1) The last time I bought anything from Oasis was in Summer 1999, when lots of us girls in Vogue House bought these cool stretch shirtdresses in forest green and in black. And all my girlfriends and my sister bought one too once I'd marched them down to Oxford Street. I haven't seen anything in the intervening 7 years that I'd bother with but, having seen their AW07 collection, I can safely say that Oasis is back on form. The coats! The dresses!
2)There is nothing like walking into the chippie and saying "Bag a chips, open please." Yum. Now I don't have to do it for another year.
3)The dachshund now has its own Facebook page, courtesy of my sister.
4)According to The Evening Standard, TopShop has been ordered to pay £12 000 compensation for copying a Chloé yellow dungaree dress. It has also had to shred all the copies. About bloody time too. I am getting a bit sick of rifling through the High Street rails, saying to myself, "Temperley" (Principles), "Marc"(Hennes), etc etc etc. 'Inspired by' is one thing. Blatant rip-off quite another.
5) Taxis in London: £15 to the Angel from Bond Street! Bloody Hell. Tea at Claridges: £11.55 for a pot of Earl Grey for two! Thank Christ for an expense account.
6) Clare Waight Kellor: possibly the most intelligent, switched on fashion designer I've had the pleasure of interviewing.
7) Indian takeaways in London are spectacularly good. New York ones are fit for the bin and nothing else. (Although I'm desperate to be persuaded otherwise).
8) Men in New York are much sexier.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Random stuff
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Finalists announced for CFDA/Vogue Fashion Fund 2007
The Council of Fashion Designers of America (CFDA) has announced the 10 finalists of its CFDA/Vogue Fashion Fund 2007:
Phillip Lim for 3.1 Phillip Lim
Scott Sternberg for Band of Outsiders
Erin Fetherston for Fetherston Design Group
Nunthirat Koi Suwannagate for Koi
Michael Bastian for Michael Bastian
Philip Crangi for Philip Crangi Jewellery
Rogan Gregory for Rogan
Gabriel AsFour, Angela Donhauser and Adi Gil for Threeasfour
Lisa Mayock and Sophie Buhai for Vena Cava
Victoria Bartlett for VPL.
Image: Anouck Lepere in AW07 3.1 Phillip Lim. style.com
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
European Gap vs US Gap
After two appointments yesterday morning wearing a pair of grey skinny jeans unearthed from my emergency clothes store in my garage in an attempt to find something warm to wear, I couldn't stand seeing my ham shaped thighs reflected back at me one more time. Desperate for a solution, I ran into Gap - and emerged in the till queue in a royal blue, V neck, quasi-fitted sweater dress. Bang on trend for next season, and supremely flattering to most body shapes, none of the PRs I met during the rest of the day could believe that it was Gap, even given its better reputation over here in London.
It's no secret that European Gap has a completely separate design team to cater for the more fashion forward UK & French mass market, but it's not until I popped into the Oxford Street flagship store yesterday for a quick catch up that the difference was really hammered in.
The London stores are filled with loose, wide leg jeans, interesting knitwear pieces, and trend-led dresses and tops. Gap in New York is full of bland, everyday pieces: chinos - including that odd boy fit cut that Claire Danes wears in the US TV ads, jeans, T-shirts, frumpy dresses and fleeces. Gap Body just about passes muster with some pretty nightdresses, but the only remotely interesting fashion offer is the white shirt collection backed by American Vogue from several upcoming US designers including Doo-Ri and Thakoon.
Unfortunately, whilst the designs are intrinsically interesting, and it's always great to see a multi-national supporting young designers, the shirts themselves are practically unwearable by anyone with breasts or a rounded body shape. Which would account for the fact that every Manhattan branch of Gap has racks & racks of the shirts on sale for $6.99 each.
Whizzing around
Thirteen appointments at press offices yesterday together with my fabulous assistant P, to see a few of the AW (fall) collections, whilst trying to work out how on earth we are going to shoot 66 pages & four covers in six days at the end of August. Then a wedding dress trying-on session with Miss P. (For her, not me, obviously). Today was biking to Highbury for lunch with little god-daughter day (I find being called Aunty Ssshh rather endearing) & now it's filing my tax return time. The joy! I am going to be somewhat incommunicado this week, owing to having filled every sliver of every day with an appointment, meeting, lunch or dinner in order to get back to Manhattan as quickly as possible. (There is a limit to how long one can cope with sleeping on a sofa with a Dachshund nicking all the space each night.)
Monday, July 23, 2007
Bristol wedding
To Bristol through the rain (more on this later)to the extraordinary 19thC SS Great Britain for A's wedding. One of the really good ones, where you really felt that they were both blissfully happy. She looked preternaturally chic, and alternately laughed & cried her way through the ceremony. I particularly admired her savoir faire when her veil fell off backwards as she walked down the aisle.
My lovely ex-boyfriend and now great friend, R, gave A away, and made a truly great speech – only slightly trammelled by A banning him from mentioning any of the genius stories which we had volunteered on the subjects of: fags (she smokes 60 a day and had Nicorette patches hidden under her dress), booze (she does like a glass or three) or past men (this was her third marriage). He did manage to mention the words "Amazon.com Number One", and "New York Times Bestseller" which was the most important thing.
Sheer bliss to see my girlfriends and catch up, but L and I are such party animals that we sloped off from the celebrations at, wait for it, 2230hrs. She was hungover from a night out with her boyfriend, and I was just jet lagged. I think L and I were the only unmarried people there (bar T, another ex, who I spent the evening avoiding. He's very sweet, but I finished it, & just cldn't face talking to him). I think at a wedding the unmarried want to be able to flirt harmlessly, but there was no flirting material. And experience tells me that married women do NOT like their husbands dancing with the single girls at a wedding. (What do they think we are going to do exactly? Jump their spouses on the dancefloor?)
There were also a LOT of pregnant people, children and a baby. This was attached firmly to the breast of the friend sitting opposite me at dinner. Weddings. Sigh. Being surrounded by so much marital action meant that we spent breakfast the next day working through our Full English & ranting on our favourite theme. The "We have fabulous lives, why does everyone think we envy them their smug marriages?" one. Very cathartic if slightly psychotic.
England is breaking down
...apparently three times the average monthly rainfall for the whole of July fell in 24hrs on Friday. Large swathes of the country are still without drinking water, there are eight severe flood warnings in place today and the RAF has seen the largest emergency helicopter mobilisation since the War. London however is largely unaffected, apart from pockets by the Thames. It is 17 degrees tho and I have no warm clothes, well,not ones I wld choose to be seen in by my peers, having left Manhattan in 28 degree heat with a suitcase full of sundresses.
So, it only took seven hours to get to Bristol. (Parts of the track had been washed away, & embankments were crumbling). Which was better than the twelve hours it took A&A on the flooded M4 on Friday to drive the 2.5hrs journey. No swimming, but a lot of puddle hopping. (Fuck knows where my wellies are - I have some splendid purple Hunters, they wld have come in handy). There was one train an hour from London Paddington to Bristol(usually they run every 20 mins) and a queue (every other person seemed to be reading Harry Potter) for the Bristol train that snaked from the platform barrier all through the concourse, back through & round the Food Court, and then back into the concourse – which is where we joined it – and then stayed for the next 2.5hrs, with occasional forays to M&S for sustenance, the newsagents for papers, and Starfucks for hot drinks.
We eventually made the 1330hrs by sprinting down the platform, elbows out, pushing down any small children and grannies that were stupid enough to block our path. Highlight of the journey: the guard announcing that if we looked to our right (and could we please not all move to that side of the train simultaneously as it wld tip over), we wld see a completely black sky, and a tornado. As you do.
Friday, July 20, 2007
Back in London.... finally
I had the perfect journey this morning - until I actually got onto the Heathrow-bound 'plane at Newark. I could have done without the know-it-all world traveller who first tried to nick my window seat and who then spent the flight giving me handy tips along the lines of, "Ooh you don't want to sleep now, it'll mess up your circadian rhythms". By the end of the journey I was close to telling him exactly what he could do with his circadian rhythms.
We landed thirty minutes early, & were then stranded on the apron at Heathrow for an hour as a result of torrential rain and thunderstorms (ah, England!), and then my driver couldn't find me for thirty minutes in the melée at arrivals. Finally arrived at my sister's gaff at 10pm to find a frenzied dachshund spraying fountains of wee in the air as it rolled on its back in ecstatic welcome. Crawled under duvet on sofa with now exhausted & snoring dachshund, popped some lovely Solpadeine Max (terrible cramps) & ate doggy bag pad thai from supper with my attractive American friend in Manhattan last night. Quite odd to be eating NY leftovers in London.
To Bristol tomorrow for A & D's marriage & reception on the SS Great Britain. I expect your typical wedding scenario: loads of smug couples, a previously devoted (& charming) ex to avoid, and doubtless lots of Champagne. I am wearing a plunging brown print silk jersey Diane von Furstenberg number (NOT a bloody wrap dress), a cream piqué Princess collared 1950's cotton flared skirt coat and burgundy patent platform Mary Janes. No hats, thank goodness, as the ceremony is not 'till 5pm.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
The Fratellis play Manhattan
I am feeling a little guilty that I keep going to see British bands over here: Kaiser Chiefs, The Kooks, Arctic Monkeys, and tonight, The Fratellis. But how could I not? These are all bands who I listen to on a daily basis, so the chance of seeing them live, and in New York, has been far too good to give up. I just regret that I haven't been doing more gig going in London over the past ten years - it does help that it's often less than half the price in the UK to see bands here.
The Fratellis at the Roseland tonight were excellent. They're here in the States supporting The Police on their stadium tour, and tonight's date was a last minute schedule addition, I suspect, because they are cresting a wave of popularity on the back of the tour. I know that some elements of the music press deride them for all their la la la choruses and general perkiness, but the lead singer has an astonishing voice, and I'm a big fan of a catchy, danceable tune. And, surprisingly for a New York audience, there was a lot of dancing going on. Altho I do suspect that there was a very healthy British contingent in the audience - I spotted at last two Saltires being waved from the balconies, and some super-nutty pogo-ing that definitely looked authentically lager-fuelledly English.
(I wonder if UK bands playing New York realise just how many British people there are in the audience. Last month The Kooks played the tiny Fillmore, and Luke Pritchard screamed out "I can't believe you fuckers know all the words" and I really wanted to shout back, "That's cos 75% of the audience is British mate".
Splendid gig-going moment: Neil Diamond's Sweet Caroline blasting out over the PA as we all left the venue. Immediately the entire British contingent started roaring out the words and doing little shimmying dances in the aisles. A proper Guilty Pleasure.
A/|X Armani Exchange Announces The Opening of London & Tokyo Flagship Stores
London's Regent Street continues it's upmarket makeover with the announcement today that a flagship A|X Armani Exchange store will open in September. The store, at 240 Regent Street, will be the world’s largest A/X Armani Exchange store to date covering 11,700 square feet over two levels. This will be the brand's fifth store in the United Kingdom following the opening of stores in Liverpool, Manchester, Birmingham, and at Bluewater.
A second flagship store will also in September in Tokyo’s Shibuya district. These two openings are part of A/X's ongoing international retail expansion programme bringing its worldwide network to a total 119 stores.
Filene's Basement does Basso & Sinha-Stanic
Before I forget, my most random find in an outlet store here in Manhattan has been the discovery of a delivery from Aeffe in Filene's Basement in Union Square. I was a little surprised to find, between the racks of easy fit slacks, Calvin Klein underwear, and Nolan Miller-style party frocks, three rails of rather lovely Sinha-Stanic pieces and, best of all, a whole load of Basso & Brooke's penis print pieces. This gave me much amusement as I am sure Filene's had absolutely no idea what they were carrying, and the thought of a Jersey girl popping into Filene's and going out on the town in what she thought was a merely pretty & colourful print made me chuckle for quite some time.
BFC announces Fashion Forward sponsorship
It's all go at the British Fashion Council this week. They have just announced that Sinha-Stanic, Jens Laugesen and Richard Nicoll have been selected to receive Fashion Forward sponsorship to show their Spring/Summer 2008 collections at London Fashion Week this September.
The release follows.(Sorry, I'm on deadline, so no time to rewrite with acerbic comments. Yet)
The Fashion Forward sponsorship, in association with Westfield London is in its third season. The scheme gives support to British designers who have already established a profile at London Fashion Week through the New Generation programme or who are at an equivalent stage in their business. The sponsorship consists of substantial funding towards a catwalk show at London Fashion Week.
Sinha-Stanic will be receiving Fashion Forward sponsorship for the second time in September, showcasing their contemporary designs for the modern woman. Fiona Sinha and Aleksandar Stanic, who have gained much acclaim since their catwalk debut in 2004, produce garments that are beautifully cut with an easy sophistication that is entirely modern and relaxed. Their stockist line-up is already impressive and is growing gratifyingly fast. Fiona and Aleksandar said "Showing at London Fashion Week has always been a very exciting prospect for our brand, as we believe it to be the most interesting and creative of all fashion weeks. The Fashion Forward award from the BFC and Westfield London is enabling us to do just that, whilst developing our business on both creative and commercial levels. It is initiatives like this that are making London an extremely strong competitor to the likes of NY, Paris and Milan."
Richard Nicoll, who will be receiving Fashion Forward sponsorship for the first time this season, was spotted by the fashion world soon after he graduated from Central Saint Martins MA Course in 2002. He had a promising start to his career when his final year collection was bought by Dolce and Gabbana. Richard, who was named ‘King of shirts’ by Suzy Menkes of The International Herald Tribune, combines menswear fabrics with corsetry and couture detailing, creating strong sculptured garments that are young and fresh with an idiosyncratic accessible style. Richard’s collections are now stocked in more than 30 high-profile stores worldwide.
Richard said: “I am delighted to receive the Fashion Forward award, which has come at a pivotal time for me and the business. The BFC and Westfield London have offered me a life line and are great supporters of strong London based talent. This award will allow me to strengthen our client base and to indulge my ideas for Spring/Summer 08, it’s really exciting.”
Jens Laugesen, who will also be receiving Fashion Forward sponsorship for the first time, has a design philosophy of ‘Hybrid reconstruction’ of generic garments. Jens is currently teaching in Fashion on the MA Course at Central Saint Martins and since 2003, has been designing a capsule collection for Topshop. “I am really honoured to receive the Fashion Forward award from the British Fashion Council and Westfield London because it will enable me to stay and maintain my high profile presence during the coming London Fashion Week. It is great to receive such recognition from the high profile industry panel behind the British Fashion Council, and this coming show will be crucial for the future expansion strategy of my brand. I am very proud to be part of London Fashion Week, and think it is great that a generous award like this exists.’’ Said Jens.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
British Fashion Council announces new on-schedule designers for London Fashion Week
The British Fashion Council have announced the new additions to the official catwalk shedule at London Fashion week this September. I just cannot get that excited by Adidas by Stella McCartney appearing on the schedule as the closing show (in the same place that Marc by Marc Jacobs occupied last season) as designer sportswear from a multinational has absolutely no place on the catwalk. Adidas are playing their cards close to their chest on this one: the collection is said to be a new concept for Adidas and different from Stella’s current sportswear offer, but no more information is available at the moment.
Markus Lupfer's own-name collection for Spanish house Armand Basi is showing for the first time in London. Although it's hard to believe, it's actually five years since Lupfer last showed, under his own name, in London. Since then he's been consulting for Cacharel, Ruffo, Kangol, Mulberry and Topshop.
Charles Anastase, the hotly tipped Parisian fashion illustrator & fashion designer shows for the first time in London. He showed his début collection in Paris for Spring 05, but hasn't showed anywhere for the past couple of seasons. Given the British media's over-reaching obsession with the size zero debate, I'd love to see his current muse, Beth Ditto, working it down the London catwalk.
Rodnik is owned & fronted by two good-looking, posh boys, Philip Colbert and Richard Ascott, who have gone from selling scarves made from Russian goats beards door to door in 2004 at boutiques like Browns to developing a full ready to wear collection that is stocked by Barneys, Jeffrey, Maxfield, Corso Como, Browns, and Selfridges. From their ever-present parasols, to playing miniature instruments in their up and coming “We are not a rock b®and-world tour", they certainly have an eye - and ear - for self-promotion. Already beloved by American fash mag mavens, this will certainly be an amusing show. Whether they can cut it on their first Official outing remains to be seen.
As mentioned before, Luella is returning to the catwalk, in a rumoured very lucrative deal with the BFC. Matthew Williamson also will be showing in London.
Image: Rodnik AW 06/07 collection
I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream
Hanging out with my attractive American friend has its bonuses: he makes home made ice cream too. I am beyond impressed by this. And, even better than just making ice cream, he invents new flavours too. Altho the texture was a little strange, (due, I am assured to overbeating, rather than any inherent fault in the recipe), pressed apple juice, brown sugar, and rye macerated cranberry flavour, which sounded off-putting in the extreme, was actually delicious in the eating. And I do not favour the cranberry, as a general rule.
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Speaking in tongues
It's rare that I read anything on the old intraweb that makes me hoot out loud with laughter, but Chris Rae's English to American dictionary is absolutely priceless. He's got a cracking sense of humour, meanwhile maintaining a useful web resource. Go on: buy him a pint for his efforts.
I also hadn't quite realised how much English-English-specific slang I used myself on a day-to-day basis. It's no wonder no one seems to understand a word I say over here.
Things that never occur to me. Part One
Sitting in Soho House last night sucking up a raspberry puree martini (I always like to have a few vitamins along for the ride), the Fox entertainment reporter (I know, don't ask) opposite looked wistfully at my drink and then at hers and then said to me, "I can't look at that drink without thinking about the calories".
(Thing is, I don't actually think she was switched on enough to realise that that could have been construed as an insult. As it was, I think she was having difficulty processing that I actually appear in front of a camera, seeing as I am about 30lbs heavier than her, and don't plaster my face with Estée Lauder's finest.)
Saturday, July 14, 2007
My quest for the perfect omelette (Bonne Fête Nationale)
It's Bastille Day today, so a blog entry on a French theme seems appropriate, and my quest for a proper omelette in this city seems to fit. This may sounds trivial but when you are vegetarian, often an omelette frites is all you're getting (& should be grateful for), given the proliferation of cod French bistros over here.
Pastis served an omelette aux fines herbes which is on a par with the offering at an English motorway service station cafeteria: a rubbery, three inch high, pallid oval lump of dry solidified scrambled egg, which had clearly never been near a frying pan. It was revolting, akin to one of those microwaveable omelettes in the freezer section. And, worse still, when I called the waitress over to complain that this was not an omelette, all she could come up with was that she wouldn't know as she had never been to France. The manager was rude, implied I didn't know what I was talking about and only very grudgingly bought me a replacement fridge-cold pile of over-dressed salad. It's very, very tempting to send Keith McNally the entry on omelettes from Larousse.
Diners here tend to serve variations on the above theme for breakfast, made on a griddle, rather than a semi-circular, frying pan-made, flipped over omelette, but they are at least edible, and you know what to expect when ordering. I'm just offended by supposedly 'French' restaurants that try to pass off execrable cooking as authentically French. ("Omelette aux fines herbes" does rather suggest one will be getting an authentic omelette experience.) (Felix in Soho is another shocker).
Then today L & I crawled out of our respective beds and to Casimir on B and 6th for brunch, where I had an absolutely perfect omelette: an inch or so high, light, golden, slightly tanned around the sides, obviously cooked & flipped in a frying pan, wet in the middle and tasting of fresh eggs. Finally, a New York/French restaurant that didn't ram its Frenchness down your throat and actually had someone in the kitchen who could cook. Result.
Friday, July 13, 2007
Yet another muse for Karl Lagerfeld....
Rumour has it that the latest addition to the Chanel stable is 17 yr old Emma Watson of Harry Potter fame. This wouldn't be enormously surprising as she has been sporting Chanel at most of her public appearances, and has just signed with Storm.
I'm starting to get just a little bit bored of Karl Legerfeld's increasingly desperate attempts to appear relevant, and it's not as if Chanel is a sinking brand in desperate need of rejuvenation. Honestly the man changes muse more often then New Yorkers change bottled water brands, and it's becoming hard to keep up. Seems like a young woman only has to appear in a moderately successful film or release a catchy pop song and Karl is beating down her door. Kate Moss, Vanessa Paradis, Nicole Kidman, Selma Blair, Anna Mouglalis, Fergie, Rinko Kiuchi, Diane Kruger, even flippin Kimora Lee have all flown the flag for Karl, and it only seems like days since Lindsay Lohan was flavour of the month, although at least Emma has been vocal about her dislike of booze & drugs so hopefully no chance of embarrassing links to Chanel a la Lohan. And whatever happened to Lily Allen?
It all makes me long for the days of the good old workhorse supermodel that is Claudia Schiffer.
I'm not homesick, really, just feeling a wee bit displaced
I fly back to London a week today. I nearly wrote that I was flying home but, since I have rented out my apartment it’s not really true. I did consider keeping a bedroom in my flat just for me, but paying two sets of rent would mean no money for shoes & eating out and, I think, would make me feel like I hadn’t really committed to my new, shiny Manhattan life.
I really am in two minds about this trip. It’s much, much easier for me to feel like New York is where I live when I don’t keep jumping on ‘planes to London. Because there are things that I miss, mainly those that are bound up in a feeling of comfortable familiarity, and they make me ache for the semblance of home.
I hate, hate, hate not having my books, my fabulous bicycle, my kitchen stuff, my beautiful piles of laundered linen, my Riedel wine glasses, my Aeron chair, ALL my clothes around me. At present my possessions are in scattered between a locked cupboard in my flat, my garage, my sister’s hall cupboard and my parent’s loft. And I have absolutely no idea what is where, as I didn’t pack up twelve years of London living in a particularly scientific manner. It also doesn’t help that I keep sending visitors back to London with bags of books and unwanted clothes and God knows where they stash them.
Trying to fit in seeing all my friends(I have 25 people on the list so far) in just five days, interspersed with going to Bristol for a wedding, painting my flat (it’s like the bloody Forth Bridge), meeting my accountant, interviewing Claire Waight Kellor (the reason I am returning), scheduling planning meetings and doing High St press office appointments to see the new season collections for the three big commercial shoots I am styling in August is making my head ache already. It wld be sensible to go back for two weeks and address all this calmly.
But thing is, I don’t want to be in London at the moment. I really, really don’t. I don’t ache for my old life one little bit. I felt like I was a hamster on a treadmill doing same old, same old. I wanted new experiences, new challenges and a new city. And this city happens to suit me just fine.
Dating & eating: Minefield number one
Eating out on dates can be a minefield. I’ve already occurred enough raised eyebrows in this city because I expect to eat, yes, eat, and eat like a normal person too, you know, French fries, butter on my bread, pizza, that kind of thing. And, of course, sloppy table manners, chewing with mouth open, tipping badly (practically a crime in this city), and rudeness to waiters can all be huge turn offs too.
But the one thing that I didn’t think would be a huge problem here was being a vegetarian: there are enough food fads going on in this city that most restaurants cater for much more awkward eaters than cheese/egg eating vegetarians. Granted those grating faux French bistros that populate London are much in evidence here in Manhattan too with their vehemently pro-carnivore cartes but, so long as they are avoided, it’s pretty simple to eat and to eat well in every quarter of New York.
What I hadn’t bargained on was dating a carnivore whose idea of a good vege-friendly restaurant was Chat n Chew, an American soul food & BBQ café, his third suggestion after I turned down a Belgian bistro on the wholly reasonable grounds that there wasn’t a single thing I cld eat on the entrée list, and a café that only served one vegetarian thing on the entire menu. After all, it’s pretty dull having to eat something, rather than having the luxury of choosing your supper.
Thing is, when you spend all day at home working, going outside is exciting, let alone going out for supper. It’s not just an opportunity to re-fuel. I don’t expect Nobu, but I do ask is that my dates actually engage with the idea of places where we could both have an interesting meal, instead of inadvertently making me feel awkward for rejecting their suggestions. (I always used to smile sweetly, but after a date took me to Ditch Plains where all I could eat was a bowl of French fries and fried mozzarella sticks for my supper, the worm turned.) After all, it’s not like I intend to inflict Angelica’s Kitchen (a notorious vegan haunt) on a poor carnivore when it’s my turn to choose.
How to get the pregnant Britney/Jordan look: Head for TopShop
One of the things that influenced my flight to Manhattan from London was the endless stream of girlfriends getting knocked up. Don't get me wrong, I rather like small children - so long as they are a) clean b) at arms length, and c) nowhere near my cream sofas but, for the time being, I've no desire to have my social life tramelled on a daily basis by the demands of other people's offspring.
However one of the things that I enjoy most right now is torturing Miss P with inappropriate sartorial suggestions for her bump. She'll be seven months gone when she gets married in September, so it's been joyous looking for staggeringly ridiculous garb for her wedding and for her honeymoon. TopShop Maternity, in particular, comes up trumps in this arena:
I PARTICULARLY like the way they've named the denim skirt 'Pelmet'.
Pictures from topshop.com
When the spark has gone...
Was bought lunch in the East Village yesterday at Yaffa Café (note to self must not go to same place all the time) by an English man I dated briefly at the end of last year. Perfectly pleasant company, lots of industry gossip, but I kept getting distracted as I stared at him across the café table. Sure he’s sporting a rather, um, directional, hairstyle at present, and a pair of oversized Ray Bans weren’t helping matters any, but I was completely & utterly gobsmacked that I had ever fancied him. Funny how tastes change.
Harry Potter and the never ending saga...
I'm so used to films opening on a Friday in England that I managed to completely miss that Harry Potter & The Order of the Phoenix opened here in New York on Wednesday. Anyway, seeing as it has broken all box office records so far, I thought I'd hop down tonight for a dose of English nostalgia. It was very pleasant, kind of like the visual equivalent of a nice long warm bath. Absolutely true to the novel, packed full of the Royal Shakespeare Company's finest hamming it up in true panto fashion, and lots of cute teens gurning for the camera. Whatever reason most of those kids were cast for, it wasn't for their acting skills. Emma Watson, I am afraid, is set to be the Kiera Knightley of her generation: ravishing on screen, not an acting bone in her body.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
A coda to my last dating post
My fabulous friend A (American, lives in London) has emailed me the following comment regarding dating in London, in response to my post below on the subject of dating in Manhattan.
"Look on the bright side, at least in the States men LOOK at you and TALK to you....over here you have to twat them with a brick in order for them to notice you've got tits!"
Succinct, pithy even, I thought.
Valentino invests in Proenza Schouler
WGSN reports today that Valentino Fashion Group has bought a 45% stake, via a capital increase of $3.7m, in women's fashion label Proenza Schouler in a move designed to support its international expansion. They plan to work with existing management, and reconfirmed Shirley Cook as Proenza Schouler chief executive.
Industry movements
Tommy Hilfiger continues to attempt to ramp up its UK presence with the appointment of Carmen Haid, previously at Céline, as their in-house Director of Communications. It's a huge client loss for The Communications Store, (not that I'm weeping on their behalf).
Hilfiger have tried on several occasions to break the UK, but their UK flagship store on New Bond Street which opened to great fanfare in 1998, was forced to shut after high costs & disappointing sales proved insurmountable. The brand is perceived as just that: a brand without any real fashion credibility, so UK fashion magazines tend to only run Hilfiger pieces as bait/reward for a piece of Hilfiger's HUGE ad budget.
Since the brand's takeover in the first half of 2006, Hilfiger have opened anchor stores in Paris, Prague, Florence and, in December 06, on London's Regent Street.
It'll be interesting to see if Carmen can make this work.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
What not to wear: Sienna demonstrates the concept with élan
Now I generally try not to get stuck into the whole bash a celebrity's frock routine as a) the Fug girls do it better than I can and b) there's generally more exciting things to talk about, like, well, men and pretty summer frocks, and, um, cookies.
But oh my goodness gracious me, look what Sienna got up to in Rome. She's been in town to shoot a Vogue story with Mario Testino, and to attend the 45th anniversary celebration of the House. But none of that was reason to choose this asthma sufferer's worst nightmare, especially when she had access to the entire Valentino archive. Granted, she's been looking pretty ropey since the youth of today stole her boho style and left her sartorially naked, but that is NO excuse for sporting Big Bird's cousin's prom outfit. And I'm not even going to get started on the make-up. I can only assume she had kept on the photographic make up from shooting earlier in the day in a misguided attemt to save time in the stylist's chair.
Here & there
I’ve already spent too much time on Skype this week talking to my friends back in London. They ask if I’m homesick and I can honestly say I’m not. But I wonder what would have happened in the days before Skype, before email, before Facebook. These wonders of the technological age sate the longing for familiarity, for the feeling that I belong somewhere else.
But I do love the ritual of the long ‘phone calls from England in the mid-afternoon when my London friends have settled in for the evening with a glass of wine, and are ready to gossip. They call and I perch myself on the fire escape balcony, under the directed breeze of a huge floor fan, sweating slightly and drinking iced water through a straw whilst they tell me about rain and pubs and babies and work.
Still, being English, pretty much the first question anyone, male or female, asks is Boys? Action? So I tell them I’ve been dating, tell them that of late I’ve been attempting to further Anglo-American relations with a vengeance, tell the single girls that if they are experiencing a drought to get their arses over to Manhattan tout suite because New York men are like buses after dating in London: nothing for ages over there and then they all come along at once over here. The married friends are keen for a bit of vicarious action. I hate to disappoint but, frankly, I’m too old for the hackneyed run through, so I heavy breathe down the ‘phone and they laugh and know that that’s the best they’re getting from me.
Monday, July 09, 2007
JANE MAGAZINE FOLDS
US Condé Nast have decided to fold their flagship magazine for twenty-something women. Founded in September 1997 by the eponymous Jane Pratt, the current editor in chief is Brandon Holley, formerly e-i-c of Ellegirl, and who will now be leaving the company, along with the magazine's publisher
Media pundits are suggesting that the competition posed by on-line media has contributed to Jane's demise. But I suspect that Condé Nast has lost faith in the brand: Jane's mixture of fashion & feistiness didn't necessarily sit well with the Condé Nast ethos. This theory is supported by the simultaneous announcement of the closure of the Jane website. (Two recent closures, ElleGirl & Teen People still exist in on-line form).
Sunday, July 08, 2007
Pierre Hardy: I'm in love
I went out for dinner tonight in my new silk frock, but just cldn't find the right shoes to wear. Heels just do not feel right this summer, but $5 Uniqlo flip flops do not a chic outfit make. (When someone else is kind enough to take me to a lovely restaurant, the least I can do is dress for the occasion.)
I'm seriously regretting not putting in a private order at the beginning of the season for these gorgeous shoes by my beloved Pierre Hardy. (I was trying to be fiscally responsible.)
Or for these:
Still, Barneys carry his shoes, so I am considering a recce tomorrow to see if there are any in the sale, altho finding an 8.5 by any designer will no doubt be almost impossible.
Pictures from: www.pierrehardy.com
The dying art of paying compliments
British men have become too worried about political correctness to pay compliments to the opposite sex, according to a recent survey conducted in England. All I can say is, lucky me, living in Manhattan. I’ve never felt as appreciated as I do in this city. Not only are the men I meet on dates so kind as to pay me compliments (albeit not always welcome ones), but it’s entirely normal to be the beneficiary of laudatory comments when walking down the street. And I don’t even need to be prancing along in my heels, my bright blue sundress and sandals work just as well on that front. Altho my new American friend S tells me that this is not the case for men – being rather attractive he’s a pretty good test case, so I have to assume that this is the case for the majority of men over here. I’d start redressing the balance but suspect that the reason women don’t bother with the paying of gratuitous compliments is because who knows what kind of pickle women would end up in if they started throwing out admiring phrases to random cute guys.
Calatrava: An architect for the 21st Century
I’ve written already about the National Design Triennial at the Cooper Hewitt in Manhattan, which brings together the experimental designs and emerging ideas—including animation, new media, fashion, robotics, architecture, product, medical, and graphic design—at the centre of American culture from 2003 to 2006.
The plentiful exhibits run the gamut from computer games: The Sims, and SnowWorld. a three-dimensional virtual-reality game designed for to lessen pain in severely wounded burn victims through to fashion: Thom Browne’s new vision for menswear and Mara Cornejo/Zero’s experiments with clothing the female form, passing by, for example, a Ron Arad lamp and an James Bond-esque underwater motorcycle.
But, easy as it is to spend an entire day working through the two floors of exhibits, the installation that holds me transfixed each time I visit (& I’ve been four times already) is the 3D video rendering of bridge architect Santiago Calatrava’s World Trade Center Transportation Hub.
It would be easy to write this off as yet another self indulgent architectural carbuncle, especially when one considers that, although Calatrava visualised the structure as a bird being released from a child's hand, safety concerns have limited the initial scope, it looks more like the offspring between a dinosaur and an enraged porcupine from the exterior. Costing $2 billion it’s due to finally open in 2009.
There is a widespread belief that the rebuilding of the Ground Zero site must aspire to include a spiritual dimension, and it could be argued that a structure that resembles a stegosaurus wouldn’t necessarily fulfil this idea, yet Calatrava has conceived an interior beautiful in its clarity and in its towering vision, which transcends its exterior, with a roof span which opens to the sky both in good weather and every year on September 11th.
The soaring spaces in subway stations are the cathedral-like spaces of the Nineties and the Noughties: Norman Foster’s cavernous spaces in his system for Bilbao, and his Canary Wharf vast ticket hall filled with refracted light for the Jubilee Line extension in London represent the Nineties; Calavatra’s WTC Subway the Noughties. The essential difference: Foster’s spaces are underground, Calatrava’s station concourse is flooded with natural light. 
But, unlike Foster, Calatrava is both an architect & an engineer, who started primarily as a bridge and train station designer. With the WTC hub he marries both disciplines in a purity of design that combines both the banally functional and the quietly beautiful in a building that is an ambitious, and ultimately successful, memorial to the events of September 2001.
Design Life Now: National Design Triennial 2006
On view December 8, 2006–July 29, 2007
Insomnia Cookies: Taking home delivery to a new high
Insomnia Cookies NYC sums up much of what I love about living in Manhattan. Delivering between 8pm and 4am, for a mere $6 plus tip, they will bring to your front door a box of six, warm from the oven, huge chocolate-chip cookies. Efficient, clever, delicious, it requires a sweet-toothed, high density population in a concentrated geographical area to work, so I can’t imagine this idea ever starting up, let alone succeeding in London. Yet another reason to remain in New York.
Life goes on...
I’ve been driven out of the apartment by the heat. L continues his air-con experiments driven, I suspect, by his continued auditioning for a new girlfriend. But I don’t like working in an icy chill, so we have brokered an agreement: no air-con in the day unless the temperature tops 40C. (It’s due to be 37C/97F on Monday, so it’s not inconceivable.) So now I’m sitting in the garden of Yaffa Café on St Marks & 1st in the East Village with a Stella and my laptop.
It’s strange having another person living in the apartment. JD and I had our own particular rhythm, and adding a man to the mix, albeit one who is best described as a Labrador puppy, changes the dynamic. Still, his mild OCD makes him great on the clean and tidy front, so I’m sure we’ll get on just fine.
Last night we headed to Lil’Frankies in the East Village, always JD’s favourite, and now mine too. Seven of us dumped the cutlery in favour of fingers to better chew our way through fried courgettes and wheel-sized pizzas, topped with mozzarella di bufala and garlic butter laced mushrooms, washed down by four bottles of Dolcetta d’Alba. I am always happy when I am left in charge of the wine list, so I ordered this delicious red in honour of Miss P, who sells it in copious amounts to Mrs Mad back in England.
I turned down karaoke with the gorgeous T and K (my singing voice makes grown men weep and babies wail), and plumped for pay per view extreme fighting or some such with L & C (who I like more each tme I see him) – it seemed the lesser of the two evils. Fortunately, nowhere was showing the fight (SUCH a shame), so the three of us ended up slumped over the wide wooden bar at the Horseshoe (also known as 7B from its street location), a proper dive in the village, drinking Summer Ale and playing American/English: Compare & Contrast, as all good expats do when hanging out together.
Horsehoe bar pic New York magazine /nymag.com
Friday, July 06, 2007
Freecycle: How to dump your unwanted possessions
Isn’t Freecycle the dog’s bollocks? My sister in London alerted me to its extreme usefulness last year when she managed to offload her old kitchen sink & a year’s worth of inherited-from-me fashion magazines onto various people who all appreciated the value of free stuff.
She & I are both squirrels, hoarding anything and everything, just in case. A habit picked up over childhood when there wasn’t a load of spare cash around. But now that I am running two households over two continents I cannot keep every thing I want any more. I am paranoid that when the time comes to move on from Manhattan I will need the modern day equivalent of a Thirties Hollywood star’s steamer trunks to transport my stuff to wherever it is I wish to live next.
Which is why online forums like Freecycle are so clever. They work by providing a message board for people to give away unwanted items that have an intrinsic worth but little retail value. The beauty of it is that everyone wins: when I wanted to dispose of some stonkingly heavy pieces of MDF from a chimney I dismantled last year I just posted them on Freecycle. The guy who took them saved fifty quid on MDF for his new kitchen, and I didn’t have to knacker my back dragging them down the stairs from my first floor flat to hide them in someone else’s skip (dumpster for my US readers) in the dead of night. Result all round. You can also post goods wanted ads: I managed to get hold of all the brackets I needed for my garage shelves with a Wanted ad on Freecycle, and I repaid the favour with a bag of beauty samples from work
Sure there are people who sit beadily by their PCs waiting for new Freecycle posts to grab anything of value for eBay-ing but I figure that, so long as my stuff doesn’t end up in landfill, I really do not care a monkey’s who takes it. That being said, I do sift through the replies to find people who sound genuine. Today in Manhattan I’ve managed to give away a huge pile of fashion magazines and all SS07’s lookbooks to a fashion student from Parson’s. So I feel stunningly altruistic, environmentally smug and extremely pleased that I didn't have to lug them all dowstairs to the recycling.
(I recommend the Freecycle route to any fashion writers/stylists/PRs dumping last season’s lookbooks/magazines: there is always a fashion student somewhere reading Freecycle posts who will take them off your hands.)
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Dating dinosaurs
I am so thoroughly fed up with going on dates with American men who, with one notable exception so far, talk complete cobblers and then try to jump you. Which is why I have returned home, & am feeling rather miffed. Although, if truth be told, I am knackered and just couldn’t face SE’s party in the West Village, even though I have a sexy new dress and some splendid dancing shoes.
I am just at a complete loss to understand why it is thought acceptable to get boorishly drunk, and then start trying to cop a feel. It’s almost as though these men have some kind of perception shield which a) stops them realising how unacceptable their behaviour is, & b) makes them think that my monosyllabic replies are grunts of appreciation at their macho behaviour. BAH.
Ps I am ORANGE. Radioactively so.
bloody hell
I just so hadn't engaged with the concept of Independence Day being an actual day off work. And now I discover that everywhere is closed tomorrow. BAH. Although I did chuckle when my Manhattan-based English friend L told me that her (US) boss was banning a day off for all UK employees. What shall I do with myself? Answers on a postcard, please.
Hey ho, hey ho, it's off to work we go...
Chuffed as just been commissioned to write another main fashion feature for Elle. Yay.
Guggenheim Abu Dhabi
This is the latest model for Frank Gehry's proposed Guggenheim Abu Dhabi, part of the new Saadiyat Island Cultural District in Abu Dhabi. When looked at in context with Guggenheim Bilbao it looks extraordinarily ambitious. I guess this is what happens when you have Middle Eastern oil money behind an arts project. 
And, if that building didn't smack you right in the face, there is also a performing arts centre by Zaha Hadid (above) which should be vulgar but is strangely beautiful, Jean Nouvel's Classical Museum, and Tadao Ando's Maritime Museum. All are scheduled to open in 2012.
The models & plans for the project are currently on display at The Emirates Palace in Abu Dhabi.
Top image: Guggenheim by Frank Gehry, Abu Dhabi
Bottom image: Performing Arts Centre by Zaha Hadid, Abu Dhabi
Feeding my inner geek
Am especially pleased right now that, as I am missing JSL who has moved on in preparation for visiting the set of his movie in Spain, I have finally met a charming American man with whom I can have a conversation about more than the weather. The fact that our conversations range from etymology to geology and other areas sometimes considered to be a little dull or esoteric has made me wonder about the definition of a geek
After all I love computers & electronic gadgets, can explain the Borg and theory of collective consciousness on Star Trek, religiously watch the current series of Doctor Who on-line, collect maps, like transport museums, and am endlessly fascinated by the minutiae of life in Manhattan: from the workings of the Subway to the evolution of the different racial areas. These things might traditionally be considered the traditional province of the geek.
Yet, I certainly don’t consider myself one. The Cambridge Dictionary defines a geek as boring and having no interest in fashion. Boring is, of course, in the eye of the beholder, but I work in fashion, and generally know what’s what.
Perhaps it’s time to redefine the modern geek?
Monday, July 02, 2007
Let me count the ways in which I hate department stores
(specifically utterly bloody Macy’s)
1) Too big. Way, way too big. This does not equal choice, this equals confusion.
2) Lack of service. Has commission been done away with here? Very, very short-sighted, especially when it’s my mother doing the shopping.
3) No signage. I may be a practiced shopper but I am not psychic, so don’t look at me like I am stupid when I can’t find the blooming knicker section. (I can’t believe the signs have been removed for security reasons. Surely Al Qaeda aren’t planning an attack on the underwear department in Macy’s?)
4) Trying to be all things to all people. History tells us you can’t please all of the people all the time. So don’t try. Aim for excellence not over-abundance.
5) Tourists. Specifically the ones that move in lemming like packs.
6) Assistants Who Know Best. If I have chosen to take 22 dresses into the fitting room, it’s because I have spent 30 minutes raking the floor for things I like. Please do not bring me dresses that bear no relation either to the pieces I have already picked, or to the clothes I was wearing when I was arrived. This is not imaginative. It is bloody annoying. Surely any fool, let alone someone who works on a fashion floor, can see that a girl with a large bust can’t possibly wear a plunging to the waist neckline without looking like she is solicting for custom?
7) Apart from the fact that Intimate Apparel sounds like a department in a porn shop, I am at a loss to understand how, in a nation with so many obese people, they only seem to sell a selection of thongs in rainbow colours, and bras up to a Double D cup. Not even vaguely in my ball park.
Facebook. Ok - I caved in to peer pressure....
I've always dismissed Facebook as a networking site pour les enfants. That's not to say that I eschew all such sites: I'm a MySpace veteran, I use aSmallWorld regularly and, under duress, joined LinkedIn, which is wholly useless. But Facebook always seemed to be the province of teenagers and twenty-somethings, a theory borne out by the active presence on there of my 23 yr old flatmate AC. MySpace doesn't seem to be so age specific, but it attracts a very certain type of person: those of my contemporaries (that is people in the early 30s) who have something to promote: freelancers like myself, DJs, models, musicians, actors, small businesses. Very, very few of my real friends have a presence there for anything other than networking.
After initially refusing point blank to join Facebook, I did sign up to see what all the fuss was about, (excusing my actions as journalistic research), but shut down my account almost immediately. However, Facebook is not stupid: even though I terminated my account, they kept my email active so anyone using their email search engine would find me as a member. From somewhere around the beginning of June there was some kind of tipping point in Facebook membership. I started to receive five or six emails a week notifying me that I had been added as a friend. By last week, the trickle had become a flood, and many requests were friends who I hadn't even realised could turn a computer on, so I caved, created a profile and flicked a few friend requests.
In ten days I have accumulated 88 friends - all of whom I know, unlike MySpace where most of your 'friends' are bands you've never met or even heard of - but many of whom I haven't seen for five, ten , even fifteen years. It's curiously addictive as it relies less on personality and more on email, posting photographs, writing on friend's walls, and throwing sheep at each other. I like it as it is both intensely private, and very public. Profiles are private unless you are a friend, and if you don't know someone's email address it can be difficult to find them if they have a common name. The public side comes from your personal home page digest which is continually updated with your friends' actions.
As an ex-pat I love being able to see what my friends in London are up to, although ironically it makes me less eager to return to London, as I can still feel connected to my social network without actuallyhaving to be there in person. Still, I'm sure I'll be lurking around on Facebook for a few more months until the next on-line fad reaches its own tipping point....
Friday, June 29, 2007
Family commitments
Both my sister & my mother, fondly known amongst my friends as Mrs Mad, have descended in some state upon Manhattan for five nights. My days shall therefore be filled with shopping, museums and eating. Forgive me if I am a little dilatory in posting.
Off now to worship at the various temples of retail uptown. Specifically the Holy Trinity: Barneys, Bendel & Bergdorf.
The Brodsky Touch
By Marlene Birger Sample Sale
TUESDAY THE 10TH & WEDNESDAY THE 11TH JULYFROM 9AM-7PM@INEXCESS FASHION LTD
UNIT 4, 124-128 BARLBY ROADLONDON W10 6BL
PHONE. 0208 960 6161
NEAREST TUBE IS LADBROKE GROVE
PLEASE NOTE PAYMENT BY CASH OR CHEQUES IN SPECIAL CIRCUMSTANCES
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Do clothes maketh the woman?
Ever since my sister and I used to parade up and down the landing at home, decked in the contents of the dressing up cupboard, we’ve always been obsessed with putting together outfits, and their effect on other people.
I’ve always connected looking good, (that means groomed hair, a lick of make-up, heels, suitable, flattering on-trend clothing), with how people rate both my professional status, and my attractiveness. Clothes and shoes are the arsenal in my personal battle with the world.
What I wear affects my mood, my savoir faire. I need to feel comfortable in, and flattered by my clothes, even if to an observer my heels and fashion forward outfit may be the opposite of comfort. Which is why the discovery this week that boys seem to find me as attractive in a short smock, flats, and hedge backwards hair as they do when I am all dolled up has come as a bit of a shock. Don’t get the wrong idea: I’ve never been an obsessive hair drying, inch of pancake wearing, celeb-copying, matchy outfit kind of girl, but I certainly always make a bit of an effort whether I’m wearing flat boots and a swingy dress for jumping around in a mosh pit at a gig, or eating at Cecconi’s in a swish little number.
The heat & humidity in Manhattan this past week, 95F at worst, has meant that minimal makeup and no hairdryer has been the way forward. It’s too hot to take the subway so I’m walking everywhere in flat pumps too. I’ve had four blind dates in almost as many days, and have schlepped off to each with my damp, just out of the shower hair pinned up off my neck, dressed in a £25 loose cotton, puff sleeve, scoop neck, short smock from COS that I bought in four colourways on my trip back to London in April. I could quite easily be presumed to be in my second trimester. Yet, all the men I’ve met seem to be smitten, and have all asked to see me again, one within 20 minutes of my arrival back home.
This throws my entrenched belief that I need my fashionable armour to be found attractive into disarray. I’m not quite sure how to rationalise this: perhaps I care less over here as to how I am perceived, perhaps I’m more relaxed as there is no pressure to settle down as there is in London, perhaps I look more approachable when I’m dressed down, or maybe it’s just as simple as that men just don’t care as much as I do about what I’m wearing and find a stylish woman as disconcerting as a grubby one….
Fashion comes in all shapes & sizes part two
The move towards a more fitted silhouette has been on the horizon for a couple of seasons: for every twenty trapeze dresses, there’s been a Christopher Kane bandage dress, or a Todd Lynn suit.
And so, of course, with such a drastic about turn in fashion sensibility, the new editions of the fash mags all have pieces on how to update your wardrobe for Fall. If you aren’t in the industry then these nuts & bolts service pieces can be very useful. However, my main reaction upon reading JJ Martin’s piece in July US Harper’s yesterday made me want to throw something (probably my already-feeling-very-dated-and-it’s-not-yet-July Chloé wedges). She tries very hard to suggest looks for women with shapes that aren’t fashion model standard, but fails miserably.
“A sexy set of legs and a thicker midsection demand a short tight skirt( or substitute a slim pencil skirt), and a blousy top with the new puff sleeves”
Is the woman insane? Does she ever REALLY look at bodies that differ from the fashion norm? Sure the pencil skirt is going to show off my legs but, take it from me, the cinched in waist that looks best with a pencil skirt is impossible if you have a ‘thicker midsection’. And if you have great legs then you’ve probably got a larger bust, and the last thing you need is blousiness up top – unless you want to look as though you are in danger of toppling over in a heavy wind. I do wish some fashion writers would do more than pay lip service to the idea that women have different shapes. (Although I must give a shout to US Glamour, who, to their huge credit, do occasionally shoot their swimwear on normal women.)
On-line shopping: my love hate relationship with TopShop
So I bought, gulp, five dresses, including these two:
Liberty Bell Sleeve Dress. Colour: Vibrant Pink. Code:10Y15RPNK £75
Tulip Flower Tier Dress. Colour: Yellow. Code: 10F31QYLW
£40
Style comes in all shapes & sizes
As a fashion writer I pay huge attention to what I, and everyone around me wears on a daily basis. It informs what I wear, what I write and how I predict trends. This is, of course, a double edged sword. Whilst I like to think I am a good advert for my own personal take on fashion, I’m not sure my non-fashion friends appreciate always feeling like they are under the fashion microscope. I’ve lost of the amount of times friends (male & female), have apologised for their outfits in my presence. Which is pretty ridiculous as personal style is so much more important than being on trend. That’s not to say I don’t appreciate a nod to current fashion stories, but I’m usually far more interested in the provenance of someone’s beautiful Kashmiri embroidered scarf, or genius plastic bracelet from Shoreditch Market.
This personal obsession with what I wear means that I can easily spend an hour throwing clothes around my room until it looks like a clothes bomb has gone off in there. However, once dressed, I rarely think about my outfit again during the day: I just need to feel right first thing. Of course, it would be easier if I had a classical ‘fashion’ figure: flat chest, neat waist, hips, but I don’t. I’m that rarity, an apple: lots of breastage, no waist, and great legs, As I once memorably described my figure in British Elle, I have a barrel shaped body perched on golf club legs.
Still, years of practice has meant that I generally know what suits me, even if actually translating that into a wearable outfit is more of a struggle. It’s been simple over the past year or so when all I’ve had to do to engage with feeling stylish is to pull on a loose short frock, but I fear their time is coming to an end. This coming season is all about pencil skirts, cinched in waists, a little volume on top, the high heel.
How not to dress in 2008
I know us fashion bloggers all like to provide pocket run downs of fashion how tos, complete with illustrative photographs. So, I thought this short guide to what the hip male will be wearing in 2008 might be of interest....
Monday, June 18, 2007
The Cyclone: an easy way to lose your dignity
This, my friends, is The Cyclone, the wooden Coney Island rollercoaster. A mere 35 mins subway ride from the East Village, and built in 1927, it's one of the oldest rollercoasters in the US. The relatively small area that it occupies has meant that The Cyclone has become famous worldwide for its exceptionally steep and twisty ride.
Within a couple of seconds the cars reach the first 85-foot, 60 degree drop. I sceamed continually for the entire one minute and fifty seconds that it took to travel the 2,650 feet. Horrifyingly, the ride's top speed is 60 mph. At least I can say I've done it now. As can PS who was staying with me last weekend on a 3 day escape from London. I had to eat quite a lot of ice cream on the beach afterwards as an aid to recovery.
Picture above: Astroland - the Coney Island amusement park
Manhattan dating
NY life continues apace: hot, busy, hungover. A few hilarious dates. The most note-worthy? That'll have been with the irrepressible B who I invited to a party to celebrate the fabulous English fashion house Preen’s 10th year anniversary at the Soho Grand last Monday.
After pitching up 45mins late, he told me that my witty text messages were the reason I had secured a proper date. (Ooh prvileged me.) That would be an actual organised evening out as opposed to the ‘fancy a drink darlin’ SMSs round midnight that he had been favouring me with until I texted him back to tell him to invite me out at an appropriate time or bugger off. Then he wanted to know how many other guys he'd be competing with for my attention as he was a busy man and didn't like to bet on uncertain prospects. He then spent the rest of the evening delivering a cracking series of cheese-tastic lines, including the absolute winner: “I just want to steal some sweet kisses from your delicious looking lips.”
I do have the most bizarre time here. On Saturday night I ate mushroom quesadillas & drank too many frozen margaritas at a French speaking supper with JSL & AC at La Esquina in Nolita, a cavernous and dark bar that is so stealth hip that it is hidden downstairs through an anonymous steel door marked Employees Only in a taqueria. The brasserie is then reached by running the gauntlet of two separate bouncers, each radioing ahead through the Stygian depths as you approach the underground checkpoint, finally walking you through the busy kitchen to reach the bar/eating area. I spent the Saturday before taking the guys from a very famous 90’s rock band out to Soho House (not so rock 'n' roll but it's where they wanted to go) and then hanging out in their hotel room 'till 5am. (My mate is their label boss & asked me to entertain them as she was sick).
Gianfranco Ferré dies aged 62
Gianfranco Ferré died in Milan of a brain haemorrhage yesterday evening at the age of 62. One of the towering figures of fashion, he was best known for his extraordinary and beautiful variations on the white shirt. The Ferré woman was always chic, elegant and restrained, even when wearing his signature full skirted evening gowns.
Born in Italy in 1944, Ferré received a degree in architecture in 1969, but began designing accessories a year later. Ferré started his own company in 1974, and began his signature collection in 1978. His early architecture training informed his personal aesthetic, and he was often referred to as the Frank Lloyd Wright of Fashion. He once described his personal philosophy as, "I use the same approach to clothes as I did when I designed buildings. It is basic geometry; you take a flat form and revolve it in space."
In 1989 he was Bernard Arnault's surprise choice to replace the popular Marc Bohan at the quintessentially Parisian House of Christian Dior, and his appointment marked not only the beginning of the strong Italian influence in French fashion, but placed him at the vanguard of the renaissance in Italian fashion, providing strong competition to the traditional French hegemony. He remained at the house for eight years, leaving in 1996, and then concentrating on his own label in Milan. He won the Occhio d'Oro Award for Best Italian Designer six times.
Agent Provocateur founders honoured for services to knickers
Agent Provocateur Co-Founders Joseph Corré and Serena Rees have been named MBEs in the Queen’s Birthday Honours List, for services to the fashion industry. Hear hear I say.
It’s easy to forget that the reason there is pretty, sexy, colourful underwear on the High Street is directly due to the influence of AP. Until Rees & Corré launched the label twelve years ago, lingerie shopping was pretty much confined to one of three places: Marks & Spencers & other department stores etc for black & white basics, little boutiques or Soho sex shops.
AP’s confident and powerful celebration of a woman’s sexuality filtered down to the High Street: their genius was to make it perfectly acceptable for a man or a woman to buy a filmy fuchsia peephole chiffon bra without looking like they were coming over all smutty.
Betty Jackson was also named CBE for services to the fashion industry, and Brian Godbold, a former chairman of the British Fashion Council, was awarded OBE for services to fashion design.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Jimmy Choo to launch first fragrance
Will the perfume license madness never end? Luxury shoe brand Jimmy Choo has announced that its first fragrance will debut in the Spring of 2009.
Whilst I understand that Jimmy Choo has become a major luxury goods brand, and that Tamara Mellon’s recent equity sale necessarily means an expansion into related markets, I’m wondering about the relationship between shoes and fragrance. I mean delicate florals are hardly the first fragrance notes that come to mind when thinking shoes…
Tagging
Ooh hoo – I’ve been tagged. I’m rather chuffed, seeing as how my blog has only really been in proper existence since March this year. Take a bow lovely, lovely Mrs Fashion. (For those of you who are rather confused, tagging is a way to connect different blogs, usually by way of a questionnaire.) Here are my answers to the burning issues of the hour.
Three Things That Everyone Thinks Are Gross, But I Think Are Cool
Big knickers
You may laugh but I bet most girls over a UK size 12(US8) have several pairs lurking in their lingerie drawer. Whilst I appreciate the work of the 1970’s feminists in releasing us from the bond of the obligatory girdle, (after all who wants to wear a panty girdle in the summer?), I say elasticated knickers are a bloody genius invention – not just because I have a bit of a tummy issue – but because a lot of pieces just look better over a smooth silhouette. Next season’s sexy pencil skirts for a start. And it's not just curvy women who harness the power of Lycra.
That Roland Mouret Galaxy dress that the press went bonkers over a few seasons ago? Constructed with super max, hold it all in power net so the dress practically stood up on its own. By sucking everything in, it was guaranteed to make any woman look amazing in photographs; it’s no wonder it was so popular. John Galliano also bangs on a lot about the importance of foundation garments for many of his pieces for Dior. Bottom line: if you are investing heavily in a designer piece, for Christ’s sake, wear the appropriate underwear. (Although I must admit that on occasion I secrete a properly sexy pair of black lace AP knickers in my handbag, and rush off to the loo to do a quick change should there be a possibility of anyone other than me seeing my undies.)
Blind dates
Until I was commissioned to write a piece on internet dating I thought a blind date was A Very Bad Idea. Fast forward three years and, in between proper boyfriends, I’ve now been on 32 blind dates and counting. I like meeting new people (except at parties) and, at the very least, it’s always amusing in some way. Internet dating I’m still suspicious about, but if a friend dangles a new boy prospect, I’m so there. I’ve never met a boy I wanted to go out with this way but I’ve made some great friends. In fact on my very, very first blind date I met PS. He had enough nous to realise I was better friend than girlfriend material and, two years later, we are the firmest of firm friends.
Airline food
Perhaps it’s just the orderly little plastic trays and dinky glasses, and that flying makes me ravenously hungry, but I love eating on ‘planes. I went through a phase of taking delicate sushi meals in addition to my gallons of Evian on ‘planes in the manner of a fussy starlet and eschewing the hot meals, but I just ended up eating them as well. And the ice creams during the film (bless you Virgin), and those weird tasting Worcestershire sauce flavoured bags of pretzels. Yummy.
Three Things That Everyone Thinks Are Cool, But I Think Are Gross
Fashion parties
I really, really hate them. In fact, make that all parties convened in order to celebrate something by a PR: film premieres, product launches, fashion show after-parties. The whole damn kit and caboodle. Firstly I have an enormous fear of having to go up to talk to complete strangers. Secondly, they are no fun whatsoever. I know this sounds churlish as the patina of glamour surrounding such events makes them seem desirable but, trust me, no one is really, really enjoying themselves. Nine out of ten people are being paid indirectly to be there in some capacity, whether it’s the celeb on the junket tour for their movie, the D-Lister trying to raise their public profile, the PR making it happen, the hack snooping for a story, the model looking for a boyfriend, the modeliser looking for a victim, the magazine publisher or fashion editor there to ‘support’ the advertiser and/or designer, or the freelancer looking to network. And everyone secretly wants to have their photograph taken. The only people having a good time are under the 25 yr old assistants who can afford a hangover and whose peers are also getting legless on the free booze, who have no children or husbands, and aren’t jaded old boilers like myself. (Of course, I’d be mighty pissed off I wasn’t actually invited, but that’s another story…)
Chardonnay
It’s not the connotations of the grape that I dislike, although it is the toe curling choice of many classy birds on the pull, & I know that it’s what properly amazing white Burgundy is made from, etc etc. But I just don’t like it very much. So there. (But I can’t resist a chuckle or two when I hear gormless girls saying they don’t like Chardonnay and promptly ordering Chablis (same grape darling).)
Lip gloss
It makes your hair stick to your lips, usually tastes disgusting, and boys hate getting sticky gloop smeared over their faces when they kiss you. A thoroughly counter productive ‘beauty’ aid if I ever I saw one.
I tag:
The Main Point
La Blonde C'est Moi
Gastro Chic
I would have tagged Je Ne Sais Quoi and The Glossy, but Mrs Fashion got there first!
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
Manhattan bulletin
Manhattan is sunny again, which is a relief: reviewing rooftop bars is no fun at all in the rain. The only flipside is that I have a week of concerted bar going to get through in the name of research. My poor, poor liver.
Aside from the detrimental health effects of my latest commission, everything else is good. JSL is bouncing around the apartment (he’s staying for a few days) looking like he is suppressing a lot of unholy glee at the news that his screenplay went into production in Spain yesterday. An adaptation of Hemingway’s Garden of Eden, it stars Mena Suvari, Jack Houston, Caterina Murino, & Richard E Grant.
Last night I took JL to Soho House for the latest in the Grand Classics series: Kevin Spacey introducing Preston Sturges’ 1941 film, Sullivan’s Travels, starring Joel McCrea & the ravishing Veronica Lake; a pointed tragi-comedy about a director of musical comedies who wants to direct socio-realistic movies. Bumped into Poppy & Daisy de V, with their mother, & L afterwards. After supper I cabbed it to the Lower East Side to The French Diner, then was persuaded to 151 Rivington, a dark, deep & dirty basement bar, to meet more people. So much for a quiet Monday night: in at 1-ish.
Monday, June 04, 2007
Are White Rabbits the best unsigned band in America?
Take out your stopwatches a la Alice in Wonderland, and start counting the minutes until this new group hits the big time.
White Rabbits may well be the best unsigned band I’ve seen play live in years. I’ve made it to several gigs this month, amongst which were The Kooks at The Fillmore (still breaking over here, small venue, not as strong live as I had hoped), and Arctic Monkeys at the Hammerstein Ballroom – terrible sound, static crowd, enormously disappointing and, apart from CSS's stellar showing on Friday, was getting used to underwhelming live sets in this city.
Hopping along to White Rabbits on Saturday night at The Bowery Ballroom at the very last minute (I’m late, I’m late for a very important date) my expectations were somewhere beneath ground level. Unsigned band, tiny venue. The only reason I levered myself off the sofa of death was that I was invited by my friend A who has immaculate taste (but then she does own a properly good indie record label.)
They describe themselves as purveyors of honky tonk calypso, but this doesn’t even begin to describe their (seriously credible) sound. With two lead vocals, plus frenetic piano playing, and extraordinary layered percussion (two drum kits, maracas, bells, tambourine,) it all melds into a glorious, uplifting noise. Although it’s hard to keep track as the band members hop around the stage swapping guitars for maracas, and drums for keyboards and goodness knows what else. A band this comprehensively talented makes their live performance an absolute joy. The anoraks will appreciate their musicianship, the girls their (extremely) good looks, the press their charm & manners – and everyone will love their live infectious energy and chutzpah.
Their debut album, Fort Nightly, has just been released here and, on mutiple plays so far, I reckon it’s one of the albums of 2007 already. If you’re in London, they play at White Heat @ Madame Jo-Jo's & at Water Rats in June, and they take to the Q Stage at Glasto. GO, go go….
Dancing, drinking & raining.
The condensed nature of this island, combined with cheap cabs and a 24hr subway system makes an evening with four or five engagements a breeze. In London, where it takes an hour to get anywhere, and a cab costs on average $30 a ride, an evening can feasibly only contain one event, unless one has a very large expense account or bottomless pockets.
Take Friday night: I had my first ever frozen Margarita (delicious) before a private view at Pierogi in Williamsburg, dropped into the US launch of Moleskin’s chic - & useful – City Guides at the Art Director's club (loved Zadie Smith's personalised version), and then lovely L & I went to see Brazilian dance rockers CSS play at the Fillmore @ Irving Plaza. I'm glad we caught them at this tiny 500 person venue: they play Wembley Arena, supporting Gwen Stefani this summer. The set was so frenetic that even the Concession stand girls were dancing on the tables during the encore. We loved them: an energetic, funny, sexy dance rock hybrid with a huge dollop of latin sex.
High as a kite from dancing endorphins, we checked out The Park in Chelsea for a piece I’m writing on rooftop bars,(beautiful garden, good drinks, lovely manager) told the not so cute boys hitting on us that we were lesbians, and then finished the night off with way too many Martinis in the Games Room at Soho House. Crawled home by way of Pop Burger.
It is therefore all the more admirable that I managed to haul my sorry ass down to the Bowery Ballroom to see White Rabbits play last night. More of the astonishingly good Rabbits later.
After a week of complaining about the weather, it’s now bucketing down. I have a supper tonight in Nolita with TvB, a French photographer who is in town to shoot for US InStyle. Guess I’ll be taking a cab…
Sunday, June 03, 2007
Coincidences & connections
What a week. Apart from sweltering in the heat (although I have been told countless times that I am experiencing a delightful New York spring, and that when summer comes then I’ll reminisce fondly about the mild weather back in May), I have been glued to my keyboard during the day, and managing to drink my bodyweight in vodka in the evenings.
I finished David Mitchell’s Ghostwritten, a first novel so brilliant I despair of ever writing anything so interesting, elegiac, evocative and just so damn good. It deals with coincidences and passing connections across the world. It was an apt book to read here: my life in New York consists of a chain of my own (rather more banal) coincidences & connections.
On Thursday JSL asked me to join him & Elizabeth Wurtzel for supper at Fish, in the West Village. Elizabeth is now studying for a JD at Yale School of Law and is in New York for the summer as an associate at an NY law firm. She’s both fiercely intelligent and very attractive. By happenstance alone, sitting at the next table were three of my NY English friends, (including T, a model so gorgeous that men’s jaws drop when she walks by).
Other connections this week: P, the sexy boy I met at A&A’s wedding emailed to say that he had stumbled across this blog through Google; another reminder that any person one mentions on a blog will eventually read your comments. Good thing I was (rightly) very complimentary about him. Elizabeth wrote this cogent & timely piece in the Wall Street Journal on the implications of speaking one's mind about other people's characters on-line.
On Saturday I had a blind date with M, a photographer whom I met on line. We discovered that not only does he shoot for the magazine for which I was an editor for five years, but that I had actually produced several of his US based stories back in 2000.
We met for coffee for a couple of hours at The Bean. It’s the first date I've been on where I was equally dating the datee’s dog, but I think I passed muster with the dog. I had got off to a bad start in an email complaining about minute, over-pampered dogs in Manhattan, expecting that one day I would accidentally impale one on a stiletto whilst marching down Madison. He then mentioned his Chihuahua. He's not my type, but he’s great company, and we hatched a plan for a story driving a Bentley on an iconic drive in the US (Bentley have offered me any of their cars to drive/write about if I have a suitable travel story in the US).
