You too can be a girl with kaleidoscope eyes, courtesy of Swarovski and your optometrist.

That is, if your eye doctor actually thinks it’s wise to insert contact lenses infused with tiny glass crystal fragments into your eye sockets. Regardless of medical opinion, prevailing wisdom is dubious. But hey, isn’t the threat of a scratched cornea or two worth that sparkly-eyed look of fabulousness?

In the past couple of days, I’ve spotted two different young women — coincidentally, but not pertinently, on the subway — sporting two different shades of nail polish: One for the fingernails, and a different one for the toenails.

It’s not like I’ve never seen that phenomenon before. But in both cases, the colors were so opposed to one another — they both had a bright-pinkish polish down below, and a dark/black one up top — that it was grabbed my attention. I ascribed the first instance to simple laziness: She didn’t bother to either redo the unmatched set of nails, or to wear shoes that would at least cover up the mismatch. But in the second case, I noticed that she was spending a fair amount of time examining the color jobs on both her hands and feet; so she was certainly paying enough attention to her look.

Is this a new fashion trend? Sure enough, Elle Magazine is advocating creative detours away from the “unwritten rule” of matching nail polish for all twenty digits. But from perusing those examples, they mostly seem to pair up just variations on the same hue, like dark-red/dark-pink, etc. To me, those match. The live-action displays I saw, not so much.

But I guess that with the genie now out of the makeup bottle, there’ll soon be no restrictions on the mixing-and-matching colors the ladies will be sporting on their cuticles. Probably have to wait until next summer, when toes are more often on full display, to see the effect.

It’s a bit surreal to read Susan Faludi doing her take on the marketing strategy employed by Under Armour, as part of the sports-garment maker’s shift into non-athletic fashion:

“I’m really struck by the concept of home protection in their ads,” said the cultural critic Susan Faludi, whose last two books, “Stiffed” and “The Terror Dream,” have addressed the perils of hype in, respectively, masculinity and the terrorist threat. Under Armour’s ads, she said, play into both, offering a fantasy of invulnerability. “In one, there’s this coach yelling at his team, ‘Nobody comes here and beats us, at our game, in our house.’ But I am looking at it through the lens of 9/11, at the anxiety and shame that, in fact, they did come here, and did not play our game and beat us in our house.”

Those now-familiar “We Must Protect Our House” TV commercials got annoying really quick, and I never warmed up to them. But they obviously worked, as it was no mean feat for Under Armour to beat out Nike, Adidas and other established sportsgear outfits.

The ultimate in vaginal vanity is represented by Betty Beauty, an outfit that sells specialized crotch-hair coloring. So naturally, a new series of subway-station ads for the product is catching attention.

While this subject just screams for comical riffing, I’m afraid that I already contributed my curtains-matching-the-drapes jokes when Betty first came on the market last year, with Tara’s testdriving help. So I feel like I’m done here.

Perhaps because green is my favorite color, I associate it with good luck and general good feelings. But then, I’m not Barack Obama, and I don’t have to worry about false symbolism during a Middle East swing through Jordan and Israel:

“A ban on wearing green seems bizarre,” said Richard Bulliet, a professor of Middle Eastern history at Columbia University, who said the color is associated with the family of the Prophet Mohammed.

“I would hazard the guess that the campaign’s concern is more with distorted—and religiously inaccurate—reporting by Obama’s detractors than with any actual signal that might be conveyed,” he said, referring to false rumors that Obama is a Muslim. “You don’t want to have some blogger come along and say ‘Obama is showing his true color.’”

“I think they’re just being overcautious to a ridiculous degree,” Bulliet said.

It’s overly cautious to the extent that crackpot detractors don’t need actual photographic images for their smear campaigns. But it’s still probably prudent, in the sense of avoiding a self-inflicted emerald bullseye.

I do wonder what shade Obama, as either candidate or elected official, would wear on a visit to Ireland.

I think I once declared that I wouldn’t let my ever-present electronic devices dictate how I dressed or, furthermore, how I buy my clothing.

But really, that’s a hollow claim. Because whenever I know I’ll be toting my iPod Touch (which is, basically, all the time) I make sure to wear a shirt that has a breast pocket. Because anyone who’s regularly tethered to earbuds knows that this placement works best for access and avoiding cord tanglement. T-shirt, dress shirt, casual button-down — whatever the style, it’s got to have that crucial compartment for optimal iTouch carriage.

So yes, I’m a slave to what I’m calling, for lack of a better term, the “iPod-cket”. Fashion yields to function.

Technically, this pocket-placement isn’t limited to the iTouch. I deposit my cellphone there from time to time, especially if I’m paranoid about missing an incoming call. But let’s face it, i-tagging something is the ticket these days.

Summer’s practically here, which means wedding season. And there’s no shortage of ideas on how to do up your nuptials right — just consult with The Knot, Brides Magazine…

What’s that? Oh, you’re the one who’s going to be wearing the tux. Forget about the above two estrogen-laden links, then.

No, there’s not a whole lot of fashion and etiquette guidance out there for the male half of the marriage ceremony. Which is why Groomify came into being. Brought to you by Tom Biro, himself a groom-to-be, this site is an attempt to pool together helpful advice for the marrying guy who actually wants to look more than just halfway-presentable in the photo album. The wedding industry doesn’t think there’s enough of a market for such a repository, but surely, there’s got to be at least a few stylish “I-do” gentlemen out there, right?

That said, I’m trying to recall a stillborn joke I once pondered, when a magazine publishing colleague pointed out how gargantuan the pagecount the bridal titles routinely are. I countered with something about how, if there were such a thing as “Grooms Magazine”, the contrasting volume would be decidely thinner — like, probably covered by a single-sheet double-sided flyer.

Bottom line, guys: For your matrimonial prep, it’s either Groomify, or a viewing of Bachelor Party. Do you really want to let Tom Hanks, or (even worse) Adrian Zmed, inform you on your future conjoined happiness? I didn’t think so.

What you see pictured above (snapped by me, with my cameraphone in Times Square) is but one outcropping of an epidemic that’s overtaken New York City: The spread of knockoff baseball caps emblazoned with “NY” logos, designed to look just enough like official Yankees or Mets gear to pass the glance test.

Seriously, I’ve seen these hats all over the place — subways, on the street, in clubs… Frankly, I’d be embarrassed to be seen wearing one. They’re downright shoddy-looking.

I’m guessing the only reason Major League Baseball (and any other sports league) isn’t filing infringement lawsuits is that those chunky-fonted logos are just distinguishable enough to not be considered credible copies of their obvious inspirations. But come on — there’s no mistaking their appeal, funky colors and patterns aside. They’re faux team colors for $5 off the street, versus the $20-and-up for the real deal.

Madonna’s got a new album out, so that means there’s an expectation of a new “reinvention” look/style for the Material Girl. Past iterations of this impulse brought us lingerie-as-outerwear and vogueing in the 80s, and dominatrix-couture in the 90s — so I guess we’re due for an infusion of Madonna-guided fashion sense.

If her promotional history is any guide, her recent mini-concert at midtown Manhattan’s Roseland Ballroom was the tip-off for her latest direction: She’s anointing the sweatsuit as the uniform of lifestyle hipness.

Why? Because it’s what you wear for where the new musical ground zero resides:

While hardly a groundbreaking aesthetic choice, it makes sense. As New York nightlife, once synonymous with transcendental exuberance, becomes a thing of the past, the most popular place to pump a dance floor anthem is no longer on the dance floor. One of the few destinations where a wide cross-section of the city goes to hear a mix of hip hop, techno, and house music 24/7 is the gym. Equinox is the new Paradise Garage, and Madonna — her finger firmly on the pulse monitor — knows it better than anyone.

Interesting theory. I’d be more convinced if the nouveau health clubs featured in-house mixologists, spinning the latest phat beats for the gym rats. That wouldn’t make much sense, since most people keep workout time to their own personal earbuds-delivered rhythms; but I guess someone’s listening to the piped-in house music.

Another reason why I have trouble accepting the nylon-tracksuit ensemble as dominant clubwear: It reminds me of nothing so much as something The Fat Boys used to cruise around in. And they didn’t do it because they were body-conscious.

It’s a bit of a hike, but I’ll have to keep Larry’s Barber Shop, on the northern fringe of Hell’s Kitchen, in mind for my next haircut. Not only will I get a new ‘do, I’ll also get a chance to watch a random mobster movie while I wait.

From the mirrored reflections of the talking heads in his tiny shop on 57th Street near 10th Avenue in Manhattan, [shop owner Larry] Babizhaev receives political opinions, financial advice, sports commentary and other news between haircut and tip.

Along the way, some of his customers started recommending films like “The Godfather,” “Goodfellas” and “A Bronx Tale.” “I just got hooked,” Mr. Babizhaev said.

He began spending a good portion of his tips on mob movies and “anything to do with gangsters.”

Providing a DVD to watch is definitely preferable to some inane snip-snip chit-chat. Only snag: I’m not sure I’d be satisfied watching just a snippet of a movie. But then, I wouldn’t want to spend two hours in a barber shop just to see the complete “Pope of Greenwich Village”, either.

Weardrobe is an online, largely phototag-driven clothing-catalogue community, designed to create a huge virtual fashion closet via the aggregation of millions of users’ wardrobe choices.

Not really my kind of thing.

But I found out about it by peeking at the guest list for tomorrow’s Jelly coworking session in Brooklyn, which I’m attending. Weardrobe founder Suzanne Xie will also be there, and so I’d love to pitch the following add-on to her site:

Weirdrobe. Like, weird items of clothing, or donned combinations of such, that elicit puzzlement and awe from onlookers. Or something like that.

Hey, I’m a sucker for puns. Weardrobe got the ball rolling, so I’ll give it another push.

As the New York Rangers get set to embark upon Round Two of the NHL playoffs, I can’t think of any stranger soap opera material than news of Sean Avery seeking out, and landing, an internship at Vogue Magazine.

Avery, who makes $2 million a year with the Rangers and has cavorted with starlets since his days with the Los Angeles Kings, initiated the contact with Vogue editor Anna Wintour.

“He is ridiculously obsessed with fashion,” Avery’s publicist Nicole Chabot told ABCNews.com. “He loves it more than anything in the world. It’s something he has always wanted to do.”…

Though his assignments are “evolving,” Avery will go to Paris Fashion Week with international editor-at-large Hamish Bowles, according to Chabot.

Presumably that Paris trip is scheduled for after June; Rangers faithful would be less than pleased to lose Avery’s agitating skills in the midst of a Stanley Cup run.

I can only guess that this timing is designed to encourage mindgames among upcoming playoff opponents. No one wants to get pushed around by a budding fashion-mag internist…

Many’s the time during my college career when I’d walk all over campus barefoot. I wasn’t alone, and it wasn’t just the granola contingent, either — lots of students took advantage of the Florida climate and terrain to regularly feel the ground against their soles. No harm done, and in fact, it probably helped keep the feet strong and healthy.

But that was college. These days, the idea that the human foot is more harmed than aided by footwear is a little hard to swallow, despite the alleged historical background:

[New York Magazine write Adam] Sternbergh calls the ubiquity of footwear a “conspiracy of idiocy.” He points out the probability that at no point did any shoemaker say, “Let’s design something that works with your foot.” In the Middle Ages, for example, people began wearing shoes with higher heels to avoid stepping in other people’s excrement. Today, high heels are considered sexy. Whatever their reasons for wearing the shoes they wear, people don’t usually consider whether a shoe actually works with their foot, he says.

Given the daily barrage of ground-level threats in the big city — various debris, unforgiving surfaces, elements, other people — I’d say the mere protective covering provided constitutes a shoe that “works with your foot”. Preventing damage to the footsies makes human mobility that much more efficient. After that, you can worry about details like gait and support (which is what ends up happening with orthopedic obsessing like this anyway).

Besides, from the glance-through I gave Sternbergh’s article, “You Walk Wrong”, it comes off more as an advocacy for yet another more-perfect ergonomic shoe line, this time some sort of Kevlar-soled slipper. Basically an advertorial filled with claptrap, which is the general consensus from the Bryant Park Project peanut gallery.

Can we live without our shoes? I wouldn’t mind it — after I retire to some warm-weather beach somewhere near the equator (or on the Moon, by midcentury). Until then, my feet will be losing their “war” with the shoes in my closet.

The above picture is of former Spice Girl and current soccer-wife Victoria Beckham, taken by Juergen Teller as an advertisement for fashion house Marc Jacobs. This shot is fairly typical of Teller’s avant-garde approach to photography.

Two things: One, I never would have believed that Stick Spice had enough meat on her bones to represent with a pair of legs like that. And two, this disembodied-limb look is the closest thing to an appearance that she’ll ever make on this blog.

There’s a strange dichotomy going on in wedding-gown fashions today:

- On the one hand, body-conscious modern brides are opting for downright risqué outfits, designed to show off well-toned and well-tanned skin (and tattoos, even):

[Natasha] DaSilva is typical of a growing number of brides flouting convention by flaunting their curves. More vamp than virgin, many are selecting gowns that bare a generous expanse of cleavage, midsection, lower back or thigh, temptress styles that may be better suited to a gala or boudoir than to a church or ballroom…

Determined to look torrid on their wedding day, they are picking dresses modeled, say, on the one worn by Christina Aguilera, who was married in 2005 in a gown with a plummeting neckline and ruffled fishtail hem. Or maybe the hope is to emulate Sarah Jessica Parker, who, in the forthcoming film version of “Sex and the City,” spills out of the front of her wedding dress.

- At the opposite end of the blushing-bride presentation is Disney Bridal, which lets a girl walk down the aisle in as snow white a state as possible without being animated. (I’m guessing the groom who marries a Belle wannabe will have to endure Beauty and the Beast jokes all through the reception.)

Both ceremony options are fueled by a particular pop-cultural fantasy. I can’t say one is any more grown-up than the other.

Much as Monday Night Football and Terrell Owens taught us almost four years ago, you simply cannot put a black man and white woman together in American media and not have people go (pardon the pun) apeshit.

But the image is stirring up controversy, with some commentators decrying the photo as perpetuating racial stereotypes. [LeBron] James strikes what some see as a gorilla-like pose, baring his teeth, with one hand dribbling a ball and the other around [Gisele] Bundchen’s tiny waist.

It’s an image some have likened to King Kong and Fay Wray.

“It conjures up this idea of a dangerous black man,” said Tamara Walker, 29, of Philadelphia.

And in fact, some think that photographer Annie Leibovitz, who shot this April 2008 cover of Vogue, took her inspiration from the semi-famous “Destroy This Mad Brute” World War I propaganda poster, which predates King Kong.

As always, image is everything.

I was led to Russian fashion designer Denis Simachev’s website via this article about how he’s making Soviet symbolic iconography retro-chic.

Which reminds me of a storyline element out of the old “American Flagg” comic series. But I digress.

What I find more interesting is the layout of Simachev’s website. Instead of the standard vertical top-to-bottom arrangement of content on webages, each page scrolls horizontally — i.e., you use the scrollbar at the bottom of your browser window to navigate the complete page.

I’ve seen very rare instances of this. I remember David Bowie’s very first website presence, circa 1997, employed this same unconventional design arrangement. It certainly stood out for me.

A shame more sites don’t go this route. I’ve even toyed with doing it myself, if not here at PopStat then on another site. Not sure I can justify it for a largely text-driven content well, though.

Unwittingly, today I wound up wearing a tie that happened to be an exact color match with my boxer shorts: Both deep purple.

That’s a first for me.

I made the observation myself, versus having someone else point it out to me. That’s both lucky and unlucky, depending on how you consider it.

That title is not a declaration of support. Rather, it’s a simple acknowledgment of what’s becoming a horrifying fait accompli: The fauxhawk, that fake mohawk of a hairstyle, appears to be here to stay.

Why do I say this? Because I see it every single day while walking the streets of New York. It seems to have become the ‘do of choice of the twenty-something professional and semi-professional male. This, despite being tagged as passe back in 2004 and, when that didn’t stick, a declaration of jihad against it the subsequent year. Improbably, in an age when fashion fads seem to expire within months, this hair expression has survived and thrived.

Today was the topper for me. I actually spied a 50-something woman sporting a blonde fauxhawk! Somehow, the look has leapt the gender divide. There’s no stopping it now.

So go ahead, boys and girls — embrace it. Just follow the steps and look like a latter-day Ed Grimley. I’m actually glad my follicle-challenged scalp won’t allow me to join in.

Seen by me today: A guy, 20ish, walking down 8th Avenue, wearing a light-blue plaid kilt.

Yes, this is the anything-goes big city, so maybe I shouldn’t be fazed by such stand-out fashion choices. My lunchtime companion certainly wasn’t — I actually had to point this sight out to her. Maybe I took special notice because it was just above 40 degrees out, which indicates he was roughing it with the bare legs.

It didn’t occur to me that Mr. Kilt might have been a celebrity, of sorts. But indeed, the former “Dell Dude” of bygone television commercial fame has been known to show up at court appearances all kilted-up. I didn’t recognize him as such, but it’s been a few years since I’ve seen those old spots.

Last week, I was showing an out-of-town friend around the streets of uptown Manhattan when we stopped at a sidewalk handbag table. (Not my idea; I typically take a long look at the sidewalk vendor wares while walking by, but have yet to actually linger over a purchase.)

The only other customers were two older women, also checking out the faux purses. They were driving a moderately hard bargain with the guy; they finally talked him down to three bags for $100, and let my friend in on that deal so that he could get a bag for his wife.

What I found a little odd: Whenever one of the women handled one of the handbags and asked questions about it, they’d refer to it as “this Prada knockoff”, “this Gucci knockoff”, etc. They would give a little extra stress on the “knockoff” part, thus not-so-subtly making a point of that fact.

I don’t think there was any question that this cardtable-full of handbags were fakes. The guy selling them certainly didn’t make any claims to the contrary, and in fact, you’d have to be the biggest of rubes to actually believe these were authentic items being sold at rock-bottom prices. It’s an accepted fact that you’re simply looking for a passable-looking imitation in this situation.

So why did these women insist on emphasizing the “knockoff” part? I’m wondering if it wasn’t an under-the-radar negotiation tactic, both with the handbag guy and with themselves. Repeating the descriptor to the seller might help in softening him up on price. Repeating it to themselves might also have helped remind them of what they were getting, and not to get too carried away.

Of course, the third possibility occurred to me: They were trying to show off that they weren’t fooled for a second that they were haggling over designer originals, and wouldn’t even concede that with a casual shorthand like “this Prada bag”. Psychological strategies at work, even on sidewalk sales.