Determined not to let Cosmo hold court over the unrealistic self-improvement beat, this week's issue of New York offers "12 Ways to Remake Your Boring Old Self." The idea is cute (readers love listicles!), but we're not sure how many people, if any, want to remake their lives per New York's suggestions, which include becoming a nun, growing organic tomatoes upstate, or getting cast on a reality show. As an alternative, we'd like to offer Gawker's far more realistic list for shaking up your boring old life:

We don't know about you kids, but we're thoroughly hungover from this blogfuck stuff. Last Monday brought New York mag's cover story on blog hierarchy (a subject relevant to so very few, we'd venture that, come year's end, last week's issue will be the lowest-selling for all of 2006). Thursday had Slate's Daniel Gross telling us that blogs are so over, due in no small part to that silly New York article. Late Friday, Trevor Butterworth at the Financial Times chimed in with his aptly titled thinkpiece, "Time for the Last Post." And Sunday brought good ol' William Safire's "On Language" column for the Times magazine, in which he explored — what freaking else? — funny words in the blogosphere.

Harry Bernstein, this week's subject in New York mag's Look Book, is a Cathew — half Catholic, half Jewish, and all hip-hop. An advertising art director who hasn't found inspiration in much since his peyote trip in the White Sands desert, Bernstein loves Southern girls and "taking two things that already exist" to combine his "original" look. After the jump, Intern Alexis picks the brains of Tiffany Gong, Rachel Khong, and Jacob Carlson for thoughts on Harry's super-original peacoat/hat/scarf combo look.

Dashing Joe Hagan, the media-reporting up-and-comer who only nine months ago left the peach playpen of The New York Observer, where he'd been the NYTV columnist, to take over the media beat at The Wall Street Journal, is now set to leave the Journal and become a contract writer at New York mag. There's no formal announcement yet, but we understand Hagan will start with New York in late March, and he'll write on topics including media, business, and cultural institutions.

In winter, sometimes it snows. Also, there are blogs.

We love it when New York bmag's Look Book features darling old biddies, like Lois Evans. Lois is an ex-diplomat whose job was to greet visiting dignitaries like Indira Gandhi and tardy Trudeau. Lois is a lady with an undoubtedly shady past — her husband was a legal partner of Richard Nixon's — but she's not talking. What she will reveal, however, is that she showed her knees in Tonga, which makes her a depraved criminal. We like that!

Frederica Monaco is truly blessed: Aside from being featured in this week's edition of New York mag's Look Book, she's totally French and didn't have to wait on the list to score her offensively colossal Birkin bag. She's been in the United States for eleven years, during which time she worked at the French consulate and grabbed herself a husband while she was at Barneys; Frederica is now a mother who takes "shopping days," which are devoted to buying beige items. Admit it: you wish you could spend your life purchasing beige. Either that or, say, punching your monitor right now.

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If we may be serious for just a moment: Playwright Wendy Wasserstein died this morning of cancer. She was 55.

Just a bit more than two years ago, in a surprise last-minute move, Bruce Wasserstein won the auction to buy New York magazine. Just a bit less than two years ago, in a surprise move, Adam Moss left the Times to become editor of New York. For the last two years, then, a common Manhattan media conversation starter has been, "So, what do you think of the new New York?" In a press release issued this afternoon and based upon various just-compiled 2005 statistics, the magazine itself thinks it has an answer:

OK, you know those random Jack White sightings you hear about that aren't actually of Jack White? They're of this chump, Brian Ermanski — who, from what we can tell, is everything that's wrong with life below 14th Street. In this week's edition of New York mag's Look Book, we learn that Ermanski is an artist who calls himself the Prince of Elizabeth (because he works outside on the corner of Prince and Elizabeth). Ermanski makes money by purchasing shitty thrift store clothes and reselling them to overpriced vintage boutiques like Resurrection, where you'll eventually buy his crap for $75 (because you're a total sucker). When he's not jacking up the price of used clothes, he perfects his "punk fop" look by wearing the same outfit for a month and only showering once a week.

We don't know what sort of resolutions they made for the New Year over at New York magazine, but this week's Look Book suggests that they've resolved to be insanely egalitarian or somesuch nonesense with the inclusion of Winsome McDermott, a social worker who runs the men's shelter on Bowery. Not that we're objecting to the inclusion of McDermott in a fashion Q&A, but she's been in the helping-others biz for 20 years and is so, well, good that we're left feeling like real assholes who care far too much about shoes. Which we are, of course.

Amid all the excitement about Warren St. John's positive identification in today's Times of the (female) actor who's been playing "JT Leroy," and the concomitant final proof that "Leroy" is almost certainly the creation of San Francisco couple Laura Albert and Geoffery Knoop, New York magazine doesn't want you to forget its writer said it, too. And months ago. (Except, you know, without identifying the person who appears as "Leroy" in public, or being willing to remove a lot of likelys and probablys from the expose.)

From Jay McInerney's New York mag cover story on the modern icons of NYC rock, the Strokes, we happily present you with your easy-reference cliché guide:

• Morgan Stanley boots 4 employees after they accompanied clients to a strip club. Apparently this touches on Morgan Stanley's touchy gender discrimination issues, but we find it just as offensive to assume a female staffer wouldn't want to take the high rollers to Scores. [Wall Street Folly]
• After three years of delightly offensive and brilliantly entertaining pro bono work, the Black Table throws in the towel and heads to rehab. [Black Table]
• Are they Yindies? Yupsters? Or just annoying fuckwit posers? [LA Weekly & Newsweek]
• A reasonably kind rationalization of your Life & Style habit, courtesy of Salon. [Salon]
• Slightly more pleasant than chugging glasses of Airborne. [Female First]
• Supermodel Kate Moss, always the bravest girl in Bolivia, agrees to return to London to speak with authorities about that whole cocaine thing. [Telegraph]
• Happy New Year, John Norris. You're gonna need it. [MisShapes]
• We may not LURVE New York's 101 restaurants, but we certainly wouldn't rather watch an episode of 2 and a Half Men instead. That's just crazy talk. [PDHyman]
• Club kid killer Michael Alig is baaack! [WOW]
• You can jack the price of hooch up all you want; it's not going to stop a single person from getting hammered at brunch. [Reuters]
• Get more for your money at Starbucks. [Slate]
• McSweeney's grows a precious new tentacle called Wholpin, for DVDphiles. [Cool Hunting]
• Is there any limit to the fun we can have at Tara Reid's expense? [Gallery of the Absurd]

Meet Margaret Mickles, 2006's first victim of New York mag's Look Book. Mickles is a former model who, after 6 years, just left the industry after to feed her mind and pursue her education in religious studies. She doesn't really believe people can express themselves through their clothes, but that doesn't stop her from donning her funky crochet pants and pursuing a folk-esque, East Village look and hunting for mountain laurel flowers. Big words from a chick living in Gramercy. After the jump, Intern Alexis rounds up Brian Stromquist, Noah Carr, and Neel Shah for a discussion on Ms. Mickles' pickles.

As we mentioned last week, New York, desperate to kick off 2006 with some sort of interest-sparking controversy, releases its list of New York's 101 best restaurants — and announces that from now on, foodie critic Adam Platt and the gang will be adopting a star system to rate establishments. Quelle horreur! Quelle Michelin!

Remember when the Michelin Guide for New York launched? How everyone who even tangentially cared got their cloth napkins in a twist over it? Too French! Too elitist! (Which is much like calling the Atlantic too wet and too salty, but never mind.) The Spotted Pig?! Jean-Georges better than Daniel?! Oh, people were angry. And, oh, those were good times.

Given the bitter weather and the spectacularly frustrating transit strike, this week's New York provides a much needed warm fuzzy with its "123 Reasons to Love New York Right Now" cover story. After all, we all sometimes need a reminder as to why we put up with the bullshit.

Look at this fucking picture. Are you kidding us, New York mag? Is this your idea of a joke? How are we supposed to do anything with this week's Look Book when all you give us is the back of some dude's head? You may have been trying to show off his "leopard spotted" hair, but it just strikes us as some sloppily frosted tips. Nevertheless, sculptor Josh Levine insists his leopard hair is part of a long-term artistic project with his wife. Josh Levine is his own art, which works into his larger work as a living sculpture based around the narcissistic sense of self. Yep, sounds pretty narcissistic to us.