Tag Archives: Julia Restoin-Roitfeld


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|


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Peeping Tom

I seem to be spending increasing portions of my day browsing The Selby

As a lazy sod homebody, there is something delicious and a little illicit about this architectural digest for the hipster set – it makes a nosy neighbour of us all, without the indignity of having to surreptitiously twitch our net curtains.

My favourite photo-essay is that of Julia Restoin-Roitfeld’s Manhattan apartment. 

The pictorial of her tenderly preserved fashion magazines particularly chimed with me.

I collected Vogue for over a decade and cherished mine in much the same manner – the spines could not bear a crease, each copy looked untouched, and formed part of a happy chronologically ordered commune.

I am less precious now.  But this picture still made me smile.

|The Selby|

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