Twenty-seven bloody years ago, the sublimely fabulous and witty Olivia – of My New Favourite Thing – kindly bestowed the ‘Stylish Blogger Award’ on my undeserving little shoulders.*
I’m generally not one for following rules – seriously, you should see how much I cheat in a game of Monopoly, let alone life! – but the award obliges its recipient to reveal five things about themselves. Like the baton in a relay race or syphilis (!), it must then be passed to another five blogs.
If you’re sitting comfortably, let us begin:
1. I turned down a place at Oxford to attend… Nottingham University. If this were Twitter, the hashtag #NotInRightMind would now follow.
2. Whilst fully clothed, I was unceremoniously thrown out of an Amsterdam nightclub for “dancing too provocatively”.
3. My grandfather was a Communist.
4. I was once mistaken – and thereafter mobbed – by an excited throng of paparazzi ‘Have DSLR, Will Use DSLR’ Japanese tourists for being Cat Deeley. I must have been prettier in those days…
5. My surname is exceptionally rare – I said “rare” not “C*cksbottom embarrassing” – and I have not been able to identify its origin.
In alphabetical order, I would like to gift this ‘They Love Me, They Really Love Me!’ award to the following ladies:
A Model Recommends
Forty Not Out
Not Just Another Milla
The Importance of Being Oreo
* As one of my favourite bloggers, I’m genuinely chuffed and humbled by this, Miss Phillips! x
Big Number, Right?
Thirty. Three Zero. 30.
I understand the monumental enormity of this number better than most – not as a mathematician – but as one approaching her thirtieth birthday.*
Whilst I attempt to fathom what this coming of (old) age means for the future – Botox? Whiskers sprouting from my chin? Sneeze-and-they’ll-Break hips? A free bus pass? – thoughts also turn to my party. And more especially, the frock in which to begin another decade.
With Napoleon’s feverish talk of babies (insert: scream) and finally setting a date for our wedding (insert: second scream), the dress worn to celebrate my birthday next year may be Vera Wang… or simply patterned with baby chuck-up.
Shouldn’t the one I wear this year be particularly special, therefore?
My eyes and credit card wander to Helmut Lang. What do you think? Is such a sexy little number appropriate for an old bird approaching her big number?
Is it helpful to purchase a dress with easy-clean leather panels from which to wipe my ‘Loss of Youth’ tears?
*Not sure whether I should confess this… I also happen to be a Scorpio, and so, the astrologically-minded amongst you will know just how closely my big day looms.
When it comes to making mistakes, I’m something of an expert.
My therapist might argue that to err is human and presents valuable opportunity for learning.
I agree and that is why, to date, my rulebook for life contains such sage gems as: Never Cut One’s Own Hair (Lesson Learned: No. 24), Never Eat More Than You Can Carry (Lesson Learned: No. 755), Never Touch An Electrical Socket With Wet Hands (Lesson Learned: No. 1096).
Seriously, on that latter point. Ouch!
I try, as the twilight years of my thirties approach, to celebrate those imperfect and ever increasing facets of my character. It is a task made difficult by the knowledge that, walking amongst us, are those who seem never to tread erroneously.
The infallible, faultless ones.
Genetic and maternal advantage aside, these images of a beautiful Julia Restoin-Roitfeld – attending the Vogue Paris 90th Anniversary Masquerade Ball and gilted by Pucci lace – suggest that she is comfortably one of their number.
Even if her boobies threaten to take their own step out of line…
|The Fashion Spot|
The scene beyond my window is one of autumnal carnage.
All around, trees brazenly perform a seasonal striptease whilst the lusty wind carries away their lingerie leaves. Nature’s own Fire of London, the streets blaze with orange, red and riotous yellow.
A long, hard winter beckons.
With broderie anglaise, the briefest denim and flirty floral motifs, it may seem a little cruel to share these pictures from the Isabel Marant Spring 2011 lookbook. But what better motivation can there be to endure winter’s cruelest days?
They promise spring and summers to come.
Either that, or the impatient amongst us can bang up the central heating and make like we’re already there.
|Fashion Gone Rogue|