As Fashion Week draws to a close, leaving cigarette butts and dead models in its wake, it's time to take a moment to honor the stupid hipsters, whose whimsical eye makeup and playful bandannas endlessly inspire fashion's best designers. So sit back and enjoy Blue States Lose, wherein we look at the ridiculous pictures on The Cobrasnake, Last Night’s Party, Misshapes, and Ambrel so you don't have to. After the jump, Alex Blagg writes love letters to Princess Coldstare.

We're going to go for one more bite of the apple on that 9/11 photo story. It's been previously established that Thomas Hoepker took a photo of Brooklyn hipsters acting in a potentially douchebaggy way on the day of the terrorist attacks. Frank Rich weighed in at the NYT, saying that they weren't callous, just American. David Plotz of Slate disagreed, declaring them not douchebags but citizens engaged in discussion. One of the photo subjects, a Brooklyn artist, popped up to say that, yeah, that's exactly what they were doing, and had Hoepker looked a little more closely, he would have realized that. Now Hoepker himself emerges, rather articulately discussing the ambiguity of the photo itself. At this point we're inclined to believe that the person who comes off the worst in this scenario is Frank Rich, who used the image to promote his political agenda, but our view may change when Slate publishes the next few installments in the series ("I Published That 9/11 Photo," "I Wrote That New York Times Column," "I Flew That Plane Into The Tower," etc.). We'll keep you posted.

It's Fashion Week, so Thursgay Styles has plenty of ground to cover: the "cascading" spring styles, seating at the shows, the sweater-jacket as a fall staple...and the MisShapes. Really? The MisShapes? How fascinating! Who are these downtown darlings you speak of?

If you're a jet-setting hipster or Greg Lindsay, you know Parisian boutique Colette as the cooler-than-thou temple of highly selective merchandise. But Colette is more than a place to spend your Euros — its alter ego runs an occasional dance class for the heavily eyelinered elite. In honor of Fashion Week, last night the boutique brought its talent to the East Village's Culture Club for some organized instruction — but, because these are French hipsters, the dance was that from Michel Gondry's music video for Around the World. That's right. People donned their best club attire to learn the robot. After the jump, Gawker shutterbug Nikola Tamindzic and staff slave Stephanie try not to bump into MIA.

It's Friday, and that means it's time for our favorite exercise in visual punishment, Blue States Lose! The routine is torturous, but we nevertheless look at retarded pictures of fucked up hipsters on The Cobrasnake, Last Night’s Party, Misshapes, and Ambrel so you don't have to. After the jump, Alex Blagg buys himself 17 new Eastpaks.

• The animal kingdom embraces the death penalty, celebrates the demise of Steve Irwin. [Daily Gut]
• OMG KATIE COURIC TONIGHT OMG CBS OMG LEGS.
• John Travolta: gaygaygaygay. [National Post]
• Did Jessica Simpson lip-sync on today's episode of The View? Is that why we were kind of digging it? [BWE]
• Preteen Observer publisher Jared Kushner knows when to pull punches: when advertisers are involved, obviously. Go ahead, son, you can admit it. [The Real Deal]
• The New Yorker gets polybagged, and nary a sideboob to show for it. [Living With Legends]
• The Lower East Side and East Village become sprinkled with random instances of public art. One man projected his video art onto Ludlow Street, where a dickbag might conveniently vomit on said artistic efforts. [Metro]
• After being charged with five counts of posession of just about everything, junkie Brit rocker Pete Doherty dodges the slammer after a judge admits to liking one of his songs. You know, here in the States, at least our justices pretend to be impartial to Snoop Dogg lyrics... [Daily Mail]
• Starbucks: terribly indie, boho. [Copyranter]
• Steely Dan turns towards indier-than-thou director Wes Anderson. Only classic rock can help him. [Steely Dan]
• Meachem, Newsweek, official, newsweeklies, yawn, dentures, blahblahblah. [Reuters]
• Fake hipsters hate on fake hipsters behind web show The Burg. It's the circle of post-post-life. [The Burg]
• R.I.P. Willi Ninja. [Keith Boykin]

T.G.I.F. right? Thank fucking GOD! We are dying over here. But you know, the sweet doesn't taste as good without the sour. The sunshine is never as bright as after the rain. What we're trying to say is you have to look at some hipsters now, and that sucks, but when you're done doing that the week will be over and you can have a tall boy to wash the taste of over-inflated self-worth from your mouth. After the jump, Alex Blagg goes through the week's best (worst, what's the difference?) party pics from The Cobra Snake, Last Night's Party, and Misshapes. Pour some of your tall boy out for the poor guy, you bitch.

What's worse than being stuck in your cubicle death chamber on a summery Friday? Looking at photos of hipsters, of course. Nevertheless, we persevere, sorting through the asstastic imagery found on The Cobrasnake, Last Night’s Party, Misshapes, and Ambrel so you don't have to. After the jump, Alex Blagg tries to get in Leigh Lezark's pants.

If you're a normal human being, you probably come on here needing an Hipstetta Stone to decipher all the ironi-cool hipster jargonacular (maybe vernargon is better?). Blue States Lose is helpful, but fortunately for you (and us), someone directed us to this video that provides way more than we need to know on Leigh Lazark, and, um, those two other guys responsible for MisShapes.

For the record, the end of days officially began at MisShapes, August 19th, 2006. Pictured above at said location are Times fashion critic Cathy Horyn and designer/walker Narciso Rodriguez.

It's a big day here at the BSL: former hipster-hater Joey Arak, having fallen deeply in love with One-Half Nelson, has left us to join his soulmate on an upstate lovefarm. Thus the conch shell is officially passed to Viacom slave Alex Blagg, in whose capable hands you will find solace from the horrors of our local nightlife. Make him feel at home, won't you? Rest assured, his ire is just as fiery as yours.

• An socio-anthropological examination of the JAP and her fitness habits. Naturally, the gym bag is the heaviest weight she lifts. [Fake Jew]
• Anna Wintour acknowledges the un-chicness of Mastic, her vacation town. And yet she continues to own property there. The mind boggles! [The Beach]
• The city passes its "Imette law," inspired by the murder of Imette St. Guillen, who's believed to die at the hands of an unlicensed bouncer. Clubs must now enact all sorts of new safety measures — none of which, you know, will actually prevent a some girl from getting wasted and getting in trouble. But nice of them to try. [NYP]
• Two days after Christina Alisio told the Post that she'd slept with philandering Met Paul Lo Duca, she's hired counsel to go after the media outlets who didn't make her look as hot as she'd have liked. [Philadelphia Will Do]
• The Wives and Girlfriends (WAGs) of major English soccer stars are redefining white trash, wearing high-end apparel bought with their own money and angering designers who hate to see their work on such middle-class bodies. Aw, poor Posh. Then again, maybe we're kind of into the WAGs because they're not an American property. If they were "ours," we'd probably hate them too. [Telegraph]
• The Week is doing kind of well. No, seriously. Don't laugh. [Folio]
• Who isn't working for Radar? It's just as commonplace as using the subway. [Belle in the Big Apple]
• Cocaine + hipsters + Mexico City = obligatory American Apparel reference. [LA Weekly]

We're not sure what upset us the most about this morning's MisShapes fashion show, but if we had to guess we'd say it was the comparison to Factory icon Edie Sedgwick:

No. No. This is NOT the way to start our morning, our Thursgay Styles ritual interrupted by the jarring image of Princess Coldstare of MisShapes (Leigh Lezark) in a $9,190 fur vest. The article ostensibly is about fall's new chunky, layered looks; Lezark was one of three trendy ladies invited into Barneys to play dress up for the Times. She arrived with fellow MisShape Leotard Fantastic (who, not coincidentally, was in last Sunday's Styles holding a glass of rose-fucking-ay), deemed the clothes "too old," was indifferent to wearing anything on her bottom, and suggested chopping up a floor-length Marc Jacobs frock. And for this, she is fabulous, perched with socialites, compared to Edie Sedgwick, presented as the emo Jessica Joffe. But no matter how high Lezark's star may rise, remember: you knew her when she was just a girl with a vagina shirt and a dream.

For whatever deranged reason relating to sunshine, yesterday afternoon we found ourselves thrust amidst the well-heeled glamourpusses on the rooftop of Soho House. While were successful in avoiding eye contact, we couldn't help but glance around and notice a proliferation of pink. Waiters bringing out bottle after bottle of rosé to the poolside. Wine glasses filled with various shades of blush. Just one week after Sunday Styles absurdly proclaimed rosé to be the new hotness, and everywhere we looked, people were drinking rose-fucking-ay. The conspicuous consumption of rosé wasn't confined to the exclusive places, either. We even saw rosé in the East Village. Well below 14th.

Good morning! This had to be posted, and it was probably safest to do so before you had your breakfast. Or before we had our breakfast, anyhow. But the hip, retarded kids posing for the party picture pages at Last Night's Party have taken things to the next level, and their acheivement cannot be ignored. Not content to merely flash their milky, saggy breasts for the camera, some sweaty ladies have participated in a shoot titled Barfing Beauties: A symphonic climax of sexy vomit featuring the BK Girls. Stunning, no? Tomorrow, hot indie babes splash around in a diarrhea-filled jacuzzi.

Your Pinot Gris is so last week: according to the Sunday Styles, rosé is the new hotness,* being stylishly sipped by everyone from Russell Simmons to Jay McInerney to beloved Misshapes Leotard Fantastic and the Other Guy (at right). West Village gastropub the Spotted Pig is touted as carrying five rosés on its wine list, and owner Ken Friedman says, "Ros has replaced prosecco and cosmos as the new chick drink." (We totally missed that prosecco thing.) And if it's good enough for Carrie Bradshaw, it's good enough for every other misguided soul hoping to achieve such an intangible level of chic.

More from the Pig:

Not angry sun nor blistering heat can hold down the dancing children of Blue States Lose. And so it's time for our weekly exercise in eye-bleeding, where we look at the silly hipsters on The Cobrasnake, Last Night’s Party, Misshapes, and Ambrel so you don't have to. After the jump, Joey Arak puts ice cubes on your nipples.

On Tuesday, we briefly mentioned the arrival of a new gym opening on Ludlow. There was much gnashing of the teeth as the usual suspects bemoaned (again) the death of the Lower East Side. Well, if the above flyer is any indication, there's nothing to worry about: They're going to fit right in.

In case you missed it, there was a fascinating piece in this week's Times Magazine concerning consumption and identity. Rob Walker, the paper's resident expert on consumer behavior, examined three "underground" t-shirt companies in an attempt to explore the significance of branding to hipster youth. This article is well worth your time, providing a perspective on how a new generation negotiates with consumerism. The most important questions raised are these: Can a hipster t-shirt be as incendiary as a rock anthem? Is a cool logo some kind of manifesto? Does shopping for weird new stuff make you subversive?