-Martin Margiela's (mostly) white-on-white suite at Les Sources de Caudalie opens. Be warned: it (seriously) includes a red lips sofa. (NYT, pictured)

-Rodarte's new line of cuddly tees and sweats still have art-school cred, obvs. (Coutorture)

-Colette's new cotton-candy flavored macaroons (Fashion Week Daily/

-Is it just me, or does Natasha Poly look just like Denise Richards in this shot? (Jak & Jil)

image via Vosges

Luisa Casati was an odd duck, socialite and muse to artists from Jean Cocteau to Jack Kerouac back in her day. Not only did the Italian heiress enjoy leading her pet cheetahs around Venice on a leash, she was also mad about pearls. Vosges Chocolate's new Luxe Marchesa Casati Collection immortalizes the legend with an homage to that obsession.

The newly-launched gift box features a dozen dark chocolate, caramel truffles, packaged in a lucite gift box, studded with freshwater pearls. Not luxurious enough for your taste? The truffles are also coated in a layer of edible pearl dust. And, at $275, each of the chocolates cost about as much as a full tank of gas.

Chocolate--or anything edible, for that matter--usually doesn't make it to the top of my most-wanted gift list. (I think thoughtful presents should have not only sentiment but staying power.) But this clever box, which would make a beautiful addition to a coffee or dressing table once the contents are long gone, makes this a gift as unique and lasting as Casati's kooky legacy.

images via Hint Mag

Maybe it was the red velvet cake from Kiss My Bundt I've been devouring sorta-slowly over the past 36 hours. Maybe it was the luxe lollipops by Massamo Gammacurta I wrote about recently. Maybe it's just the fact that I grew up with a master cake decorator of a Mom. (As a kid, life-size, 3D Care Bear cakes were not out of the question when my birthday came around.)

Whatever the reason, I can't get over these creations by photographer Therese Aldgard and prop stylist Lisa Edsalv. The two spent three days dreaming and dressing up these clever little homages to fashion lines from Betsey Johson to Chanel. I also think they let people eat them in the end, which earns them extra props. (Food as art should still be food first.)

My favorite, for sheer cheekiness alone, is their take on Agent Provocateur.

images via Massamo Gammacurta

These delicate lollipops--in their pretty, crystalline hues, with their tiny, imperfect bubbles--are beautiful strictly on a surface level.

But I also love the cheeky comment artist Massamo Gammacurta made by casting them in the shape of designer labels' logos. Sugar is the medium--a product with no real nutritional value that is usually eaten quickly and greedily. Contrast that to the argument for luxury goods: that they're highly valuable, special treasures that should last a lifetime and, because of that, are worth their exorbitant price tags.

Let's be real. Don't designer duds feel more akin to a guilty sugar rush than a wise investment these days?

We walked to the tiny cafe attached to the new Catherine Malandrino boutique on La Cienega, in between a string of furniture and interior design shops. The patio has a handful of marble-topped tables, anchored by acid green chairs and barred in by a row of topiary trees to give it a little privacy from the sidewalk. (Today some orange-vested community service workers were sweeping out the gutters while we ate. They were wearing white T-shirts over their faces, presumably to hide their identities.)

I was at the store earlier this week for a party hosted by Gen Art and fell in love with the current Malandrino collection. Before that night, I was guilty of thinking crocheted tops, espadrilles and other various things I would never wear when I heard the name "Catherine Malandrino." I was clearly wrong to do so. The store is a trove of silk pantsuits, impeccable and smart jackets, appliqued leather accessories, and one nude, feathered and be-crystaled dress that was simply made for Las Vegas:

The food at the cafe was lovely, probably because the chef there is from Little Next Door. I had a gooey, flakey leek and gruyere tart and my boyfriend had smoked salmon on brioche with tzaziki, which was almost too beautifully assembled to actually eat. The nicest surprise was that the service was worlds apart from the 3rd Street location. (Zero attitude, dishes brought out at the exact same time, hot food still hot, no prolonged wait for the bill--really none of the hallmarks of sub-par service that Little Next Door is notorious for.) Best of all, it's still undiscovered, quiet and just blocks from my place. Coupled with the fact that it's attached to a fantastic clothing store, this makes it an automatic new favorite for me.

On the walk home, a bird shit on us. I mean really let loose. We have since remained indoors.