Pomeranian Press Days: Juicy Couture Canine

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Click here to shop Juicy's full range of doggy goodness and don't forget to check out Mommy's post at the Clothes Whisperer (though everything you need to know you saw here first). 

Pomeranian over and out. 

wooooooooooofffffx 

Britain's Next Top Pomeranian: another day, another shoot

The life of a model is not an easy one. But if you're like me, and you were lucky enough to be born with "it"--a tail of coiled fluffy perfection, beady glowing eyes and the most delicate of paws, it's easy peasy. I can shoot in my sleep, being the supermodel dog who coined the technique of Smizing with her tail. Everywhere I go people book me for shoots, whether I'm just romping in the park, tossing my golden locks in the sunshine or curled up in my Louis, time and time again I book random jobs without even trying: I'm just THAT GOOD. A few weeks ago I did just one such shoot after being approached in the park. God the life of a top pom is exhausting

 

 

 

 

 

While Mommy Rages Against The Altar...This is all I have to say

Check out Mommy's post on the anti-wedding here to get the full story...

Butters Takes Glastonbury

You may have thought, whilst reading on Mommy's blog about her gallivanting off to see Stevie Wonder, Jay-Z and three full days at Lovebox that yours truly must have been sat at home, dejected and alone, tail curled up by the phone, waiting for Mommy to come home. Twas not so.

Just as Miss Selfridge kitted out Mommy with passes and clothes for Lovebox, they saved the best for their real favorite four-legged blogger. You see, Mommy is too much of a city girl to do the whole camping thing, but I revel in the chance to take a dump in a wide open field, no poopie bags necessary and run free, the way mother canine nature created me. Yes, as long as I have my pretty pretty pink VI-Pomeranian tent, ample chewtoys, a bit of Dog Perignon, I can sleep just about anywhere.

Miss Selfridge of course recognized this instantly and so hooked me up with a series of outfits and VIP passes to the only festival that really matters, Glastonbury, where I snuggled up with my old friend Kate (we traded notes on maintaining our luscious blonde locks) and had a sniff of Harry Potter pal Emma's new BF. He did not smell like a foxy dachshund, more like a poodle; I predict the romance will not last.

And so I share with you. Just remember this: when it comes to rockin all night long, four legs are better than two.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Pomeranian in the Press: Vitamin Water

Vitamin Water: "still looking for inspiration? check out butter's blog the number fashion industry dog! look out for her bag range at jaeger, oh yeah you heard us! this dogs got style."

Me: Cull all the inspiration you want, bitches of Vitamin Water, but know that the tail is a one-off bespoke creation even Philip Treacy could not hope to replicate.

click here to read the whole story!

BREAKING NEWS: Jaeger does the BUTTERS BAG!!!

Mutts and Pups, Bitches of London, hear ye, hear ye: this Pomeranian has a bit of very exciting breaking news to share (suck it, Women'sWearDoggy).

For the forthcoming Spring/Summer 2011 season, yours truly, le fashion dogitina extraordinaire, will be teaming up with the design team at Jaeger London to create my ULTIMATE ride: the Butters Bag. You see, the conundrum is thus. I am the fashion dog, yet there does not exist on this stylish earth a dog bag per se, that does not resemble a DOG BAG. That is, not shaped like it's built for a Westie, no ugly vents, no obvious LIVE ANIMAL INSIDE paraphernalia of any sort. Because, any of you who know me know that I AM NOT JUST A DOG.

So mommy and I refuse to acquiesce to such tack-tastic modes of transport and, as you know, I practically live in mommy's Neverfull. Comfortable though the LV may be, it is not without its kinks, given that the bag was in essence, not designed to maximize Pomeranian comfort, although it damn well should have been.

When the subject came up with Auntie Iona at Jaeger, she suggested the wonderful idea that I work alongside Jaeger's handbag design team to create the ultimate carrier of canine chic: the dog bag that looks nothing like a dog bag.

And as any good muse/designer, I went into the meeting with the design team fully prepared. That is to say, I brought with me a selection of my three favorite bags so as to demonstrate what works and what doesn't (strap length, depth of the bag, solid bottom, that sort of thing) so as to stir up the winning ingredients. The designers are marinating on my words of wisdom and working on the sketches and mock ups as we speak...more updates to come soon!

But to all those haters out there, I say this: there's a new "it" bag in the works, and I guarantee its bark will be every bit as chic as it's bite. WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOFFFFFFFFFFF!!!

xxButros 

DOGUE: Cover Pom

Available on a canine corner newsstand near you

graphics by Auntie Emily Johnston of Fashion Foie Gras

At Last...

Yesterday morning I went to the launch of the inaugural Cosmopolitan Magazine Blog awards. And while I'm sure I walked away with a nomination clinched for Dlog of the Year, there was just so much more that went down. This video says it all. Dhilly my love, this one goes out to you...

PS be sure to check out my love's daddy's blog, The Very Simon G! But consider yourselves forewarned: if you cyber stalk my Dhilly, me and my tail are coming after you! xx

Too hot to handle: a doggy hair crisis

Too hot to move!

Summer has finally arrived and I have a complaint to take up against the heat: I am one hot bitch. Being a pom originally hailing from POMERANIA (today part of eastern Germany and northern Poland), I have a double layered coat and was born and bred, believe it or not, to pull tiny designer sleds through the snow. I am a creature of Autumn/Winter, a lover of furs, shearlings and anything fuzzy. Gladiator sandals and floral summer frocks are simply not a good look for me--makes my tale look fat. So every year, when this weather rolls around, turning Londontown (the city also known as LAND-OF-NO-AIRCON) into a dog-sized sauna, I suffer. I pant, my tongue hanging out of my mouth which makes me look like a desperate single lass ready to devour the nearest pug or bulldog to saunter past. My paws are so hot and sweaty I can barely type this post, all I want to do is splay out on the bed and pray for a slight breeze to break the heavy stale air (pictured above).  What to do?? Last summer, when I went with Mommy to Sorrento for a beach holiday, she had me shaved in order to make my adventures more comfortable (keeping the tail, of course). And while at first I felt as though my prize fabulousness had been cruelly robbed from me, after I saw how the world swooned and crooned at my short crop, I owned up to it and rocked the look well into the fall when my locks started to grow back.

My short 'do

But the problem was thus: because of the delicate nature of a Pomeranian's double coat, you are never to take a razor to our fur. This groomer (Mutz Nutz) did just that. So while the cut looked and felt great for the summer months, it actually, like a bad perm or crappy extensions, did more damage to my coat in the long run. It took months of regular trips to the groomer to regain my former fluff, and it's still not all back yet.

There's also the matter of the short cut making me look like a pup again, which, having just rounded 21 in dog years, sends cootie-like shivers up my spine. I want to scream in Mommy's face, I'M NOT A PUPPY ANYMORE and get the grown up respect I feel I've earned over the long years of my adolescence. But the shortcut takes me straight back to a young girl of 14 weeks, I really don't want to have to start carrying my ID again to parties. Besides, you never know when this heat will break and London's atmosphere returned to its regularly gloomy state and I'll be left shorn, nearly naked, for all the world to see and freezing cold.  I suppose I could always go the route of doggy extensions in that case, but being a breed known for the fabulousness of my coat, I just never felt right checking out the canine weaves alongside those scraggly hairless chihuahuas. OH the trials and tribulations of a doginista's life!

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