Strange things happen. For example, this new billboard appeared during the weekend on the walls of the Metro - it's the new ad of Laetitia Casta and photographer Jean-Paul Goude for the department store Galeries Lafayette. The new project is about denim, and there's an exhibition about the place of blue jeans in history. Fine.
Then suddenly, today there's a new billboard about a denim exhibition. Is it the same project? Quite the contrary. You've probably recognised Audrey Marnay. She is promoting the jeans floor of another Parisian department store, Le Bon Marche, and the photographer is Karl Lagarfeld.
Now, of course, it's a free country (well, sort of), and Lagerfeld is entitled to take part in a marketing ploy, if Chanel owner doesn't object. But since Goude has published long time ago his intention to do something about jeans with Laetitia, could it be that Lagerfeld is involved in a pure plagiat? I mean, we had no exhibition about jeans in department store in recent memory, and then all of a sudden we have two of them.
And how can you compare the boring pic of Lagerfeld with the creativity and energy of Goude? I've uploaded the Goude billboard of the precedent season (temporary url, due to bandwith restrictions it will be down in 48 hours), it will look great as a swimsuit wallpaper on your desktop.

Do Big Breasts Make a Difference?
by Ms. Doe, CHICAGO MAGAZINE
I had 2.4 miles to go on the treadmill when she sauntered down the aisle of the health club. How could she have? I wondered, fixing her with a glare. I had seen this woman many times before, and noticed that we shared the same body type: tall, thin, and completely flat-chested. But now the change beneath her spandex top was impossible to miss. She had been supersized. She had gotten a boob job. And I felt as if I were the last small-breasted woman at the East Bank Club.
Sixteen years earlier, my mother had dragged me into the local intimate apparel shop to be fitted for a training bra. “Oooh, honey, soon you’ll come in here for bras my size!” trilled a saleswoman with pendulous breasts. But as time went on, my bosoms never filled anything more than a 32 A-cup. Apparently, they were untrainable.
While my breasts never did develop, my attitude toward them changed depending on things as arbitrary as clothing styles and seasons, and as earth-shattering as male attention and popularity. They remained a source of unhappiness and anxiety, deeply embedded in my sense of my femininity. Last year, just before I turned 28, I did something about them—I got implants. This is a choice I share with hundreds of thousands of other women, whose numbers are growing. The American Society for Aesthetic Plastic Surgery reports the frequency of breast augmentation jumped 114 percent between 1997 and 2001. Last year about 50,000 fewer implant procedures were performed in the Midwest than in the West. But even Middle America’s women are seeking help more often. “Roughly 65 percent of my daily surgeries are breast implants and rhinoplasties,” says Jay Pensler, one of Chicago’s top aesthetic plastic surgeons. “This is up from 40 percent in the past three years.”
Some of these women are married, with loving husbands, but I suspect that many, like me, are single. And I’ll bet that many of them once shared my disdain for the idea of getting implants. No two case histories are alike, but this is the story of what brought me around. Read more