Category Archives: Fashion

I’m into something good

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‘Austerity measures!’ I hear you cry. ‘What the devil do you mean?’ I intone back, entirely unimpressed. ‘You’ve got no money’, you clarify, slightly rudely.

Enough of the role play (but it was pretty Pinteresque, wasn’t it? I’m a great dramatist). It’s a new season, I’m bored of my wardrobe, and I don’t have enough cashingtons for a total revamp. Oh, let’s be honest. If you combined all the money I had in the world, I couldn’t even buy myself some utterly hideous dress from Matalan. You know, just in case I suddenly wanted an utterly hideous dress from Matalan. So I’ve had to actually try and be sensible, because I’m in no position to keep squandering money on bits of fluff (often literally). I’ve got two things to say to you: nail varnish, and tights.

No, this isn’t a lesson on how to darn some stockings with just a pot of nail varnish, because this really isn’t that kind of blog. Make do and mend? I’m the girl who bought a new pair of pants every day when I didn’t know where the laundertte was at university. Really. I’m a pathetic underwear lush, and clearly quite incapable of living in the real world. Where was I? Let’s get off the subject of my ineptitude. Please.

The point is, tights and nail varnish are two things that feel like luxuries, pep up your look, and don’t cost the earth. You can create a completely different feel and revitalise yourself with a dark nail or a quirkily patterned pair of tights. I’ve spotted lots of loveliness out and about, and on the old tinterweb, so I thought I’d share them with you. All tights are from Asos and naily v’s are from Topshop, because they are both bargainous and ace quality. I’m only allowing myself one ridiculous pair of tights, because I’ve been known to shred them fairly quickly. Which are your favourites? And are you going to berate me for my disgusting waste of a student loan? Well it’s too late.

Touch of bondage

Hyperreal

Daredevil

The most incredible colour ever, Gypsy Night

Dreckitude

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Oh no.

Terrible news for fashion fanatics.

News has just reached me that a certain Mr Andre Leon Talley is no longer to be a judge on America’s Next Top Model. Former American editor-at-large of Vogue, and personality-at-large at anywhere else he went, he was one of my favourite parts of the series.

In respect to the great ALT, I shall wear my Russian hat, weep silently in the corner, and whisper the word ‘dreck’ to myself, over and over.

There is a chink of light at the end of the tunnel, though.

His replacement is the prolific Kelly Cutrone, who I’ve loved ever since ‘The Hills’. If you haven’t heard of her, or have and are not convinced of her utter fabulousness, then listen here. Her first book was entitled ‘If You Have to Cry, Go Outside’. Let’s just say, the next batch of models won’t have any idea what hit them.

I’ll leave you with a Kelly-ism.

‘We’re all hookers in one way or another’.

Watch out!

 

(Picture very kind courtesy of Google Images)

 

You can come back home, back on your own

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I had one last fling with London Fashion Week. Yesterday morning, I popped up to Vauxhall Fashion Scout (which was not in Vauxhall, but rather, sponsored by the car company). Now, at this point, I have to take some issue with the maps on my iPhone. I’ve never had an issue with it before, but either I’d put the postcode in wrong (hugely unlikely), or the Maps app had changed where the location was overnight (this is almost definitely what happened.) Anyway, I ended up heading off in completely the wrong direction, considering mounting one of Boris’s bikes, but ultimately totally stressing about. I was only in town for the two shows at VFS, and quite frankly, when you’ve paid THAT much for a train fare, you want to actually achieve what you set out to.

It was easy to work out when I was getting closer. In a world full of suits, just follow the girl with the green hair, or the chick with the turban, and you can be fairly sure they’ll be off to a fashion event. Picking up the pace to cover the last bit of ground – it was now 10.15, and the first show was due to start at 10. Thank god for dodgy Fashion Week scheduling, as I raced up, only to spot a giant queue snaking out of the building. I jumped in, and didn’t get in till around 10.35ish.

Vauxhall Fashion Scout is one of the up and coming showcases taking place during LFW, and has received lots of coverage, including Elle and Vogue. It was held in the Freemasons’ Hall in the City, and certainly the second show I saw, Elisa Palomino, made amazing use of that. We sat in a chapel (if Freemasons’ have ‘chapels’), opera rising up in the background, with models appearing outside the iron gates of the chapel and strolling in. It was an incredible show, and I’m still getting chills just thinking about it.

I had some time to spare before meeting Nanna for frozen yogurt, and decided to go and buy some flat shoes. I thought I’d pop up to Primark on Oxford Street, and decided that I wouldn’t get the tube, but would walk up. I went kind of a strange way, through Covent Garden and Leicester Square, and it took me about an hour. I was most definitely in need of those flat shoes by then, so nabbed a pair of teal flats with a crazy kind of bejewelled, feather detail. I also spotted the Holy Grail, the thing I’d been searching for – a black floppy 70s hat. I hardly ever let myself go shopping anymore, due to massive financial constraints, but to treat myself to two very cheap things instead of just grabbing armfuls actually felt more exciting. But that’s a story for another day.

Flats slipped on and bowler switched for the new floppy hat, I walked off again to Covent Garden. Now, frozen yogurt is something I’ve only fairly recently got into, but my god – if you haven’t tried it, you need to, NOW. We ate at Snog on Garrick Street. Pink guava and chocolate with brownie pieces, blueberries and raspberries. Seriously yum. After that, Nanna and I took a walk down to Somerset House to people watch. Having recently streaked her hair with pink (which has given me such serious hair envy I can’t even think about it that much), Nanna fitted right in. It was a lot quieter down there, but we did see a man in a geisha costume.

After a quick coffee pit stop, we wandered down onto the Embankment. This is one of my favourite things to do at this time of year. I love looking across at those great chunks of grey on the Southbank, glowering over the murky Thames. It’s so bleakly beautiful. We crossed the rive and perched ourselves in one of the few exceptions to the ‘grey’ rule: The Dishoom Chowpatty Beach Bar. I’d heard about this pop-up bar ages ago, and it lived up to expectations. Sadly, they were out of coconuts for us to drink from, but we settled for some kind of delicious strawberry cocktail. I was very taken with a clock showing English and Bombay times, illustrated by two men whose moustaches formed the clock hands.

Then it was home time. I was exhausted. I’d walked for about three hours in total. I read The Stylist. Some chavvy girls laughed at my hat on the train. Thank God I wasn’t a 6” something man dressed as a geisha.

Now the party’s over…I’m so tired…

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It’s the Monday after my first London Fashion Week, and I. Am. Shattered. What an absolutely incredible few days, though. I had no idea whatsoever about what to expect, but it was an unbelievable experience. Every day was absolutely rammed, going from show to show, stalking around on vertiginous heels, eating weird things at odd times, drinking bubbly sporadically throughout the day…There’s such a buzz all around London, this sort of surging energy that pulls you in.

I loved just standing in the Somerset House courtyard, in the sunshine (and rain), watching. I liked the kind of meta-voyeurism of watching people being watched. I liked the way the photographers moved like a shoal of fish, changing direction as some new important person walked into the arena. Before shows started, there would be a kind of stillness, a quietness. It felt a bit muffled, like when it snows. And then suddenly a spark would ignite somewhere, a sudden static energy rippling through the crowds, breaking the spell.

I didn’t think I was going to care about what I wore. I didn’t plan ahead, only for the first day, and that was only by lucky chance that I picked up something new to wear. Everything I’d read prior to attending said ‘don’t even worry – no one will be looking at you’. This is absolute RUBBISH. People look. The general public look at you as you leave the station and walk down The Strand. As you approach Somerset House, other LFW-attendees give you the look up and down. It’s just automatic, it doesn’t mark you out as special, it’s just an involuntary thing that most people in fashion do. A very quick sweep, feet up to hat.

With street style blogs and websites springing up everywhere, photographers are not simply there to snap a covert pic of Anna Wintour, or any of the other Frow-ers. I was surprised, when I first entered Somerset House, to feel someone grab my arm and ask if they could take a picture of me. It happened again subsequently, and it’s surprising how quickly you get used to holding a conversation, quickly turning to be snapped, then returning to the chat again. Also, once one photographer hauls you out to take a picture of you, others will follow suit. I’m not saying I was wearing anything particularly bizarre, fabulous, or attention grabbing – and I’m still convinced I’m going to spot myself on some blog under the title ‘What were they thinking? The worst of LFW’, but still. It was very flattering.

By Saturday night, my head was pounding. As we’d been at a lot of the up-and-coming, ‘one to watch’ shows, we were getting front row seats. You stare at a blindingly white catwalk, feel this pounding bass that seems to hit right into you, you smell a myriad of heavy, cloying perfumes. You drink fruity, sweet bubbly. The flash and click of cameras is endless. The heat of lights and bodies combine. It’s hypnotic and overwhelming.

What else, then? Well, Sunday morning we attended the British Fashion Council-hosted Estethica brunch. Estethica is a sort of collective, I suppose, formed of various ethical designers and trying to raise awareness of the impact of climate change on the planet. We grabbed bucks fizz and Bloody Marys, and sauntered around. I’ll do a write up on this properly soon, as some of the things we saw were absolutely mindblowing (dresses made from yak nipples, anyone?)

I have a huge thank you to make to Rachel Montague-Ebbs, who made the whole thing possible for me. I’ll be helping her with LFW coverage for her website, www.LadyMPresents.co.uk, as well as writing various ramblings in future. I never thought I’d get to attend such an amazing event, specially not this early in my writing ‘career’, and I’ll be eternally grateful for everything I’ve been given. Thank you so much, Rachel.

The other important thing is, I’m going to get a proper camera. No more crappy iPhone pics. That being said, there are some crappy iPhone pics in this post for your enjoyment.

Sorry it’s all been a bit more serious and fashion related recently, chaps. There’ll be some chirpier bits to come, promise.

Tunbridge Wells Fashions Night Out

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*This post was first featured on http://blog.loveisboutique.co.uk/616/tunbridge-wells-fashions-night-out/ – go and check them out!*

On Thursday 8th September 2011, I was lucky enough to be part of a very glittery, exciting evening at Love is Boutique. Apparently some people were heading to London for, oh, I don’t know – the Vogue-hosted Fashions Night Out, something like that. Well, Fashions Night Out most certainly came to Tunbridge Wells. At around 4.30, the sun had burst through an otherwise rainy day, the champagne was chilling, the goody bags were at the ready (more on those later), my shockingly bad playlist had starting to pump out of the speakers, and the first of many shoppers stepped into the shop.

Love is’ was looking on absolutely top form, at her shimmery, glamorous best, enticing in the hoardes of Tunbridge Wells. The window featured one of the most glorious tableaux I’ve ever happened upon. A mass of inky netting and lace formed into a skirt, topped off with the crispest of crisp white shirts, accompanied by oversized Louis Vuitton bag and a sprinkling of blood red shoes. Seemingly settling in the folds of this tremendous skirt were a host of pink metallic butterflies, and adding to the ethereal effect were a pair of fluffy angel wings.

Inside the shop itself was no different. The lights twinkled, the vintage brooches jostled for attention, snakeskin lay with eelskin, creaking antiquated vanity cases burst forth with a profusion of silk scarves and driving gloves, all watched over silently by the Gods – a gaudy Galliano tunic, a suave Dior dress, a Jean Varon confection in peach. Crowning this already sparkling glory were an army of sleek, musky furs – a distinguished presence on rails and mannequins. Our hosts for the evening looked just as stunning. Paula colour-blocking merrily away in tomato red maxi skirt and shoe boots the colour of blue hydrangeas, and Lynne walking her usual inspired line between edgy and elegant in black jumpsuit, biker boots and Missoni knit jacket.

It was into this warm and welcoming environment that a host of bloggers, press, and general darlings of Tunbridge Wells walked. As the champagne flowed, they walked, mesmerised, as ‘Love is’ began to work its unique magic on them. Almost instantly, jackets were seized, dresses were whipped away into loving hands, and a queue formed for the changing rooms. By 5.30-6ish, the boutique was absolutely teeming. Photos were taken of every dazzling surface, delighted treasure-hunters were holding up lace shirts, Moschino dresses, tuxedo jackets, and slipping into the embrace of those rather excellent furs. Item after unique item was carefully handed over, wrapped in tissue, and sent on its way. Customers were, quite rightly, charmed by the boutique. In fact, the only thing that slowed them down was pausing to consume an utterly delicious truffle (or two) from Little Treats Bakery (http://www.littletreatsbakery.co.uk/). These little stunners not only looked spectacular, but achieved the truffly ideal – not too sweet, so all the more reason for helping yourself to a few…My personal favourites were the coconut dusted version, although I did try all of them, just to make sure. Purely in the interests of research, naturally.

After the sheer joy of finding a vintage or designer item at a bargainous price, the next thing to put a smile on the face were the massively generous goodie bags, organised by both Becky Cowing (http://champagneandgoodbags.blogspot.com/), and Maria Matzeu, who you can find on Twitter as @nikemaria. I have to admit, I’m a huge one for a well-stuffed goodie bag, and these were just that. We were spoilt for choice with two types. I’m going to go into details, purely because I still keep looking at both of them and smiling.

Green goodie bag

Arranged by Becky, these contained some spectacular products from Nature’s Finest Cosmetics. (www.naturesfinestcosmetics.com) I’ll admit it – years of being a complete and utter beauty junkie have dulled my excitement somewhat when it comes to new products, and it takes a lot for me to get excited these days. Well – impressed I was. I squealed in delight on opening the pristine white box containing the Natures Finest bits and pieces. I can’t remember the last time I saw something quite as pretty as their ‘Purple Hills’ soap, a perfectly crafted chunk of heaven, in pink and purple, smelling of patchouli and lavender. Their slogan is ‘Nautral Needn’t Be Boring’, and quite right, I say. I’ve used that soap every day since getting it, and I think I’ll be buying many, many more. If that wasn’t enough, I’ve also got two tiny glitterballs to pop in my bath. Excellent job to both Becky and Nature’s Finest. I think I’m in love with my soap.

Pink goodie bag

These were courtesy of Maria, the resident Clarins goddess of Tunbridge Wells. I’d always been convinced Clarins was for older skin, but Maria set me straight and showed me the light. I was delighted to receive one of my favourite products, the Clarins ‘Water Purify One-Step Cleanser’ in mint, along with Clarins ‘Wonder Perfect’ mascara. Just when I thought I couldn’t get any luckier, I spied something divine. A perfect recreation of a dress, in biscuit form, devised by Emma Buchanan of Array of Cakes (www.arrayofcakes.co.uk). Not only did it look incredible, but, reader – I ate it, and it tasted just as fantastic.

Goodie bags aside, the evening really served to highlight the best assets of ‘Love is’ – the personal service. After the happy hoardes had scattered out into the night, swinging bags full of their new wares, just a few remained in the shop. One particular young lady was looking for a dress for an awards ceremony. She’d found a few nice but unremarkable dresses, and was nearly swayed by a perfectly luscious nude lace 30s style drop waisted number, but she didn’t feel it was quite right. Lynne cast her expert eye over the dresses in store, alighting on a beauty – a lurex maxi dress with squares of bronze, silver and gold. The ¾ length sleeves and collar detail made it an ideal choice for a daytime ceremony, and Lynne paired it with a biker jacket to give it a kick.

Lynne and Paula absolutely come into their own with this kind of informal styling service. There’s no pressure, shoppers are given an honest opinion, and will always be encouraged to take some time to think about it. Lynne suggested our young heroine gave it a few days before deciding, and that she should return with her own accessories to really get an idea of if it was right for her. As it happens, the cavalry was sent for in the form of a helpful friend, and Ms Awards Ceremony settled for the maxi, which she looked unbelievably gorge in. If you’re reading this, please send in a picture!

So, all round, a very successful night, and a great reminder about why this kind of boutique is such a treat to go to. Try getting that level of service in a standard high street store. Go on, I dare you. In the meantime, drop in for your very own styling session with the girls, and be sure to check out the truffles, biscuits and soap if you fancy treating yourself.

Lots of love,

Amelia