SUNLIGHT...

Sessun spring/summer 10. I noticed Liberty had a small selection of Sessun stock the other day. (Though me being me, I'll probably go off it now you can get it easily here. I like the thrill of the chase.)

THOSE DAYS...

You know those days when you wish you had a friend like Chloe Sevigny so you could just hang around in her kitchen drinking tea, have a laugh and maybe try on all her clothes?

{Chloe Sevigny in her apartment, in Apartamento magazine a while ago, with her long hair, which I quite miss, though I like her new short hair too.}

SIGNALS...

The other day Gracie told me (approvingly) that I dress like a lesbian, which was something I had never considered. It's true that I often dress in quite an androgynous way: flat lace up boots or Oxfords, socks, ankle length trousers, cardigans - basically it's all A.P.C.'s fault that I end up looking like a 1950s University professor.

But that's just what I like and feel comfortable in - I'm always ripping excess bows and embellishments off otherwise perfect garments. It's also true that I never, ever dress to try and attract men. I sort of maybe think that if I were to go out with my boobs cantilevered into a slaggy dress, not only would I feel extremely stupid and uncomfortable, but I'd be likely to attract the type of man I wouldn't have the slightest bit of interest in. But I never thought I might be inadvertently attracting women instead, not that I have anything against lesbians whatsoever; some of them are great friends of mine (see above).

But it's funny to think that maybe if you don't have the same visual references, read the same blogs, have the same mini obsessions with perfectly cut, well made clothes, or tend to wander round the Margaret Howell shop oohing and ahhing, you might get a whole different message. The day following Gracie's observation I went to Topshop and happened to buy a coral pink ruffle necked babydoll top, a floral print tiered chiffon babydoll top (not on the site) and a cotton empire line dress that looks like a Victorian christening gown. The two incidents were completely unrelated.

It's funny what messages come across. Recently I was talking to this Indian bloke and asked him if there was anything I should be careful to avoid wearing to an Indian wedding I'm going to. I was thinking perhaps certain colours have different connotations in other cultures, that sort of thing. His response? "Just try not to dress too much like a chav and you should be ok." My response? "Excuse me, whaaa, I mean, have you, like, actually met me?" Later I looked down at my See by Chloe spike heeled, studded ankle boots and realised that fashion can be a dangerous game when you're dealing with the uninitiated.

{photo 1: my daily shoe rotation - random lace up boots, Prada oxfords, Sessun desert boots. photo 2: girly Topshop haul to be worn with baggy rolled up jeans and a snarl}

POST PARIS...

I finally have time to sit down and get my thoughts together about my trip to Paris the weekend before last. The competition, if you recall, was held by the Regional Tourism Committee of Paris Ile-de-France for their campaign Le Nouveau Paris. My entry was posted here and in it I described in detail what my perfect weekend in Paris would be. To have won something (when the last thing you won was a disco dancing competition in 1986) and to have the prize for that something be a weekend in Paris with a friend (when in 1986 the prize was a packet of crisps and a 7" single) - well, I was pretty chuffed really.













Myself and my friend, plus three other bloggers and their respective guests, set off early on the Saturday morning from St. Pancras. We were accompanied by lovely Pauline from We Are Social who looked after us all weekend, along with the also lovely Marjorie from Nouveau-Monde DDB who we met in Paris. We were picked up at the Gare du Nord by a lipstick pink bus (the colour was probably unintentional, but I appreciated it anyway.)

From then on it was a blur of eating, drinking and roaming until we (ok, I) crashed out on the train on Sunday night. There were lots of exhibitions we could have gone to in the afternoons, but since I go to Paris quite often and we didn't have much time, my friend and I took the opportunity to catch up with friends while we were there. So on the cultural side of things Z and I scored nul points, although we did spend about two hours in my favourite Pharmacie (on the corner of rue des Archives, behind BHV), gawping at beauty products which perform functions that simply don't exist in this country (bio lifting sculpting anti-cellulite serum hydration for the bit of skin behind your left ear.) Can't get enough of it.
One other thing I was secretly thrilled about was that when a French person asked me directions to rue St Honore (in French) I somehow managed to give them (in French) and the person, instead of looking confused, thanked me and went in the direction I had told them to go in. This is called progress.

It's always lovely to be in Paris, but what was different this time was that instead of grabbing the odd snack here and there as I usually do, we all went to a lovely restaurant for a proper lunch, then again for dinner. As David pointed out in his post, the gap between lunch and dinner seemed to close further each day. I'm still dreaming about this steak I had at Le Saut du Loup. The food must have had a lasting effect on all of us, because last week I bumped into one of the other bloggers from the trip, Jenny, in Selfridges Food Hall, where we were both buying Pierre Herme macaroons. I haven't caught David or Marc, our other blogging companions, lurking around the macaroon section yet, but it may only be a matter of time.

1,2,3,...

1.
Going to a restaurant on Valentine's day is rather like driving on the motorway on Christmas day. Full of people who don't do it very often, aren't quite sure how to and aren't really doing it because they want to. Ha. I also went to see Breakfast at Tiffany's yesterday, which my local cinema had kindly screened (there are advantages to the day after all) and it was lovely to see it on the big screen. I noticed so many details I usually miss, such as the pink of Audrey's toenail varnish, or the Japanese paper screens in her bathroom.

My local wine shop celebrated by putting up these record covers and by hanging up a bandage covered heart with cheesy romance paperbacks hanging off it speared with butcher's hooks. I like their style.

2.
I know I've been rather absent from here lately - the usual February lack of oomph I suppose. Having a blog is quite useful in that way - you can look back over the years and note that February is often the sparsest month. And I haven't even told you about Paris yet.

3.
I don't quite know what to say about Alexander McQueen. Everyone seems to have said something, somewhere, though the news media doesn't seem to have thrown much light on anything. I used to help backstage at his shows for the first few years when he started out, dressing models and stuff. It was always a mixture of intense energy, stress, excitement, fear, some kind of backstage catastrophe involving fire or snow - and then the pure wonder of the audience at the spectacle of it all, when it made them feel something. The atmosphere was definitely not for the faint hearted, but now more than ever I'm glad I experienced that up close. All I can think now is of the people who worked closely with him, who were loyal for years and how they must feel; if those who knew him slightly or not at all, feel such loss.

LITTLE DETAILS...

I'm pleased to tell you that the cats at Vilmorin are all fine.

Tea at Toraya - my favourite macaroon was Kinako - roasted soya bean powder.

We saw a cat crossing a zebra crossing in the Place des Vosges. Of course I couldn't focus the camera in time.

More later + Z's iPhone photos, which are better than my enormous Nikon's photos!

TOMORROW...

Fingers crossed!...

WEDNESDAY...

 













*Is it Wednesday already? *I'm really looking forward to some seventies inspired soft tailoring for spring, but am too tired to illustrate this meaningfully now. *Can I get away with just posting these old pictures of Daria in Paris Vogue and call it a post?
{photo credit: Inez & Vinoodh}