A public service announcement.

The ladies at Vogue have recently been wetting their pantaloons over Sophia Coppola's upcoming wankfest, Marie Antoinette, presumably because Anna Wintour can't wait to return to the good old days of pre-revolutionary France, when things were as they should be. The film will cover new ground for Coppola since her much-lauded sophomore effort Lost in Translation, about a spoiled twenty-something girl suffering from a painful case of ennui in a foreign country - the upcoming film, in sharp contrast, is about a spoiled twenty-something girl suffering from a painful case of ennui in a foreign country...in a big, poufy dress. Which brings us back to our beloved Conde Nasty, who seems tickled by the notion of carb-free ladies frothing themselves into enormous floating meringues with fabric rather than food. Kirsten Dunst is the cover girl of the most recent issue of Vogue - decked out, of course, in full, popcorny baroque regalia - and the rest of the issue takes its cues from Marie Ant accordingly. To that end, they would like to convince you to adopt something they call "the Bubble". The Bubble is a dress or skirt, or sleeves on occasion, made of excessive fabric and cinched. The effect is a sort of short, modish bustle - which is not to say that an actual bustle (God help us) should be ruled out either.

Ladies, I implore you. Even the skinniest figures look deformed in the Bubble. The Bubble is a prosthetic ass. A big, poufy, often shiny, prosthetic ornamental ass. I know we all fall prey to trends sometimes - lord knows I own an American Apparel onesie or three - but if you're already a borderline anorexic fashion model, why torture yourself by gaining artificial weight whenever you get dressed? Fight the Bubble now!

Above: Emma Hayes'