Let them eat cake (as long as it's stylish)

And believe me folks this one is.

Curator Charlie blew all the competition out of water with a fine Super Epic Rainbow Cake (passed on to her from yours truly, and all courtesy of the wonderfully sweet toothed food blogger, Whisk Kid),  for an art cake bake off.

Six layers, six different colours, and what can only be described as a fuck ton of butter cream. This cake wasn't restrained in any shape or form. Rather, it's the style equivalent of a 6ft 2" Nicky Minaj drag queen tribute act. Oh yes. This fine, fine piece of confection magic won the day, the trophy, and basically wiped the floor with pansy muffins and conformist traditional two layer cakes.

Santa Baby...

...Santa baby, slip a sable under the tree, for me
I've been an awful good girl
Santa baby, and hurry down the chimney tonight... 

Sod the sable, I want these: 

Yeah, they're peep toe and we're in the midst of winter, but I figure it could just be a cold snap. Plus opaque tights are back in a big way, so y'know totally practical. 

Yeah, they may be a tad 'out there', a touch 'aggressive', but I don't caaaaaaaaare, they are amazing and I will punch anyone who says otherwise. 

Ahem...sorry. 

Anyway they're by Sam Edelman and available at Harvey Nichols . Shoe boxes are easy to wrap and look so nice under one's Christmas tree, don't you think? 

M Is For Marvellous

Today is Monday. Today I had the day off. Oh yes, sheer decadence in October, why the fuck not?

What did I get up to? Well, since you ask, although it doesn't do to brag....

.... the morning was spent luxuriating in bed, smug in the knowledge that most people were in their hives by the time I'd woken up. After copious amounts of the black stuff (coffee for those not in the caffeine club) and some scrambled eggs, I decided it was high time I took in a bit of culture; namely the Anish Kapoor sculptures in Kensington Gardens, courtesy of the The Serpentine Gallery.

*'Scuse the crappy photo quality, there's only so much a gal can do with her crackberry, k? 

It helped that I love Kapoor's work, it helped that it was a cool, crisp, and occasionally bright day. There was adventure in hunting out Kapoor's treasures, kicking up the leaves as we did so.

I'd recommend taking a look whilst the light and the weather holds. I don't know if there's a deeper meaning to Kapoor's work, and I don't really care. For me, it's the simple pleasure in how they make me feel.

Outfit wise I was wearing the perfect crispautumnaldaylookinfatartandmaybegoforadrinkafterwards ensemble; skinny black jeans, flats (no socks, hurrah!), long wrap cardigan in a deep navy blue, vintage belt, crop biker jacket and a cornflower coloured snood. I'm treasuring the snug, over sized but cute look whilst I can. It's only a matter of time until turning sideways is the only way to get through doors, because you're wearing a gazillion jumpers, socks, hats and scarves.

Work and Play

After careful and extensive research I have decided on my Autumn/Winter 'look'. This will be followed until after Christmas, when I shall review. Any unkind souls who suggest that a review is required due to some additional festive poundage will find themselves off the Christmas card list. Forever. Yeah, that's how I roll.

So, work:

The Joan Holloway. I love this woman - not the actress, she interests me less - the character, Joan. Much celebrated at the moment, I'm fully aware I'm jumping on the bandwagon, but I'm ok with that. Firstly, she looks like a woman, and having always been um, blessed, with a womanly figure it's a relief to see someone I can identify with. Plus she looks banging in a tight dress, clearly likes a pudding and comes across as very comfortable in her skin. This I admire, this I want. Having a inch to pinch and not giving a damn. Sexy. 

I intend to work the prim, but womanly look for work. It's classic, it's classy and makes me feel great, which given I spend 10 hours a day in a testosterone dominated environment is more important than one would think. Footwear? A classic black court. Fail safe.

So what about play? Well, as much as I love the looks above, being that corseted, that 'poured in', I like to be able to reclaim my rib cage and well, breathe. I also wanted something cosier, something that was a bit more 'on trend', that could be easily adapted to normal gal wear from the catwalks, and frankly, something that I wouldn't have to reinvent my whole wardrobe to achieve. So, hello Burberry. Your campaign has been around for months now. It's seeped into my brain box and is claiming squatter's rights. 

Oversized but figure hugging shearling aviator jackets? Check. Soft dresses over boots? Check. Perfect for damp autumnal days, and cool evenings? Absolutely. I like the idea of snuggling into the soft shearling, especially when it gets cold enough to see your breath. Add a snood and a soft beanie and you are made. 

I'm also coveting these. Admittedly they're not over the knee boots as per the catwalk outfit above, but they are big, big news this season. Obviously Burberry again, Christopher Bailey is on fire at the moment. 

Alas, unless Father Christmas is feeling remarkably generous and impatient to get with the present giving, I shall be looking for high street versions.

Life is so unfair.


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A/W 2010 Look Book - Part Trois

The Illusionist

I recently went to see The Illusionist. No, not the one with Edward Norton that was vaguely disappointing.

I hadn't really noticed how CGI and Pixar style animation had taken over so completely, and just how different it is from hand-drawn. It's smoothness, the somehow homogenous quality of every film, despite the different plots, subjects, settings.

This Illusionist is an animation of the old school brigade and it's a delight. Hand-drawn and beautifully imperfect. Intricate, drawings that stemmed from obsessive observation, it seemed all the better able to reflect its human subjects and their own imperfections.

Is one better than the other?  I don't think it's about being 'better', I think it's about appreciating the differences, and not losing the old in our rush to embrace the new.

The Illusionist is, on the face of it, a simple tale of an old French variety show magician who travels to Scotland to ply his trade. What it's also about is the naiveté of youth, and on the other side of the coin, hope in the face of experience, that despite all the signs pointing to the contrary, a big break's just around the corner.

Sounds gloomy? But it's not, it's sweet, warm, compassionate and funny. Poking fun at itself, at the cheesiness of variety acts and the eccentricity of one's neighbours. You get all of this in faded washes of colour, sweeping landscapes, intimate domestic scenes, and an ever present musical score. The score is the script, it tells you what the characters are thinking and feeling, and the sparse use of mumbled French or Gaelic is the punctuation.

If you get a chance, go see it. I don't think it's going to be around for long, and something about being ensconced in the warm, popcorn sticky cinema air makes it all the more charming.  It's like a toffee caress, and the bright modern light you step into when you leave contrasts with a lemon sharpness.

All In The Name of Research

The day started, as all days ideally should, with lunch in the sun. It was all so good, low carb, as all pre-shopping lunches are, and suitably spoilt by some high carb wine, not to mention the sticky toffee pudding (with two spoons natch).

Walking it off meant a mooch around the west end.

We undertook some scientific research *cough* in Whistles on Marylebone High Street. What follows are our current favourites. Alas I need to eat this month, so after fondling the fabrics I sought solace in H&M.

C'est la vie.

A/W 2010 Look Book - Part Deux

Oh yes, there's more. What can I say? The upcoming season's shaping up to be a humdinger.

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A/W 2010 Look Book - Part Un

I like to think of it as an update on the tradition of scrap booking. But y'know, stylish.

Anyway, here's some of the looks I'll be working into my Autumn/Winter wardrobe this year.

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La La Leopard Print

So, my beautiful Mulberry wallet was stolen a few weeks ago. I may have been on the wine. I may, just may, have been less than vigilant with my stuff.

Sigh. Lesson learnt. Especially having relinquished all hope that Mulberry will still stock something that is at least 6 season old.

Having mourned its passing, I have moved on to two new loves. One is courtesy of my gorgeous friends who felt my accessories pain and hit me up with a brand new season Mulberry coin purse.

Yeah, I'm spoilt.

And the second is courtesy of Spitalfield market.

La la leopard print indeed!

Rififi

For my recent birthday (let's not mention how old I was, I'm in denial), a favourite and long time friend of mine sent me the perfect gift. Movie night in a box. Bags of sweet and salted popcorn, crispy M&Ms, jelly beans and some gorgeous dark chocolate with ginger and orange, hid two DVDs; Rififi and Sweet Smell of Success.

My friend, let us call him L, has impeccable taste. Impeccable. His choices were two of his favourites and I'm touched that he wanted to share them with me. So, as I languished with the flu on Friday night (yes it's still ongoing, no I don't want to talk about it, it's too dull for words), I watched Rififi.

Rififi is a classic 1950's French film noir; hard boiled men who do what they must, passionate yet passive women, cigarette smoke curling in the air, basement night clubs and of course, a heist.

Set in Paris, Tony's just got out of a 5 year stretch in prison, with his health ailing, he returns to his old haunts and to reclaim his old girlfriend, Mado. His friends try to persuade him to do one last job with them.  Tony's not interested, he's interested in finding Mado, except she's now with another mobster. After a heated confrontation with Mado, Tony throws caution to the wind and joins his friends to plan one last heist; the ultimate heist - stealing F240 million of jewels from a jewellery shop. What could possibly go wrong?

I became immersed in a world of distressed dames who don't give a damn and men who used to be better, and know it.

Shot in black and white, the sparse script, which the actors almost literally spit out in each scene, is accented at all times by the lighting. It's stark and harsh, illuminating the character's faces to an almost ghoulish effect.

Tony le Stephanois

Style wise the film has it in spades, the strong, atmospheric cinematography imbibes the whole film with a sense of claustrophobia, especially in the 30 minute heist sequence. The lighting, and the direction pull you in until you're in Tony's gang, one of them, and praying as they are that they can pull it off.  You can't look away, you hold your breath every time they do, and all the while Tony and his friends don't utter a word. Not for 30 minutes. So simple, so effective, and a testament to the director, Jules Dassin's mastery of suspense.

A scene from the heist sequence

I can't tell you how it ends without ruining it,  except that it does so abruptly. When Tony's luck turns, and it does, you know that it has to end, and that it won't end well. But despite yourself, you hope for one more roll of the dice. When the word 'fin' appeared I felt as though I'd been slapped and like a true film-noir dame I enjoyed the sting. 

Sick...

... and not in a way I'd normally appreciate.

I'm no good at it. It's boring, repetitive and frankly a style vacum. You feel like shit, and believe me you look like shit. It's not a winner.

To deflect from my rather dishevelled and frankly snotty state. I give you these:

Alexander Wang S/S 2010 I believe, but don't quote me on it. I've lost the details. 

Ridiculous? Yes. Fan-fucking-tasic? Absolutely. 

If I had any energy to strut my stuff, and be able to strut it for more than ten yards without blowing my nose, or hacking away like a 90 year old with a 70 year, 30 a day Woodbine habit, it would be in these. Worn with the new length maxi tube skirt and simple tee, tons of bangles and of course, a pair of aviators to finish the look. Perfection. 

A girl can dream. 

Fix Up, Look Sharp

Ah, the minefield that is work appropriate attire in the Summer. If you're a woman it's hard. True fact.

Male corporates, I've noticed, do not alter their clothing from one season to the next. It's suits come rain, shine, wind, or snow. If they're feeling particularly louche, they may go crazy with a light grey two piece and perhaps a cotton mix rather than wool. But that is literally it. Obviously those who move to short sleeved shirts, with or without a breast pocket (to keep their Bic), will not be dwelt upon here. I suggest you adopt a similar approach.

Us ladies on the other hand, corporate or otherwise, have a veritable minefield of summer wear to make our way across. For me it's all about keeping cool, keeping smart, and crucially, not letting a spike in the temperature lure me into revealing too much of myself. In every sense. Work wear is a kind of mask; a disguise, an armour, a literal and metaphorical layer that separates the professional from the personal.

This year I've made a conscious effort not to 'relax' and embrace the looser, softer, more casual cuts of Summer. Instead, I've gone to the other extreme. Sharp tailoring and a neutral palette. Dark greys, pin stripe, bright whites and blacks. Think pared down Ralph Lauren and Armani classics.

This dress from Oasis has been my secret weapon this season and a is great combination of femininity and toughness. Teasing but serious. Noteworthy and yet also anonymous.

It's knee length, very important not to get giddy in the heat and let hem lines go north. Plus knee length means you can wear beautiful stockings that finish the look.

Cap sleeve. Flattering. Especially when combined with the square-ish neck line. Enhances the line of the collar bone and offsets that itty bitty waist that has been nipped in by sleek tailoring around the mid-section.

All in all a dress that suggests it shows more than it does. Combined with a killer heel, and a knowing twinkle in the eye, it's killer.

Tut Tut

God I'm unbelievably shit at keeping up this blogging malarkey.

You know what I think the problem/s may be?

No?

Good. I'm going to tell you.

1. Writing is a huge part of my day job. It's not especially creative, but does require synapses to fire etc. By the end of the day, more often than not, my brain activity is on par with a pumpkin's. 
2. I'm kinda 'ack' with anything that requires regular up keep, or won't look after itself. See also commitment, house plants. 
3. Fashion wise I'm in a bit of a rut. I like my look, it's fine. There's been no major acquisitions of late to fill my wardrobe, and if any thing I'm a bit work wear focused right now. Not exactly ground breaking stuff. 
4. I go out a lot... I mean a lot. I am seemingly incapable of saying no to a drink, and well, it's summer for christsake. Because I really don't want this blog to be about my train wreck of a life (been there done that, got the slightly bloodied tshirt), I'm a bit limited on good material right now.

This, dear readers, leaves us at a bit of an impasse, non?

Hmm. 

Ok, a post on summer work wear will be issued forthwith. Watch this space. 

Hem lines, sheer tights and the appropriateness of your toenail polish colour will all be discussed. 

At some point. Maybe. 

Sorry. 

Can't Believe...

P...I forgot Bowie and Prince for my recent style playlist.

Here are two tracks from the overlords of all that is fantastic and ever so slightly odd to make up for it. These two bad boys (the tracks I've chosen, and in fact, Messrs Bowie & Prince come to think of it) make me want to jump around and squeak with excitement, thus transforming me from normal(ish) person to a gerbil on acid.

 Ah well, you can't have everything.

• David Bowie - Let's Dance
• Prince - Get off 

The Most Stylish 'Zine on the Block

Drum roll... TBB (Tits, Brains, Balls) No.2.... This Bourgeois Battalion is here.

And no, I'm not just saying that because it's the brainchild of a wife and a favourite.

However, I do happen to be in this edition... I'm giddy with excitement about it, and thoroughly unrepentant that my contribution doesn't deviate from my core philosophy of shoes, shoes, shoes. The article was posted here a while back,  however, this time you can read it with a rather scrumptious visual accompaniment.

Make sure you check out all of TBB, including edition No.1 - the fab styling of the pages, which houses a mighty fine dose of cultural goodness makes it a MUST!

Playlist: Artists with Style Chutzpah

Sometimes you just gotta give props to those who not only write a banging tune, but also to those who wouldn't bat an eyelash at the concept of wearing paisley, or indeed a conical bra.  

1. Dusty Springfield - Son of a Preacher Man. That hair, that dress and a song dripping in soul. Beyond stylish. 
2. Jimi Hendrix - Foxy Lady. Oh this man, this man. What. A. God. 
3. Madonna - Express Yourself.  Like her, loather her. You gotta hand it to the woman, she's got chutzpah by the bucket.  
4. The Rolling Stones - Wild Horses.  For a start there's Mick, who back in the day was one hot rock god and let's not forget Keith -  a man who is slowly evolving into a walking privet hedge. Amazing. 
5. Kraftwerk - The Robots. C'mon people they're German electro minimalists.
6. Beyoncé  - Why don't you love me?  The video for this song is solely responsible for the look I shall be working this summer.  It's merely a bonus that I'm already a martini drinking hot mess.
7. Diana Ross - Chain Reaction. The woman's clearly batshit crazy, but she owned the '60's with the Supremes and she's nailing '80's decadence with white fur, shoulder pads and a alarming amount of sequins. I love it. 
8. Louis Armstrong  - Hello Dolly.  A bow tie. A nice suit. A proper shirt with cufflinks. A handkerchief in his breast pocket. Lovely. This is what I call dressing for dinner. 
9. Michael Jackson - Smooth Criminal . Screw Thriller, this video is so stylish it actually hurts. Prohibition era bar, white suits, fedoras, and that leaning dance move. 
10. Snoop Dogg - Drop it Like it's Hot . This video is smokin' and in Snoop's case, quite literally. 

Night of the Living Dead

It's official, dungarees are making a comeback. I know this to be true because they were in my bank holiday mail out from Oasis. Which means they've gone - gasp - mainstream. AGAIN.

For some this may be a phoenix from the ashes, although, hello? Were you there in the '90's? They were bad enough then. And yes, I can say that. I saw and I wore.

I think it's safe to say that for me this particular renaissance is less phoenix, and more night of the living dead.

See what I mean? Bad, bad, bad.

So, an appeal:

Ladies, we did dungarees, and oh how we did them. We worked the cropped tee, we worked the webbed waistband of our Calvin Klein underwear, fully visible if you wore your 'rees baggy enough (and we did), but crucially, and this is important, we were teenagers. Yes, teenagers. We knew no better. We read Bliss and J17, we thought All Saints were edgy for a pop band and that Kurt 'RIP' Cobain would live for ever. In essence, we knew nothing. Nothing!

Is it going to be any better this time around? I doubt it. Wearers revisiting the trend will only feel oddly petulant, with a strong desire to start hanging around at the 'rec', drinking cider from a 2 litre bottle, which would, let's face it, seriously perturb the current crop of teenagers who're already there.

A simple equation then. Dungarees + 2010 + previously sane woman = complete embarrassment for society.

Harsh but fair i'd say.

Oh and in case any boys feel moved to give it a go, y'know, in the name of fashion, consider this a warning: Men shouldn't even contemplate working the dungaree unless they are a) legally known as Farmer John, and/or b) featured in the music video for Cotton Eye Joe.

I Know Something You Don't Know

Today I wore stockings and suspenders to work.

And it felt good. I felt sexy, secretive and weirdly, given the fiddly nature of the damn things, free.

That is until I realised two things:

1) The skirt I'd chosen precisely for its concealing nature, as it didn't 'cling', and wouldn't show the tell tell lines of the suspender strap, was much shorter than I remembered, putting me in jeopardy of revealing a tantalising glimpse of lace stocking top. For a night out, fine. For work in the square mile? Non merci. For info, as I know you're interested, the skirt in question was the new shape for S/S '10 - the 'lampshade'. Worn high on the waist, with a close fitting top and a Prada heel to finish the look.

2) One of the suspender straps had some how managed to lose the gizmo that lets you adjust its length, thereby allowing you to fit the stocking to your leg/hem line. Alas, I do not have Giselle length pins, adding additional risk of flashing the very thing I wanted to keep under wraps.

Cue the whole day spent nervously tugging at hem of my skirt.

Adding insult to injury was the realisation of these two facts at 8.10 this morning as I walked passed a group of idle builders. Sigh.

The Shoes Have It

Ah, shoes.  Actually no, not shoes in general, after all who gives a fuck about men's shoes, or indeed, a kitten heel?  Nobody that's who.  We know that the only thing worth talking about, writing about, and in extreme cases displaying in a glass display cabinet, are high heels. The more vertiginous and outlandish the better.  This is a fact, there is no point arguing with me, because I simply won't have it.  There's also the fact that I will counter every argument you make with the response of, 'yes, yes but do you like my shoes?'. 

As you can probably tell, this is a love letter to the heel, be it spiked, stacked or wedged, as long as they're 3" plus then I salute them.  In this case boys and girls, size really does matter.  

So why high heels?  Well, firstly walking in them is an art form and ought to be eligible as a legitimate entry on a CV.  The concentration it takes to look as though one is effortlessly gliding along, is on a par with Zen meditation - the practice of focusing your body on one repetitive task, freeing your mind to consider other spiritual and worldly matters.  Admittedly most practitioners prefer raking gravel into weirdly pointless swirly patterns, but each to their own.  This explains why I can often be seen tottering along in a 5" concealed platform heel (Brown leather. Prada. Swoon) looking slightly perplexed.  Obviously I am considering the political dynamic between the west and Russia since the fall of the U.S.S.R. 

Yes they can hurt, but as Ja Rule so winningly noted, love is pain.  It's almost a badge of honour, and a source of competition with my fellow femmes, a statement of how tough we are.  Pounding the mean streets in 5 inches is not for the faint hearted and should be admired.  In fact, why don't we see high heeled competitive events in the Olympics? That's discrimination right there.  As every women who's been in this position will attest, running for the bus in a stiletto is an art, nay, an athletic triumph of feet over uneven paving, and the stealth threat of the erratically paced tourist. 

I'm sorry, but you just can't get worked up about flats.  I've tried and frankly they're boring.  It can't be helped, I have to say it - flats are for pussies. Yup.  Really.  It's like wanting to drink champagne, but ending up with lambrusco.  Overly sweet, easily accessible, and liable to leave you feeling bit funny.  I am a woman damn-it.  A grown up in stilettos who will walk all over you if you ask me nicely.  Worship at my perfectly shod feet and be grateful you've got that close. 

For the serious shoe connoisseur, the shoe shop is the church of our particular religion.  Upon entering, the pilgrim pauses briefly to genuflect at the 'STATEMENT SHOE', which takes centre stage of the display area.  Religious observances complete, we then cast our gaze around the shelves, dismissing the ugly, the pointless, and the sports shoe (shudder).  Our only want is the jewel in the shoe shop crown - the high heel.  Roll up, roll up, ladies and gentlemen, such sights you've never seen before!  Marvel at the heel height, gasp at the engineering of butter soft leather and whimper with joy at the range of colours available in every style.  The best part is the secret flush of pride (not a sin in my religion) when the shop girl approves of your choice.  A benediction indeed.  Impressing the fast moving, usually uber-trendy shop girl is not easily done.  She's seen bad shoes happen to good people, she's seen trends come and go, and she's seen a lot of Uggs.  She's a tough cookie, she won't be easily broken, so when you get the nod of approval you know you've made it baby. 

Time to wrap this up, I've got stuff to do you know.  So, to conclude, I put forth the following argument; I am right, not only am I right on this occasion, I am always right.  Plus, and here's the kicker (ha!), I can work a heel like a mo-fo.  

I know, I'm sorry, it's a devastating tactic, it's probably left you speechless.  To make yourself feel better you should go buy yourself some new heels, go on, spoil yourself. 

Taking Two Negatives

How do you make a positive out of two negatives? You heap praise on Peter Pilotto's Spring 2010 collection, that's how.

It should be said that the two negatives in this case are Manchester and polyester.

I've nothing against Manchester, in fact i've fully appreciated its charm on a couple of occasions. However all this gal will get to see of it is the train station (Manchester Piccadilly for those detail lovers out there), and the hotel in Salford. The second component of my negative equation is the polyester, and oh my there will be tons of it, in all its staticy (this is a word, damnit) glory. You see I'll be spending a considerable amount of time at Old Trafford for a work 'do'. This means colleagues in 'smart-casual' attire, which as my fellow suited and booted corporate types will tell you, is a mine-field. Now, it has to be said that the fairer sex get an easier deal with smart - casual than our male counterparts, but oh boy, this is where previously slickly suited men go kerazy with the man made fibres. Hell, they don't have to wear a tie, they may not even need a jacket, and that my friends leads to a whole heap of bad, bad choices. Not to mention there will probably be some sort of terribly predictable football shirt theme, possibly as an 'ice-breaker' (shudder) - we are going to be at the home of one the world's biggest football clubs after all.

That's the bad news out the way, now onto the good: Peter Pilotto. He's been around for a while but he only really came to my attention when a bride-to-be friend of mine asked for an opinion on the viability of one of his dresses for her wedding dress. I don't mean the run of the mill 'meringue on the run' wedding dress by the way. No, my exceedingly stylish friend is working and it has to be said, fully owning, the post-modern, feminine cocktail dress for her nuptials.

I can see what drew her to Pilotto. He seems to be all about structure, tailoring and a simple, sleek silloutte, yet his cuts are more than that, intelligent and well, a little bit off centre. See example A from his Spring 2010 collection:

Obviously he's playing with asymmetric proportions, draping and structure, which are big themes for the next couple of seasons, but it's the way he's doing it that's so intriguing. I love the ruching on the torso panel, which juxtaposes the gentle diagonal pleating on the skirt. Not to mention you get a nod to the oversized hip/robotic look that's been a feature of Winter 2009. 

Now let's look at his colour palette.

Lovely isn't it? It's subtle, but interesting, the play on warm and cool colour combinations, along with the suggestion of texture dye finish, is really working for me. I love it. I've looked at this image many times over the past week or so and I still find it interesting. 

Final image and this time it's a triple whammy.

Admire the dresses people, for they are quite lovely. But then let's move the conversation right on to those boots. Oh my, are they a wader? Are they a ruched thigh high? Who the hell knows? Who the hell cares? I want them. Oh how I want them. They look comfy, they look warm (hello winter weather) and frankly, given I do not have the most gazelle like legs, they look damned flattering. A glimpse of thigh, made to look more svelte than it actually is, with the help of an oversize boot, before the eyes drift to the hemline of an otherwise no-go mini dress is a look that I want to be working. 

Sadly Pilotto didn't make the final cut for my friend's big day dress. The hemlines were just a little too brief for an occasion where elderly attendees will be in-situ. 

But, Marc Jacobs did.*

* Swoon. 

What Can I Say?

I mean this literally. Of late, and you might have noticed this through, oh I dunno, the conspicuous lack of posts, I have not had anything to say. Nadda, Zip, Zilch.

I'd be lying if I said I was worried about my lack of inspiration, I just can't seem to care. And I can't even claim writer's block, because I spend a lot of my 12 hour working days writing. Maybe I'm overdosing on words. That's probably it. I splurge out so many at work, there are none left for the rest of the day.

I'm sure my mojo will come back. Maybe.

In other news, Alexander McQueen died today. I find this genuinely sad, as having watched his career with interest - Givenchy, McQueen and McQ to name but a few, he was such a great talent, such a visionary and with much more to give. If rumours of suicide are to be believed, it may be that he thought the opposite.

Above: an example of Alexander McQueen's work from his 2009 Autumn/Winter collection 

In Admiration...

I'd love to regale you with tales of my culturally stimulating Christmas, but I haven't got any. Not one.  Given Erdington was possibly stylish, once, in ou, 1956, it's not surprising. Erdington, for those not in the know is a little suburb of Birmingham. Now, Birmingham is one of my favourite cities, but Erdington and Birmingham, culturally, visually and well, geographically, are actually quite far apart, and never the twain shall meet. My Christmas involved decamping to aforementioned suburb with mother to visit the grandmother. Lovely as she is, we were entering a world of scrabble, boiled carrots and where more than one 'cheeky' sherry is frowned upon. You can of course imagine that I went down a treat as I made my second (very strong) G&T whilst musing on whether one could add sherry as well.

Given my style and culture hiatus, this post is dedicated to a friend, who has style in bucket loads. I'd post a picture of the outfit she wore on Saturday night, but given I'm lamely attempting to be anonymous, and I doubt she'd thank me for it, I won't. Annoying, as in this case a picture is worth a thousand words. Damn principles.

So picture this if you will: 10 denier back seamed tights, high waisted pencil skirt, hitting just below the knee, skimming and flattering my lovely friend's gorgeous figure. Add a split and some pleats and there's a hint of fire under the primness. A tight, high necked, off white lace shirt with ivory camisole completed the look. Demure vixen. Sexy Secretary in killer black heels. Oh my. A fashion moment. She looked amazing, sleek, fashionable and oh so 'come hither'.  True class in a 5 foot 6" package and one of the most beautiful people (inside and out) I know. I felt like a proud mum on prom night.