Don't get me wrong; I like both these collections and I adore their creators Raf Simons and Stefano Pilati but to a large extent, aren't Jil Sander (top 2) and Yves Saint Laurent (bottom 2) the same collection this season?
21 January 2012
Men's Fall 2012: Jil Sander/ Yves Saint Laurent
Don't get me wrong; I like both these collections and I adore their creators Raf Simons and Stefano Pilati but to a large extent, aren't Jil Sander (top 2) and Yves Saint Laurent (bottom 2) the same collection this season?
He Said She Said
"What we are today comes from our thoughts of yesterday, and our present thoughts build our life of tomorrow: our life is a creation of the mind." - Buddha
Year of the Dragon
Dame Maggie Smith is the very definition of the Dragon Lady: eyes popping, nosetrils flaring, fire breathing, with the stiffest of upper lips and that cut-glass accent spitting forth a never-ending stream of short stings. Love her!
14 January 2012
Something for PPX
Last week was a week of bumping into people at the taxi stand. I bumped into an ex intern who had gone completely blonde, and was on her way to a church fete. That was right after my appointment with Dr Yim at the Forum. Then there was PPX after lunch on the day I had to race back to the office to look at the February proofs. PPX reminded me how long it's been since I posted on the blog and I promised I would, and so here's something for him, a page or so from a diary I threw away in a (vain) bid to spring clean. Goodbye youth, goodbye:
K's First Kiss
I knew K would be there at Steven’s Christmas eve party, which he threw at his rented black and white bungalow atop a gentle slope near Orchard Road. K was already there, the centre of an adulating circle, as he always was, when I arrived with R and Mr B.
He could be high on something, but one really couldn’t tell with K.
Just after midnight, we decided to leave. Mr B wanted to go dance at the bar in Club Street, so we said our protracted goodbyes, and just before we stepped into the velvety darkness of the trees in the garden, K took my face in his hands and kissed me on the mouth. K tasted of wine and gum. I half thought he might be wanting to pass on an E to me, as he used to do, but there was no pill in my mouth.
R pretended he didn’t notice and Mr B was already drunk and really didn’t notice.
On Boxing Day, quite hungover, we went to watch a movie at the Mall. I’d been thinking all night and all day about K’s kiss, and what it could have meant, even as I was sitting through the movie. Was it just the drinks or drugs? But K was one of those that could drive perfectly straight even when stoned (he just gripped the wheel a little bit too tight and leaned stiffly forward) and I’ve witnessed him order a three course-dinner when he was completely off his face. He didn’t eat any of it, but he ordered it, and sat through the meal, drinking the wine automatically.
Imagine my surprise when we actually bumped into K in the supermarket right after the movie, when Mr B was having a coffee and R was eating a burger and I was sucking and chewing on a bubble tea.
K was with Jim, an old friend of ours, buying beer for a party; it was all a bit awkward. I was aware that R was studying me, and only Mr B seemed blissfully unaware. Jim asked me to join them for the party. “But we have dinner, and I’ve got to work tomorrow,” I said because Jim didn’t ask my friends, just me, but mostly because K didn’t ask me. He was talking to Mr B intently.
The next afternoon, Jim called me to chat.
He said that K gave him my number and that K told him that we hadn’t been talking for a while. “It’s been months,” I said. “Why rake this up?”
“You should ask him out for coffee,” insisted Jim.
“K can call me if he wants to talk or have coffee or whatever, he has my number,” I said, when I really wanted to say that the Christmas eve kiss reminded me of K’s first kiss so many years ago.
K's First KissI knew K would be there at Steven’s Christmas eve party, which he threw at his rented black and white bungalow atop a gentle slope near Orchard Road. K was already there, the centre of an adulating circle, as he always was, when I arrived with R and Mr B.
He could be high on something, but one really couldn’t tell with K.
Just after midnight, we decided to leave. Mr B wanted to go dance at the bar in Club Street, so we said our protracted goodbyes, and just before we stepped into the velvety darkness of the trees in the garden, K took my face in his hands and kissed me on the mouth. K tasted of wine and gum. I half thought he might be wanting to pass on an E to me, as he used to do, but there was no pill in my mouth.
R pretended he didn’t notice and Mr B was already drunk and really didn’t notice.On Boxing Day, quite hungover, we went to watch a movie at the Mall. I’d been thinking all night and all day about K’s kiss, and what it could have meant, even as I was sitting through the movie. Was it just the drinks or drugs? But K was one of those that could drive perfectly straight even when stoned (he just gripped the wheel a little bit too tight and leaned stiffly forward) and I’ve witnessed him order a three course-dinner when he was completely off his face. He didn’t eat any of it, but he ordered it, and sat through the meal, drinking the wine automatically.
Imagine my surprise when we actually bumped into K in the supermarket right after the movie, when Mr B was having a coffee and R was eating a burger and I was sucking and chewing on a bubble tea.
K was with Jim, an old friend of ours, buying beer for a party; it was all a bit awkward. I was aware that R was studying me, and only Mr B seemed blissfully unaware. Jim asked me to join them for the party. “But we have dinner, and I’ve got to work tomorrow,” I said because Jim didn’t ask my friends, just me, but mostly because K didn’t ask me. He was talking to Mr B intently.
The next afternoon, Jim called me to chat.
He said that K gave him my number and that K told him that we hadn’t been talking for a while. “It’s been months,” I said. “Why rake this up?”“You should ask him out for coffee,” insisted Jim.
“K can call me if he wants to talk or have coffee or whatever, he has my number,” I said, when I really wanted to say that the Christmas eve kiss reminded me of K’s first kiss so many years ago.
11 November 2011
22 August 2011
19 August 2011
Weekend Reading List: Excellence is Pretty Fairly Divided Between the Sexes
Because I'm reading the Isabella Blow bio Isabella Blow: A Life in Fashion, I've decided to dip into Jane Austen's spoof of the gothic novel Northanger Abbey. The latter sparkles with wit and light compared to the bio, which has the fascination of a car crash. A fashion icon right up to the end, Mrs Blow's life seem destined for tragedy right from the beginning. The bio by Lauren Goldstein Crowe is sympathetic, inspite of the monsters and gargoyles of its story - as A said about A Line of Beauty (Alan Hollinghurst) "all the characters are aweful and repellant". I had skimmed through Blow by Blow previously, by Detmar Blow, and I think A Life in Fashion is the better book, with more emotional distance, and obviously researched by a professional writer. This is a fast and easy read, like a book-length article from a glossy, focusing equally on her work in fashion world as on her personal life and her obsessions with property, the aristocracy, sex and the gothic aesthetic.
From Northanger Abbey:
“My dear madam, I am not so ignorant of young ladies’ ways as you wish to believe me; it is this delightful habit of journaling which largely contributes to form the easy style of writing for which ladies are so generally celebrated. Everybody allows that the talent of writing agreeable letters is peculiarly female. Nature may have done something, but I am sure it must be essentially assisted by the practice of keeping a journal.”
“I have sometimes thought,” said Catherine, doubtingly, “whether ladies do write so much better letters than gentlemen! That is — I should not think the superiority was always on our side.”
“As far as I have had opportunity of judging, it appears to me that the usual style of letter-writing among women is faultless, except in three particulars.”
“And what are they?”
“A general deficiency of subject, a total inattention to stops, and a very frequent ignorance of grammar.”
“Upon my word! I need not have been afraid of disclaiming the compliment. You do not think too highly of us in that way.”
“I should no more lay it down as a general rule that women write better letters than men, than that they sing better duets, or draw better landscapes. In every power, of which taste is the foundation, excellence is pretty fairly divided between the sexes.”
- Jane Austen
18 August 2011
17 August 2011
Ka-Ching!
Fashion's own Russian Cinderella Natalia Vodianova, 29, confirmed her split from billionaire Justin Portman, 41, after nine years of marriage in June. The new boyfriend is none other than the son of billionaire and LVMH head Bernard Arnault, the richest man in France, 34-year-old Antoine Arnault. Arnault Jr (below) — serves as head of marketing and communications at Louis Vuitton is also the managing director of Berluti. Ms Vodianova has three children with Mr Portman: Lucas, nine; Neva, five and Viktor, three, which amounts to quite a lot of rubles in child support.
The Watsons
Jane Austen's original manuscript of the unfinished novel The Watsons has sold for over £990,000 although it was valued for no more than £300,000. The Bodleian Library in Oxford has purchased this rare item, the only surviving original manuscript of any of Jane Austen's novels. The manuscript descended from Jane Austen’s sister Cassandra to her niece Caroline Mary Craven Austen (1805-1880), the younger daughter of their eldest brother James. It was in Caroline’s possession when first published in 1871 by her brother James Edward Austen-Leigh. The draft of this unfinished novel is not complete. The Morgan Library in New York owns 12 pages of the manuscript. A few of its pages were lost by The University of London. The manuscript is remarkable in that it is a working draft, with crossings out, ink splotches, and many changes inserted into the lines and spacings.
Models Make Fashion Possible
"Models make fashion possible.
They make the extremes of design seem attractive because of their perfect beauty – the poreless, flawless tans; The zero-fat tautness, the nubile waists and necks and tiny, little pin heads; The dense heads of hair brunette or blond; The magnificent legs and the glossiness of extreme youth. Anything would work on them, even the most outré of designer fashion. And that’s where accessories come in. For the rest of us mere mortals, with our untidy office-honed physiques, our secret, unbidden bulges and wrinkles, there are shoes, and bags, and sunglasses (and the patronizingly named ‘small leather goods’!). You may not have the stature to wear cropped multi-pleated Hammer pants, but hey, there’s that pair of fancy croco lace-ups that will add two inches to your self-esteem. You may not be brave (or foolish) enough to wear a leopard print jacket with metal studs but there’s a bag for you somewhere in the same collection that won’t make you look like an interesting ottoman.
Colour, too, can be thought of as an accessory in the way that wearing a splash of brilliant colour can really turn a dreary outfit around immediately, and improve your mood considerably. A bold red loafer, a royal blue shirt, a brightly patterned Hermes scarve, are all painless, easy ways to adopt colour into a too-staid wardrobe.
A menswear staple that can work as a figure-enhancing accessory is the jacket. A classic jacket will do the trick if like me, you feel fashion has left you behind, along with a waist, which I last had in 1990."
They make the extremes of design seem attractive because of their perfect beauty – the poreless, flawless tans; The zero-fat tautness, the nubile waists and necks and tiny, little pin heads; The dense heads of hair brunette or blond; The magnificent legs and the glossiness of extreme youth. Anything would work on them, even the most outré of designer fashion. And that’s where accessories come in. For the rest of us mere mortals, with our untidy office-honed physiques, our secret, unbidden bulges and wrinkles, there are shoes, and bags, and sunglasses (and the patronizingly named ‘small leather goods’!). You may not have the stature to wear cropped multi-pleated Hammer pants, but hey, there’s that pair of fancy croco lace-ups that will add two inches to your self-esteem. You may not be brave (or foolish) enough to wear a leopard print jacket with metal studs but there’s a bag for you somewhere in the same collection that won’t make you look like an interesting ottoman.
Colour, too, can be thought of as an accessory in the way that wearing a splash of brilliant colour can really turn a dreary outfit around immediately, and improve your mood considerably. A bold red loafer, a royal blue shirt, a brightly patterned Hermes scarve, are all painless, easy ways to adopt colour into a too-staid wardrobe.
A menswear staple that can work as a figure-enhancing accessory is the jacket. A classic jacket will do the trick if like me, you feel fashion has left you behind, along with a waist, which I last had in 1990."
16 August 2011
Coitus
I can't quite imagine why anyone would name a magazine Coitus, but there you go! That's the lovely Brazilian 'model' Pablo Morais on the cover - Mr Morais is another one of those young men fated to rarely wear 'fashion' in his career, not that we are complaining of course. 
15 August 2011
Princess Charlotte
Princess Charlotte Casiraghi of Monaco in Vogue Paris. The 25-year-old grand daughter of Grace Kelly shows off her fabulous genes on the cover of Vogue Paris's September issue, captured by the inevitable Mario Testino. This is not without precedent: Her mother, Princess Caroline, has been on the cover of Vogue Paris quite a few times.
(Above) Oct 1977, Norman Parkinson
Dec/Jan 1983, Andy Warhol
March 1979, Cecil Beaton
Princess Grace Kelly's Vogue cover, December 1971, Richard Avedon
Vogue UK, March, 1972
He Said She Said
“When I get a little money I buy books; and if any is left I buy food and clothes.” - Erasmus
14 August 2011
The King of Bhutan
King Jigme Singye Wangchuck (born 11 November 1955) was crowned the fourth king of Bhutan at age 28, making him the youngest King in the world.
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