October 18, 2007 | Teeny Manolo

Archive for October 18th, 2007

Baby Baldie? Try a BabyToupee

Thursday, October 18th, 2007
By raincoaster

Do NOT tell Mizz Britney! She’ll be ordering the entire range.

Yes, folks, bring the Ragnarok, we can just shutter this world now; it’s over. There is an actual company which retails celebrity-tribute wigs for babies. Maybe they’ll be adding a little Katie-Lee Webster/Elvis Weasley version soon.

Admittedly, at this time of year it’s acceptable as almost practical. I mean, jam the awesomeness which is the Bob Marley on little JoJo’s head and hey, presto, instant Halloween costume.

The Bob Marley Baby Toupee

No baby, no cry

For a more feminine, if more felonious look, there’s the Lil Kim.

The Lil Kim

For your little miss thang. Sassy pink locks for the diva in diapers

Then there’s the Donald Trump, although why in the name of all that is holy you’d want your precious treasure to resemble that cotton-candy monstrosity of a comb-over I cannot imagine.

The Donald

You’re hired! Meet the new CEO of the playgroup

But nobody messes with the Samuel L.

The Samuel L.

You know what they call a wig for a baby in Paris?
They call it a Le Baby Toupee

Should you be overcome with the irresistible urge to purchase after seeing these fine designs (lined with soft fleece! For maximum baby sweat!), know that there’s a gallery of happy, apparently well-adjusted babies wearing their wigs proudly. From the evidence, it would seem that The Donald clearly runs the place. Voting enabled, y’all!

I Wanna Be A Material Girl, Too

Thursday, October 18th, 2007
By Glinda

The Spa Girls

Pictured above are Madonna and her daughter, leaving a restaurant.  They were celebrating Lourdes’ birthday, and had already pampered themselves during a rumored six hour session at One the Spa located within the ultra-pricey Shutters on the Beach Hotel in Santa Monica, CA. 

I think the biggest thing my parents ever did for my birthday was throw me a skate party.  You know, rollerskating.  To answer your question, yes, I am old.  Back in the day, skating parties were a fairly big deal. You got to invite 10 of your closest friends to skate with you and share a lunch of cold hot dogs, warm coke, and stale popcorn.  And I’ll never forget that I invited one boy.  Why? Because it was my birthday and I wanted that one boy to skate with me. I pictured us, skating hand in hand while “Against All Odds” crackled through the speakers, and the disco ball bathed us in its glow. But no, he had to go and have a crush on one of the other girls I had stupidly invited, so I spent the entire party fuming and plotting my revenge, including but not limited to possibly bashing said girl over the head with my skates.

Why, why could my mother not have been a world-famous singer/questionable actress/entertainer?  I mean, screw the rollerskating, I’d have taken a “revitalizing treatment of Swedish Massage and Seaweed Scrub & Buff treatment, concluding in a Tropical Rain Rinse” over Gary Ferguson any day.

Disclaimer: Manolo the Shoeblogger is not Manolo Blahnik
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