Archive for January, 2012

DAVE’S PANTS FOR H&M

Tuesday, January 31st, 2012

Going to see Dave launch his bodywear collection this afternoon. Matey off the telly is coming too. Should be a hoot. NB. Am talking Beckham, not Bowie on this occasion.

Spent the last two days writing in The Clapton, and thus been dropping ‘Total Marl’ myself, so this marl fest’ seems most pertinent. Don’t quite look like D.B. in my marl pants I have to admit. Total Marl includes jogger bottoms, tee shirt, marl shoulder sweat too, for those that were concerned. For those that are concerned what D.B. is gonna launch his pants off, I can’t possibly say yet. Maybe the roof of H&M, who he is doing this whole David Beckham Bodywear caper with perhaps?

Thought might as well put a picture up of Dave in his pants. My Mum’ll almost certainly say something like “Look! Well just look how handsome he is. Look!”, won’t you Ma? Well spotted in advance.

Didn’t get to look like that eating Green&Blacks and pizza past 6pm, did ya David? I can’t exactly tell, but is that a scene from They Died With Their Boots On he’s got tattooed on his shoulder? Wow. Can’t wait to ask him about it.

D.B.’s special team of designers have been at it for eighteen months on the R&D for this 9 piece collection of briefs, vests, boxers and long johns. Pared down and low key is the thrust of the styling, aiming to set a new standard for men’s body wear for the 21st century, apparently. Shame we’re setting new low standards on bodies here in Clapton I noticed tonight up the Turkish, despite the cold. Some people. Available from 2nd from 1,800 Hennes shops, isn’t it?

TS out.


BLACK OPS

Monday, January 30th, 2012

The whole style writing thing today isn’t exactly going well. The highlight thus far has been typing the three words ‘Black Washing Machine’ into the Comet website search engine.


Have to say am rather taken with this De Dietrich affair on the name alone..Smeg, Mondaine, Nespresso and now black De Dietrich joins the roster. Makes sense. Walters said it was Partridge of me to want a black washing machine. Some people have no idea.

TS out.

DARK DISCIPLINE 2012

Monday, January 30th, 2012

You say you want a resolution: Gary Oldman in Prada demonstrates the severely elegant way forward for men. A lesson in assertive walking and upright masculine presence. Attempting to apply similar discipline to work then plan to post more comprehensively on Prada when pressing deadlines are appeased.

Stubbs out.

TWENTY YEARS OF 38s & SACRED TRIANGLES

Sunday, January 29th, 2012

That Sacred Triangle thing continues to unfold madly. It’s properly riveting, although a trifle sleep deprived due to over zealous ‘to-do’ list composition including late evening cinema visit, so keep nodding off. One more session and will have consumed it. Dave, Lou, Iggy, those crazy guys*… Finished World of Leather/Ages of Man piece, the conclusion being literally penned on the 38 (more of this bus later). Think is gonna be alright perhaps, The Literary Stripper said she liked it, The Sunday Times Style just need to print it, the blighters.

The 38 bus route on Shaftesbury Avenue, Cambridge Circus. So different, so the same.

 

It’s all very Swiss this time of year for us kettle-fanciers, and been writing about how fashionistas look at watches for the vaunted QP magazine, the chicest watch title in Europe. Talking of Swiss…I’ve become a collector of breads. It’s a transient sort of hobby. I get emotionally attached to certain loaves. They come, they go, at least it keeps you on your toast.

In other carb based news, I’ve also become an Alpen addict. It happened so quickly, like with many addictions these days. Not during the days, you understand, but undercover of nights. My stomach and bladder have formed an alliance. Bladder wakes me up in the night, while stomach gorges on Alpen. It’s a Swiss based Sporadic serial insomnia. (Bread picture to follow).

Vintage Vacheron Constantin.

Days are better structured. I had a nigh-on perfect working day yesterday, mainly due to correct transport decision. A nine a.m. call time in Archer Street, Soho, reminded me of the job I had on Shaftesbury Avenue nearly twenty years ago. I worked in John Anthony, a men’s designer label boutique, (and unofficial boys club HQ for the early Nineties). I caught the 38 from Clapton Pond, and breezed happily all the way to Soho. Got more work done with pen and paper than would in whole morning plotted in yard on Mac. Jumped off bus where used to spend my working week including Saturday. Dean the Arsenal fanatical window cleaner walked past with his triangulated ladder and cloth, just like he always did. “Alright Tom?” he, said, as if it was 1993. Nothing had changed. Except perhaps twenty years of No.38 buses passing by on our faces. At once so different and yet so the same.

Berwick Steeet, Soho.

 

Stubbs will always be out in The Metropolis.

PS. Another sacred triangle that seems equally important right now is the 38, the 56 and the 243 routes.

*gotta find out somehow if Dave rumped Nico, in which case all three of the triangle will have been through her sacred triangle. Just a thought.

UNEASY INTRODUCTION

Saturday, January 28th, 2012

Woah, that Sacred Triangle was mental. Only got half way through and it was revelation/epiphany central. Lordy. Gotta leave the Clapton right now and do a faux-Bafta thing with matey off the box. I thought I’d left my Saturday job on Shaftesbury Avenue twenty years ago, but am heading right back to that spot now. Think gonna get the 38 bus for retro head space reasons despite being burdened with a load of gear. Own style stance becomes yet more pivotal in this case. NB. ‘Case’ is actually oversize navy perf’ leather holdall by Bill Amberg, darlinks.

Pensive Ferragamo: the early years

Okay, here’s the thing (as they say). Have been considering using what can best be described as a specialist freelance fashion operative on the ground to cover stuff am too busy to do. Seems fine. However am thinking about using non-other than my part time arch nemesis Mr. B. Ferragamo. I know it’s high risk on a number of levels, but his living in Italy helps a great deal with many things, and although volatile, now he enters his later years I’m hoping he has mellowed. His reputation for catwalk invasion etc. has long since past into fashion folk-lore, and nothing that mental has happened for years.

So this is Bryan. He’s an odd fucker. Obtuse, but he does have some valid points. He’s reviewed a couple of shows for me and am thinking of putting them up.

Stubbs is out in The Metropolis.

PS. It actually says that in GQ this month. Buy it, read it, and you’ll find it says that.

PPS. This isn’t Bryan below. This is the Bafta/telly bloke am doing today.