Sisi’s workout program

Ah, if only MyFitnessPal or SportsTracker existed 150 years ago. My kingdom for an app! It would have enabled my well-documented exercise obsession, allowing a quantitative measure of my efforts to maintain my 18-inch waist.

As it was, I would have put Jillian Michaels to shame. Biggest Loser, indeed! What with my bedroom trapeze, my mountain-climbing regimen, my strict diet of stag blood and milk, I would have made an excellent health and wellness consultant. Can’t you just see it? The Hofburg Boot Camp! Ladies would line up in the ballroom where I would distribute lead cannon balls. Everyone would grab a partner, and we’d have tight-lacing contests, similar to those kickboxing classes that are all the rage these days, where participants pull on elastic bands in rhythm to such ridiculous music as the Ninja Rap.

My version of Zumba would be a sort of speeded up waltz, with the Court composer flowering his musical ledgers with eighth notes and staccato. An assortment of Vienna’s frilliest dandies would join the class, happily flexing their ascot-festooned sinew, having rubbed slug paste on their shaved torsos to give off the perfect gleam underneath the ballroom’s heavy chandeliers.

Alas, they would have thought me mad(der) back in my day for even lightly suggesting that ladies should aspire to perspire. Aside from casual fanning (which amounts to perhaps 30 calories/hour), movement of all types was frowned upon. We were to maintain our lithe status through counting to ten between bites, and eschewing the extra shim of lard on our Sunday mutton. Indeed, they would have carted me off to the asylum had I suggested that a lady work towards developing six pack abs or buns of steel.

Pity. I would have so loved to see the Archduchess in a unitard, grunting away as she executed a series of roundhouse jabs.

Vinegar Valentines

Who said the modern lady has exclusive rights to the broken heart? Just because we didn’t have Adele in our day, doesn’t mean we did not express ourselves over the sorrow of love gone awry.

Case in point. As many of you know, I was betrothed to the Emperor when I was a wee 15 years of age. But what you may not know is that the auspicious engagement at Bad Ischl came on the heels of the death of my one true love. A count from Bavaria. He was a young man who went off to war and fell ill with some horrific disease (back in the 19th century, there were plenty of virulent bugs about. You caught a cold, and three days later, dead).

And even after my wedding, there were plenty of men who filled my heart with romance and intrigue, but, naturally, a Empress does not go around spreading her skirts willy nilly! No, I was a faithful, expectant wife–ever hopeful that my days would be appointed with favors and kindnesses, but woe and alas, marriage often leaves one hungry for love. On no other day of the year do the lovelorn feel more disheartened than on St. Valentine’s Day.

St. Valentine’s Day has a storied tradition of disappointment. Misunderstandings over how a hare should be properly boiled, or whether one’s summer holiday should be taken in the mountains or at sea. The Emperor, like many a husband, would forget all about the roses and chocolates–and scoot off for a hunting trip in middle of February. Heartbreak, ladies, is older than the hills.

Per chance you, too, are sitting alone on this day of love? As the adage goes, misery loves company, so I submit to you, this charming collection of Vinegar Valentines collected by Birmingham Museum. Enjoy.

Love,

Sisi

scheer beauty

Amy Winehouse footwear has no place in my wardrobe

In honor of groundhog’s day, I’m going to talk about shoes. Disconnect, you say? Nonsense. We’re talking about spring being around the corner, and that means one thing: fashionable attire. For an empress–or any lady–fashionable attire leads to footwear, ergo, today we will examine the insane popularity of Christian Louboutin heels and their ilk.

Now, I’m all for looking smashing and turning heads, but ladies, do we really need to invite deformation, ankle twists and the unsightly bulge known as Pump Bump?

Now these are boots fit for royalty

We Austrians may have our quirks, but if there is one area in which we excel, it’s in the manifestation of the sensible shoe. As you know, Vienna boasts several bespoke shops along its main retail thoroughfares–Am Graben, Kohlmarkt and Kärntner Strasse.

Modern-day dandies and the elegantly attired flock to Rudolf Scheer & Söhne where they can outfit themselves with the same late 19th century quality enjoyed by the Emperor and myself. Shoes that will hike a mountain and still retain their sole. Shoes that put foot health first (Herr Scheer was a foot doctor), but don’t compromise on beauty.

Thinking that Scheer shoes will make you look like your spinster aunt? Not-to-worry. You’ll dazzle any dance floor in red pumps made from a single piece of ostrich leather, or diamond-studded calf’s-leather pumps styled to look like zebra. And your feet won’t be aching the next day as you sip your café allongé at Cafe Drechsler.

So ladies, next time you feel the urge to cram your tootsies into a pair of come-fuck-me pumps, imagine the hideous bunion-studded, carbuncle-ridden feet that you’ll no doubt own the second half of your life.

empress for a day

Want to walk a kilometer in my slippers? Well, you’re in luck! The Schoenbrunn Orangery offers a splendid tour called “Sisi’s Treasures,” where you may experience imperial Vienna through the eyes of the legendary Empress Elisabeth, aka, me.

For a mere 150 Euros you get the essence of life as, well, if not me, at least one of my servants.

Your tour begins at one of my castles (Schoenbrunn or the Hofburg), where you can marvel at my exercise equipment, ridiculously uncomfortable chairs, spectacularly formal silverware, and the minutia of my everyday life: hairbrushes, chamber pots, pen nibs. After all of that touring, you’ll be treated to a 3-course dinner at the Café-Restaurant Residenz (bring a sweetheart–there’s candles and ambience. Alcohol in abundance for an extra charge), and then, to top off your evening, you’ll attend a concert at the Orangery, performed by the Schoenbrunn Orchestra. It’s an explosion of all things Viennese!

What is an Orangery you ask? Fair question. It’s a fancy greenhouse, originally used to grow citrus trees in winter, so we royals were spared nasty diseases like scurvy and rickets. Here’s a sketch of Nicola Picassi’s Orangery, built in the mid-1700′s, it remains one of two noted, enormous Baroque Orangeries in the world (the other is in Versailles, of course–those French, always competing!)

If the above has you thinking: enough already with the Empress for a Day stuff you can always opt for the Mammals and Melodies Tour–in lieu of my castles, silver and underwear, you get a trip to the Vienna zoo as well as a beef in aspic dinner (that includes a shot of Swiss Pine schnapps!) and the Orangery concert described above.

waist training unpacked

amazing what a little whale bone and leather can do

A corset is a garment that girds the torso and shapes it according to the fashionable silhouette of the day. Most often it has been used for cinching the waist and supporting the breasts. This is what Wikipedia thinks, anyway. What is my definition of the corset? Thank you for asking. It depends on the day. When plagued by PMS and the like, well, a corset is a necessary evil–how else can one distort the female form into the hourglass ideal whilst hormones and nature have in mind something closer to, say, a treble clef?

But some days, when I’m feeling rather sane and disgusted by mankind in general, I’m all over the empire waist of the peasant gown. As sexy as a glo-worm on steroids. Think: 19th century muumuu. The ubiquitous and ever-popular caftan. Comfort over form. A bon-bon popping outfit to die in, er, for. On my corsetless days, nary a portrait artist would be permitted anywhere near the Hof. Could you imagine the damage to my reputation as history’s most perfectly molded empress should the Paparazzi catch me all bloated on one of my fat days? Can’t you just see the headline, with one of those arrows photoshopped in and pointing to my abdominal region: Sisi’s baby bump?

It is no secret that I boasted an 18-inch waist, and that I had my dear hairdresser Franziska measure it each day, while she tight-laced me into an hourglass so extreme, only three grains of sand might fall through it at once. Ladies, imagine squeezing yourself into a Spanx girdle, and then rolling a second one on over that, and then a third. Do you see the picture I’m trying to paint? Beauty is pain. Pain!

And, training the waist on a daily basis is not without its digestive consequences. All one’s intestines pushed up and down, the liver squeezed like Mr. Obie, causing an ancillary lobe to grow out the edges, ribs cracking, one’s waste compacted to the hardness of a battering ram. Not that I’m complaining–merely pointing out that maintaining the image of the perfect figure is not for sissies (not to be confused with sisi’s).

sisi’s top 5 fad diets

Another January, another set of resolutions to follow and then abandon. What’s an Empress to do?

Known as much for my gorgeous hair as my fanatical exercise regime and eating disorder, I think I’m an authority on history’s most bizarre and compelling fad diets. Here are some of my favorites:

1. Sisi’s Very Own Milk, Blood, and Pastry Regime. Balance is key, ladies, if you wish to mitigate a sweet tooth. Upon awakening, take a vial of stag blood along with a full stein of milk (if possible, from your very own cow or goat). Fast until dinner, at which time you may allow yourself another shot of blood and/or milk with which to wash down a pastry or two. Extra points if you execute 10 pull-ups on your trapeze.

2. Pickled Eggs and Pork Fat. Nothing complements the skin like suet, and the vinegar from pickled eggs ensures that you’ll not wish to eat another thing all the live long day.

3. Prost! William the Conqueror’s  alcohol-only diet. Though it was remarkably unsuccessful, leaving the corpulent and very dead monarch in need of a casket big enough for his girth, it certainly was fun while it lasted!

4. The Graham Diet. As we all know, lust of food is related to that other type of lust: the one responsible for epilepsy, spinal diseases, and all manner of madness. The visionary minister Sylvester Graham came up with the original vegan, bland diet in order to assuage his own sexual cravings. His legacy lives on, thanks to Nabisco and those ubiquitous crackers.

5. The Tapeworm Diet. If all else fails, there’s always parasites. Before gastric bypass was invented, this was the only option for some morbidly obese individuals. Unfortunately, tapeworms are ill-behaved and tend to become unwelcome guests. Before long, not only are they helping themselves to your food, they’re bold enough to insist upon stealing the luster from your hair, skin and nails as well. Although they can help you shed the pounds for spa season, longterm, you’ll wish you never invited them.

Mahlzeit!

 

 

have yourself a wiener little christmas

The little ones are so cute, but the Viennese shopkeepers have been known to slap naughty hands!

Christmas in Vienna, anyone? Consider this:

Choirs from Austria, other European cities and the U.S. will offer their voices to at the International Advent Caroling at Vienna’s City Hall until Christmas Eve. Admission is free.

 

Christmas Market! Sample traditional gingerbread, roasted almonds and honey while you take in the backdrop of the Burgtheater and Vienna City Hall. Wear your woolies!

 

 

Merry Christmas. Love, Sisi

The Maria-Teresien-Platz is aglow with festive holiday spirit. You might even catch a glimpse of some cult followers impersonating your favorite dead Empress (December 24th is my birthday after all)!

Whether it’s home for the holidays or some exotic adventure, Sisi and company wishes you a very happy Christmas–and remember to eat well and drink often–Mahlzeit!

o come let us adore me

If you didn’t live in the mid-nineteenth century, the closest you’ll come to Victorian, Edwardian and Regency tchotchkes is etsy. (Not to be confused with regretsy). Today, I am pleased to present a variety of fine hand-crafted items that approach the pomp, fuss and discomfort of my own splendid era. Enjoy!

I always enjoy ornaments that feature baby’s severed heads.

Hello Mr. Emperor!

Too big for gifts that hold jewels. Save these for the youngsters.

anti-itch cream not included.

Who said discomfort can’t be hip?

Tag. I’m it!

tobacco enema, anyone?

the pearls are a nice Viennese touch, yes?

One cannot utter the word Vienna without conjuring Freud and medicine and, well it must be said, the bowels. Did we not invent the term anal-retentive here in Austria?

Late in the 18th century there was this theory flying around that one could resuscitate the dead by blasting tobacco up the rectum. I Scheisse you not!

That smarmy Habsburg, Joseph II, wished to fortify his army with the latest surgical techniques, so in 1785 he opened the Medical-Surgical Military Academy and stocked it full of Florentine wax models, all anatomically fitted with organs, in order to advance medical science for the Empire. It was here that the tobacco-as-resuscitator theory bloomed.

Thankfully, by the time I sat on the throne, this idea was disproved (thank God nobody marched out to my assassination site with a bellows and a pail of tobacco water!). But it did serve as the basis for the notion of resuscitation, and paved the way for electric stimulation to the heart and all those other 20th-Century miracles … in addition to providing fodder for Bram Stoker.

beer pairings Munich style

Not exactly Budweiser horses

We all know that Bavaria is famous for beer — Oktoberfest was invented by my uncle, for God sakes — but the popularity of our breweries cannot be understated. In Munich, you can enjoy a hand-crafted Pils with your morning rye toast, a bottom-fermented Bock with your noon-time Brat, and a stout Doppelbock alongside a bowl of Spaetzle before you polka the night away.

So, you’re convinced. You wish to book your flight, get off the plane, stein in hand, and lumber up to the first Brauhäuser you find and you want the best bang for the Euro. I suggest, as I would for any European adventure, a consultation with Rick Steves.

Pop upstairs for a polka

But, if you’d like the shorthand, go with Sisi’s recommendations herewith:

• Jodlerwirt near the town hall. It’s squeezebox and dirndls and lots of wurst with your dunkle.
• Altes Hackerhaus is fancy and old and famous for its Hacker-Pschorr beer. It’s a must in courtyard weather season.
• If you like crowds, kraut and variety, head to Andechser Dom. Reservations suggested during peak hours.
• And, if you’re a total alcoholic and prefer to just get down and funky without sullying up your calorie intake with actual food, go directly to Heilig-Geist-Stuberl and tip one back with the locals!

Want to tour the big six? You can read more about the conventional Munich suds scene here.