Monthly Archives: December 2010
She’d dropped enough hints.
Interviewed by The Guardian in 2009, Carine Roitfeld – libertine, provocateur and editor-in-chief of Paris Vogue – mused, prophetically, on the future of her career:
“I love to change. I have been here eight years; I think maybe 10 years is good. But for now, I am very happy in my little Paris.”
Nonetheless, when official confirmation came last week that Roitfeld is to step down – after ten years of service with the Condé Nast publication – the fashion world shook with a collective Oh My F*cking Dieu.
“Listening to Carine Roitfeld talk is like having Chanel No 5 eau de parfum dripped, very slowly, into your ear. If it were possible to bottle that accent, it would surely be found to contain the very DNA of sexy-French womanliness.”
This quote – the most evocative I have ever read of Roitfeld – can aptly extend to her editorial influence.
Without censure, Roitfeld tattooed the pages of Paris Vogue with the most urgent elements of her DNA. Uncompromising. Visceral. Luxurious. Tribal. Anti-establishment. Sexual. The magazine was remade in her icon.
Unlike her glacial counterpart across the Atlantic, Anna Wintour – who helms a corporate, nipple-free, celebrity-centric Vogue – Roitfeld has found a constant bedfellow in controversy.
She sits, unapologetically, at the limit.
“We have to fight to keep this un-politically correct attitude of French Vogue. But it’s more and more difficult… you cannot smoke, you cannot show arms, you cannot show little girls. Everything we do now is like walking in high heels on the ice, but we keep trying to do it.”
It is for this – her commitment to a creative vision and fearlessness in the defence of it – that Roitfeld epitomised, more than any other, an editrix of extraordinary daring.
In a world where dollar is king and commercial interests rule sovereign, she stood one of very few to implode taboos and reimagine our boundaries of morality and fashion.
There will, of course, be other visionaries to fill her spike heels. A new editrix – Emmanuelle Alt or Virginie Mouzat, anyone? – to take the magazine onward.
But for this reader, Carine Roitfeld will always remain.
|Stockholm Streetstyle, Quotes: The Guardian, The New York Times|
For those who love Alber Elbaz – but are working on a budget – news of Lanvin’s collaboration with H&M was akin to having Christmas arrive a month early.
I include myself very much in this statement.
By self-appointment, Napoleon has become our household Chancellor and is imposing budget cuts with the kind of ruthless zeal unbecoming for even a Conservative-led government.
It can only spell bad things for my wardrobe.
Having long wanted a Louis Vuitton leopard-print Stephen Sprouse scarf, I am beginning to realise that it may be a dream – forever, hopelessly – beyond financial reach.
This Diane von Furstenberg Kenley scarf would make a
poor cousin beautiful substitute, but – having traipsed my well-shod ne’er to be replaced Louboutin heels around London – every store seems to have exhausted their stock.
1. Damn you other ladies with good taste and less slow-off-the-mark organisational skills; and
2. Has anyone seen this scarf – in the grey colourway – on their shopping travels?
I’ve tried to keep my fiancé – the short, bossy, and aptly titled Napoleon – under wraps, but The Sartorialist has other plans…
Are clothes more than mere articles of cotton, velvet and lace?
When David Cameron – and his Bullingdon Club chums – smashed up private dining rooms and restaurants it was passed off as boyish “high jinks” and escaped criminal sanction.
Yet, when students – and academics – march on the issue of university fees they are detained in police kettles, beaten and criminalised.
Perhaps if student protesters wore the “Buller” tailcoat – and paid their way out of trouble like Cameron, George Osborne, Boris Johnson et al once did – they wouldn’t meet with the police truncheon?
Long time no hear!
What must it have been? A year?
I can’t say that I’ve been a good girl since we last corresponded.
I neglect my blog. Sometimes, after a tediously long day at work, I rub my food baby tummy to get a seat on the tube. And, last night, I deliberately stole the duvet from a sleeping Napoleon.
I’m not an awfully good girl.
But surely to lie and pretend otherwise would damn me even more?
I will try to be better and, were you to find the charity to forgive my all-too-many misdemeanors, it would be delightful to find this Yves Saint Laurent ‘Chyc’ handbag beneath the tree on Christmas morning.
Matches have some in stock – with complimentary rooftop parking – and you’ll find their address details here.
Of course, I promise not to use my bag for wicked means such as beating aside other shoppers in the January sales.
P.S: Whilst loathe to resort to blackmail, there’ll be extra mince pies in this for you – and carrots for Rudolf – if you can see me right.