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Rachel Zoe, Conspicuous Consumption, and the Sidekick Famine

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You know Frank—he's been writing about menswear, sales, television, new shops, the recession, Lisa Loeb, the Golden Girls and getting blasted for Racked for almost two years. Well, we think it's time you got to know him and his quirky-irreverent views on life and fashion even better with his column: Love, Frank. Taking the form of an open letter and always signed with love, Frank will rant about whatever style-related conundrum he encounters in a given week. So buckle your two-toned leather Moschino belts, folks, it's going to be ? Something.


So bored with that recession-era secret spending ?

Dear Rachel Zoe,

First, we think it's important to note that we at Racked love you—like really crazy love you. So, this is not an attack in any way. More: Concern; a call to action; a suggestion sealed with admiration.

But, wow, Season 4 sucked.

The main reason: not enough you. We accept that you were, like, really, really pregnant. And also really, really busy. But, let's get real for a second—no-one is watching the Rachel Zoe Project for Rodger or Jordan or your sister or Banana-Bandana whatsherface. Episode 7, the one in which you had, at best, a cameo role? It was painful.

Second, let's talk sidekicks. Taylor was surly and miserable but we liked looking at her bleached hair and her Wayfarers and her Sad Valley Girl speech patterns were pure entertainment. Plus, we loved to hate her—this is why people watch reality TV.

Brad was adorable and charming and hilarious and just-gay-enough, plus his clothes were consistently impeccable (aside from all that DSquared2). He and you made hilarious fashion magic together—it was joyful and funny. And you, as a duo, made clear the fact that as much as you both love and rely on fashion—it can be a pretty frivolous thing. You had fun, you didn't take it (or yourselves) too seriously.

And now we have Joey and Jeremiah. The former a bitch and a brat, a Kim Kardashian fan, an eyebrow waxer, a chronic exaggerater, a yes man, frankly, a bore. The latter unqualified, uninteresting, whiney, delusional, a same-joke-different-day maker (gee whiz golly, I have tons to do in no time flat, I'm shitting my pants—he's the accountant at your job who asks you if you're having fun yet, each and every day), and—you know—not cute enough considering.

The icing? Holy hell, you and Rodger spent buckets of money this season. Like, it was in bad taste. It seemed reckless. People are hurting; the recession's over but it's not over.

Let's see. You shipped Joey west and gave him the Benz. You went and rented a 7,000 square foot mansion sight unseen. You sent a charlatan out to fill the whole thing with bland, meaningless, expensive items—forcing a less-than-two-week deadline (the rush delivery costs alone). As for the items you already owned, you hired a crew of dozens to pack, move, and unpack it all in one day while you lazed at a posh hotel. You bought a Range Rover; a huge diamond; a litany of historically-important, flawless vintage couture (we guess that's a business expense). Your husband chartered a plane and booked a Vegas hotel suite with a private pool and pool table before sending someone out to get you some Hermès. And, oh, there's the fact that your infant baby has a leather jacket, the full All Saints baby line, Gucci shoes and a Missoni blanket to match his Missoni stroller. Just sayin': Babies, uh, leak.

Do what you want. It's your money. God knows we do what we want with ours. But—too soon? We think so.

All said, congratulations on the baby; on helming a relevant and so-far-successful clothing line; and on having a lot of money to throw around (and/or access to tons of freebies or a Bravo bankroll).

We still love you. We'll still be watching season 5. And we're available if you're hiring any other stylists with no experience styling.

· Love, Frank [Racked]