On Friday photographer Nick Knight's Website Showstudio.com launched a series of Kate Moss videos to accompany her new Agent Provocateur bridal ad campaign. The ads depict a bride on her wedding day who has a "last minute change of heart." It features Moss in six different scenes and Showstudio is running movies to go along with each scene. Since when did lingerie advertising become so complicated? we wondered. Thankfully the Independent answers that question. Apparently Agent Provocateur's co-founder Joe Corre wanted to give Kate an opportunity to stand up to "all the people who have taken a moralistic view of her." Maybe that's why he shot her in red underwear holding slices of wedding cake looking like she'd just trampled a pair of popes ("Let Them Eat Kate").

But more important, Corre wanted to express his views on marriage and the Vatican:

"For me, the idea of marriage, of two people committing to one another, is incredibly beautiful. But at a certain point you hand over the control of that to a different organisation, to something that is disconnected, whether it's the Church or, if it's a civil wedding, the Government. I think perhaps people should question that because what if the authority concerned is corrupt and its intentions are not as pure as the ones you had in the first place?"

By now you've heard of Miley Cyrus's risqué photo in the June issue of Vanity Fair. Honestly, with all the fuss you'd think Lauren Conrad's sex tape came out or something (don't get any ideas, you Hills stars, you). Not to say we told you so, but we have noted that it's only a matter of time before fame overwhelms poor little Cyrus and she succumbs to flashing skin and bathroom runs. But while this photo is rather inappropriate for a 15-year-old, we're not sure this captures her succumbing. In other words, parents can probably hold off on the Hannah Montana bonfires. For now at least. After all, there's no side boob cleavage and we've seen the girl in very low-cut dresses before.

But we're not the only blog with opinions. After the jump, we've compiled some of our favorite Miley Cyrus blog posts of the day.

Those travel books that emphasize not dressing like you're going to the Sunday-afternoon block party if you want to fit in in France offer sound advice. The French just dress much better than we do. So how do they do it? According to the Independent, they look sexy without being vulgar, wear expensive clothes "in a casual way that makes them look cool," and don't overdo the hair and makeup if they've got a killer designer outfit on. This is why Marion Cotillard looked better than Keira Knightley at the BAFTA Awards, for example: She looked effortlessly hot, while Knightley looked like she tried way too hard in her Dior gown.

Sounds cryptic, doesn't it? That's because it is. What the Independent doesn't explain is the real key to the embodying the French style sensibility is being French. When it comes to judging outfits, being French gives one a license to wear something avant-garde. For example, Marion Cotillard got some flack for her fish-scale Oscar dress, but no one really dwelled on how much they disliked it because at the end of the night she's the token French girl, she brought her avant-garde style — and sexy accent! — with her, and that's the end of the story. If, say, Cameron Diaz wore Cotillard's Oscar or BAFTA dress, the resounding sentiments would probably be "Crazy Cameron thinks she's a fish tonight!" or "Looks like she's about to fly away to Planet Cameron!" Avant-garde style just doesn't fly in the country that created Pabst Blue Ribbon.

That 'je ne sais quoi': How French actresses trounce everyone in the style stakes [Independent]

Derek Khan is a stylist who became famous in the nineties for stripping hip-hop stars like Lauryn Hill and Salt-n-Pepa of their streetwear and dressing them instead in stuff by Yves Saint Laurent and Chanel. Naturally, he borrowed things, like jewelry, for them to wear. But he wanted extra cash to take them, entourages in tow, to fancy dinners drenched in fine Champagne. So rather than, say, taking on another client or something similarly legal, he sold the borrowed jewels. And, naturally, Captain Obvious got caught and went to prison where no Lauryn Hills or Salt-n-Pepas came to visit him, and so he was resigned to simply read about them in Vogue. This made him very sad.

If you're eating or drinking something, gingerly set it down right now because we have some shocking new information for you: Not everything in the meatpacking district is worth its price. Yes, we know. It's true! And that includes pedicures, like the $48 Signature Pedicure at Rescue Beauty Lounge at 34 Gansevoort Street. The place has been written up in magazines like Elle, Allure, and Vogue, which is why the Mischo beauty blogger and her friend went there for the $48 toe treatment when they visited New York. As licensed beauty professionals, they were well equipped to judge the treatment — and we must say, their critique doesn't make us feel bad for choosing not to sacrifice our cash for a weekend toe-pampering:

Upon entry you could see that the minimalist, chic interior could possibly benefit from an upgrade (which, in today's economy, could be daunting). The retail area had a variety of beauty products to choose from, but lacked a wide selection of nail colors. [...] She failed to massage my legs and feet and the steamed towels she applied after the moisturizer had already cooled. The rolled tissue, which was used as toe separators, easily leads to polished toes touching each other, and appeared out of place.

She does say the polish was painted on very nicely. But damn, for $48? If that kind of money doesn't buy a girl foam toe separators, we're petrified of what this recession has coming.

Mischo Beauty Review: Rescue Beauty Lounge [Mischo Beauty]

Remember how Celia Birtwell was supposed to do a capsule collection for Express inspired by her late husband, Ossie Clark? Of course you don't. No one does — that's the problem. But her small collection of printed shirts and dresses made it to Express stores this week with basically no buzz in tow. According to the Shophound, shoppers are taking little note, and it's not necessarily that Birtwell's designs are less then stellar. After all, she's designed clothes for Topshop that sell like hotcakes and the Express pieces aren't bad. But Express and Topshop are two very different things with two very different customers. We appreciate that Birtwell's got some affordable merchandise in there, but we exist in a fashion bubble and the typical Express customer probably doesn't. That's great for them (really, we know we're ill), but not so great for Express. Many don't realize that display in the front of the store of all that patterned stuff is actually something special. We'd probably notice it immediately — if we shopped there, that is. The Shophound, like us, doesn't shop there either and notes, "We would imagine that Bergdorf Goodman's or Barneys' insider-y customers, for example, would be far more receptive to a Birtwell collection, at a much higher quality level, of course."

Sigh. Maybe when Express can work on a branding strategy that's accessible to shoppers who aren't just fashion bloggers, someone can start turning a profit.

Celia Birtwell's Express Collection Debuts To...Crickets [Shophound]
Celia Birtwell for Express [Express]

We've gotten so used to reading about how fabulously fashionable Amy Winehouse is that we haven't taken a moment to really consider the ridiculousness of the whole concept. Enter London Times fashion critic Lisa Armstrong. Up to her neck in press releases about Winehouse wearing so-and-so's shoes and carrying so-and-so's bag, and now in disbelief over the news Roberto Cavalli is in talks with WiHo (can we make it catch on — pleeeeaaase?) to give her a lifetime supply of his clothes, Armstrong has had enough. She writes in today's paper:

Somehow the fashion industry has got it into its head that what's really missing from every stylish woman's life is an accessory that will make her look like someone whose next must-have is an intravenous drip.

None of this is to cast aspersions on Winehouse's musical talents. And to be fair, she has carved a wholly original look for herself. Unfortunately it's accented (as fashion folk like to say) with self-harming razor marks, the body of an emaciated child and regular bruises. I know, I know. Purple is such a now sort of colour. But a style mentor? At least wait for the girl to get well. By which time, you never know, the fashion industry might have grown up.

There's really nothing left to say after that.

Roberto Cavalli collaborating with Amy Winehouse? No, no, no [Times UK]
Related: Holes in Britain's Winehouse-Cavalli Gossip

Kicks this spring seem crazier than ever before. And although we can appreciate the artistic value of such gorgeous, creative footwear, we suppose it wouldn't hurt to have some — sigh — male insight here and there. So we took to the streets to find out how our lust objects fare with the opposite sex. Let's just say the results are interesting. Those Prada sandals you're drooling over just might be "brutally ugly," and another dude notes that the Dior Blue Angels that Madonna loves "looks like an insect." Sniff. But those neon Giambattista Valli pumps Mary-Kate Olsen loves? One enlightened fellow thinks they "could work" with the right outfit. And we don't think he's gay! Do watch for more priceless pontificating.

There we were drinking pomegranate mimosas, lazily flipping through French Playboy on Easter Sunday (hey, no judging here), as the Cut is wont to do, when it hit us: French Playboy is the new French Vogue. Allow us to explain.

When it first opened, the flagship Prada store in Soho was a bastion of all things beautiful and chic. In the Times' "Critical Shopper" today, Cintra Wilson revisits the store and finds all that beauty has given way to — gasp! — mall crowds on the corner outside and stained rugs, scuffed corners, and scratched wood paneling inside. It gets worse:

Signs of corruption, everywhere. Alligator trunks and bandboxes hurled into careless piles on the floor, as if by stoned porters. Leather clutches in vegetal greens and purples tossed in disarranged piles in a glass case, as if on Bijou Phillips’s closet floor.

We would never toss anything from Prada with the carelessness of a "stoned porter." We mean, each item in that store is worth a plane ticket to Spain. Despite the mess Wilson tried on clothes with the help of — who else? — Zelda.