CFDA: Canine Fashion Design Academy

So as you all know, it's that time of year again where students send collection after collection traipsing down runways in a blaze of graduate fashion glory. As I sat front row at Istituto Marangoni, perched atop Uncle Bert's lap, I found that the designs prowling the catwalks were as usual, not to my poofy couture standards (that is, completely biased towards humans) and I soon sought out Uncle Bert's roast beef to snack on and tuned out the rest of the show. There weren't even any bags that piqued my interest to test drive.  I am just sick of watching these girls prancing about on two legs, modeling looks that no doginista in her right mind would ever sport--it's just plain species-ist.

Humans complain endlessly about models being too thin, too young, whining on and on--but aside from Mulberry's shows, how many pups do you see strutting their stuff down the runway? The pet industry is a £40bn plus and STILL growing. We have our own fashion week in NYC, and our section in Harrods is far superior to yours.

What we don't have, however, is a doggy design school, a place where doginistas and slightly confused humans can learn the tools of the four-legged fashion trade.  What these young pups need to keep brands like Puppia and Pet London fresh and innovative season after season (to those who say a harness is just a harness, I say, Levi's/Balmains, no difference--denim is denim!), is a canine-guided institution: a school where dogs are trained in fashion and train fashion human students as well. Thus I have decided to found the CFDA: Canine Fashion Design Academy. As I already have my Phd in Cuteness, I have taken the liberty of appointing myself headbitch and am currently in the process of scouting locations for our main campus (I'm thinking Hyde Park Corner) and putting together a teaching staff of London's most keen and cutting edge sartorial canine minds. The curriculum is to include classes such as:

Bone embellishment 101

The History of the Collar and Lead

Introduction to Canine Knitwear

Casting Collar for Beginngers

Technical Collar Design 101

Intermediate Seminar in Luxury Leashes

Beginning Shoe-Chewing: The Boot

Intermediate Shoe-Chewing: The Sandal

Advanced Shoe-Chewing: The Stiletto 

Advanced Seminar in Mutt-tastic Millinery 

Principles of Doggy Fashion Styling 102

Advanced Faux Fur for the Real Animal

Enrollment for the 2010/2011 academic year will commence in July. Applicants must submit a portfolio with no less than two examples of Shoe-chewing and concept sketches for a complete look--from collar to lead to pawcovers. Only successful applicants will be contacted.

Dear Dachshund, where are you? Love, Butters

where are you?

As I've rounded that golden age of 21, there has been a lot of speculation as to just who, exactly is my boyfriend. Is it the renegade Pip from the wrong side of the North London tracks? Is it the burly Jimmy with whom I have had weekly Starbucks rendezvous for as long as I've resided in this Hill they call Not? The countless greyhounds, huskies and other brawny creatures I've been spotted sniffing on various street corners (let's face it, girls, size TOTALLY counts)? The correct answer is: none of the above. I am a ferociously single bitch, and proud of it. I am a tease, a flirt extraordinaire. Like Carrie the Pomeranian.

However, two things happened this weekend which have struck me to my "no-plus-one-thank-you" core. 1) SATC2. Mommy has yet to see it, but I nipped out of the house Saturday afternoon for a matinee and found myself emerging from the theater, as I did after the first, feeling less than stellar about my single-gal status. There's got to me a Mr. Big dog out there somewhere for me...and 2) I think I may found him. Well, glimpsed, to be more accurate. When mommy and the bloginistas got together for brunch at 202 on Sunday, as we were waiting to be seated, I saw him. You know how there are moments you just know, a click of canine hearts, two tails wagging in one. He was a lean, mean, toy dog love machine. A chocolate hunk of a sausage dog, his short little legs pounding the wooden floor after me as mommy dragged me to my table. Our eyes met. We sniffed. I pounced. Sigh. Oh my tubular love, I didn't even get a chance to ask your name...

Dear dachshund, if you're reading this, I'll be waiting for you, stick in mouth, at the Duck Pound in Hyde Park tomorrow afternoon. Please don't leave me to chew it alone. 

Love always,
Your Butters xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx