Tag Archives: Celine

High Voltage

While I’ve been playing nurse to Napoleon – not in that way, you mucky-minded lot! – my favourite russet-haired editor has been busily gadding around for show season.

Chameleonic as always, Taylor Tomasi Hill brought hipster labels Proenza Schouler, Emmanuelle Khanh, Balenciaga, Christopher Kane and Isabel Marant out to play this fashion week.  Hard-edged and offbeat, her aesthetic has evolved to the wittily idiosyncratic.

Witty?

Is there better way to describe the interplay between rebellious adolescence – sartorially manifested in spiked Louboutin high tops, a punk rock Junya Watanabe net skirt, and Burberry biker jacket – and her signature ‘I’m a Lady’ Celine clutch?

You know, pictures of Taylor have the most peculiar effect on me.

Afflicted with nondescript hair and milky Anglo-Saxon colouring – think  pale-as-an-email after ten layers of Rodial Brazilian tan – she makes me restless to change my appearance.

I should know better.

Twelve years ago, I sat weeping in a hair salon, sorrily clutching handfuls of red hair, pleading to have them cut away. 

The consequence of schoolgirl experimentation – akin to the inspired mania of a depressive before they hit the crashingly shit stuff – it was a period in which my barnet transitioned from Marilyn blonde to every nuance of green inbetween.  One industrial-sized bottle of bleach – and eighteen months of regrowth – later, I considered myself chastised and vowed never again to dabble in the black (red, blonde or brown) arts.

For as long as I remember those mistakes, I will resist Ms. Tomasi’s Titian temptations – has anyone ever done so much for red hair? – but, damn, she makes it hard.

|Street FSN, Jak & Jil, The Photodiarist|

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Minutiae

The devil is said to reside in detail.

I certainly can’t speak for him – sinner, though I may be – but have always preferred to think that beauty, not ‘ol Beelzebub, is to be found within the sartorial minutiae.

|Street fsn, Stockholm Streetstyle|

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Amuse Bouche

Let’s start with an apology, shall we?

Sporadic posting is becoming my trademark and, for that, I am very sorry.  I could boast that such neglect results from a hedonistic three-week ‘Sodom and Gomorrah’ birthday celebration, but all would be lies.

The truth, altogether less glamorously, is that the nine-to-five has been kicking my ass.  A long day spent reading, and editing, the words of others is one which leaves few of my own.

Quite apart from fatigue – and being worked to the bone for pittance –  there is the troubling matter of hypocrisy.  How can a fashion blog be authored by one who has forgotten to dress?

Despite being a ‘Winter Girl’ – who drifts, like a moth to the ever seductive flame, to lust over winter coats on Net-a-Porter during the inferno of summer – I still find this season the most challenging. 

Rain?  I take puddles in my stride.  Wind?  I’m firing on all pistons albeit with bad hair.  But snow? 

Down comes the white stuff and my sartorial wits freeze.

It is times such as these that streetstyle blogs – Vanessa Jackman, Hanneli, Stockholm Streetstyle and Mr Newton, to name but four – inspire me to wear something other than Long Johns, Hunter wellingtons and an electric blanket.

Curative to a bad case of ‘Style Boondocks’ as Lemsip is to flu, I plan to slavishly emulate their offerings – like the copiest of all copycats – and be returned to fashion and blogging toot sweet.

So there we have it.

An amuse bouche of a blog post. A tastebud tickle of adjectives until time, and workload, permit more. And more there will be…

Even if it does require handing in my resignation at the office!

|Stockholm Streetstyle|

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The New Look

The audaciously talented Tommy Ton, of Jak & Jil, has compiled a photo essay to chronicle the new age of minimalism augured by Phoebe Philo – and her triumphal second act on the stage of fashion.

I was too young to remember the pared-down aesthetic first popularised in the early Nineties, but not so old as to forget her time as creative director at Chloé when the air seemed sonorous with the dullened ‘clunk-clop, clunk-clop’ of waifish girls in heavy wooden wedges.

With the mantra “Strong, Powerful, Reduced,” Philo wiped the slate clean at Celine and is doing the same with our wardrobes. 

Her designs – clean of geometry and characterised by flat planes of fabric in navy, utility green, white, and spun sugar – have not only captured the fashion flock but, instinctively, define the women of Philo’s generation and how they really live.

To view the ‘Philophiles’ photo essay in all its clean and abstemious beauty, dance your (wedge encumbered?) feet here, next here, and finally here.

|Jak & Jil|

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