Say What Alber: Remember when Alber told The New Yorker he’d never do a diffusion line? And then when he did do a diffusion line? Someone did and someone asked and he just couldn’t handle it. {ElleUK}

On McQueen: Try to break up your Sarah Mower with other important critics. Like Hilary Alexander’s Alexander McQueen review; it’s twice as long and has a video of the show (since Lady Gaga killed the initial live stream for most of us). {The Telegraph}

The Fat Lady Is Not Singing Yet: It’s still unclear how many more names will be added to the 180 that already lost their jobs this week at Condé Nast. How un-fun are those flights back from Paris going to be? {NY Observer}

They All Fall Down: We’re rather partial to the “Drop It Like You’re Hot” but what’s your favorite Falling Model dance? What would have happened to me if I ever tried to put on those McQueen shoes defies all known categories. {The Frisky}

“But the conspicuousness of the pattern also means that the company has little control over how it is seen, or on whom.”—Lauren Collins in her New Yorker profile on Christopher Bailey, in reference to Sarah Palin and her Burberry scarves.

Upstream Upheaval: An intellectualization of the trials and tribulations of shopping for swimsuits and why, unless you’re Gisele or Gwyneth, the experience blows. {NewYorker}

Shopping Buzz: Singtex Industrial Company, based in Taiwan, is turning leftover coffee grounds into eco-friendly “soft, light, flexible and breathable” clothes that can be UV resistant and water-repellant. {Guardian}

Ghosts of Beales Past: A new family is moving into Grey Gardens. We hope this means Celerie Kemble is going to start wearing towels as head wraps and upside down skirts. We won’t mind if they take a pass on the hot plates and raccoon roomies. {WWD}

Is Moss the New Cowell? Kate is apparently in talks to judge on a Battle of the Bands-y show in Britain. Loves it. The girl certainly knows her way around a tour bus or a music festival. {Grazia}

And the writer is…Jenna Sauers.

The New Zealander has penned her final essay as Tatiana here, but she’s going to continue to contribute to the site, just under her own name.

The commenters are going a little bananas over there, throwing around words like The New Yorker and Joan Didion regarding her writing style, which might be a wee bit of a stretch. Though I will continue to check in on what she has to say in the future.

So were any of you right? Did you know it was Jenna?

So now we know how Elizabeth ended up owning a store and designing clothes in Cambodia. Next we talk about how she fits into the local community and even more importantly whether or not we’ll be able to get our hands on Wanderlust goodies more readily here in the States.

Plus, we all know that no matter how blissful life can be far removed from the big city, there’s gotta be some things she misses. I, for one, would struggle for quite a while without my regular unhealthy dose of crappy television and require regular care packages of American candy.

Though the idea of managing a possible Maldives location of Wanderlust does not sound like a very bad thing at all.

Here goes part II of our e-chat with Eliz.

We’ve long adored Simon Doonan and Jonathan Adler, both separately and as the adorable couple they’ve been for all these years.

This week’s New Yorker just made us fall more deeply in love. Each quote in the piece is like a perfect little taste of what an evening in their “palatial gay fantasia” of an apartment would be like.

A few tasty morsels below:

SD on his memoir: “When the book was optioned, everyone thought I’d start flying to work in a mink-lined helicopter.”

SD on his day job: “If Virginia Woolf had had two days a week at the ham counter at Harrods, she mightn’t have offed herself.”

JA to SD (who is 14 years older): “You’re the ultimate mantique.”

SD on getting older: “Ever since I passed fifty, I’m aging in French. It’s more glamorous.”

Thank you, Simon. We will from this point forward also age only in French.

“I know I’m not everybody’s cup of tea, and I don’t want to be.” - Rick Owens, in the New Yorker’s Style Issue.

“Several blocks later, I came across a standard, uniformed version of the “New York power woman”: black flats, black dress, black overcoat, black headband. And as much as I tried to resist this woman’s funereal image, I felt myself drawn to her apparent sadness and fear. Her costuming was a shield; one felt that she didn’t want to be mistaken for a person, let alone a woman.” - Hilton Als, on the gamut of New Yorkers’ outfits on an incredibly warm day in early January, in The New Yorker.