Quote Of The Day
Wednesday 20 February 2013
I hope that my work has allowed women to dress in a way that they couldn't dress before, indulging in fashion to define their taste and aesthetic - Mary Katrantzou
Knew Yeork Fash-shun Weak
Oh so coyly New York Fashion Week lapped up on the east coast, thankfully without the hideous stormy weather shenanigans that were once expected to wash away miscellaneous forgotten Manolo's in the gutters of the big apple. The "consume as much fashion week possible like a soapy sponge" klaxon has damaged my ear drums & the mind boggling days of prying over Style Bubble, having to be surgically unattached from Pinterest, haunting bloggers instagram snaps like a lurid Miss Haversham sort, analysing fuzzy pictures of Anna Wintour and buying cable knit in bulk are here for an extended period of panic.
I'm far too giddy for LFW et al that miniature runway report snippets need to be on radar and full steam ahead. So here's a teeny personal highlights coo and best looks I've been swooning over for the last couple of days of crazy intake of biker jackets, grown up printed silks, drops of seventies inspiration, latte loafers, bold disco hair & knee length boots. Here are my best looks of the week so far. Drama, drama, drama!
Marc by Marc Jacobs F/W 2013
My oh my, granny chic at it's most contemporary darling. If S/S 2013 was all about Louis Vuitton and their 60's mod hairbands & cute A-line cuts, I declare F/W 2013 is going to turn down a sophisticated avenue of candy floss early Jerry Hall 70's bouffant ringlets, sacheting printed silks & bulky bowling bags.
3.1 Philip Lim
Another big hitter of this weeks long list of must-see's. What I constantly admire in the collections are the in keeping of the designers aesthetic with the ability to reinvent yourself. To take a collections theme to the nth degree, the designer, the model and the clients must inhale the musk of the characterisation until it makes your bones shiver. I love playing with elements and characters in my fashion, my daydreamer ways have constantly let me immerse myself into the depths of ideas, thoughts and emotions that come with outfits, kind of like an actor may do for film roles. To some it may just be the simplistic case of putting on plum lipstick, wearing a headscarf or wearing a cape, but in the early stages of design and styling it's so much more, each element helps to conjure up the emotions of a person, group or situation and helps the designers imagination grow like a blossoming snowdrop. I often ask myself, what would I wear if I were _________ or what would I be wearing if I was in a certain situation. Here, the collection has focussed on the New York cool girl biker gangs, the girls you would always want to be as rebellious as at school with element of edgy not-trying-too-hard intimidation. Not since Michelle Pfeiffer in Grease 2 (how overrated is Grease 1 in the scheme of things) has portrayed such girl gang jealousy in my bones.
Zoot Suit Riot - The Aquatic Hitchhiker
Monday 11 February 2013
Yes like the regular Scuba Steve that I am, neoprene scuba scoundrel-wear has scampered right up to me and tickled me right under my chinny chin chin. In my COS navy neoprene Balenciaga inspired scuba top I'm ready to set off yonder with Flounder & co. Heavily influenced by my desires that were set alight by the futuristic, intergalactic Fall 2012 sweaters seen at Balenciaga & Givenchy, the voluminous sold-out scuba material was seen on such kittens as Miroslava Duma, Tiffany Hsu & Francesca Burns from British Vogue. All hail to the aquamarine space raider chic cried the fashion commentators at Paris Fashion Week & the muses of fanciers on a quest for Jaws extra resemblance.
I needed the sweet honey of my own martian moment and had once been in admiration for a COS navy Bill Murray Life Aquatic style oversized piece of fish catching gear of my own. COS has such an important place in the fashion market for it's affordable & classic simplicity. With minimalism playing such a key role on catwalks of late, COS is the perfect way for girls like me to access the capsule pieces similar to those in current season. I think COS is too often lost amongst the head heavy myriad of Swedish brands in the UK like H&M & Monki. It's my regular go-to for adorable pastels, geometric shapes, minimalistic, well crafted wardrobe staples & their melodic & refreshing takes on different proportions at a fraction of the prices of sought after designer RTWs. Taking inspiration from tailoring seen at Jil Sander often and being modest in colour palate, it's a clear workwear favourite of mine, especially with their simplistic dimensions of creativity with the craft of materials used, clean lines and practical colour palettes.
Teamed with monochrome houndstooth cigarette trousers, pointed ankle strap suede pumps, vintage real leather granny bag & leather military coat, I felt quite the 60's deep sea explorer. Choppy Sea's Starboard!
Top - COS, Trousers - Topshop, Shoes - ASOS, Bag- Vintage, Coat - River Island
It's Dior Haute Couture, I don't really know what haute means...
Is it important for the coiffed & adored of show season to take concerted interest in the, a lot of the time, unattainable workmanship gone into the image they are trying to sell the simple folk like myself?
I sat curious whilst partaking in the beginning of the annual cooing fest & and getting huffy when my personal best dressed end up in the worst dressed list of every celebrity magazine charade known to some as award season. Aside from seeing too much of Ryan Seacrest, of which I've heard that too much exposure can televisually induce a rash, award season is the ultimate bitchfest excuse for film & television fashion muses to parade their wares and that of said creative or not so creative designers.
It is true to say that red carpet escapades can be the make or break of said humanoids, favourable towards iconic stylistic education from Liz Hurley, Angelina Jolie & her wandering leg escapades & Winona Ryder.
It says alot for 21st century image obsessed plague that sometimes lingers around said events when in the UK the awards ceremony was not televised but the pre-show "who are you wearing" slam-fest was. But hey, I'm not complaining, these sickly sweet throwaway televisual offerings still end up falling into peoples laps and getting people hooked, even enough to doggy paddle onto social networking to outpour said affections for miscellaneous actresses pistachio coloured backless crepe dress. My twitter was a steady canal (including spirited upstream attempts from myself) of judgement & opinion of the people who doth our screens in cinema or in the comfort of our own boudoirs over the year, who's occupation, arguably, is to act, write or direct. Or is it?
Picture the scene, 70th Academy Golden Globes, Los Angeles. It's a split carpet with scoops of monochrome going into battle with big shades of reds, aubergines, ballerina pinks and seafoam greens. Pre-award acceptance for Best Lead Actress for Silver Linings Playbook, which I have not seen but heard lovely things about, well commented upon Hunger Games poster girl Jennifer Lawrence shuffles over to the man who wins the most punchable face on the planet award, Seacrest, upon which this is the interchange:
Seacrest: Who are you wearing tonight?
Lawrence: It's Dior Haute Couture (confusion face) I don't really know what haute means
Large intake of breath. SAY WHUT
She looked decadent in her coral red organza gown and I could have ate the bodice up with a spork. But did her supposed fashion cluelessness take anything away from the jaw dropping love for the garment from an outside perspective or downgrade her defining red carpet status. From the waves of adoration upon how elegant she looked and how well she portayed herself not at all. If anything I think it enhanced her cute and naive adorability, which is often hard to find in such an environment. There's a reason why stylists have a job and that's because they work so hard to know what's going to work, what is on trend and how to dress their client to exact perfection. If every contemporary namesake knew the ingredients, trend prediction and buzzwords, they would be able to save their pennies and no stylist would be in a job.
I found the interview with Nicole Kidman also enlightening as she claimed she kind of fell out of love with these kind of events and fashion as whole. But since playing Grace Kelly in the upcoming biopic she's unashamedly and naturally fell back into a state of garment affection, as you tell with her mouthwatering choice of Alexander McQueen sheer midriff, waist defining, black floorlength work of art.
I'm not a big fan of celebrity culture, craving to dress like any celebrity or the act of shouting from the rooftops how vile or amazing sometimes bland "famous" folk look, I tend to enjoy the simpler things, like the history, art, concept and craft. I'm in no means against but merely find it watered down in comparison to the inspiration I find from other sources, like the past, on the street, on catwalks, from bloggers, from my favourite members of the russian fashion mafia, from books, from character play, from art, from patterns, from lingerers, writers and editors outside Somerset House when it's LFW o'clock or even from silly cartoons (Squidward doesn't half know how to dress his tenticles). It's so easy to get sucked in to pretty thin actress wearing a pretty designer dress-itus, but as my fashion muses, style and knowledge has grown, it's easier to see out of the thick woods. The society we live is a saintly and sinful mixture of easy accessible everything. But through my years of delving and digging through the infinate forests of fashion is where in time you find yourself and your own niche. By gum it's been a tiring journey of muddy mounds of cheap florals, soggy dragging weeds of ra-ra skirts and gravelly wasted polka dots.
The morning after golden globes night, I looked at myself and the mirror and told myself it's not 2004 anymore, Paris Hilton isn't on the television, a diamante mobile phone never has and never will be classed as an accessory, everyone has realised what a dick Perez Hilton is, collar bones are the new tits and it doesn't matter if a successful actress doesn't know what Haute means. Ever since, I've never had better nights sleeps. After being mildy disgruntled when unnamed trashy trashbag publication said Sienna Miller looked terrible in her Erdem jelly pastel two piece arrangement, I merely took a deep breath, ate some lemon drizzle cake and moved on.
This post really has turned from having a structured purpose into a ramble, but nobodies perfect.
I sat curious whilst partaking in the beginning of the annual cooing fest & and getting huffy when my personal best dressed end up in the worst dressed list of every celebrity magazine charade known to some as award season. Aside from seeing too much of Ryan Seacrest, of which I've heard that too much exposure can televisually induce a rash, award season is the ultimate bitchfest excuse for film & television fashion muses to parade their wares and that of said creative or not so creative designers.
It is true to say that red carpet escapades can be the make or break of said humanoids, favourable towards iconic stylistic education from Liz Hurley, Angelina Jolie & her wandering leg escapades & Winona Ryder.
It says alot for 21st century image obsessed plague that sometimes lingers around said events when in the UK the awards ceremony was not televised but the pre-show "who are you wearing" slam-fest was. But hey, I'm not complaining, these sickly sweet throwaway televisual offerings still end up falling into peoples laps and getting people hooked, even enough to doggy paddle onto social networking to outpour said affections for miscellaneous actresses pistachio coloured backless crepe dress. My twitter was a steady canal (including spirited upstream attempts from myself) of judgement & opinion of the people who doth our screens in cinema or in the comfort of our own boudoirs over the year, who's occupation, arguably, is to act, write or direct. Or is it?
Picture the scene, 70th Academy Golden Globes, Los Angeles. It's a split carpet with scoops of monochrome going into battle with big shades of reds, aubergines, ballerina pinks and seafoam greens. Pre-award acceptance for Best Lead Actress for Silver Linings Playbook, which I have not seen but heard lovely things about, well commented upon Hunger Games poster girl Jennifer Lawrence shuffles over to the man who wins the most punchable face on the planet award, Seacrest, upon which this is the interchange:
Seacrest: Who are you wearing tonight?
Lawrence: It's Dior Haute Couture (confusion face) I don't really know what haute means
Large intake of breath. SAY WHUT
She looked decadent in her coral red organza gown and I could have ate the bodice up with a spork. But did her supposed fashion cluelessness take anything away from the jaw dropping love for the garment from an outside perspective or downgrade her defining red carpet status. From the waves of adoration upon how elegant she looked and how well she portayed herself not at all. If anything I think it enhanced her cute and naive adorability, which is often hard to find in such an environment. There's a reason why stylists have a job and that's because they work so hard to know what's going to work, what is on trend and how to dress their client to exact perfection. If every contemporary namesake knew the ingredients, trend prediction and buzzwords, they would be able to save their pennies and no stylist would be in a job.
I found the interview with Nicole Kidman also enlightening as she claimed she kind of fell out of love with these kind of events and fashion as whole. But since playing Grace Kelly in the upcoming biopic she's unashamedly and naturally fell back into a state of garment affection, as you tell with her mouthwatering choice of Alexander McQueen sheer midriff, waist defining, black floorlength work of art.
I'm not a big fan of celebrity culture, craving to dress like any celebrity or the act of shouting from the rooftops how vile or amazing sometimes bland "famous" folk look, I tend to enjoy the simpler things, like the history, art, concept and craft. I'm in no means against but merely find it watered down in comparison to the inspiration I find from other sources, like the past, on the street, on catwalks, from bloggers, from my favourite members of the russian fashion mafia, from books, from character play, from art, from patterns, from lingerers, writers and editors outside Somerset House when it's LFW o'clock or even from silly cartoons (Squidward doesn't half know how to dress his tenticles). It's so easy to get sucked in to pretty thin actress wearing a pretty designer dress-itus, but as my fashion muses, style and knowledge has grown, it's easier to see out of the thick woods. The society we live is a saintly and sinful mixture of easy accessible everything. But through my years of delving and digging through the infinate forests of fashion is where in time you find yourself and your own niche. By gum it's been a tiring journey of muddy mounds of cheap florals, soggy dragging weeds of ra-ra skirts and gravelly wasted polka dots.
The morning after golden globes night, I looked at myself and the mirror and told myself it's not 2004 anymore, Paris Hilton isn't on the television, a diamante mobile phone never has and never will be classed as an accessory, everyone has realised what a dick Perez Hilton is, collar bones are the new tits and it doesn't matter if a successful actress doesn't know what Haute means. Ever since, I've never had better nights sleeps. After being mildy disgruntled when unnamed trashy trashbag publication said Sienna Miller looked terrible in her Erdem jelly pastel two piece arrangement, I merely took a deep breath, ate some lemon drizzle cake and moved on.
This post really has turned from having a structured purpose into a ramble, but nobodies perfect.
