BIEBER THE BEAUTIFUL

Justin Bieber, 21, is not only talented, he's a great beauty. Bieber is also really, truly stylish - his fashion feels unforced, uncontrived and authentic, a complete antithesis of Kanye West for example, if you need a reference.

Weekend Reading List: Flight

Even as you read this, I'm probably on a plane off for the long National Day weekend. I've packed all the stories I printed last Thursday in the office and put them in a blue Prada folder. I packed those in first with my pouch of sun care stuff (Clarins and Sisley), along with the two books I'm reading. Then I chucked in my Capri sandals and zebra print pony belt and a bottle of Coramandel and then I left, feeling heavy-hearted and slightly sad.I'm already in the middle of the the long-awaited (seven years, to be precise) Alan Hollinghurst novel, The Stranger's Child, which is exactly what I like (that means 'country house') - it's like Henry James, Jane Austen, Edith Wharton and - mostly - E M Forster modernised. It reminds me of Howard's End, and Maurice, with a pinch of Brideshead Revisited. It's glorious and I'm savouring it like a delicious, late meal. I read that it had come out in June in the announcements that it made this year's Booker Prize longlist. Critics and punters are speculating that it will win. This would be Hollinghurst's second Booker Prize, if so. His last book, The Line of Beauty won in 2004.
The call from Kinokuniya Liang Court came when I was in the cocoon of EN's beautiful car. In the rain, in the carpark behind Hilton. We were laughing at the pictures in my iPhone. I don't know much about cars but EN's car was palpably beautiful; it feels like you're inside a Kelly bag, with its tan leather interior and white top stitching. It's a deja vu moment. I've been in a car like this before, talking for hours, in just this carpark, in another rainstorm ages ago. So many things happened, in so many cars which circled, and stalled and went nowhere. The magical time in the car, with the radio on, and the aimless cozy chatter is like a bubble that couldn't stand the test of reality. You can't stay in the car forever, and so the bubble bursts, and you're there on the sidewalk with the rain in your face.Kinokuniya wanted to know if I still wanted their last copy of The Stranger's Child; I said I bought the book at Harris already. I hope a lovely young person buys that copy and becomes inspired like me.
It was raining sheets that morning; I had to pick my way out carefully in my sandals around the puddles from the cargo lift floor to the road so EN could pick me up for lunch. I saw the flash of EN's white smile when he saw me huddled under the Burberry umbrella as he zoomed past to the traffic light to make the U-turn for me and that lit me up, even though my toes were all wet by now and the new sandals ruined beyond repair. He didn't know I saw his smile.
What R said about me at the dinner at the Killiney Road S11 is true - I do love a challenge. The best way to make me do something is probably to say I can't, or won't. One of the things I printed out to read was Getting Bin Laden, by Nicholas Schmidle, about the ambush and killing of Bin Laden that night in Abbotabad. It's 17 pages long, and I find it fascinating. Did someone say I wouldn't like terrorist stories? The food, incidentally, was unexpectedly good; but it was damn hot. R and Mr B were both wearing skull pendants. R's was lime green plastic, and Mr B's was white gold with diamond eyes.
The other things I printed out: Alex Ross's essay Deceptive Picture on Oscar Wilde's writing of Dorian Gray, and Jackie O, Working Girl by Greg Lawrence, on the icon as an editor. Jackie O had a literary side, did you know? It wasn't always sunglasses and champagne.The other book I'm reading is The Classical World by Robin Lane Fox (I love Robin Lane Fox!). I'm at the chapter on Pericles - I told you, not everything's about sunglasses and champagne.

Hello Again

Well, it's good to be back.
I did like the days in Amsterdam a bit, but I prefer being home, to be honest. The roses and those Tudor style houses along the canals actually reminded me of England.
I liked looking out the windows from the Okura room at the people whizzing by on bikes and the badly dressed oldies (this isn't, I must say, a fashion sort of city) walking their fluffy dogs.
The pollen was flying in the Japanese garden where I had some very early, and very delicious Japanese dinners; I was the only one wearing a sweater and jeans amidst a sea of business-suited, sleek haired businessmen.
I have to say I prefer the Okura than the creaky, winding up and down boutique Pulitzer, which is in many ways, just a really big bed and breakfast. Its heavy gloom was not enlivened by the chatter I can hear from two rooms down, nor the constant slamming of heavy doors or the clatter of guests clumping all over the place.
I read rather a lot during the week(magazines and papers), and I'd especially recommend the novel Landfalls by Tim Mackintosh-Smith, about a Moroccan traveller of the early Renaissance. This is a heavily researched book lightened by jaunty prose. It does dwell enlighteningly on Islam, which one learns is more complex and less dogmatic and not completely abstract.One learns as one goes along, doesn't one?
On the other hand, my first trip up to Bangkok in four years was spent hectically catching up with friends I'd lost contact with for a while. I didn't manage to see everyone of them, but I managed at least to collect their numbers, so next time.I also made some new friends, as I was travelling with a young group I'd never travelled with before. The meals and traffic jams were made hilarious by the constant patter of rubbish from one young man called DH. This trip will always remind me of him, and his obsession with vintage jeans, sunglasses and watches. An afternoon spent giggling with DH in the back of a sedan isn't at all dreadful, I must say, even if it was pouring in sheets outside. Also the Greek-American model, 20 year old Christian, made quite an impression, and I only wished I had more time with him under the chandeliers of the gilt and mural Edwardian ballroom of the Oriental.
I love the Oriental Hotel, don't you? The rooms are so comfy, and the service civilised. Of course the food's really great. I ate quite a lot, I'm afraid.
The traffic jams are as horrific as ever, and the city is steadily, unstoppably transforming into one gigantic, dust-coloured mall. One morning, very bored, I bought on a beauty binge:1. Olay Professional and Pro-X products, including the age-defying day moisturiser (SPF 30), wrinkle smoothing cream and a deep wrinkle complex (don't ask).
2. Boots No 7 Protect & Perfect Serum.
3. Laura Mercier Creme Brulee Honey Bath.
4. Kyoku For Men Lava Masque which has mineral-rich mud, black sand and ash from Mount Fuji (don't ask, and let's not go there).
5. Tengan exfoliator which has shirasu volcanic ash, sourced from Japan's southern island of Kyushu (is it radioactive? Let's not go there). I do, in fact, have a thing for volcanoes.
But just to tell you that I'm not all vanity, my hair is all grown out of shape, and the grey is showing, but I can't be bothered to spend three hours at the salon.
Go figure, and have a lovely week ahead.
X

Weekend Reading List: I Heart Taipei

What is it about hotels that makes me eat like I'm in a Hollywood movie? This morning, I woke up in Taipei and went down quite eagerly to breakfast, and ate alot unthinkingly, including two large, fluffy, flakey croissants with lashings of butter and strawberry jam. And then I put on a sweater, and walked next door to Eslite. Eslite is the largest bookstore chain in Taiwan, and has a flagship store in Eslite Mall, located in the glossy Xinyi District. It's a lovely four-storey bookstore, set within a charming mall (more food, and all sorts of novel, pretty things to browse). Eslite has a "store within a store" design, with a Japanese bookstore, Chinese bookstore, arts bookstore (I found this section engrossing and comprehensive, and they even had an exhibition/art space and a charming cafe) and many other themed "stores". There is, unexpectedly, a wide range of English books and magazines, and an entire floor dedicated to the children's bookstore and children's discovery museum on the fifth floor. Which brings me neatly to the point that Taipei is so much more civilized a city than Hongkong - I've often been rather stumped that a city that prides itself as being cosmpolitan does not support any sort of a proper bookstore at all. Hong Kong has sprawling malls full of designer junk, and in the crags you find a half-hearted Dymocks or newsstands crawling with cheap tabloids but a proper bookstore like Taipei's Eslite, or even our own lovely Kinokuniya? I remember once wanting to buy a proper a book in Hongkong one sad bookless weekend and it was exasperating. Even the international magazines were months old. No wonder that Hong Kong people scare and bore me. You know, of course, that the expats thrive there - it really is the last outpost of the colonial era, isn't it? They really do the kow-tow properly in Hong Kong, like nowhere else I know. It's uncivilized. It's boring. It's the only city that makes me want to huddle in my hotel room untill the ordeal of being there is all over.

Not the 1960s Again!!!

How many times have they revived the 1960s since 1990? Having said that, I quite like the vulgarity of this cover... bad taste can be so energizing.

Make a Cup of Tea

One of my favourite writers, Christopher Hitchens, wrote a story for Slate(http://www.slate.com/id/2279601/) on the proper way to make tea:
"It is already virtually impossible in the United States, unless you undertake the job yourself, to get a cup or pot of tea that tastes remotely as it ought to," he complains. "It's quite common to be served a cup or a pot of water, well off the boil, with the tea bags lying on an adjacent cold plate. The drink itself is then best thrown away, though if swallowed, it will have about the same effect on morale as a reading of the memoirs of President James Earl Carter."
His tips, in brief:
1. Always use Indian or Ceylonese—i.e., Sri Lankan—tea.
2. Make tea only in small quantities.
3. Avoid silverware pots.
4. If you use a pot at all, make sure it is pre-warmed. (Do the same thing even if you are only using a cup or a mug.)
5. Stir the tea before letting it steep.
6. Take the teapot to the kettle, and not the other way about. The water should be actually boiling at the moment of impact.
7. If you use milk, make sure it's the least creamy type. ("And do not put the milk in the cup first—family feuds have lasted generations over this—because you will almost certainly put in too much," Hitchens says.)
8. A "decent cylindrical mug" is best.
9. Brown sugar or honey are "permissible and sometimes necessary," even though George Orwell would probably disagree.

Together, Forever

I've been held captive by the Ch 8 series Together for the past month or so; My excuse was that I was writing a comment piece on it (incidentally, it's out this week in 8 Days) but I've grown enthralled:
It’s not difficult to say what qualities make this series so riveting for me, although the plot is conventional and characters stock. There’s life in Together, and a quirky, original charm even though it’s yet another nostalgic blast from the past drama.
A coming of age story set purportedly in North Bridge Road in the '60s, it’s a period that my mother can identify with. There’s never a dull moment with the relentless plot twists and turns, but a major draw is the star studded cast, in particular, the hansome young leads. No less important is the great support of the veteran character actors that prevent this series from sinking into ‘idol drama’ territory (even though j'adore idol drama).
Dai Yangtian carries the role off on his sloping shoulders and has all the qualities of a leading man; He has the looks (the eyes!) and the gravitas, that makes him stand out from the line up of gorgeous young actors Together showcases (the male parade includes Desmond Tan as a bad cop, and Yuan Shuai as the good cop, and Zhang Zhenhuan who plays a wimp who was forced work on Bugis Street in drag to entice American sailors). Whether selling panties from a push cart or swaddled in the widest bell bottoms (amongst other indignities), Dai remains a star throughout. And that voice!
Jeanette Aw’s Little Nyonya Yueniang and Jianhong characters are one and the same: But that’s because they share the actress that plays them. Jeanette Aw plays both with grim virtue and as a model of icy Confucian stoicism; In fact she plays herself, and all her roles thus far are humourless and pained. To say that the Jianhong character is long suffering would be an understatement. Aw toughs through her role, hair pulled into the tightest ponytail, mouth dour, her body a rigid armour even when she’s dancing a rumba with a greasy towkay or a cha-cha with Constance Song. Song plays bad girl Lucy, a very senior lady of the night that recruits the virgin Jianhong into the life of vice. Song plays Lucy like a lazy adder, her reptilian eyes heavy with hinted debauchery; One wishes Lucy wasn’t killed off, she imbues the series with true evil, as the other villains merely cardboard tokens of the plot.
In a career-defining role, Elvin Ng plays Tarzan (the series is a wonderland of characters catchily named: A fat wrestler is called Mountain Wolf; A wanton mee seller is called $5.60; and Jianhong is betrothed to a roast suckling boss named Pork Bones). Elvin is my new crush, and he plays this simpleton with unbridled joy and gusto – and the most-ever gratuitous topless shots seen on Ch 8. He's simply dazzling (the blinding face-splitting smile is worth sitting up for really), so tan, smooth and fat-free. Although Aw and Dai are touted as the romantic leads, it is the ‘bromance’ between Dai and Elvin that forms the emotional core of the series. They would make a lovely couple. The kids would be so pretty.
Eelyn Kok is Jinhao, the vain fame-seeking bitch, the role originally meant for Fiona Xie. Kok is effervescent, and vulnerable at once, endowing this role with pathos, and making it a star turn all her own, so much so that I can’t imagine Ms Xie in it, for better or for worse. Jinhao is a serial pageant contestant, whose titles keep eluding her (Mattress Queen, then Miss Swimsuit, then Mooncake Princess...and many more pageants in between) is lovely to watch this erstwhile D-lister become a star right before your eyes.
The wonderful Aileen Tan plays an illegal bookie called Maomao. Tan’s performance (always hilarious and very good) is authentic shrew: Full of vim and earthiness and immediately recognisable. The set piece catfight between Maomao and Lucy, an orgy of hair pulling and flying heels will make you laugh out loud.
Without the pedagogical aspects of Little Nonya, Together is a campy romp in period duds (and repetitive scenes of Elvin sweatily making toast and roasting of coffee beans don't hurt) but it sparkles with some of the best performances from its ensemble. And that’s all one wants from a TV series: Performances to make us laugh and new stars to make us dream together.
(You can read the complete PG article in 8 Days)

Good Thing: Laduree by Marni

As you all know, I'm crazy about all things Laduree, so this is just an excuse to post something about this quitessential Parisian patisserie. Marni is the latest label collaborating with Ladurée on a limited-edition box, patterned with polka dots and a little flower brooch, filled with gold-covered chocolate macaroons. Only chocolate? Where are the Laduree's trademark pretty pastels? There’s the option of creating a customized selection of flavors (I love the rose and pistachio flavours). They come in boxes of eight or 18, on sale starting December 1 at Ladurée in Paris, London, Tokyo.

Splendid New Routine

Everyone knows that things simply lose all magic when used often, and that's why retail is deemed therapy. This adage is especially applicable to beauty products. After using something regularly, however efficacious or charming initially, one begins to tire of it. The magic simply diminishes (along, hopefully, with the zits or wrinkles). One grows simply to dread even opening the cap of the thing, or take a bath. I've got a new routine to make getting my ears wet worthwhile:
Facial wash: Stella McCartney Care Purifying Foaming Cleanser. Purportedly 100 per cent organic, it smells wholesomely of quince (so very English, right?). This is mildness itself, wholly suited to nurturing sensitive skin.
Moisturise: Annick Goutal's Creme Splendide is mauve pink and it smells like the way a Fantin Latour painting looks. I love that it contains rose sap, I feel like I'm slathering on the soul of a rose tree. How nice is that?
On Neck: First, pat on Cle De Peau's Lotion Tendre Balancing 1. It's Japanese, so it smells of wet cotton pads and mildly of sperm. So it's very nourishing. Then slather on La Priarie Cellular Cream Platinum Rare, which is supposed to contain platinum. It smells slightly minerally, and is a sturdy grey colour. Novel right? A light as souffle grey cream. It looks very efficient, and is very expensive so I smooth any extra off on the tops of my hands. At this price, even traces would be useful. Lips: Last ditch rescue for prune lips, a thick slick of Elizabeth Arden The Original Eight-Hour Cream. It is heavy, non-budge and smells medicinal. I like. Chaste sleep: I've this new habit of spraying myself (toe-to-neck) with the slightly menthol Caudalie Eau De Beaute (I think this is meant only for the face but it feels so nice on the body) that is inspired by Queen Isabelle of Hungary. It smells wonderously prim, like my midnight Marks and Spencer pyjamas. All my paws must be marinated in L'Artisan Parfumeur's Premier Figuier Body Cream. This smells deliciously sweet, with a green note that makes it not sexy, if you know what I mean. Finally light the Gucci Noelle candle, crack open a book and feel blissfull that I'm not out there somewhere grinning drunkenly at strangers with a cigarette dangling out of the corner of my mouth. Those days, thankfully, are quite, quite over.

To Patronise the Faculty of Taste

"To patronise the faculty of taste is to patronise oneself. For taste governs every free - as opposed to rote - human response. Nothing is more decisive. There is taste in people, visual taste, taste in emotion - and there is taste in acts, taste in morality. Intelligence, as well, is really a kind of taste: taste in ideas."
- Susan Sontag (1933-2004)