I hate being bored, don’t you? In the back of my head, I can hear the echoes of the phrase ‘only boring people get bored!’ Well. Sometimes interesting people need a break from all of their exhausting and creative pursuits, and would rather like a bit of time off. Sometimes, the most fascinating creatures among us get stuck in the house, due to…oh, I don’t know. Snow?
And so it was yesterday. Trapped in the house! I elected to start a roaring log fire, put the original St Trinian’s on, and try and loll about a bit. I haven’t been used to taking weekends off lately, so I find that my brain is still running and my hands are fidgeting, and I generally want to do something. A lot of the time, I find it easier to relax by doing something that isn’t related to my work, or is utterly pointless but thoroughly enjoyable. For a start, I decided I’d wake myself up by going out into the snow with bare feet. I’ve never done that before in my life, and I’m not sure why I did yesterday. A combination of supreme boredom caused by the endless similar ‘snowy scene’ photos that appeared all over the net, and the fact that it was going to take me ages to get socks and shoes on. Anyway, I highly recommend it, and here’s the proof I did it:
I saw the comedian Josie Long do a brilliant stand-up show a few years ago, where she talked about all the things people put a huge amount of effort in to, but which don’t actually make any difference to life whatsoever. The show was called ‘Trying is Good’, and Josie pulled together a bunch of examples of the aforementioned ‘tiny things’ that people devote their time to. She handed out little hand-drawn booklets to all of the audience, and later in the show she passed around sweets and oranges for people who were particularly lovely. I was charmed by the show – she also mentioned how at the Edinburgh Festival, she would make badges for all the audience members on a daily basis, as well as sticking packs of sweets to the bottom of chairs as a nice little surprise. One of my tutors at uni, who’d been working at Edinburgh that year, told us that Josie held a month long Boggle championship over the course of the festival, challenging everyone to games between shows.
I unashamedly love that sort of thing. We get so caught up in only doing things that are important and that will drive us forwards in life, that we rarely ever spend time on something silly and purely for enjoyment purposes. Well, I’m a big fan of doing little thing just for the sake of it. That’s why I bought myself a 24 pack of Sharpie pens, despite having no practical use for them whatsoever. One of my February challenges was to make a stop motion animation, and I decided yesterday would be perfect to give it a shot. I’ve never done anything like that in my life before, and it was a big process of trial and error. For my ‘final’ piece, I shot about 200 frames, editing it together using the amazing free JellyCam software, and the result is below. It’s so far from perfect, or even being any good, but it was my first time! And I’m going to try some more (better) stuff in future. Hope you enjoy!
Not too long ago, I was informed of the fact that a website called VintageBrighton.com were looking for bloggers to fulfil a brief for them, writing on the subject ‘what vintage means to me’. Being in a massive rush, I skim read the brief ridiculously quickly, and as a result completely misread the word content, managing to write roughly 10x as much as was required. Go me. Anyway, I thought I’d publish my thoughts on my site, as well as directing you towards the site. Vintage Brighton is a great resource for all sorts of information around the South Coast, providing events listings, shop directories, blog posts and features. Check them out, like them on Facebook, and follow them on Twitter @vintagebrighton. You won’t regret it.
Ask any vintage enthusiast the question ‘what was the first piece of vintage you bought?’ and I’m 99.9% sure they’ll all remember. I am no different. It might as well be yesterday that I loped up the stairs of a juice bar-cum-vintage shop in Falmouth, Cornwall. (Look, it was the noughties. Everything was a juice bar!) I was on a family holiday, and was pleasantly bored witless. We embarked on a day trip to Falmouth – I think some sort of maritime museum might have been involved – and on the main drag of the town, I spotted this shop.
I think it was called something like ‘Kitten Caboodle’. I fancied myself as a bit of a vintage lover, despite the tiny technicality of not actually…well, you know, not actually OWNING any of the stuff myself. Now was the time. I was about to be deflowered. I stole across the wooden floorboards, convinced I’d be pegged as an imposter, but no one said anything. I began to grow more confident. I walked from item to item, gazing, stroking, smelling. Oh. Ok, no smelling. Blimey.
I have a little philosophy, which is that in any particular vintage clothing emporium, there will be one item that has been torn from your dreams and has tucked itself onto a hanger for you. Just that one item. The thing that you’ve always desperately wanted, whether you know it or not. It might a 1920s headdress. It could equally be a peter pan collared 60s minidress. Maybe it’s a sweatshirt from the 80s.
It didn’t take me long to find my destiny on that day in Falmouth. It was a romance. I spied her, gleaming under the soft lighting, flirting with me, dripping lazily off her hanger. I stepped closer. She was a 1930s silk Hollywood style floor length dressing gown. And when I say ‘dressing gown’, you are obliged to INSTANTLY banish any ghastly thoughts of towelling, or terry, or God’s forgotten fabrics. This was lace trimmed, creamy, champagne coloured perfection.
I wasn’t in a little shop in Falmouth anymore. I suddenly understood it perfectly, this desperate need for vintage. It made sense of everything that was going on inside me. It linked together my cultural references, my personal codes, the things that were sartorially important for me. I was brought up on a diet of black and white films, theatre productions and furtive readings of glossy magazines. As a child; even as a teenager, I’d felt an aching sadness inside that I would never descend a staircase in a perfectly cut Grecian gown, my lips wine red, my hair tortured and teased into conformity.
I’d never be able to live the life of my screen idols. How could I possibly tilt my champagne saucer to one side, lower my cigarette, and deliver a startlingly brilliant line to my dashing and moustachioed male companion? I couldn’t do it, I simply couldn’t, because all my friends were wearing jeans and drinking Bacardi Breezers. That sort of glamour or lifestyle couldn’t still exist because it would look bizarre. Oh, I was a frightfully narrow-minded teen. I went through a very bad stage of just wanting to conform, so if jeans and alcopops were the way forward, then that was what I should have to resign myself to.
I simply hadn’t realised it was all possible. That I could trip around louchely in my ‘house coat’, draping myself over furniture. I could dazzle in my Grecian gown. I could be Edie Sedgwick, or Marilyn, or a Chekhov character, or Lolita, or ANYONE AT ALL. I wonder if you remember the time when the whole world opened up to you? When you suddenly realised that your childhood dreams were fine – that you really could be whatever you wanted to be? And the best part was that I wasn’t alone. Others shared my dreams too. I knew that I wasn’t different, or wrong, for wanting to live in an England where gin & tonics were perfectly blended and sipped on the lawns of country houses with men in white linen. That ignoring every other sport apart from croquet was not a crime. That fancying men in moustaches is not only acceptable but highly encouraged…
Ultimately, I dress in a carefully considered way. You might see me in a long black coat over a white lace mini dress with some flat boots on, but that isn’t what I’m wearing, actually. I’m actually dressed as Masha from Three Sisters, embarking on a doomed love affair, before hopping off to swinging London for a big of gogo dancing on Carnaby Street. And it doesn’t matter to me that you don’t know that. Because I do.
After purchasing my 1930s gown, I began to curate more. You can’t plan what you’re going to buy when it comes to vintage clothing, because you ever know what you’ll find. But just looking at my wardrobe, I can see the jacket that Ferris Bueller’s girlfriend wore, a 60s minidress that also reminds me inexplicably of Charles II, and a white dress with a blue satin sash that is pure Sound of Music. My clothes make me happy. Each thing I wear means something different to me, and I’m proud to say that vintage clothing has defined who I am today. I’ve finally got my champagne saucers.
Spotted an interesting bit in The Times Magazine earlier today, written by Sarah Vine, discussing red lipstick. She is of the opinion that red is frightfully unappealing to the male gender, largely because of the ephemera it leaves behind: marks on glasses and bread rolls. I personally never attempt eating a bread roll on a date, so I couldn’t possibly comment as to this, but it would appear Ms Vine is unaware of the existence of Lipcote. Her other source of ire relating to the red stuff is the fact that it gets all clogged up and makes lips look dry. Vine is convinced that men find the whole look rather repellent, and that they would much prefer some sort of berryish stain or gentle gloss on the lips.
My response? I don’t give a fig. Red lipstick is my armour. It doesn’t go on every day, but when it does, it gives me power. It’s like my energy store. I wear red lipstick precisely for the reasons Vine is unhappy about: because it makes me untouchable. Red lipstick turns me into a fetishist. It dictates my entire evening – what I eat, what I drink. The masochist in me enjoys that hugely. Tightly, rigidly controlled. Treading a certain path. It’s the same, slightly sick, joy I get from wearing insanely high heels. I am trapped, unable to run, stuck on one course.
And of course, the most wonderful part is the message it sends out to your male companion, whether they know it or not. When I go out in my red lipstick, I am saying ‘you won’t be kissing me tonight. I have decided that. You have no say in the matter’. The simple matter of a choice of one cosmetic represents an entire power struggle, a quiet coursing of electricity, of dashed possibility and unattainable promise.
Red lipstick says that I am self-contained. Red lipstick says I am selfish, only thinking of myself, to hell with anyone else. It says I am fearless and that I am not yours, not tonight. It says that you may look at me but not touch me. So in a way, I suppose I agree with Vine in that sense – that men may subconsciously find the stuff uninviting. And what? Who says that I wish to go around with inviting lips, hmm?
If I wear my red lipstick to a party when I am already attached, it is a reassurance, a tiny devotion to my chap, because it says ‘I simply won’t be physically able to kiss anyone else apart from you, whether I should want to or not’. When I return home and divest myself of the stuff, and stand before you, bare lipped, you know I am available to you. And that I am vulnerable again, girl not woman.
So that is my argument for red lips. Any fool can go out with a bit of strawberry coloured lip balm on, but it takes a true artist to go out in red. After all, lip gloss has never been iconic. And there is a reason the Dali sofa, inspired by Mae West’s lips, is red.
On Tuesday night, I whipped myself off back to the metropolis for a talk at the V&A, named, rather ominously, ‘Dead wood: The Future of Magazines’. There were four speakers: Lucy Scott and Tina Smith of ‘Lost in London‘ magazine, Steve Watson of Stack Magazines, and Alan Rutter, journalist, writer and web entrepreneur.
Due to the name of the event, I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect. I care passionately about the fate of magazines, not just because I’m hoping my future career will involve a healthy dose of magazine writing, but also because I adore reading them. I don’t think reading on my iPhone, laptop, or on a tablet could ever replace that feeling of a physical object, an object with a distinct texture and smell…I love to engage fully with my magazines. I fold pages over, draw on them, often rip things out to plaster on my walls, or for inspiration when I’m designing.
Reading a digital publication inspires no joy whatsoever in me. I struggle to read, I get distracted, I click off and back onto Facebook…It just simply doesn’t work for me. Those are my opinions, the opinions of a long term magazine reader, but not someone who has had a great deal of direct contact with the industry. I was intrigued to hear what the various speakers would have to say on the subject, so without further ado, I’ll tell you a little bit about what I learnt:
Lucy Scott and Tina Smith
These two lovely ladies have founded their own quarterly magazine called ‘Lost in London’. The ethos is delightful: a beautifully curated magazine created for those who are looking for a little bit of pastoral charm in our teeming metropolis. I grew up both in Sussex and Surrey (well, Ascot in Berkshire, but…you know) and have always been surrounded by nature, parks, and general loveliness. When I look back on my childhood, I genuinely see fields of long grass at dusk, doing maths homework and playing football on the huge lawns outside my old house, ‘nature expeditions’ during school days, Natural Trust properties, cream teas…Even while I was at uni, I rediscovered a love of exploring nature and climbing trees.
I’d always wondered how to align my love of the countryside with my adoration of London. ‘Lost in London’ features photos and text centred on ‘portraying the city’s hidden charms and rustic character, as London based artists provide a visual response to the city.’ A wonderful idea, and well-executed. So that was the publication, but what did the co-producers have to say about the future of magazines, and their experience in the industry?
Obviously, we’re talking about independent magazines here. The general consensus is that, say, ‘Vogue’ will be around millions of years in the future. But what about the creative, artistic, advertising-free smaller magazines? Tina and Lucy started off working at Property Week, and found that their ideas on what made a good magazine meshed. To cut a medium-sized story short, they launched ‘Lost in London’. They told us that when they launched, they didn’t view it as a business, or anything that would make them money. They decided to stay true to their creative ideals, eschew any advertising, and keep it purely their magazine.
Tina and Lucy were realistic about the implications of this. The magazine industry is more or less run on advertising (yesterday I almost put my back out trying to lift up the March edition of Vogue…embarrassing), so I love the fact that many of these small publications are avoiding the mighty hammer of advertising and carving out their own way. Of course, financially, this makes the difference between a profitable magazine and a piece of art. Tina and Lucy commented that they ‘just about broke even’ on their project.
Not ideal if you’re looking to make your new publication your primary career – Tina and Lucy both work other jobs, ploughing all of their spare time into ‘Lost in London’, but they’ve created something they can truly be proud of. They have not compromised on any part of their project. Everything contained inside is real, true, and beautiful, and I believe they have achieved what they set out to do.
You can buy ‘Lost in London’ from http://lostinlondon.bigcartel.com/, as well as a variety of stockists around the city, including Selfridges. You can also ‘Like’ them on Facebook, and follow them on Twitter
Steve Watson
Steve is something of a magazine maverick. He has founded ‘Stack’, a magazine subscription service which implements a ‘lucky dip’ mentality, meaning you get an absolutely corking independent magazine sent to your door every month. In the first few minutes of his talk, I’d scribbled down some fantastic sounding titles, which on further Googling, have very much, erm, tickled my fancy. Steve was strongly of the belief that print is NOT dead.
He lamented the fact that it’s extremely difficult to locate independent magazines – especially since Borders closed down. Incidentally, I actually read this week that Paperchase are due to start stocking indie titles, which is VERY exciting news. Steve also stated that he believed money can be made from magazines. Like the ‘Lost in London’ creators, he also commented on the fact that the idea is the key thing. Settle on a good concept, because ultimately this will keep you going. The idea is what people will latch on to, and will make them subscribe.
Steve explained how print media should be about providing what digital media simply can’t do. He exemplified this through talking about ‘Delayed Gratification’ magazine, where the last three months of news are reviewed, using a combination of interviews with those involved, and the oh so ubiquitous infographics. He also mentioned ‘Address’, which looks set to be my new favourite magazine, featuring a more ‘academic’ look at fashion. Steve liked the idea of someone thinking ‘I can’t possibly be in a world where this thing doesn’t exist’.
Steve recently worked on a project called ‘The Good Times’ for The Church of London, which involved pulling together an utterly optimistic newspaper and distributing it on the day that “experts” (not actual experts) had decreed as “the most depressing day of the year”. Coincidentally, that was my birthday, so I’m glad someone was doing something positive. I strongly recommend you get yourself a subscription to Stack: http://www.stackmagazines.com/, and also watch the video below:
Alan Rutter
Last up was Alan Rutter, journalist, start-up founder and digital consultant. He has recently worked at Condé Nast as iPad projects manager, so was obviously coming at the topic from a different angle. (That being said, all speakers did value the power of digital!) He discussed the important things to consider in terms of making a magazine tablet friendly: a certain degree of interactivity, combinations of image and text, and making it readable offline – after all, many readers will have their tablets fired up on the tube.
Alan described a magazine as ‘a curated collection of stories’, as opposed to being a tangible object. For this reason, he believed that a digital incarnation of a magazine was of equal artistic merit, as long as it was carefully designed. He commented that books and magazines are finite, but the web is not. Interestingly, he also discussed how a magazine is an ‘object’, and yet, when you read a magazine on a tablet, the tablet becomes the object.
Alan also talked about financial matters, and how producing a digital publication might not necessarily mean costs were lower. For example, you might need to pay for good content, and Apple will take 30% if you run it through them. Equally, there are the issues of huge competition, and discoverability. Alan recommended learning HTML5, if you’re a developer, as this will ensure your digital publication can work across any screen.
Ultimately, he commented ‘People do want something finite, that’s been curated for them’, and he believes print and digital should be able to sit side by side. Visit Alan’s site here: http://www.alanrutter.com/
My thoughts
Days on from the talk, and I’m still turning it over in my head. I hadn’t been expecting more of a discussion on integrity and the nature of art – I just thought we were going to be told that magazines were dying – dead, even, and that we should all forget about the dream of working on one. Instead, it was a celebration of the independent magazine ideal. From that one evening, I now have a long list of new magazines to read, and renewed hope for the future.
I learnt so much in those two hours than I’m still processing it. It isn’t just the wonderful revelation that there are still print-junkies out there, but also the idea of a world where adverts don’t form 60-70% of publications (it’s probably more, actually). A world where a group of people created a positive news only newspaper and circulated it on “the most depressing day of the year”. A world where Londoners go around seeking the rustic parts of the city, and taking beautifully judged photos…to say I’m inspired is an understatement. My poor little exhausted and increasingly cynical heart had become very heavy, and that weight is lifting, thanks to the wonderful speakers, and the V&A.
So, in the meantime, let’s all go and read an independent magazine, shall we? How about subscribing to Stack? Put down that mainstream magazine you’re clutching, just for a month, and try something new. Go and sniff a magazine. Get a paper cut. And above all, don’t give up hope.
I was wondering how long it’d be before I cracked and did a Valentine’s Day related post. Thing is, I absolutely LOVE Valentine’s Day. I don’t love it because I have to buy crappy overpriced cards with cheap sentiment on them. I definitely don’t love it because restaurants are suddenly shoehorning in a ‘special’ Valentine’s Day menu, ‘at the great price of only £80 per person’. Seriously. I actually saw that advertised earlier in the week – at least have the good grace not to say ‘only £80’.
The more I am connected to hoi polloi and businesses on Twitter and Facebook, the more I understand about why people really despise Valentine’s Day. It becomes contrived, meaningless, and a shameless revenue driver. So, chaps, I totally understand. I see now why you think it’s an appalling bit of fakery and a nonsense.
Thing is, I still love it. I loved it when I was about 10, and I got up really early in the morning to cut out purple and red hearts from crepe paper to decorate the sitting room with, and presented my parents with French patisserie I’d purloined, and handmade Valentine’s cards. As I got older, I was lucky enough to have equally thoughtful boyfriends. My first proper boyfriend made me a whole scrapbook full of photos of us and things that had meant a lot to us, little drawings and ephemera from our time as a couple. Another year, I’d only been seeing one boyfriend for about a week or two, and he turned up at mine with a whole picnic he’d made, as well as presenting me with a packet of flower tea (he knew I loved the stuff), and a single lily. I in turn had baked some chocolate and strawberry cupcakes, then pulled out my champagne saucers (ooh err!) and we had a picnic on my bed.
Every boyfriend I’ve been with for Valentine’s Day has gone out of their way to make it special and unique, and much better than some overpriced meal in a crowded restaurant. This year, for the first time since I started dating, I’m going to be single on Valentine’s Day (unless something dramatic happens in the meantime!) And I refuse to conform to how I’m supposed to behave. I’m not going to sit at home on my own, eating ice cream and weeping. That isn’t my style. I still love the day, and instead I’m going to feel lucky that I’ve had so many lovely past experiences.
In the spirit of not handing over our hard-earned lucre to contrived experiences, I’ve decided to put together a list of my favourite date venues, in the hope that it might inspire you to be a little more creative, a little more relaxed, and to have a much better time. I’m allergic to cheap, vulgar sentiment, and these are my picks of where to go. They’re not all free, but they’re all ACE:
Museums – absolutely perfect for any date, particularly the first date. The picnic chap from above took me to the Natural History museum on our first date, and I thought it was brilliant. Imaginative, intelligent, and also not putting too much pressure on anyone. There’s always something to talk about.
Cellar Door, Zero Aldywch – if you’re after something a little naughtier, I can’t recommend this underground bar enough. It feels like Sally Bowles would go here with one of her endless suitors. Absolutely tiny, but with a comprehensive cocktail menu (all wonderfully named: ‘Starbucks Must Die’ or ‘Gingerbread Lady Boy’, anyone?) The staff all wear wings, you get popcorn brought to your table, and there’s often a cabaret act to entertain you as well.
A comedy club – GREAT date venue. Just don’t sit too near the front. The last thing you want is for the comedian to sense you’re on a date, and start a dialogue with you. Likewise, choose the comedian carefully. If you think it might get racist, DON’T GO. Instead try somewhere like The Comedy Store, where you’ll get a few tried and tested performers for your money.
Natural Trust properties – now, you do have to judge this on your boyfriend/girlfriend. I personally love a National Trust date. If you choose a big country house, you get to wander around pretending you own the place, and that all the visitors are actually your personal staff. It might not sound romantic on paper, but trust me on this one.
Sketch – one of my absolutely favourite restaurants in the world. Ensconce yourself in The Parlour, order some unusual tea and a divine pastry, and allow the place to work its magic on you. It’s like a Lewis Carroll conception. All dark and sexy, entirely relaxing, and not remotely pretentious despite being spectacularly brilliant. A world away from a dinner for two at a chain restaurant.
Country walk/walk in the park – I’ve sort of touched on this in my ‘National Trust’ point. I don’t think you can beat a good walking date. The perfect chance to talk, away from all the noise a clatter of a restaurant, and in this weather your cheeks go all nice and rosy. Saucy.
And following on from that, a Winter picnic – just make sure you pack some hot chocolate in a flask. Do it on your bedroom floor if you can’t face going outside. Just use protection. And by that, I mean napkins. Obviously.
Or if you want to stay cold, an ice cream parlour – there are heaps in London. Check out this list: http://www.timeout.com/london/feature/1329/best-ice-cream-in-london I particularly want to try out Chin Chin, which is liquid nitrogen ice cream! For real romance, get yourself there around midnight.
Bowling – sometimes you need to be a little retrograde, and that’s a good thing. Don’t go to a crappy over-commercialised alley. Go to the All Star Lanes in Holborn.
If all else fails, have an Anti-Valentine’s Day – do everything wrong. Even if you’re a couple. Buy a ready meal for one and eat it out of the packet. Don’t even bother with the plate. Drink cans of beer or bottles of cider – any wine or champagne is banned. Rent the most depressing films you could possibly watch: either some stark, foreign efforts (Lars Von Trier?) or bloodthirsty action movies. Don’t get dressed up. Present each other with Valentine’s cards that you’ve made by butchering ‘Pick Me Up’ or ‘Chat’ magazine. Relish in the misery, and have a good old laugh at the couples bankrupting themselves over the day.
Cellar Door
The Parlour at Sketch
So there we have it! A pick of some potential date options. In fact, you could even do them on your own, or with friends. I’m still going to love the day, no matter what anyone says.
Whatever you’re doing, wherever you are, and whoever you are with, I hope you have a great day. I don’t believe anyone should feel bad because they are single, but I equally believe no one should hate all couples, ever, for no good reason. Happy Valentine’s all!
Amelia xx
*All images shamelessly plundered from Google Images*
It’s the 1st of February, which means it’s time to set myself some new challenges for the month. In January I set 16 and achieved 13 of them. It was pretty good going. I’ve actually been a little bit easier on myself for February, and I shall tell you for why. Firstly, it’s a shorter month (slightly…ahem), and secondly because due to a little thing called London Fashion Week, I shall be out of action for around a week. I will be a strangely dressed, cocktailed-up, exhausted zombie with an increasingly heavy camera around my neck and a Moleskine notebook on my lap.
I’ve set just 10 challenges. I did have a rather good suggestion this morning that I try and write a 50,000 word novel across the month, a la NaNoWriMo, but I simply don’t have the time what with all the other writing, and well, sleeping I intend to do. They’re not my most imaginative set of challenges, and I feel a bit like I’m playing it safe, but February is going to be a crucial month in keeping on top of various projects, so I don’t want my own personal lunacy get in the way of, you know, actually doing things that I’m supposed to be doing. Perhaps I’ll make March a month when I force myself to do some really insane stuff?!
So without much further ado, I give you…my ten resolutions for February. As ever, feel free to drop me a tweet (@ameliafsimmons) if you have any suggestions, or if you fancy doing your own set of challenges.
And remember….”Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop to look around once in a while, it may pass you by.”
Go rollerskating or blading
Eat ice cream in Winter
Make a stop motion animation
Despite probably being single for it, have a great Valentine’s Day (or Valentinstag, as those crazy Germans call it)
Visit a new town or city and explore
Write a poem
Try a different hairstyle every day for a week
Do something to benefit someone else (rolled over from Jan)
Attend a lecture on something completely out of my comfort zone/sphere of knowledge
Visit a proper tea house
There we go. As I said, not my most imaginative…but they’re still challenges!
ameliaflorencesimmons 