Afternoon Style Mongers. For me zi fashions are over, jah? As Paris dawdles on, am double glad to be yarded again in London. Missed the place. Missed the people. People. Some people missing. Some sadness, but that is life, yeah? That is what we sign up for, right? Tell ya what, being sad in obscene luxury is totes vile. Much better at home. Bring it on home. Stick on Kurt Vile and then look at some Cerruti AW16, right? 

Gonna write more about the Cerruti 1881 collection, but right now the suns out and gonna pay homage to the market deities, cheese, fish, meat. Later the flower gods.


I will say J.B. held back and let Cerruti be what is should be. Draped, elegant, modern and about modern luxe fabric. Its metropolitan and not retro. He hid well and let the house&mill  function. Bravo.


Loved this take on shearling. Proper modern, easy luxe.


As I say, Ra is in full effect, so off out. Always brings out the hippy in me. Dig Hawkwind bredrins and be free.


Stubbs out, not down.

Told ya was gonna be good. Was good.







Morning Style Merchants. In Paris now, staying in most lavish hotel suite I’ve ever stepped snaffled-foot in. And its shoes that are footing the bill, thank you J.M.Weston, in honour of their Yves Klein Blue Moccasin  (or Penny Loafer), which got launched last night. It seems the Y.K. foundation gave Michele Perry, Creative Director, their blessing and a 5L can of their finest blue paint and said off you go Mich’. In Parisian though, of course. Never seen a bluer suede shoe in my career. Congratulations all round


Klein’d of Blue- J.M.Weston’s Yves Klein Mocasins.

Now writing in bed, in totes-lap of luxe in said Raffles Hotel but with lap-top glued to fingers, as pour. The Royal Monceau on Avenue Roche is off the hook-posh, but am too under-le-cosh/dashing about and a trifle too fatigued to eat more than three Oreos last night. Typical. Hope to file some lyrics and hit das spa to relax via my direct inception mirrored lift that comes with room. The khazi/space-bidet is advanced beyond anything I’ve ever clocked/ponied on. Aside from specifying how many litres of flush one wants, and vibrating at suitable frequencies  it has a surface to arsehole tracking system for the rinse off. You don’t believe me, but its true. Too, too flush.

Nino Cerruti, couturier italien. 1970.     LIP-31733-004

 Whoa, whoa, whoa Nino: Cerruti, back in the day.

Douches aside men, the most important moment of Paris week is ’bout to happen. No messing. Jason Basmajian, also of Creative Officer of Gieve&Hawkes and tings, is ’bout to debut his first full Cerruti collection. Its a major deal. Cerruti is a proper menswear sleeping giant, not been what is should since early 1980s, and J.B. is one of the hottest thinker/mover/executers in recent serious menswear history. It has a significant history, and its ethos is super right for right now. Its gonna big. Its gonna critical. Trust man. 

Stubbs out/in bed.


 Les sad little Selfie.

PS. Been wanting a Hermes Poncho for years. Heading there later in name of luxe-research. As Paris fashion week crawls onwards (5 days of it ffs) to me it feels like this is the time to acquire le Poncho.


A few tassels more.


Actual French Windows. Paris, France.



Good day dear Style Merchants. Regard my view of the Geneva S.I.H.H watch fair below. Inspiring stuff, no? Lake’s and all that where am at. Critically, I need to inform you that I have become Pagan. The only things that has made sense to me for sometime are paying homage to gods of elements and fundamentals. Just feels right every day. Stick Bauhaus track on below and look, yeah? Put in mind, cos just did the whole Geneva watch fair in 8 hours flat: Squash every fashion week into a day


 Buoyed spirits.

All came dead clear in Tulum that Paganism was what working. Daily engagement with sea & sun & wind for ages on basic level. Relentless waves bashing through the night. So am planning to become a post modern pagan fundamentalist. I’m not sure what that entails yet, but making it up as go along is working for me. Seems to be legit these days though, no? 

Am working first making league table of main deities that cover emotion and physical sensation. The premiership obv’s includes air, & sun and that, and of course the god of music. I need daily pilgrimages to wind, air, and sun etc. But also consider the actions more minor gods of luck, lateness and back strains, for example. Stylistic truth is major being that I sacrifice to when I can. Most days, as it goes.

The spectre of lateness, wrongness, fear and failure also whirr  about. Ghosts of all sorts of previous fuck-ups and mishaps float just outside periphery, but are there. Paying homage to the water air and even gravity keeps them at bay, see? Tense demons of travel hang-ups patrol the luggage area of my style cellar. My Wahl clippers have gone mental and sound like pneumatic drill, adding to the moment. Its all quite strong. Here’s the nearest thing to the sun from the show yesterday: The new yellow gold Audermars Piguet Royal Oak. Proper Ra!


The Royal Yolk.

Stubbs out.

PS. This songs a bit dead special to me and someone, & just got the right version down during my morning prayer offerings to music by the Lake.  It’s the song from me to you darlink. Not sure you tune in to this anymore though. It’d make my day if you heard it. Best shan’t hold my breath to long, though.

PPS. Looking back, my best playlist of 2015 was August. This was well on it. Shall I bring yous into it?



Morning Style Mongers. Examples of contrasting roof hoarding typical of  the two cities have just slipped between. 





Stubbs out.



Evening Style Merchants. As ever, so I am so useless at keeping up. Its a far cry from when I launched this series of notes bout 6 years ago, but still… Am in a phase of Milan fashion week, and its just fine. bit different from normal perhaps but enjoying it enough. For now, please listen to these tracks. Thats as much as can offer up. Again, sorry, things aren’t normal. Music is still the unswerable importance, right? Thank that and the other pagan gods. morning sun. freezing breath. brand new Italian sun. that’ll do me, amen.

There’s quite a lot of blokes sleeping in the park in Milan still, even though its winter. I am certain I wouldn’t like do have to do that. 

Stubbs out.

PS. Some style stuff at some point, right?