Archive for February, 2011
Tuesday was referencing Holly Johnson of Frankie Goes To Hollywood’s penchant for grey leather jackets in a written piece about The Achingly-Hipsters of E8 and what their choice of white shirt should be. Had to take images from the Relax video, as couldn’t find others. The look is a mix of Scally and futuristic Eighties blouson action, complete with Ray-Ban Wayfarers. Looking pretty, pretty cool Holly. (click to see video. NB. Banned version at end of post)
Wednesday, was sat next to Holly in the front row of the Christopher Shannon show. In grey leather jacket, he remarked that he liked my new pale grey leather Thomas Lyte bag, and so our grey leather banter began. His manner is brilliant, simultaneously earnest and piss-taking about style matters. Holly, I salute your style. Blouson style and innovative interpretations were discussed, and the joy of pale grey leather and which colours went well with it. Burgundy, Maroon, that sort of thing.
This serendipitous meeting was significantly better that a later random fashion based introduction that day. After the shows, (to be reviewed shortly) and the RAKE party at Matches, the team and I went to the James Small do at the W Hotel on Leicester Square. The girls wanted to go, so what can one say when they are semi-running your schedule. The hotel is a glittering and sparkling affair, and is apparently intentionally quite naff. Strikes me as poor location and out of date style, but I really wouldn’t know.
Anyway, was having a bit of laugh, as a couple of pals were in attendance as well as Smal’ls celebrity set friends whom he rolls with. They’re the Kate Moss/Bobby Gillespie/Mark Ronson crew, who were all plotted in the VIP which I now occupied with my far smaller mob. I had reviewed his show a year ago, and I didn’t think it was any good. I slated it a bit, and the whooping from the celebrity pile during show. Silly me. Got introduced to Small by the DJ booth by a mutual friend. It didn’t go well and Small told me to leave. It was his do, so what could I do? Was keen to not get manhandled out of the gaff, so made a couple of points about free speech, free drinks and the time it would take for the bouncers to find me, and slipped out un-molested. He was getting angrier as the seconds past. A scuffle would have been a bad thing I think. He did me a favour really as was quite late.
Makes me wonder about reviewing stuff. Is one supposed to write polite, pr’d, and sanitised reviews? Its a genuine question. It’s someone’s whole work you’re commenting on which is tremendously personal. It’s horrid to read negative comment. Then again, no-one said this was a charity scenario. Men’s fashion is well tough. Good stuff is dead hard to do, and that’s just how it is. I understand once you’ve said someone’s clothes are pony, you cant expect to drink their Moscow Mules, but is that beef for life with Small and I now? Might be a bit of an effort. I hope I’ve got another 9.5 years left in me, so better toughen my hide up, eh. Perhaps James should too. Here’s an idea: I didn’t attend Small’s show this time, but I shall post an (almost) unreviewed shot of his work to make up for last years dismissal. This is from the show earlier the same day.
I don’t always get the really trendy stuff to be fair. Wizard sleeves on a velvet parka is quite a striking look, so I’m taking it that Small is moving forward creatively from ‘found objects and layering’ of previous show. Not sure Holly would have worn it. Or Paul Rutherford. But there’s a theatre to it that might have worked well in the Eighties perhaps. Might I suggest James’s pal Noel Fielding as ‘Gandalf the Mod’ would be the perfect muse. Keep it up Mr. Small.
Perhaps my new mantra for writing uncensored show reviews should come from Frankie Goes to Hollywood? (Now here’s some reference points to work off)
Yeah right. Brace yourselves.
What is the collective noun for a group of strippers? This was a most challenging question posed the other night at Emily’s birthday dinner, attended by half a dozen plus of said ‘Jack The Rippers’. The answers were varied, but incomplete. Thus far a ‘Hustle’ or a ‘Rinse’ of strippers are my preferred options.
A Little Bit of What You Fancy (click) was the highly appropriately titled venue. I was rather pleased with my present to Emily. False eyelashes (and two years worth of glue) from Shu Umera.
Once sourced it lead to my hilariously creative card that I made for her depicting two transvestites that looked rather like Emily herself. Oh, how we all laughed and laughed. Emily is beautiful, so this rather gives one carte blanche to err on the mean side to her when it comes to matters such as this.
I was ‘stuck’ down one end of the table with five of them, ranging from Californian to Belgian, from Moldovian to Israeli, and one from Leeds. There were some double sharp brains in attendance, and I am awaiting some well thought out and creative answers to the noun quest from both the strippers and civilians alike. I was also taking a poll, (ahem), of most suitable/unsuitable music to dance to. ‘We Are The World’ by USA was number one. I will regale you of the noun search and more music when not on deadline for something.
The men’s bit of LFW is kicking off tonight at Dunhill, and then all hell breaks loose for the next 36 hours. Well, perhaps not hell, more like mildly awkward Bedlam. Gulp. Am still licking my wounds from Sunday, really. Yesterday one could barely drag oneself to the Lido. Cant even imagine what to wear tonight…
Meanwhile, a note to all you shrinking violets feeling like you’re missing out on the lashes scene. Get involved, and look, here’s what a little make up can do.
TS out. (Not that sort of out)
Luxury fashion has done this to me. A rampant posh sugar addiction and a shattered work ethic. Supposed to be writing all day, and all can do is think about next coffee and cake/sugar fix. It’s compulsive. Am literally working out so can eat more and more cake. Have become an obese person trapped inside a fit body. Am taking these Ladurée round to Stretch and Martha’s before I do the whole box.
The last two days it was the Audermars Piguet Swiss chocolates, in the night, in a trance. Quite mental. Before that the bleeding dark chocolate Nespresso complimentaries my sister sent…it’s all very addictive behaviour. I call this composition ‘Landscape with Macaroon, Brown Sugar and Wedgwood’. I should get out more. Or less perhaps. Here’s a short film on the subject.
Cups and saucers at Prada, Dior, Hermès, Valextra, Prada, Hermès…
Mine are Wedgwood, and a family heirloom. Did I mention that?
PS. Two red and white balloons? Yes, for the two Arsenal goals against Barcelona (2:1 first leg)
I really have got the blues. Alone, cardless, bereft of flowers and even birds to present them to on Valentine’s Night. In by myself with The Bournemouth Symphony Orchestra playing Prokofiev . Am properly feeling blue.
‘Feeling blue’ as in complete and utter adoration of my new blue shoes, perhaps I should point out. Been researching something on special, subtle shoes at mo’ for FT, and have discovered all manner of shoe brilliance. Blue shoes shall be my thing for spring I have decided. So chic, yet so undercover, and in this case so shiny. One has to go for a semi-flash shoe nuance these days, or it’ll be all up and down Oxford Street/Kingsland Road before you can say knife.
Favourite shoes personally are the inky blue Prada loafers that I did buy last week. Extremely shiny, but not patent, very dark blue, but not black, these are the kiddies. These and the midnight blue Ferragamo dress shoes, (see top), with cunningly grosgrain-trimmed seams, tongue and other back bit. Divine on the down-low, they’re the perfect way to bowl about in current climate. Work best with black Acne jeans or midnight blue mohair evening wear, depending upon schedule.
Blue? Yes. Lonely? Never.