Category Archives: fashion

pick guitar, fill fruit jar and be gay oh

Well, I am rather pleased to annouce to you, dear readers, that this is my 100th post. This one, right here. Who’d've thought it, eh? I’m sure it’s the pictures that keep calling so many of you back and not the words I (hardly) speak. But I do find it rather strange and curious to know that so many of you are popping over here every day. I hope to start doing you justice now that I’ve reached my century. Call me a centurion, if you will.

I wish I had something to report on this celebratory day, but I don’t. I’m busy at work this week, but I’ve got the whole of next week off. Yes! It’s the boy’s birthday so no doubt it’ll just contain lots of food and music. I can’t wait. I will take lots of pictures and show you what we’re filling our bellies with. I did promise outfit posts too, didn’t I? Well, you’ll get those next week too. That’s a logsy-promise.

Ok, bye! Enjoy the last day of August. Here’s a little help from Erwin Blumenfeld and Jean Patchett…

50January

cleaned a lot of plates in memphis

Oh, how can I make up for the fact that I’ve been absent so long? I haven’t a clue what the answer to that is, but I do hope you’ll forgive me anyway. I haven’t got any fabulous excuse (you know, like moving to New York and being inundated with an exciting flood of work projects, à la Garance (author of the staple in my blog-diet, don’t you know)) except for the small Southern excursion which consisted entirely of cocktails, food, wine and a few sore heads. Oh and the obligatory trip to the haven that is Beyond Retro. Always fruitful.

I haven’t even got any fun things to report since my return (for how much fun can one have when ones hand is permanently attached to the end of an umbrella?). I’m so not up for this winter lark, especially this Northern winter lark. It cuts deeper than this Southern girl can take. I need a new pair of boots and fast.

I’ll be back tomorrow with something worthwhile – promise. Now I’ve got to trudge through the rain to get something or other to put in the fridge, ugh. Meanwhile, below = the most addictive birthday present ever. Thank you, the boy.

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dreams are strewn across the sand

Have you seen the American Apparel high-waisted jeans? Sorry, should I say the four-way stretch high-waisted side-zipper pant lite, ha! Well, I’ve seen them and tried them and I love them. They fit like the glove of your dreams. They will be more than perfect for winter. Too comfy. Make your tummy look super flat. The sort of stretch that you know won’t go baggy. However (there’s always a however with American Apparel, isn’t there?), they only do one leg length. You know, the one-size-fits-everyone-but-me leg length. About 10-inches-too-long leg length. Gutting! All leg growth alternative remedy suggestions welcome.

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and though you want them to last forever

You know when a dress literally has your name on it? Like, if you were shopping with friends (not that I ever do this, it’s against my laws) they would say Oh, it’s so you! Well, since my eyes have made a bit of a recovery (they’ve been rather inhuman of late) I stumped up the courage to wander up to my favourite vintage shop (you all remember Retro Rehab, don’t you?). I knew they’d have new stock in and I’ve not been in for ages and I don’t like to miss out.

New stock they did indeed have, my dress being amongst it. Love at first sight. It’s hanging on the outside of the wardrobe (where all things must hang until I’m over my crush – only then can they move into the darkness of the other side) and I’m rather chuffed that it’s mine. Perhaps you’ll be wonder what all the fuss is about, but trust me, it couldn’t be more me if it tried.

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and they whisper all about the flowers

Good morning (good moowwnniinn’)! Am currently with coffee and am swooning over the cutest pair of shoes I picked up in the Office sale. They are, however, that particular pair of shoes I have been picking up everytime I go in there (we all have a pair), but have never bought (not brave enough/ have nowhere to wear them and nothing to wear them with/ don’t like them £60-much).

So, I saw them in the sale and obviously I snapped them up. Well, I say snapped them up but that’s not strictly true; of course there was more drama involved than that. I tried them on (I know, I should’ve done this long ago) but unfortunately I was on my own which means I couldn’t walk far enough to test them (I hate walking around testing shoes when I’m on my own – I need the boy there to bounce off). So I told the man that they felt much higher than I had expected and that I didn’t think I’d be able to walk in them, took them off and ran away.

You know what happens next. I couldn’t.stop.thinking.about.them. All day and night long. And I knew there was only one pair left in my size. There was only one thing for it: a first-thing-in-the-morning-job. When I walked back into the shop, the first person I saw was the man who had helped me the day before. He laughed, I laughed and then the conversation went like this (without any hellos or pleasantries but with a mutual understanding that I needed the shoes):

Shop man: “Size 6?!”
Bashful Me: “Yes, please.”
Man: “Do you want to try them on again?”
Me: “…No, thanks.”
(Interlude while man goes to get other shoe…)
Man: “Weren’t they too high yesterday?”
Me: “Yes. But…. I couldn’t stop thinking about them.”
Man: (Laughs) “Well, you’ll learn – lots of practice!”

And that was that. Simple. And the shoes are mine. The boy thinks I look like one of the Spice Girls in them (I’m rolling my eyes) but I think they are the cutest ever; cute in the way only a wedge/shoelace combination can provide. And I can totally walk in them. Like, I may even be brave enough to wear them somewhere other than my flat and the balcony. I will include a photo below (I hate that I’m being drawn into the hipstamatic iPhone craze, but it sure does the shoes justice).

I’m off now, to wear the shoes whilst listening to the Toots. Hope you elusive readers have jolly good Fridays. Ta ra!

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perhaps someone you know could sparkle and shine

It’s not often that I worry about an item of clothing being too big. But alas, this is the turmoil I currently find myself in. I have stepped in to the hazardous territory of denim shorts, somewhere I have never been before as the whole notion is a trauma for me (my legs are not for showing and you can’t disguise your shape with shorts in the way that you can with a skirt – slightly dramatic I know, but innately true). Anyhow, I’ve bitten the short bullet and got myself a pair of vintage levi’s. I completely love the idea of them and they go perfectly with everything in my wardrobe so I’m making an attempt to just get over myself and enjoy – yet still my phobia is lurking, not least because I can’t stop worrying that they’re too bloody big.

I think I was just so excited that they did up with such ease when I tried them on (there’s several bigger sizes out there so if these fit me with such ease that means bigger people than me will wear them which theoretically means I must look quite small and ultimately that these must look fine? The pathetic workings of my embroiled mind.) So, I snapped them up and hurried home and did a fashion show. Everyone tells me they look too big. I’m like pardon? So now it’s on the brain. If I pull them up I’m exposing too much leg and shape, if I pull them down they are most unflattering in an obviously-too-big-mens-jeans kind of way. I don’t want to return them because they are super-comfy (I can wear them just round the house, right?) and the perfect faded colour. So, here’s what I’ve done. A hot-wash and a tumble-dry. They’ve evidently shrunk a good two sizes, ta-da! This plays havoc with the leg-area and the exposing-of-the-shape dilemma; however, they look much better and they start to loosen up again as soon as you move in them (I reckon the hot-wash/tumble-dry effect has a life-span of about 30 minutes). They’re going to be the most-washed shorts ever – which, incidentally poses a Glastonbury-shaped problem = I’ll have to buy another pair in an even more exciting colour and an even smaller size and then I’ll have two pairs. Who says I’m not conquering my phobias?

Now, excuse me while I go and help myself to an easy-peeling satsuma (one has to wonder about the genetic science behind an easy peeler? They are actually remarkably easy to peel. It can’t be right – the laws of nature say so).

So, I’ve bought a pair of shorts and I’m eating satsumas – next thing you know I’ll be on the beach wearing one of these (I won’t)…

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got a tv set and a radio for seven shillings a week, shangri-la

Sunday. My favourite. Woke up slightly groggy, but a bacon buttie sorted me right out. Gonna head out soon to get the paper and other essential supplies, then come home and set up camp for the afternoon. Lahvely.

But first, as promised, I’m going to give you a sneaky look into another of my bookshelf gems. And in the spirit of continuity it’s going to be another Vogue one. This time it’s called ‘Vogue Fashion’ and is basically just a chronological look at all the designers who’ve been significant in Vogue since the 1900s. It’s a rather brilliant book, the passing of time it chronicles is endlessly fascinating (plus I can’t believe how 90s the the 90s look, if you know what I mean). It’s bit of a bible really. Enjoy!

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when the morning comes and the battle is won

I have decided it’s about bloody time I shared some of my bookshelf with you. Mostly because I’ve stopped being lazy and have actually set up the scanner on the desk (as opposed to sitting idly on the shelf under a pile of unopened letters – I dont like to move it for fear of unearthing the gathering dust) but also just because it’s packed with some of my favourite images and photographers and fashions. I’m sorry it’s taken so long to get this hard-copy onto my blog, but here it is – the first instalment for your viewing pleasure.

I shall start with ‘Unseen Vogue’, a little treat that found its way into my Christmas stocking this year (thanks to my boy!). It’s an insight into Vogue’s unpublished archives; the photographs that didn’t quite make it for one reason or another, but, as you will see, could quite easily have made it and could feasibly make up the catalogue of iconic images we refer to all the time in our blogs. They are, after all, Vogue shoots and Vogue photographers, Vogue stylists and Vogue models, and in that respect deserve our attention. Some of the images are nostalgic and poignant, catching models when they weren’t doing what they were supposed to – you know, yawning or with their arm in a funny position or just speaking or not looking as picture-perfect as the pages of Vogue dictate.

Alexandra Shulman says in the foreword: Unseen Vogue is a pictorial history of the magazine, bound together by many of these untold tales. The images it includes are not simply images from Vogue shoots, but pictures that testify to the labyrinth of labour that must be negotiated from conception to publication. In every contact sheet there are 100 decisions; in every crop there is concerned debate……. The question that returns again and again is, what would I have done had I been faced with those pictures on my desk? In this collection there are some images that I fervently hope I would have had the foresight to publish – even though at the time they would have seem unsettlingly avant-garde. There are, too, variations of a published image that I’m not sure I would have published at all.

Like Shulman, I have to say I do wish some of these images had made it (and you will see why) but I’m glad that this book has enabled me to see them, despite their original fate.

Barbara Goalen by John Deakin, 1951
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Coat by Dior from the Paris collections, attributed to Henry Clarke, 1950
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‘The contemporary look’ by Anthony Denney, 1955
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Jean Shrimpton by David Bailey, 1962
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‘Shophound’ by Michael Cooper, 1965
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Jean Shrimpton by David Bailey, 1965
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Ursula Andress by Brian Duffy, 1966
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Twiggy (an unpublished cover shot) by Just Jaeckin, 1967
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I’m getting a bit scan-happy here, aren’t I. I’m going to stop now. I’m sure that’s enough of a taster, although I’d love to share the whole book with you for each page carries its own merit. I really love it because it teaches you to constantly look behind an image; I can’t read Vogue these days without wishing I could see the hundreds of beautiful mistakes.

I promise to share something else from my bookshelf with you very soon. Ta-ta for now.

eyes, wouldn’t you like to just see him?

pierrecardin

i gave you my onlyness, give me your tomorrow

I have lost my voice. Yes, physically and metaphorically. What a tragic fate – there’s only one thing for it! Copious amounts of ice-cream and my favourite Vogues. (This cover is by Patrick Demarchelier who, incidentally, I love.)

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