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.

Giving Good Gift

I know what a friend's getting from Santa this year, and so does she. In fact she called me a couple of weeks ago to impart some very important information, "I've got a Mulberry Mitzy Hobo for Christmas."

Cue a sharp intake of breath from me, many congratulations and a little twinge of envy.

The envy quadrupled after I hit Google and this came up:

Her response to my "OMG it's amazing!" text?

"I know! I might even let you hold it."

This girl is a cruel and unusual genius.

This Winter I'll Mainly Be Giving Good Coat

Winter's here, and as Christmas fast approaches, one's thoughts turn to being properly attired. Basically how does one work minx in sub zero temperatures? Looking like the Stay Puft man from Ghostbusters, may insulate you from the wind, but it ain't gonna get you style points. Ever. I mean it.

It's no wonder he looks pissed, the outfit clearly adds pounds.

So, this season I will mainly be working grown up glamour in a coat by Oasis. Black, knee length and chock full of this season details, without doing anything so crass as shouting about it.

It's a peach ain't it?

Single breasted, it nips in the waist with clever darting and tailoring. It then draws the eye to your oh so beautifully hourglass proportions with a sash belt and a deep v neckline. The slightly exaggerated shoulder not only nods towards victorian romance, it also broadens the shoulder, bringing you right back to that itsy bitsy waist again. It's knowing, clever and feminine. I like to think of it as the Lauren Bacall of coat cuts.

And, ladies and gentlemen wait until you see the back (insert squeal of delight here).

Isn't it delicious? The pleating is completely this season, with a nod to the '90's, it channels a healthy dose of Russian Tsarina, the femininity of the 1940's, and finally, a subtle hint of military chic chucked in for good measure. In theory combining these influences should result in a big old mess, but what we get is somehow a coat dripping with stylish restraint.

Jack Frost, do thy worst.