Tag Archives: Taylor Tomasi Hill

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.


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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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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Back to School

They say the wanderer returns.   And they’d be right.

Unlike the many millions of children returned to school last month – with leaden feet and poet sighs – I make my homecoming altogether more gladly.*

What of my travels? 

For those fortunate to call San Francisco home – or simply those who have clung onto the side of a cable car the morning after cocktails at Rye and Bourbon & Branch – it will be little wonder that I have fallen quite hopelessly in love with your eccentric, hipster city.  Let’s whisper this, but it may even have replaced New York in my affections.

More, Napoleon suggested – in a moment of uncharacteristic spontaneity – that we take a week in Paris.  This explains my somewhat later-than-promised return to blogging, but – after dating the same man for longer than even she believes – a girl has to seize every opportunity for romance and shopping on Avenue Montaigne.

Especially when it means giving a two-finger salute to the nine-to-five for another week.

The normal service of life will always recommence, however, and this first post finds dedication to my favourite class of wanderer. 

The Fashion Editor. 

Traversing the four capitals of the fashion globe, the nomadic and heavily caffeinated editrix provides a sartorial masterclass better than any of those evidenced on the catwalk. Without tire. Without faux pas. And she does it all in knife-edge heels.

Truly the kind of wanderer, then, that mere amateurs like me aspire to be.

{ *Even though London seems not to have received the memo that camel is the colour of the season and has impatiently, precociously fast-forwarded into the oppressive grey of winter.}

|The Fashion Spot, Tommy Ton for Style.com|


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Who’s That Girl?

Everyone knows that I crush on Olivia Palermo.

Heck, if we were schoolchildren I would have carved our intertwined names into the trunk of a tree and asked if she wanted to go steady.  And that’s not to mention dizzily chasing her around the playground for a kiss…

But I have a confession.

In a world teeming with fashion icons, I am often tempted to stray in my affections.  My mistress in waiting? Taylor Tomasi Hill.

Described as having a beauty that ‘evokes the delicate subjects favoured by pre-Raphaelite artists’ it is her ethereal mix of porcelain skin and statement auburn hair that provides a feminine counterpoint to the utilitarian, often austere fashions she prefers.

The subdued palette of her clothing acts as a canvas onto which the most audacious melange of accessories are painted.  Skyscraper YSL Imperiale boots.  Art deco necklaces.  Bohemian scarves.  Norma Kamali cat-eye sunglasses.  An uberfierce mish-mash of architectural bracelets.  Punkrose leopard print sneakers. Nothing is too much.

Indeed, her bon mot when dressing might be summed as ‘Never underestimate the power of opulent accessories’ and each piece is blended with the fearless insouciance one can expect from the Style and Accessories director at US Marie Claire.

Said to adore shepherd’s pie and use her kitchen as a makeshift second closet, this is a girl I can get on board with.

But shhhh, don’t tell Olivia

|Jak & Jil, Stockholm Street Style, Rackk and Ruin|

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