ONE hundred George Washingtons hardly go far these days. It doesn't take an accountant to tell you what any clotheshorse worth her shoe collection already knows too well, especially once the shoes, as well as the jewelry and any other touches, are factored in.
But when the challenge to assemble a great outfit, head to toe and not for a penny more than $100, went out to Lauren Conrad -- the ambitious blond of "The Hills," which kicked off its third season last week, not coincidently as her new campaign for Avon appears in magazines and a signature fashion line launches on her e-commerce site -- the pop culture phenom accepted.
Not that it would be a snap. Conrad might be the architect of her own made-for-MTV life on the reality-drama series, as well as its predecessor, the still heavily rotated "Laguna Beach: The Real Orange County," which premiered a lifetime ago in 2004. But this challenge would force the 21-year-old away, far away, from the air-conditioned sanctuaries with valet parking she frequents.
"I shop just about every other day," Conrad admits, citing Bleu on La Brea Boulevard and Madison on Melrose Avenue among her haunts. "We do so much shooting, and I never know what scenes are going to make the cut. So if you're in the same outfit twice and it ends up in the same episode, it looks like you're wearing the same outfit all the time." It's the job, in other words, not a compulsion. She swears.
Nor would this challenge be as easy as dropping into the Beverly Center's Forever 21 or Steve Madden flagships, where Conrad scores her cheap-chic fixes before a night out at Hollywood celeb spots Les Deux or Winston's. "I hate ruining a pair of $500 heels when I go out dancing. It's so dark and crowded, no one even knows what you have on from the waist down."
It's obvious, in fact, that even for this clever mall babe, the challenge wouldn't so much be the budget as the destination: Santee Alley.
To the initiated, the four blocks known as "the Alley," starting at Olympic Boulevard and ending at New Alley, are the pulsating heart of downtown L.A.'s fashion district (albeit a heart with arteries clogged by the bacon-wrapped hot dogs, topped with jalapeños, served from carts parked everywhere).
It's all here: off-season costume jewelry, off-the-truck fast fashion from local factories, fake designer goods. It's a mad cacophony of fast-talking foreign speak, sticky smells, deafening music, rude shopkeepers, pushy hordes of customers and questionable, cheap products and even cheaper prices.
