Clarification

This, my friends, is a Dalek.



And this is David Tennant

A motley of thoughts about differences between here & there

When a BBC or ITN presenter turns to the studio screen to talk to the reporter in the field, we generally see a wind swept woman of indeterminate age & minimal makeup, in a sludge coloured overcoat battling (wo)manfully against the elements whilst delivering crisp, informed analyses. On Fox, we cut to a dyed blonde in a lime green satin blouse, with the artful hairstyle of a regional beauty queen & make-up that indicates application with a trowel, who continually glances left at her (off screen) idiot board.

When someone says "Yo dude. Wassup?", they are not being ironic.

Pie. When I hear the word pie I think of chicken or of steak & kidney. Here it seems always to refer to apple or, unfathomably, peach.

Fire crews: I see at least two or three fire trucks a day honking their way down the Avenues, with an American flag billowing out behind them. And every time I stop and watch them go by, a symbol of pride in their country, & try to imagine what it must have been like to live here in the latter half of 2001. It’s not quite the same seeing as a fire engine go down Kentish Town High Street.

Daleks ahoy!

This is a bloody brilliant interview with David Tennant et al by Caitlin Moran in The Times about the new series of Doctor Who, for which I have a passion bordering on the mildly joyful, (or am I confusing that with my passion for David Tennant?). Hmm.

Blog-tastic

I don't deserve to be mentioned in the company of Janine di Giovanni and the fabulous William Dalrymple, but thank you to James Scott Linville for linking to me on his erudite blog The Main Point

Other blogs I find myself clicking through too often are the acerbic View From The Fourth Row, The (genius)Sartorialist and the knicker wettingly funny Fug Girls (A proper guilty pleasure.) I stumbled across The Coherent the other day - gd to get a male take on fashion for once. And, of course, all my fellow fashion hacks as listed in my Required Reading links - off to the right. Mind you, I haven't even investigated food, literature or music blogs yet. I feel tired at the thought.

Although I must give a mention to Fire and Knives, an addictive food & cooking blog from London by the extremely talented Tim Haywood. I know this because I have commissioned him.

Calvin Klein 'model presentation' Fall 07

Thoughts after the Calvin Klein static ‘model presentation’ for AW07 today. ( BTW model presentation did mean exactly that: a stepped, almost ceiling high pyramid in the middle of a show space with about thirty male & female models in Calvin clothes artfully arranged on the various levels, looking bored senseless for the two hour duration of the 'presentation'.)

1) Who thought it acceptable to make a very young female model stand naked bar a butt floss G string and tiny bra for two hours? For Christ’s sake I think we all know what a beige string looks like - we have them in our prop kits.
2) In an industry run by women obsessed with their weight how come the only size to run out immediately on the underwear gift table was size large?
3) Why are NYC fashionistas SO badly dressed? A Prada purse, Chanel coat and Gucci sun specs do not stylish make.
4) Why serve muffins? I have never ever seen anyone so much as take a nibble of anything that might remotely contain carbs at these events? (Apart from me of course. The Bateman cartoon: 'The Girl Who Ate Carbs At A Fashion Do."
5) Oh yes, the clothes. Fine. Minimal. Exactly what you’d expect.

Schiller's Liquor Bar (is surprisingly good)

I'm giving my liver a rest this week. I’ve walked a lot around the East Village, written a huge amount, failed to catch any mice, and discovered that I can download CSI for free on the CBS site. I know all three of you read this blog to hear about just these kinds of thrilling activities.

Monday night we walked down to Schiller’s Liquor Bar on Rivington on the Lower East Side. Another Keith McNally (Pastis, Balthazar) joint it has a rep for being busy, buzzy, sloppy of service, and over rated. The first two, yes but the food was in a different league from, and cheaper than, most superannuated Parisian brasseries ($30 each). Seven of us (nearly all photographers - is this a gd thing?) shared plates of fried calamari & Schiller's Nachos, plus bottles of Sol & lime. Then I ate warm chèvre & sliced potatoes with tapenade and a little salad, and a bucket of skinny crispy fries on the side. Delicious. House wine comes as Cheap, Decent or Good. The restaurant blurb posits that Cheap is best, altho Decent Red was a very acceptable 05 Sicilian.

There are a lot of restaurants in Manhattan that could learn from Schiller’s. I’m fed up with eating in local places (Flea Market Café in the East Village springs to mind) that produce over priced, mediocre food and serve undrinkably bad (& expensive) house wine. Oh and Schiller’s had way over its complement of exceedingly attractive male customers and (A & M tell me) the female staff are pretty hot too. I see no reason not to return.

I wore: blue grey scooped T shirt. An exceedingly short denim skirt. Grey high heeled Mary Janes. Double breasted navy wool cardigan. Over sized slouchy brown leather bag. big hoop earrings. All High Street.

Still ill.

Bugger. I wasn’t sick. I am allergic to the beautiful lily scented candles we were given at a show back at NY Fashion Week. That’ll serve me right for helping myself to an extra one of the bloody things. I already knew that lilies in flower set me off, (closed, swollen sensation in throat, lassitude, headaches, fever) but it hadn’t occurred to me that candles could too. There’s a moral in there somewhere.

Still feel horrid though.

Listening to: Johnny Cash Live From Folsom Prison

Varnishing the truth

Very very dark red, almost black nail varnish seems unnecessarily gloomy in the sunshine. And I’m fed up with seeing it (chipped) on the paws of D list celebs. Having finally stopped chewing my nails last autumn, I’ve taken to having weekly manicures (an indulgence possible in NYC where it costs me $10 incl tip), and choosing a nail varnish has become as exciting as choosing books in Strand. Which explains why I am currently sporting neon pink nails. (I’m pretending it’s a nod to SS07’s acid colour trend but actually I just think it looks ridiculous and therefore weirdly desirable). And which is why I will be sporting the nail varnish colours more usually seen on an over-excited tween until the novelty wears off. Given the selection of colours at the nail spa I reckon it'll take at the very least the next six months.

I’m thinking silver for next week.

Knickerbocker Glory

A clarification: knickers in England are underwear. I gather knickers in America are plus fours. Go figure.

Sick as a parrot

Posting from my bed. The sunniest day of the year and I have a sore throat & a headache. Thoroughly grumpy. Am lying here working out which gigs to go to, and buying new frocks on line. Great things about NYC: good English bands playing over here. Bad things: gigs selling out and over hype of the average.

Bored.

I need excitement oh I need it bad.

I am wearing: A pair of knickers and neon pink nail varnish
I'm listening to: The View (are on fire)

Sod Spring, it's summer

23C and I'm wearing a sundress, typing this perched on the wide window sill leading onto our herb filled fire escape, three floors up, with the chirpy sounds of The Fratellis floating out through the huge open windows. I do like Manhattan. Altho, considering I was wearing a hat & gloves a few days ago, it is quite strange.

I've been alternately spring cleaning & writing all morning, but have to eat. Off with my laptop to a diner round the corner now. Lots I want to witter on about today but it'll have to wait.

Sartorial note: last season's French Connection navy silk 1940's sundress with sash. Metallic pink pointy ballerines. vintage chains. huge brown leather All Saints bag

Guest post-er du jour

May I introduce the The Barrister, currently fighting & righting wrongs at the Bar back in London? He has provided the following thought regarding my experiences with being hit on by men who are in relationships here in Manhattan.

"I really don't know what to suggest. I almost despair indeed. I can't understand why chaps with birds go looking for another unless the first relationship is so worn-out that it would fail the moment the chap in question met you. That is undesirable but understandable. What is maddening is the horrific arrogance and, more to the point, absence of any finer feeling represented in a chap with a bird seeking to shag another while leaving bird 1 in situ"

Hear, hear I say.

There on the stair

Today I shall, mostly, be mouse hunting.

Calm day

Wrote all afternoon, sorted my wardrobe ( why did I think it necessary to bring 14 pairs of shoes & 8 handbags with me to Manhattan?) and, best of all, initiated the final stages of Mission: M.

JD's boyfriend & I have been plotting the execution of his surprise visit for ten days. I got a grumpy & hungover JD to The Bowery Hotel at 4pm by pretending we were meeting a record label boss who needed a new stylist. Scowling like a cross kitten, she slumped onto a sofa in the lobby, & I promptly disappeared to hide behind a palm tree to call M down from his room. He strolled in, sat opposite her and waited for her to look up. Result: Absolute blank astonshment. Genius. Complete success. I scarpered pdq and left them to it.

JSL came round for Korean & beer at Dok Suni on 1st & 6th. We wandered around the East Village afterwards while he showed me local bars that weren't full of NYU students & Bridge & Tunnel: a hidden basement sake bar near St Marks and Angel's Share on 9th & 3rd, a fabulous and dark one room cocktail bar hidden through an anonymous door. I'm not sure what was more unexpected: walking up a staircase into a recreation of a Japanese street restaurant in an East Village building, or falling like Alice though a door in the restaurant into the bizarre & chic bar. We ended up back at The Bowery drinking bourbon & rum in the (packed) lobby bar. NB. BH is chocka with models and pretty people.

Today I'm off to Union Sq to buy music, Strand for books, and then The Frick for the El Grecos & Whistlers.

I wore: denim mini. black leggings, patent ballerines, DKNY black jacket, TSE cashmere sweater. Big silver hoops. Ponytail.

I am listening to: Kings of Leon

What not to do in Manhattan

Delicious, fun dinner for four at Soho House on Friday night: British Banker, JD, Married Man (MM) and myself. I never normally bother with it in the evening as the crowd isn't really my scene, too desperate, somehow; it's better for curling up in an armchair, reading the papers and drinking tea during the day. However all visitors demand to be taken there so.... Cocktails, Cristal, Oregon Pinot, vodka. And then a cab at midnight to The Grand mid-town for dancing and more drinking. Result: serious hangover today.

We were with B & K who were on the next table to us at SH. He's a hedge fund person , she's a beautiful TV exec. They swept us in on the guest list, past the hordes, & we partied in quite some style, centre stage table, bottle service et al. I love the way black guys like B go dancing here dressed like dons (cord jackets and specs). So sexy.

Good moments: everyone dancing on the banquettes to Crazy in Love. Hilarious ones: JD falling off the banquette (fortunately in my direction like an angel from heaven, just in time to avert me from lamping MM (with octopus hands) who had just told me that I was trouble). B turns out to be best friends from college with actor boy from Wednesday. Small world. A hilarious evening, all other things apart.

I'm just pissed off & disappointed because I thought I had made a great new platonic male friend to hang out with here. And instead MM was chatting me up, & I was too drunk to realise & then deal with the situation in a grown up & sensible manner. I am a naive fool.

I wore: Black silk V neck tunic, Black Wolfords, Kurt Geiger black patent pointy toe 4" lethal Mary Jane stilettos. one very long knotted gold chain.

Today I am listening to: The Smiths

Same old, same old...

British banker forgot to add one salient detail into the mix: he lives with his girlfriend back in London. Although I didn't fancy him, (not my type at all) I had made a resolution that I would say yes to anyone who asked me out in Manhattan. So ML , when you described where you lived in great detail, (off Upper Street in Islington), told me how much you liked my scent, admired my heels, & asked me out to dinner, how come you forgot to mention YOUR LIVE IN GIRLFRIEND? Nothing happened, nothing would have happened whether or not I'd known, but I am not wildly impressed at that omission.

Little Britain in Manhattan

I hadn’t realised that the promotion of a Little Britain area in New York was the burning issue of the hour until I received an email today askng my opinion from two London friends who live on different planets: a fashion PR and a barrister. To those who presume I spend my time browsing in Paul Smith, with a Lulu Guinness carrier swinging from my finger tips, before chugging down cups of Earl Grey in Tea & Sympathy and moving onto (a portion of) fish & chips (vinegar, wrapped) at A Salt & Battery, the answer, dear reader, is no, I do not. When I can buy a Crème Egg and a pot of Marmite in my local corner shop why pray wld I walk 35 mins to the West Village to buy the same articles from a load of homesick Little Englanders?

Whilst I am not against the idea of being able to buy Twinings & HP in Manhattan (thank Christ I can because Lipton tea is foul, and HP – well, nuff said), heading to a faux British enclave to do so seems asinine. Integration is what makes great cities fabulous; ghettoisation does not, even if all it boils down to is a few overpriced British stores drumming up some free publicity.

The eternal complaint that British fashion isn't taken seriously on the international stage isn't going to be resolved whilst we continue to focus on nationality as a defining characteristic rather than quality and individuality.

The Four Seasons

It's a whole different world up there in mid-town. JD's boyfriend's best friend F is a banker, in town for some mega mega deal. When the call came in to schlep up 51 blocks for after dinner drinks at The Four Seasons our enthusiasm levels were low. Eventually we dolled up, furs, legs & heels and trotted off to the hotel looking like two Russian call girls on the make. JD did look thoroughly fabulous.

Two English guys looked us up & down as we swept into the bar, and said knowingly, "Park Avenue". Genius. The four superannuated blondes at the bar, who really were on the make, were not best pleased at our arrival. Best line of the evening: Them to me: (after some sniping about my elbows in their space at the crowded bar) Looks like Camilla Parker Bowles Jr has arrived. F to them: Looks like Hillary Rodham Clinton Sr is already at the bar. Most pleased to spot some old school New Yorkers with wind tunnel plastic surgery, helmet hair and couture coming out of Atelier Joel Robuchon (the hotel restaurant).

We relocated to the lobby bar, away from the suits & the filles de joie, to snack on an "artisanal" cheese plate & Kobe hamburgers. Someone please tell them that their Camembert is not a goat cheese and that Kobe beef tastes so much better served hot not stone cold.

Joined by M, an investment guy on the deal. We ended up drinking a vastly overpriced bottle of Oregon Pinot in SoHo. Their expense account. M did flirting & asked me out for dinner tomorrow. Typical. My first date in NYC is with a British banker. (Although not my type, plus JD and his mate are coming along too, so should be fun.) Soho House is booked. (We can be the annoying braying English that AA Gill hates so much).

I wore: My black vintage mini dress again (ok I was hungover - sartorial decisions not high on priority list). Black patent low platform ankle strap stilettos with red soles. Black fur wrap. Black bakelite cuff. All Saints bubble patent bag.

Today I am listening to: 2 Many DJs mix

Michael Teperson

This is the elegantly beautiful Toaster bag by the talented Michael Teperson, a gift from the designer, bless him, after I interviewed him recently for an English publication. Mine is actually cream all over, but this is near enough. (My camera cable is still AWOL)

Refreshinly attitude free, Teperson is one of the most interesting & original bag designers working at the moment. Trained at Parsons and at Central St Martins, he originally intended to become a womenswear designer. His partner Francesco Dori encouraged him to set up hs own label, & he presented his first bag collection for SS05. He cites his main influences, unsurprisingly, as good design and architecture. He admires Richard Meier and his focus on space and clean lines, and you can see this design language refined through in the handbags, which are minus a grating logo.

The Toaster bag above is his most iconic bag. Taking the inspiration from the spiral binding of his Filofax, he used it to create a small zippered flap pocket secured to the side of the bag by a series of metal spirals.Stocked at Fortnums in London & Bergdorfs in Manhattan.www.michaelteperson.com

Catherine McNeil - A new beauty personified

photo: Style.com

Australian, aged 17. With Next. On the catwalk for Dior. Personally, I'm glad to see a classical female beauty after the run of alien babies.

Last night was a winner

Utterly bloody Spotted Pig was rammer. Full of bankers & badly dressed girls. So, we went to Frederick’s Downtown on the edge of Meatpacking for supper a deux. The waiter didn’t get it, one of those French fuckwits who think women shouldn’t dine together without men. I chatted to him in French a bit when JD was in the loo & he unbent a little. By the end he was all, 'bisous', and 'charmant'. Tosspot. Still our grande bouffe was £32 each, including a bottle of Crozes Hermitage. God I love eating out here. For the price of Pizza Express we eat onglet, asparagus and passion fruit semi-freddo. Formidable!

We trotted off to the Casio unbreakable phone party at One. Woo hoo. Pink was there & various other ahem 'celebs': Damon Dash, some bloke from Run DMC. You get the picture. For some random reason we ended up sitting with Michelle Rodriguez and her mates. I spent the latter part of the evening hanging out with a sexy AND intelligent man. Extraordinary at a publicity party.

JD had him tapped as an actor; I thought she was delusional. Anyway, turns out she was right: it’s just that I watch one version of his show & he’s in another… whatever. Google tells me he's been one of People magazine's "Sexiest Men Alive".(hmm) & that he graduated from an Ivy League magna cum laude (now that's properly sexy). He took my number, & asked if I was in LA often. But hey, it's just flirting. I've been warned about the men over here... JD hasn't stopped teasing me since - not about being chatted up but because of my inability to recognise an actor from my supposedly favourite TV show.

I wore: Banana Republic cream silk, cap sleeved, scoop neck, short tunic over Miss S brown tweed, pretty short, shorts, brown Wolfords, ToSho dark red patent platform Mary Janes. Lots of vintage gold chain action.

Today I am listening to: Dirty Pretty Things

The Lafayette Hotel

The hottest - & most stealth hotel in NYC.

http://lafayettenyc.com/

From the guys behind Waverly et al. And round the corner from chez nous.

Ah ha - shopping!

photo: Style.com

My new DKNY jacket

Left apt at 12 for quick trip to the tailor & to see John at Prince St Copy, the best colour copy guy in town - got back 6 hrs later - via most of the shops in SoHo (only bearable during the week) & lunch in Chinatown. I blame JD - she led me astray.

But - did get that shopping bug sorted. Bought 2 pairs sunglasses $7.49 each in H&M,(I lose all the time so Oliver Peoples are wasted on me) and a black wool semi tailored jacket from AW06 is waiting for me to return with my discount card in DKNY on W Broadway. $495, then half price with an extra end of sale 50% plus another 25% press discount: $70 - BARGAIN. Rude not to really. And I finally swapped the yellow raincoat I bought for the babydog (I know, I know) in Old Navy & bought some grey short shorts instead. Practical, huh?

We're off to drink pints at The Spotted Pig - you can take the girl out of England etc etc & then to a party at Little W 12th hosted by Carey Hart for some phone. THRILLING. But I resolved to be a party whore for a few months at least while I'm still getting settled. I stopped going to those parties years ago in London but at least they are new faces here - for the moment anyway....

Today I am listening to: I Am Kloot

New terminology

In The Sunday Times this w/e, AA Gill described call girls as "knickerless executive-stress consultants".

HIgh Street: London vs New York

The lack of well-designed cheapo clothes in Manhattan is starting to exercise me greatly. My wardrobe looks tired: my AW clothes have been worn & worn, and it's too bloody cold to break out any acceptable SS pieces. When I want a quick fix here there's literally nowhere to go. I've always relied on a mix of New Look/ToSho/Miss S etc, vintage and sample sale/private order designer to pull my look together. Sure, vintage here is particularly strong, esp in Williamsburg but I just don't have time for half a day's rootling. I'm still waiting for my SS private orders to arrive from London and the sample sales I've been to here so far are crapola. I tried Forever 21 yesterday but got scared & ran away. Think New Look on acid. 10 000 pieces of clothing rammed on rails, some so far above yr head that you get arm ache just reaching for them, and nearly everything in size twiglet and poly blends.

Banana Republic is all very well, but it's not cheap enough and everything is taupe or navy. Zara - I'd rather save up to buy real Chanel. Proenza by Target? I don't think so - the good pieces sold out within seconds. And the ubiquity of Hennes here means that everyone has the same few pieces. Dull dull dull. I want NEON, print and interesting. A couple of clever bargains is all I ask.

Unless someone comes up with a solution, I am going to acquire an expensive online shopping habit and a v gd relationship with Fedex.

Re-sees: Peter Som

One of the absolute joys of being here & not there is not having to do the endless AW07 press days in London. We've hardly recovered from the shows, it's still schizo weather central here, and I haven't even begun to address my summer 07 wardrobe when I'm supposed to be thinking about my a) stories for next season & b) personal orders for my wardrobe for NEXT bloody winter. Ha! I don't even know which city I'll be living in then, let alone whether I'll need a $2000 coat....( that's what it wld cost if I was paying retail - which I don't, obviously)

Fortunately the heavenly (& intelligent - thank Christ) P is dealing with all my mail and trundling off round London on my behalf.

I did make an exception to do a re-see at Peter Som today. Such a beautifully put together collection with an exemplary level of craftsmanship. There's a strong vintage feel - but more Lily et Cie than Oxfam. I WANT this coat. A LOT.



I wore: Plain black 60's A line mini dress with short sleeves from vintage warehouse in Williamsburg. Gold New Look bauble necklace as choker. Wolfords (again). Black round toe patent wedges (bit over now). Black & gold bangle from Express (yay!) Michael Teperson cream bag (Thank you Michael)

Blimey, It's Spring again

Walking from our apt in the East Village to my photographer friend Jools' place for Sunday lunch yesterday, I slipped and sloshed my way for 35 mins through heaps of snow, black ice and puddles of freezing slush. I know I looked like a crazy girl, carrying a pot of red tulips, & dancing & singing along to my iPod in J's over sized green silk parka with fur hood, beanie underneath, with my stick-y legs poking out the bottom in skinny jeans & riding boots. Still Manhattan has way more than its fair share of crazeeee people so I'm sure I fit in just fine.

Lunch was fabulous: Jools & her husband B have a duplex apt on W15th in Chelsea with a huge glass roofed dining room & terrace. Perfect setting for a Spring indoor picnic. B is skiing in Aspen, (Jools is (glowingly) pregnant so he might as well whilst he can), so 8 girls sat down to antipasti, salad and heavenly cinammon-y spiked apple pie & cream from Balducci's. We were a mix of stylists, editors & photographers. Not a media lunch by design but more a reflection of the people we all meet & like through work. And not an American in sight: 2 Aussies, 1 Kiwi and 5 Brits. I live in hope of actually socialising with New Yorkers.

I sat next to a senior editor at a US CN mag who I met for coffee at the Gehry canteen in CN headquarters on my trip over in Oct. She is one of those rare people who brings out the most charming side in everyone she meets. (But then she is an writer rather than a stylist so praps that's why she's not a completely fatuous bitch like most staff stylists.)Fabulous company, and very supportive of my fledgling NY life. On my other side was CM, an English photographer in whose honour lunch was being thrown. I've always liked her work, so interesting to finally meet her. www.chloemallett.com

J & I walked home afterwards - via Bleecker for a quick squint in Marc. So over rated. We scarpered pretty quick, after a laugh at the queues for the equally over rated Magnolia Bakery.

I am wearing: blue skinny jeans, Loomstate wolf print T shirt, big dangly Indian earrings and heavy brown leather flat boots.
Listening to: the divine Ella

Supper at Il Bagatto

J finished shooting in Brooklyn at 8pm so we ended up eating with L & Little L, who were already comfortably through a bottle of red at this East Village Italian at 10.30. Curious mixture of perfection and downright bad.

The menu is small plates from a menu that, for once, seemed authentically Italian with a refreshing lack of pasta. And no sodding pizza.

Imported burrata (a money bag of mozzarella filled with scraps of mozzarella & cream) was overpowered by an sauce made from basil & minced olives which had been squashed into a bruschetta and poured over the cheese. The buratta's delicate flavour was overpowered into nothingness; the overwhelming taste mouth-puckeringly salty and bitter. A salade composée was dull: the asparagus over cooked, the mushrooms sliced too fine to add taste or texture.

Then the Valrhona mousse shut me up for at least ten minutes. Beating the pud at Gordon Ramsey into a cocked hat. Literally just chocolate and egg whites (I think) it was heavy, unctuous and generous in size. I used my fingers to scoop every last lick out of the glass.

I'm not a fan of maitre d's who present themselves as wine aficionados and then push you to order more expensive wine after the first two bottles, and who put your second bottle straight into the glasses from the first without offering it in a clean glass for tasting.

I wore: black silk Rory Beca tunic, black wolfords, black cardi, vintage gold chains, sheepskin bonnnet & black bubble skirt coat. metallic pink flats.

From the BBC Weather site ( my bible)

Wintry storm hits northeast U.S. by Sean Batty

The northeast of the US was hammered by a huge storm on Friday, which brought heavy snowfall and chaos to the area. The National Weather Service said that the New York, New Jersey, West Virginia and Pennsylvania areas were worst affected and temperatures here fell well below zero.

Up to 6 inches (15 centimetres) of snow fell on parts of Maryland, and more than a foot (30 centimetres) may have fallen in upstate New York. At least five traffic deaths occurred as a result of the snow in Pennsylvania and New Jersey.

Authorities in New York and New Jersey said that more than 1,500 flights were cancelled from the region’s three major airports, while road traffic was brought to a halt as the wintry storm lashed the east coast.

Despite Friday’s heavy snow, a massive clean-up operation was taking place in the streets of Manhattan on Saturday morning in a desperate bid to allow the city’s St. Patrick’s Day celebrations to go ahead.

I love my new dress by Rory Beca

Picked a very simple black washed silk, V neck, long sleeved short tunic off a rail at Henri Bendel on Monday. It's the perfect shape for the season & for my apple shaped figure as it accentuates the good bits (legs, bust), and hides the very bad (stomach), whilst still being immensely flattering. It wasn't super cheap - $238 before tax but it'll be a wardrobe staple. It came with a tie sash which I think is superfluous, off trend, and grossly unflattering unless you are a twiglet.

I'd never hear of the label, and the Bendel's assistant cld only tell me that she was 'upcoming'. So Google revealed all. Rory Edelman is just 24, based in Los Angeles & has an impressive list of US stockists already. She started out designing scarves, morphed into one of a kind red carpet dressing, and put her first collection together for SS06. This tunic is called Rizzo, & is a key shape in her collections which are beach minded, West Coast in feel, and based on simple shapes.

Unfortunately, really, really dreadful amateur styling in her look books masks that chic simplicity making them look more High Street than High Style. A combination of shocking lighting, and a contorted model means you can't see the line of the pieces - a fairly basic error.

However, I like what she does. It's not really fashion, just easy everyday pieces that could easily form the basis of a 20 or 30 something's summer wardrobe, at a bearable price point.

I gave the frock a whirl at the Allegra Hicks shop opening on Wednesday night, pairing it with black patent, ankle strap block heels with ribbon bows on the toes (a direct copy of the ones that Matthew Willamson did for Pucci for AW/06, I'm afraid), 80 den black Wolfords, & a black leather & patent bag by All Saints. In the summer it'll go with tanned bare legs and open toe wedges or ballerines.

My new shoes

Kenneth Cole, would you believe? Four inch wedge, light platform. Cream two tone suede a la Prada this season. And SO comfortable. I will wear these all summer with cropped jeans, with my TopShop silk smocks & with shorts. I was a little concerned that they look orthopaedic - in a bad way - across the toes as they are quite wide, but the comfort factor won out. I walk everywhere in Manhattan, and having to tote a pair of flats around when I'm wearing heels is a pain.

A few parties kept us busy....

Sod Spring. It's snowing again

Sod Spring. It’s been snowing all day, & the BBC says it’s -2C (the New York Post says 28F – whichever) outside. Very Christmas in a fucked up kind of way for March. I was woken at 6am by a mouse trotting across my bedroom floor. (Who knew they had such noisy feet? – must be wearing clogs) Simultaneously attacked with cramps and have now spent the day alternately asleep and reading trying to mask the pain with glorious Solpadeine Max ( I stocked up @ Heathrow – you can’t buy codeine here, fools)

Nipped out at lunch in my furry bonnet (at last!) to buy a hormone demanded brownie at Coffee Bean on 1st and 4th. Taken aback to open the front door to find the sidewalks completely covered in a couple of inches of snow – that had passed me by. Impossible to cross the roads without stepping in piles of slush. Horizontal, face exfoliating hail too. Situation redeemed by the charming flirting of coffee guy & the spotting of THREE attractive men – a staggering count in a city seemingly devoid of cute guys. I am so going back there during the day with my laptop for some writer-ly (read gazing) activity. Then trudged through the snow (in my now decidedly damp canvas Converse – too much codeine to make sensible shoe related decisions) to Thai Garden on 2nd for a lunchtime special, $10 all in for big, rice-filled, sleep-inducing lunch. The lemongrass & galangal spiked steam transported me straight back to Bangkok – until I looked up from my book to see the slush covered sidewalks, slipping walkers and sweaty snow shovellers.

Went to the party for the launch of the Fashion in Film Festival last night with Writer man and L, after drinking margaritas with M, a V stylish English fashion PR I met at the Allega party on Weds pm up in the hermetically sealed Upper East Side. Saw A as planned, and she, L & I ended up in some latenight dive bar in the Lower East Side. VERY drunk.



J is shooting for Numéro @ a studio down the road so I am home alone. I did pitch a couple of stories to my editor at The Sin-day Times Travel section, so something ( very small) achieved. As well as speaking to the divine Miss P back in London. Craving a chilli loaded curry and a DVD. Hmm. Does Blockbuster deliver?


Reading: Eating My Words by Mimi Sheraton,
Wearing: Blue Boden T shirt & black lace knickers

Spring has sprung in Manhattan

Christ। Where does the time go? I spent far too much time last week worrying about my book, and trying to collate clips to send to various CN mags & to NY papers ( have a fistful of personal recommendations but feel such a cheese using them). Got to get a grip.

On Thursday I managed to get lost on 42nd St on the way to Condé Nast. It was hardly my first visit – there's really no excuse. I HATE Times Square: it’s confusing, visually migraine inducing, full of camera toting, sheep like tourists and touts. It was so bloody cold even through my furry ear muffs, that I had to duck into glam ole Burger king to check the map. Too cold to stand still for just one moment on the pavement, sorry sidewalk, whilst stationary.

Supper at Lil' Frankies with an entertainment editor from a big UK mag to a soundtrack of hard rawk from East Village Radio piped through from their studio next door. The pizza is stupendous if fat making. Note to self: DO not let self be dragged there again unless hungover and desperately in need of carbs.

But now it’s Weds again and we are in full Spring. Frolicking and gambolling like little lambs. It’s a relief not to have to wear six layers although gutted I haven’t had an opportunity to wear my mother’s vintage sheepskin skating bonnet with pompoms ties a la Marc that she brought out for me at the weekend.

Off to Soho for lunch with Tallulah’s sister in law who talks faster than a ticker tape. I was gong to schlumpf along in boyfriend jeans and converse but unfort have an appt with a fashion PR for a showroom wander so feel I shld dress like a fashion hack rather than a student. Sigh. Just a little hungover from the Waris party at Bergdorf’s last night. More on that at a later date when I find my camera cable so I can post pics.

Soundtrack: The Kooks
Wearing: TopShop navy blue silk tunic with trumpet sleeves. Grey woolly tights. Blue patent platforms. Vintage gold chains & necklaces ; Michael Teperson cream Toaster bag

Libertylondongirl is, technically, now Libertynewyorkgirl

We are now safely ensconced in our beautiful East Village walk up. I do love it here, although I miss my lovely English friends. (She gulps, weeping inconsolably into her cup of imported Twinings Earl Grey, while holding onto her teddy in one hand, and reaching for the Marmite toast with the other.)

Writer Man came round to inspect the apt on Sunday and we walked up to heavenly, heavenly Strand Books, a mere 10 min walk from home. My intention is to try to read as much American literature and, specifically, literature by Americans about or based in New York whilst I am here. WM’s no comment face when he saw Candace Bushnell’s Lipstick Jungle in my basket was priceless. I didn’t tell him I was just finishing Tallulah’s proof copy of The Manny (part of her care package for me). I redeemed myself with Dawn Powell & Willa Cather and added Mimi Sheraton’s restaurant critic memoir & Daniel Boulud’s cheffing book and a history of the American Revolution. J bought The Beauty Guide to NYC - she is desperate to find a hairdresser who won’t screw up her highlights. (I just want to find a place that does cheap, long lasting mani/pedis)

We arrived to torrential rain, Saturday was so warm we had brunch outdoors in T shirts (being able to eat huevos rancheros was almost worth the move to Manhattan alone), & now it’s snowing. AND -10. Gah. Bloody schizophrenic weather. Frostbitten knees again. Either I buy thicker tights (can you get thicker than 80 den Wolford?) Or I lower my hemlines. My parents descend in state on Friday - have told them to bring brollies, sunglasses, wellies, balaclavas and fur. They are treating us to Gordon Ramsey’s new restaurant on Sat and The Carlyle for brunch on Sunday. Delicious.

First flea market trip in the East Village - result: one green pressed glass cake stand for $10, & yet more vintage gold chains for my necklace collection.

Hit the email yesterday and, as a result, we are out practically every night for the next fortnight at least. We have our first fash/socialite do (at Bergdorf’s) on Tues which I am sure will be fascinating from an anthropological view. My asst back in London has emailed all the gd PRs to make showroom appts for me so I shld be up to date pretty soon.

Other than that, we are tramping the streets just getting to know the city. I am determined to walk for at least an hour each day so I can discover, well, everything.(& become toned, healthy etc etc). I don’t think there is any danger of our being bored her and, of course, practically every person that I know in London is threatening to come to stay.

I am wearing: Black silk nightdress from Anthropologie in SoHo & woolly bed socks