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