby and son for dinner on the after show, often using magazine tear-outs of recipes — she’s just like us y’all. But what really fascinates me is her affinity for a can of sardines. In this fantastic clip, you’ll find Wendy in her (fabulously decorated) office as she squeezes out the sardine juice into a plastic cup, spills aforementioned juice on seat (*huff* “there’s nothing worse than sardine juice on your couch”), spices up the sardines with a bottle of Red Hot sauce (which, sorry, Sriracha, is my favorite condiment,) pepper and something else but my eyes hurt as I paused the video and tried to zoom in. Oh well. She graciously reveals to her audience that sardines are a “safe fish” with “like no mercury at all” and “loaded in omega three and fatty acids.” Wendy recommends not paying attention to their “cute little sardine faces” and then makes her best cute little sardine face.


This will be the best ten minutes of your life. My personal highlight is part two at 4:00 in which a standing ovation for Wendy obviously ensues.




I’ve hated Barbara Walters ever since she tried to come for the princess of pop aka Britney. Well, really, Barbs sat down with Justin Timberlake in an interview in which he’d essentially destroy and defame Britney right after their breakup for some promo for his shitty album, and, DARE I SAY IT, NOW VERY DATED “CRY ME A RIVER” SONG/VIDEO. Anyway, Barbara scares me. But she does NOT scare Wendy as seen in this clip. Barbara’s consistent shade had me grinding my teeth in fury, and Wendy does NOT play that. You’re my hero, Wendy.


Try it:


I counted four “allegedly”s in under a minute and a half.



Getting “turnt up” is so last season. It’s all about “dipping it ‘n’ doing it.”

Before she reads ridiculous celeb quotes from her note cards: “I’ll read. And then I’ll READ.”

When she’s all like “I feel bad even reporting this news,” but…. “It’s my duty.”

When she educates us: “I’m gonna break it down for you.”

Also, “clapation” is my ultimate Wendy-ism.



A must watch on all accounts. “I’m gonna break it down.”


That Time Courtney Love Tried To ‘Turn’ Me <3

“Hey! You know my name! I’ll bring the truth! I’ll never change!” aptly growls out the realest of them all, queen Courtney Love Cobain, on her newly released all kinds of immaculate screamo banger aka “You Know My Name” from her forthcoming album (!!!!). I loathe “journalists” who throw out the whole “comeback” thing, but this fucking jam comes across as Love announcing to the world something along the badass lines of “listen (skinny little) bitches, I’ve allowed you to have your little tumblr moment but I’m fucking back so take several seats.” I live for a mind-losing Love, and this song brings me back to her unraveling roots complete with those punk-y poetic lyrics. In other words, my soul has been reborn.

The don’t-you-fucking-dare-call-it-a-comeback song:

Spoiler alert: I’m going to brag a lot right now and you’re going to love it. So, about a year ago circa Coachella, I met Courtney Love at her (gorgeous and very clean) West Village townhouse. I was told that I was given ten minutes to interview her. I waited for about five minutes in her stunning living room where I’d bond with her very friendly puppy and housekeeper — if memory serves me right, Love was finishing up an episode of “30 Rock.” She’s just like us, y’all. Fast forward to an hour later, and I had chilled with Love in one of her many rooms where she’d dish on EVERYTHING (from championing a then undiscovered Rick Owens in LA during her styling days and considering taking a judge gig on one of the massive singing competition shows. “Not the one with Mariah.”) whilst a chain-smoking Love lounged on her plush sofa. (Fun fact: she told me she’d recently went from three packs to one pack a day. You go, girl.) A few weeks later, I’d be staying at a house in Palms Springs with Love and her team during Coachella. No big deal. I’ll admit that I missed the Hole boat during my formative years — Ginger Spice was my kind of punk, but over the years I’ve become obsessed with all things Hole. There’s nothing quite like attempting to hit those shriek notes on “Violet” in the shower, and I 100% recommend it because it’s fucking thrilling. Plus, you’ll save money on letting out your aggression via boxing classes/therapy sessions. It feels good to feel things, and I can confirm that behind her I’ll-slaughter-you-with-my-words exterior, Love is a LOVELY (yeah, I went there) emotional being. She is a Cancer, after all. Anyway, that (too) brief of a period in time where I pretended like I was BFF with Love forever holds a special place in my heart.

Oh, and another very important detail. Love played me a few new songs at her townhouse on that wonderful fucking day, all of which were amazing and on a ‘Live Through This’ 2.0 level, one of which was “Wedding Day,” which will be released on May 4th as the double A-Side along with “You Know My Name.” I believe I remember the word “snake” in addition to those insanely rafter-reaching, glass-shattering pipes, and I’ll prob play this on repeat before crashing the love of my life’s wedding. In other words, start preparing — y’all are not ready for the greatness that Love is about to graciously (and finally!!!) offer to the world. This includes a Hole reunion, a memoir and new fucking music (and maybe a Nirvana musical?) that I just know will blow minds/change lives. The resurrection of real rock ‘n’ roll is upon us. Thanks, love.

You KNOW what time it is. It’s time to fan the fuck out with my ultimate I love Love moments.

Starting with… this cover of “He Hit Me (And It Felt Like a Kiss)” from her MTV: Unplugged gig, which, wtf, was never released as a CD. Seriously. WTF.

Behind the scenes at the infamous Marilyn Manson x Courtney Love tour. This is required viewing. And fuck you, Manson. #TeamLove

Here’s a stalk-y video of Courtney Love being glam on the red carpet at the 1997 Academy Awards. It’s fascinating, and, no, I’m not being sarcastic.

Self promo alert: I think this interview I did with Love for NYMag a few fashion weeks ago was pretty amazing.

Select quotes include…

Her thoughts on Katy Perry: I’m not trying to be a bitch —

She’s a nice girl. But she just bores me.

And her thoughts re: the Gwennie Paltrow vs. Vanity Fair:

Gwyneth is one of my best friends. If Gwyneth says don’t do it, then fuck you, Vanity Fair! I’m going to stick up for her and be very articulate and you’re going to publish every word I say! If she had something she wanted to sell, or a movie or something like that, then she’d go to her publicist and say, “Let’s do Vanity Fair.” For Vanity Fair to do a write-around about Gwyneth is uncool and déclassé and boring and terrible of them. And it just shows you where Vanity Fair has fallen. They have Taylor fucking Swift on the cover getting a puppy.

More Gwen plus adderall thoughts:

She’s a great mentor. Gwyneth has never, ever given up on me — even when I was on Adderall and stuff, and I love her for that. [It’s a] terrible drug! And not only that, but everyone’s on it.

Oh fuck it. Just read the whole thing.

Here’s Hole being iconic performing my personal anthem, “Violet,” at the ‘95 MTV Awards. Too bad there’s no reaction shots from Madonna et al.

Speaking of Madonna, there’s obviously this mesmerizing mess, which if you haven’t seen at least a million times, I want nothing to do with you/are you even real?

Then there’s obviously Courtney’s infamous interviews with Barbara Walters, Letterman, etc. but I much prefer when she visited Rosie. And Rosie kept kind of shading her? And Love kind of shaded Rosie’s then BFF aka Madonna? It’s really fucking entertaining and I love it so much and etc etc.

Here’s Love talking fashion fuckery with Rebecca Romijn via MTV’s House of Style…!!! (Watch it here.)

Okay. DON’T even get me started on this amazingness.

RIP The Face. But also, let’s take note of the LOL headlines next to Courtney.
april 2002

Oh YAS. That’s Courtney Love and Winona (forever) before Love sort of blamed Wino for her benzo addiction to The Fix. That’s a must read, btw.

I continue to live for Love’s signature leg on amp pose.

Also, this.

Then, there was that time in Palm Springs where Courtney fucking Love grabbed my crotch to, in her words, see if she could “turn me straight.” Didn’t exactly turn straight, did almost faint.


Top 5 Super Sassy Sartorially-Slaying Femme Fatales

Today’s meltdown alert: The X-Men: Days of Future Past trailer looks all kinds of transcendently incredible. Mostly because of Ororo Munroe, better known as Storm (miscast by Halle Berry if I do say so myself, damnit) rocking the pixie cut. It’s not as immaculate as the cartoon Storm’s mohawk circa the ‘70s, but it’ll do. Also, everyone’s dream BFF Jennifer Lawrence is in the movie. So there’s that. In related news, I think I’ll name my next cat Ororo. Anyway, I’ve had a major affinity for the super sass sartorial-slaying femme fatale since I was like seven. Which brings me to needing to take a walk/strut down Girl Power lane.

The new trailer:

Sorry Sarah Michelle. It’s all about 1992’s Buffy The Vampire Slayer. Shout out to the casting director for being amazing. Kristy Swanson plays Buffy, who transforms from vapid cheerleader boasting the best one-liners ever to a backflipping vampire slayer, all the while clad in a cheerleader uniform, a puffy prom dress, and/or lots of high-waisted denim/oversized flannels. Also, there’s my dream man Luke Perry, David Arquette, Hilary Swank (as a pre-Oscar trophy valley girl!), and the dude that plays Pee-wee Herman. The fashion is so good, right up there with the looks in another ‘90s gem, Don’t Tell Mom the Babysitter’s Dead.

I can’t even deal with this behind-the-scenes video.


Xena: Warrior Princess changed my tween life. I totally mastered her iconic war cry/squeal, the “yee-yee-yee!!!” high-pitched thing. And I used a frisbee as an attempt to copy her weapon which I’d like to point out is very creative for a kid. Also, let’s discuss Xena’s outfit. YAS! There’s just something about a breastplate and metal mini-skirt that I really appreciate. Someone, PLEASE cast Lucy Lawless in something ASAP.

The Xena iconic battle cry:


While y’all were predictably obsessed with Pam Anderson, I was crushing on/wanting to be WWF Diva Sable. The badass bombshell’s catwoman-rivaling catsuits and the occasional high braided ponytail was everything. I loved her so much. When hearing her intro music, which involves the cracking of a whip and a lion growl, I’d lose my gay mind. And don’t get me started on those “evening gown matches” in which the winner must rip off opponents gown. Then there’s the iconic bikini tournament, which Sable won but later was unjustly disqualified. Because apparently the WWF doesn’t consider pasties a bikini top. You’re forever my winner, Sable.


My ultimate superhero diva forever will be Storm, specifically the Fox Kid’s version. I’m still upset that my Storm action figure lost her arm in a battle with Skipper. I’m also forever haunted by the moments when Storm would freak out because of claustrophobia and soaring too high in the sky.

My everything. The original yellow ranger. Totally my first crush. RIP to the actress behind the yellow suit, Thuy Trang, who was killed in a car accident (at 27!) in 2001. <3
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How To Cry In The Rain? This Playlist.

Nothing lasts forever. Yesterday mother nature was looking full-on gorge in NYC as noted by annoying Instagrams (At the pier! The park! The Highline! #IcedCoffeeWeather! Shut up!). Yesterday was also very important because of — NOT the moon deciding to bleed or whatever — but the music universe being blessed with new Lana Del Rey and Robyn tracks. *Faints* Anyway, I’m obsessed with rainy days as long as the wind isn’t fucking around and attacking my eyeballs/umbrella. It’s behaving today, which means I got to throw on my (p)leather hooded jacket. But most of all, I’m obsessed with chain-smoking-friendly rainy day music. What can I say? I’m a closeted emo. So, go on and embrace your emo with my teardrops-friendly playlist. THE INDIE DIVA EDITION. Dance in the rain! Disguise your tears as rain drops!

Wanna scream at the clouds today? You need a belting rock diva. Which brings me to the seriously underrated artist known as Lissie who possesses my favorite kind of goosebump-inducing pipes. She makes your soul come out of hibernation, your goosebumps dance, your heart palpitate, etc etc. In other words, listen to Lissie’s killer cover of “Mother” by Danzig. This one’s a MUST. (Also, buy her album ‘Back To Forever,’ especially if you heart Stevie Nicks because she’s basically her daughter or something.)

Another criminally underrated artist is EMA, whose brand new album ‘The Future’s Void’ will crush/invigorate your soul and I predict will 100% be top 10 on ‘Best of 2014’ lists. (Pitchfork lives for her.) She’s the real deal in a sea of It Girls who throw on a flannel and sometimes pick up a microphone for fun. Thank you for making me feel thangs and giving zero fucks, EMA.

Chairlift should be the biggest thing on the indie pop planet. Frontwoman Caroline Polacheck is perfection, her angelic and also haunting pipes are untouchable/unfuckwithable. Especially on her my-life-is-over ballad, “Cool as a Fire,” and especially when it’s flawlessly sung live/directed by Blackbook’s very own, Jacob Brown.

Apologies in advance but I can’t get enough of my favorite depressed diva, Lana Del Rey. Today I’m attempting to take a break from playing her new immaculate jam “West Coast” on repeat, so I switched it up with her recently leaked track, “Black Beauty.” The song overwhelms me too much to try to describe it. You the fuckin’ best, LDR.

No caption necessary here. Have a totally not depressed day y’all! <3

Lana Del Rey, My Jessica Rabbit 2.0

A big fucking deal happened to me yesterday morning: I woke up two hours BEFORE my alarm went off. I typically set 5-8 alarms and manage to sleep through all of them, so, yeah, like I said, a big fucking deal happened. In other words, thank you so much, Lana Del Rey. As you should know, the perpetually terribly sad siren’s insanely buzzed-about jam,“West Coast,” hit the web in the early hours, and nothing was the same, specifically my mind, which is now forever lost. I woke inexplicably at the foot of my bed and let out a yawn followed by a gay squeal before crawling to my window and onto the fire escape (did you like my pajamas aka floral swim trunks, construction workers?) to listen to the song whilst, of course, lighting a cigarette — because it’s what LDR would’ve wanted. On that note, don’t even get me started on those iconic promo billboards for her forthcoming LP, ‘Ultra Violence,’ featuring a flaw-free LDR dramatically biting on a cig. AKA you can find me taking a selfie later tonight in front of the billboard that y’all can apparently find off of the Morgan stop L train — perhaps at dusk complete with a cig pout whilst wrapping myself in a tattered American flag, because that’s what LDR would want too, right? I can’t wait.

Anyway. The song is all kinds of immaculate. I could talk for hours about her pipe’s major versatility. Like, how there’s moments where she’s all Jessica Rabbit 2.0 and then suddenly it’s like she sprinkled Xanax crumbs all up on her Coney Island icecream cone and decided to record a song. I’m so fucking obsessed. I’m probably on listen # 54 or so at the moment, and it’d be way more but I think it’s rude to not remove your earbuds when ordering coffee. The impressive thing is a new FEELING emerges with each listen! I don’t know what to do with myself! I’m so confused! My therapist is all about documenting these things called “feelings” but I lost my journal and I don’t like using iPhone “notes” because it’s not aesthetically pleasing. So, here you go therapist: my feelings (so far) via LDR GIFs.

The sassy drum intro got me feeling like

Verse #1, basically

“You got the music in you, don’t you?” (Yep. Ask Lindsay.)

And I’m suddenly so sad. (CHORUS.)

But then euphoric verse #2 got me like

In addition to

But then suddenly it’s becoming too much.

Have I lost my way?

It’s just that…

I’m unraveling.

I’m drowning in sad emojis.

I’m a fucking MESS.

I dare you to interrupt me. *Presses play again*

Brit Brit To The Rescue: Let The Spear-it Guide Your Coachella Fashion

Wouldn’t Coachella “fashion” be HELLA cuter if all y’all pretty young thangs took style inspiration from Godney aka Britney Spears circa 2000-2002? (No disrespect to Brit Brit’s current duds, but I don’t believe sheer turtlenecks and Uggs mix well with Palm Springs’ climate.)

The answer to the aforementioned is:

So, you wanna wear the Coachella cliché of head-to-toe neon and daisy dukes and crop tops and Ray-Bans and hippie flower headpieces and other vomit-inducing shit and etc. Fine. But then you better work (it), bitch. And I strongly suggest allowing the princess of pop to guide you. Feel the holy Spear-it!

Here’s Britney on the beach-y set of her iconic music video, “Sometimes,” in a simple and chic and (not that?) innocent number complete with beach-blown locks and a lovelorn pout.

Insanely low-rise pants, French tips, bleached-the-fuck-out crimped hair, that face/that stomach. Everything works here.

This just makes me perma-smile.

This too.

She loves rock ‘n’ roll.

And punk.

Eat your hearts out, club kids. (PS. Notice Scandal’s Columbus Short gyrating behind Godney. They allegedly had a fling that resulted in Short’s divorce to whomever he was married to back in the day. SCANDALOUS, indeed.)

I dare you.

This one’s perfection for Coachella’s poolside after-parties. Don’t forget the bikini. Or do.

GIMME MORE of this floral cowgirl realness. Please.


Miley wishes!

Surf’s up.

Coachella in one photo, basically.

Would you hold it against me if I revealed this as being my favorite “obscure” Godney look of all time?

Fuck it. Give them something to remember.

Just, please, not this.

Friendship Never Ends for One Writer’s Codependent Spice Girls Obsession

I’ll never forget and have yet to fully recover from my first breakup. Sure, it’s been nearly two decades. And I was a (not-fully-realized gay) tween. But you’d be perma-traumatized too if your spirit animal/other half/soul sis/etc. called it quits. It was May of 1998 and I had once again snuck downstairs onto my father’s computer to get my daily dose of inappropriate chat rooms and jamming the printer from my Xena: Warrior Princess print-a-thons. I was computer banned after my family blamed me for the Gateway 2000’s slew of Trojan Horses. But my other half always taught me to make my own rules, to believe in Girl Power! Pro platforms and anti-panties! To pinch Prince Charles’ bum! During my tween years, hearing AOL’s “You’ve Got Mail!” (actually, I learned how to customize it to be my own .WAV file, which meant mine was the opening platform-stomping/giggle bit of the Spice Girls’ iconic smash, “Wannabe”,) usually provided euphoria, but on this dark day, I squealed as if my hamster died. The AOL inbox subject line read: “Ginger Spice calls it quits!”

Yeah, the bitch broke up with me via email.

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I hid my Union Jack dress-clad Ginger Spice doll (still in its case!) behind Sean John hoodies in the corner of my closet. I discontinued my very own “e-newsletter” aka ‘The Spice Gazette’ complete with a typo-ridden (I WAS 12!) dramatic exit letter. And I went back to that grating “You’ve Got Mail!” sound default. In other words, this was my life:

But, as Scary Spice croons on the Spice Girls’ RIP Ginger tribute (“Goodbye”), “Look for the rainbow in every storm!” YAS BITCHES: ‘Twas a Spice World once again in 2007 with the gals’ worldwide reunion tour. All was right in the world. Especially the tour costumes designed by Roberto fucking Cavalli, apparently secured by the now fashion world heavyweight Victoria “Posh Spice” Beckham.

But then, heartbreak #2 happened. It started at the 2012 Olympics with the Spice Girls “surprise” performance, which resulted in a viral GIF of Scary, Baby, Ginger, Sporty bouncing around like school girls at recess whilst a resting-bitch-face Posh Spice strutted to the side away from them. Friendship never ends, Vicky?

Then there was the premiere of the short-lived Spice Girls musical, Viva Forever, in which Vicky passed on a group photo with her bandmates on the red carpet and opted to arrive late with her hubby and kids for a non-smiling family portrait. Mrs. Beckham officially put a high heel in my heart in January when confirming she’d NEVER reunite with the Spice Girls again via her Vanity Fair Italy cover story. I’m not so sure about this “first cut is the deepest” shit. Once again, I am bloody gutted.

C’mon Vic: give us what we want, what we really, really want. (And not those expensive fucking dresses, dammit.) Posh might want to forget about the BEST YEARS OF HER EXISTENCE, but I’m here to remind her why she’ll always be a Spice Girl. My heart is very forgiving. Come back to us. Please.

Okay. Here’s the best #TBT you’ll ever witness: The Spice Girls circa ‘94/95 (??) pre-fame and performing at a showcase. Posh’s vocals (and that Adidas t-shirt) slay!!!

Posh hasn’t smiled since Spice World. I wonder why???

Here’s the ONLY time Victoria was on the cover of American Vogue. #FunFact

She’s not that innocent. (POSH SPICE SOLO CAREER!!!!)

Um. Do we remember Posh for Rocawear?!

Also, remembs when Posh was FUNNY?

I’d like to thank Victoria for teaching me how to talk/sing/seduce with my hands.