We know the possibility of a third life for Radar leaves you almost too sexually excited to think about anything other than easing yourself into some pert young fresh intelligence. But if anything can distract you it's Blue States Lose, where we sort through the galleries at The Cobrasnake, Last Night's Party, Misshapes, and Ambrel so you don't have to. After the jump, Joey Arak deigns to grace us with his presence long enough to fulfil his hipster-mocking duties.

Prepare yourself for yet another Timesian we-didn't-do-any-due-diligence mega mea culpa, this time shaking the heretofore hard-hitting reporters of the Styles desk to their very core. In yesterday's annual hey-look-beards-are-in expose, fashion reporter Eric Wilson suggested that the facially hirsute folks at Vice are vying "with the pro-facial-hair contingent of an editorial rival, Spin, where a rash of new beards has broken out." But the truth is — and please make sure you're sitting down before we shatter your Woodsteinian notions about ThuStyles — we're told no one at Spin has a beard.

• Pew study says young people get their news mostly online. You don't say. [USAT]
• Finally, your chance to be a Times White House reporter. [Media Mob/NYO]
• That British fashion writer who sold How to Wear Black to S&S if apparently even more full of shit than we already knew; also, Joanne Lipman continues staffing up the TK-eventually Conde business mag. [WWD]
• Boston Globe ad sales stink, and it's bringing down the whole Times Co. [NYP]

We're not sure how we missed this in our fashion roundup, but an alert tipster points us to the following Online Shopper column, "The Search for Grown-Up Pants," in which Michelle Slatalla decides to wait for it buy a pair of pants. We can't wait until the video where Ariel Kaminer tells you that they go on one leg at a time.

This week's edition of Thursgay offers a panoply of hard-hitting journalism and reportage. Rather than take each item individually (although, trust us, we could), we're going to give you the gist:

A few weeks ago, the Times' critical shopper Alex Kuczynski wrote about her less-than-fantastic experience at Los Angeles' overpriced mecca of trendy shopping, Fred Segal. During her time there, she Kuczynski reported that the salesgirl who was helping her abruptly disappeared when someone else showed up, another salesman told her she was not allowed to take notes while in the store, and her overall bad shopping experience was bookended with many a Hummer and Maybach. No one ever said reporting for the Times was easy.

Here's a Craigslist ad we noticed Monday night:

Ah, to be Alex Kuczynski: the house in the mountains, the great rack, the ability to use phrases like "drinking yourself stinko" without embarrassment. But all may not be well in the world of Special K. This week, she jets off to Vegas "at the urging of friends" to catch a Stones show (cue the anecdote about her encounter with Keith Richards). While there, of course, she gets a little shopping done. After hitting up the oxygen bar, as you do, she wanders over to Victoria's Secret where she discovers

In an incredible scoop, today's Post informs us that crackhead rocker Pete Doherty is currently "the arbiter of cosmopolitan sartorial chic." While other generations get Coco Chanel and Jackie Kennedy as their fashion icons, we're stuck with the Olsens and Sienna Miller and, now, a British musician best known for the open sores covering his face. It just doesn't seem fair.

So what did you do last night? Stupid question, asshole. Just ask the cabbie:

It may be suspiciously nice outside, but we're urging you to avoid sunlight at all costs. It's global warming, you fools — not time for rejoicing! Instead, stay chained to your desk and bask in the warm LCD glow of Blue States Lose, where we sort through the galleries of the handicapable hipsters at The Cobrasnake, Last Night s Party, Misshapes and Ambrel so you don t have to.

With its representation of two plain cowboys who fell in love in plain old Western wear, ["Brokeback Mountain"] hit the fashion bull's-eye. Cowboy boots, snap-button shirts and big ol' belt buckles standards that have come and gone several times before are striding back into style.

• If you didn't watch the Oscars, God bless you. But you still need to see the Three 6 Mafia's dramatic interpretation of "It's Hard Out Here for a Pimp." It's your duty in maintaining pop culture relevancy. [fourfour]
• Cheers to Macy's in-house designer Allen Schwartz: the Oscars were Sunday night, and already ABS by Allen Schwartz has produced solid red-carpet knock-offs. [Us Weekly]
• When Courtney Love vacates, brokers celebrate! [NYO]
• Beloved local Oscar-winner Philip Seymour Hoffman flaunts his asscrack all over the City of Angels. [Liam McEneany Experience]
• The debate rages on: Is Britney Spears pregnant again, or just inhaling gravy? [A Socialite's Life]
• As men in suits gear up to campaign for anything and everything, one man dares to explain NYC's third party system. [East Village Red Man]
• RIP, Gordon Parks. [NYT]
• When art book publisher Powerhouse loses their lease to a restaurateur, what are they to do? Start a blog against "evil," of course. Is there anything these crazy weblogs can't do? [Powerhouse]

Before we begin this week's treatment of New York mag's Look Book, we just need to say something: holy fucking wow. We don't mean that in a nasty way; we're truly in awe of unemployed Judy Arlick, who keeps herself busy by decorating her door for all the holidays and painting her scary claw nails. Judy used to model for a "well-known raincoat" house, but now she spends her time trying to figure out how to get away from the East Village, where she's forced to live amongst "low-class people." Poor Judy — not everyone below 14th can manage to swaddle themselves in dead animals and accessorize like Laurel Touby.

On Monday, as we nursed our Academy Awards hangover with some therapeutic A-list mockery, we couldn't help but notice that Graydon Carter chose an interesting ensemble for his Vanity Fair party. Of those stunning slacks, a reader writes:

Courtesy of Santa Fe's finest freaks, we can all enjoy a live webcam documenting the building of Tom Ford's New Mexico pleasure palace. Keep watching; he'll ask the workers to strip down any minute now for Vanity Fair's annual "Construction Issue."

Quite frankly, we're a little paralyzed by all of the post-Oscar nonsense we need to cover (the epic hangover isn't helping things, either), but we figured That Thing On Charlize Theron's Shoulder is a pretty good place to start. As Jon Stewart mentioned early on in the ceremony, a "return to glamour" was a running theme of the night, but the folks at Dior decided that they needed to supplement Theron's otherwise classic gown with a bow twice the size of the actress's head, the formal-wear equivalent of a pirate's parrot perched on her delicate shoulder. Thankfully, Theron left the diamond-encrusted eyepatch from Harry Winston's in the limo, sparing us all further embarrassment.

When Gawker kissing-cousin Arianna Huffington covers the Oscars (because everyone else from the Huffington Post is at the Oscars), she doesn't leave out a soul in Hollywood — even those who are so, so over Hollywood. In Huffington's off-red-carpet costume list, she names this non-attendee's outfit:

Gather 'round, darlings, and come get your midday snack: apple juice, a cookie, and a hearty spoonful of Blue States Lose. It's time for our weekly foray into the inane, where we sort through the galleries of the insane and inane hipsters at The Cobrasnake, Last Night s Party, Misshapes and Ambrel so you don t have to. After the jump, Joey Arak makes you smell his vintage cowboy boots.

Oh, Miss K., we know it hurts, but any high-flying woman will find shopping in Los Angeles — specifically, at the hipper-than-thou Fred Segal boutiques — to be quite the reality check. Driving up in a rented Jaguar simply isn't going to do it: