STANDING ON A BEACH WITH A GUN IN MY HAND...

Precisely 20 years ago I was the 13 year old owner of: classic black 8 hole Dr Martens, Doc Martens shoes, many pairs of Chelsea boots: one black, two oxblood (bought from a riding school to ensure authenticity) a pair of cut down Chelsea shoes and my favourites - a black pair of Chelsea boots I got a cobbler to put 2 inch heels on, thus creating that first flush of teenage smugness at having something everyone at school wanted but couldn't buy and could only attain by blatantly copying my idea. Then there was the biker boot phase, the only ones of the above I still have, and still can't bring myself to wear (too many connotations) or part with. But all of those shoes: practical, authentic, timeless in some ways.

I don't mind the '90s revival at all, as I've mentioned here before. Good memories. But the late '80s - early '90s were my very early teens and a dark place that was. Not your usual half arsed teenage angst. So it may have taken two decades to look at my boot of choice back then as...just boots.

I said I'd never buy them again, but 20 years later I find myself buying a pair of Dr Martens. Don't misunderstand: I groaned when Daisy Lowe started fronting the ad campaign a couple of years ago and Aggy was wearing them with ballgowns. It was kind of like, oh that. Kids today huh? Not going there again. As this summer waned I felt unmoved by any fashion-y shoes and had my eye on a pair of RM Williams dealer boots that I thought might be practical, comfy and low key for winter. But then...

At what's left of Borough Market I'm distracted by a girl's feet - just for half a second. They're Doc Martens boots all right, but more subtle: slightly pointed with a flap of fringed leather at the front. An hour later I'm in the DM shop being told they were from spring summer 09 and are no longer available. And no longer a fashion choice in any way, which is perfect. Later that night in a haze I search the internet for stray leftover stock in my size but can only find them in white. I'm not going that far. Eventually I find a pair in black on an extremely dodgy looking site I've never heard of and take the plunge, giving out my credit card details to what may be an internet crime ring praying on unsuspecting sold out shoe addicts.

Now I can see the connections: 1. my sudden interest in Depeche Mode and watching 101 (which was 20 odd years ago) with them all wearing Doc shoes with white socks. Also, the Anton Corbijn promos from 1987 are really inspiring me. 2. My car CD player breaking, leading to me dragging out a box of cassette tapes from the depths. I haven't started listening to The Cure yet, but it's only a matter of time. As long as I don't get it into my head to complete the journey by indulging in any mind bending recreational pastimes, I don't think re-visiting this era in a purely sartorial sense is such a bad thing.

...Except that I actually feel moderately sick after opening the vault, as it were, and writing this. Don't worry, the Docs will be worn with my Baby I'm a Star dress - I'm not planning to disappear head first into the teenage abyss completely.

VERY SHORT FILM REVIEWS...

AN EDUCATION
Schmaltzy, attractive, entertaining, sabotaged.

ANVIL
Awesome*, touching, laugh/cry, gripping.

BRIGHT STAR
Beauty, melancholy, romantic, sad.

CONTROL
Haunting, humour, honest, captivating.

PERSECUTION
Frustrating, detached, abrasive, motiveless.

500 DAYS OF SUMMER
Cute, faux indie, cute.

ONLY...

Only.com asked me a while ago to blog for them about style, ideas and inspirations - which I'm always more than happy to blather on about. The posts that have been published so far are here, here and here.

{photos by me}

SCRAPS...

*Eating soda farls with butter and red fruit jam made by French nuns that C & J brought me back from their French roadtrip. It's delicious and makes me feel holy.

*Considering going to the Depeche Mode concert at the O2 next month - on my own. No one I know likes them - or not enough to buy a ticket. But I'm not sure I can live with the knowledge of them playing live in such close proximity while I'm at home 3 or 4 miles away painting my toenails or something. This line of thinking is even stranger considering I don't like crowds and therefore haven't been to an arena size gig since I was 11 - when my friend's dad (who was into Chuck Berry and Elvis) kindly took us to see errr, Bros (how embarrassing) at Wembley Arena. I still remember us up in the nosebleeds, my friend's dad with his fingers lodged in his ears.

*Planning how best to cosy up in the two American Vintage cardigans and mohair jumper I sensibly snagged instead of a weirdly complicated dress at the sample sale yesterday. Buying them mostly "because they'll be perfect for going to the cinema in," which frankly is about as exciting as my social life gets at the moment.

*Pondering how when I was styling I got invited to press days, which I usually couldn't go to and were mainly a pain because if you had a job on and needed samples that day, you couldn't get through to anyone because of the bloody press day. I've been getting invited to press days because of this blog for a while, and I've made a concerted effort to go to some this past week (hi Chanel!), though it sometimes feels weird. I've gone full circle - the insider that became an outsider.

*Congratulating myself for not buying the Ann Demeulemeester boots I'm obsessed with, which were either way too small or way too big (and saving myself the £560 I don't have anyway in the process.)

*Desperately needing a new camera! No pics from me but here are some by Marcio Simnch {via Feaverish} and more to see there.

MY HAIR AGAIN...

There's something funny about hairdressers - they're always having turf wars and slanging matches. This is why I feel I must name no names. You never know when someone might come at you in a dark alley with a pair of scissors or wallop you with a heated straightening iron. If you try to find a hairdresser by looking at reviews online, half of them are written by employees pretending to be customers saying how wonderful their own salon is and the other half by their rivals trying to slag them off and promote their own salon. That must be what they're doing while your colour's developing. Why is there so much spite and vitriol in the hairdressing world I wonder. Ever had a favourite hairdresser leave the salon and tried asking for their contact details? Best not to risk it.

I really do not enjoy going to the hairdressers but I'm strangely compelled to spend an inordinate amount of time discussing my hair. I've done the rounds of London salons and recently defected from a painfully trendy East London salon I'd been going to for a few years. It was always relaxing, no one ever asked me if I was going on holiday or anything banal like that. They'd make you a cocktail, had good music and magazines but my hair became alarmingly layered even when I could hear myself each time pleading for no more layers. They even told me my hair would look horrible without extensive layering. That was when I dumped them and plumped for the swishest salon in Mayfair. I imagined discreetly eyeballing some A list celebs with their foils in, perhaps a supermodel or two. I imagined luxury, a slight feeling of intimidation. I did not imagine footballers wives with horrifically plumped up features trotting around in gold platform clogs. I did become curious about the woman sitting next to me with the YSL Muse bag, the Chanel shoes, the jewellery that would bankrupt a small nation. This was more like it, she looked kind of European...."Naah, I wannit more baaackkcombed dunnn I? Like BIG awwiiighhh?" was what emerged from her well maintained mouth. There was an elderly woman who looked like Iris Apfel having her hair coiffed into an enormous bouffant, a manicurist and pedicurist worked on her simultaneously. She was more Mayfair - in my memory there's a Pekingese dog on her lap, but I might be imagining it in retrospect.

The whole affair was quite confusing - there were many people to tip - different people who took you into a room to take off your coat, another put on your robe, took you to your seat, washed your hair, took you to your seat, got you a drink etc etc etc. But the hairdresser removed all the horrid sharp lines of the layers and I finally emerged with a fantastic haircut - I'll overlook the fact that they placed A HEATED ROLLER in my hair (for volume!) which was the first and last time that's ever going to happen. Four and a half months later I need a trim. I had been trying to save money which is how I ended up with the home hair dye disaster, the dregs of which I'm sure they'll be able to sort out. So really the expensive Mayfair hairdresser works out cheaper than my local hairdresser and half the price of the East London place where I'd need a trim every six weeks. And the human scenery is much more luridly compelling than a bunch of pasty faced hipsters lolling about. This time I will be prepared for the baffling array of tippable services and I won't bother to dress nicely. I won't even need to moderate the bits of my accent that go all Sarf London on occasion. Perfect.

FEATHERS & FRINGE...

Someone commented that my camera being half broken would aid in capturing the 1920s vibe of the party, um ball actually, I went to last weekend. Not sure about that as these are my only usable pictures. You get the idea anyway. The event was organized by two of my cousins to raise money for their non profit company, Paper Vine, which works with a co-operative of women in Uganda. You can read all about the work they do here.

NO WORDS...

...and I don't mean that in the Rachel Zoe sense of the phrase, I'm just not feeling very wordy at the moment, hence the patchwork quilt effect of my recent posts. (I'm very aware of the amount of use my "lists" label has been getting lately.) But I have been listening to loads more music - inopportune timing because my car CD player has just chosen to die. I've also been tearing out masses of visuals in the old school way - I'd show you more but my scanner has also broken (Mercury? Are you retrograde?) and my camera's not holding up too well either.

I'm going to a 1920s themed EVENT tomorrow, and I'm very excited about wearing this dress. I will try to document the evening with my crappy half dead camera as best I can.

{photos - 1: me, 2: torn out bits from Vogue Paris various and Russh various, 3: me.

80s TUESDAY...

Everything counts in large amounts.

{Dave had tamed his dance moves by the time of this concert, which is a shame.}

THIS WEEK'S WANDERING...

* Regretsy. Sometimes, when I'm doing something serious, one of these "brainchildren" will pop into my head and I'll start snickering uncontrollably. {via Decorno}

* This {via ii-ne-kore via If Jane} and this have convinced me to start a Japan by any means necessary fund.

* Niotillfem - around this time of year I start craving happy colour and hygge again. (edit: I just remembered she's Swedish, not Danish but nevermind.)

* Liselotte Watkins {via July Stars} and Miel et Cannelle {via I can't remember} - more happy rummaging around in creative minds.

*And I keep meaning to do a post about Anvil but I can't seem to do it justice. I wouldn't watch it for ages, not being entirely convinced by the sound of a documentary about a not very successful Canadian heavy metal band. Finally I grouchily submitted and...You have to watch it.
I hope they win an Oscar for the film. Aaaannnnnvvvviiiiiiilllllll!
(I also want this T shirt.)

SCRAPS...

*My darling love The Rivoli Ballroom was used for the Belle de Nuit ed in the current Lula magazine. Suggestions of ghostly dancing figures surround the model in some shots - yep, that's exactly like being at The Rivoli. I'm spooked out just thinking about it.

*

*I don't go for the strictly edited flickr stream approach. I go for the other, record of everything approach. I think there's value in that, but I've been wanting to spring clean my flickr so badly. With edging up to 1000 photos, wading through it is almost impossible. For now, I've created a set of just 111 photos I like for whatever reason and the rest - well, I don't know. I might start another flickr account at some point and just put 5 photos with some kind of artistic merit in it.

{pics from Lula: Sandra Freij
Cake photo: I photographed it, I ate it.}

DEMOCRACY...

How unfair of me to have named a blog mostly about clothes, after a cat who can't even wear them. Granted, her natural markings blow any Alexander McQueen digital print out of the water, but still. As much as Lola would love to dress up, the options for cat attire have, until now been limited to gimmickry. Not really her style. Until now...

At first, I misread the article and thought it said you could contact United Bamboo to buy a cat outfit. Unfortunately it's only to buy a calendar featuring cats in outfits. Probably better for my poor, already claw lacerated arms not to give it a try. (And don't tell me to try and pull a sample - Lola is, ahem, not sample size.)

{via Refinery 29}

RED, WHITE AND BLUE...

I need a blue bathrobe.

*?...

*I ordered the Book of Disquiet. I can't remember how I found out about it, but it looks rather amazing. I've been ploughing through a spate of books I haven't got on with so I'm hoping this will break me out my reading rut. Has anyone read it?

*Also, has anyone read The Dogs and the Wolves by Irene Nemirovsky? My first reading of Suite Francaise will always remain a transporting moment, but when I read some of her other books I was disappointed. I think some of her earlier work was reissued to capitalize on the success of Suite Francaise, but the novels I read were written years before SF and I found them uneven. Obviously the urgency of the real life events that makes Suite Francaise resonate so strongly plays a role in its iconic status, but could The Dogs and the Wolves be in the same league?

*Ah, these are the perfect boots but, they're from Topshop. And Topshop heels, especially Topshop platform heels, do not unbroken bones and good balance make. Do I risk it just for those rare taxi to seated moments?

*Lanvin was beautiful, and I understand wanting to use modern fabrics but...polyester? Is that modern? A petroleum derived fabric seems a little old world order to me; unless you're an Arab princess. If I had £2000 to drop on a dress, it would be a Lanvin dress, but not one that doesn't allow my skin to breathe and may catch fire. Alber is a thoughtful, intelligent chap so I can't imagine the use of polyester is just there to make a statement. Or is there really no new fabric technology that's more environmentally friendly/breathable? That to me, would be modern. (Though Alber, if you're reading, I would never say no to Lanvin. Or to tea and scones with you to discuss the non rhetorical polyester question.)

*edit - p.s. Remember when I was in Paris and was freaking out about the cool mini adult children in their perfect clothes, but wasn't quite sure how to approach the "may I, a complete stranger, photograph your toddler" question? Maya has bravely collected some evidence.
Believe it. (They don't just look like that because they're fashion maven spawn and it's fashion week.)

EVERYDAY IS LIKE SUNDAY...

Since discovering Toujours Toi and Family Affairs last year I've been wildly enamoured of the clothes, the styling, the mood and the poetic names and stories given to each piece. So when lovely Nina from Toujours Toi asked if I'd like to write the press release for her Family Affairs autumn/winter collection, I said, OHMYGOD WOOHOO, OF COURSE, ABSOFUCKINGLUTELY, or something in the affirmative to that effect.

To be able to delve into the references and inspirations for the collection was something I enjoyed every second of. I mean, come on, how can you beat re-watching scenes from Annie Hall on youtube and calling it *research*. Weirdly, a week or so before I heard from Nina I had been re-watching the video of Morrissey's Everyday is Like Sunday. When I was a child I would watch it over and over on a VHS tape I'd recorded from the TV. And Everyday is Like Sunday is the name and inspiration for the fall/winter 09 collection. See, it was meant to be.

The bio I wrote is here, and here's a bit of my blurb about the collection:

The name Everyday is Like Sunday comes from the Morrissey song, evoking feelings of melancholy, wandering, ennui, (the lyrics: every day is silent and grey; how I didn’t wish I was not here) but within that, a feeling of contentment. Other inspirations in the mix include listening to favourite records late at home on a Sunday, Annie Hall in the Hamptons, the sad beauty of fall, strolling through Paris in the rain with your best friend really tired but happy...together these references merge to set the feel of the fall / winter 09 collection.


I'm so in love with the collection, especially the stars, I'm obsessed with that star print. Here's a little taster, you can see the rest of the lookbook (and shop) on the site now.

Erm, my favourite ladies Au Revoir Simone also wear the collection = DYING.

THE PLANET OF LOST COMMENTS...

Oh. Apparently some comments aren't getting through. If you've left a comment and it hasn't shown up email me at lolaisbeauty[AT]hotmail[DOT]co[DOT]uk. I don't usually reject comments unless they're spam so if you left one and it's not been moderated, it never got to me.

merci

HAIR RAISING...

I may not have the answer to everything, but I do know this:

*If you buy L'Oreal Casting Creme Gloss semi permanent hair dye in light brown, your hair will be light brown, then over the course of four or five months it will lighten alarmingly until it is gingery blonde. You will have root re-growth and will wonder how this can possibly happen since the dye is supposed to last *up to* 28 washes.

You have clearly not understood the situation as you then purchase L'Oreal Casting Creme Gloss in medium brown to try and get your hair back to its (lovely in hindsight) natural shade. Your hair goes black. With dark brown/grey patches. You phone the L'Oreal helpline and they tell you that the dye is *tone on tone* so even though it says on the pack it lasts *up to* 28 washes it does not actually wash out. As if the words tone on tone explain this.

They advise putting Head & Shoulders (actually they're only allowed to say "a strong shampoo" and you say, "like what, Head & Shoulders?" and they keep saying, yes that one, the one you said, but they will not say Head & Shoulders) on your dry hair for 15 minutes, rinse it out and keep repeating and the colour will start to lift. After an entire bottle of Head & Shoulders you definitely do not have dandruff, but you still have extremely dark brown fried/destroyed hair.

When you go on the internet you discover countless horror stories about L'Oreal Casting Creme Gloss, including those of people whose heads and eyes swelled up like balloons after using it. You are glad you only suffered a headache from the chemicals and hair that looks like a cheap black wig.

You go to a hair colour specialist who advises you not to strip the colour out and ruin your hair even more, then sells you another semi permanent colour which you do not use. You get used to it, only gasping when passing mirrors. You realise you have the same hair as your teenage stoner self.


At least now I can impersonate Rick Owens...

{photo credit unknown}

TEAM TAY...

Can we talk about The Rachel Zoe Project now? Forgive me, I am the only one in my non internet life who watches and is obsessed with it. So apologies to anyone who isn't into it, the following will sound like gobbledygook and you'll just have to catch up. Last season was all about Brad and Rachel. This season the producers seem to have taken a more balanced approach, rather than going for the more obvious "this character is evil" "this character is nice" reality show format. And more than anything, this season I LOVE Taylor. I must first explain that I was a stylist's assistant for a reaalllly looooong time (at least twice as long as T) so I can identify with her there. It's hard to go out on your own, in fact it's probably easier not to assist anyone and just go straight into it. She works really fucking hard, is good at it, keeps the whole thing together, doesn't kiss ass and most importantly has incredible style. Obviously she has access to every amazing piece ever made, hence my lusting over certain pieces of Balenciaga, Lanvin and Chanel in her wardrobe (some of it must be borrowed from the rails, but still.) But it's never overdone, always simple and chic and young. Even a leopard Dior dress. Every time I see her I want to dye my hair platinum blonde, which would um, not be a good idea. Anyway I'm so glad they're showing that there's more to her than being a grumpy bitch.

Left - leopard Dior dress, right - that could be a Boy Band of Outsiders ad. I think the shirt is Steven Alan actually...

Mmm, pink Lanvin flats...

1. Balenciaga skirt, vintage necklace, 2. Balenciaga bag

Chanel jacket, American Apparel deep V -ultimate high/low.

{screencaps: sill/tfs}

ITEMS OF INTEREST...

An online replacement for Domino magazine? By and featuring its ex staffers? Prayers. Answered.

A blog full of the inspirations for Where the Wild Things Are? (Like peering into Spike Jonze's brain.)

I can't decide if this film might veer into schmaltzy Notting Hill territory, or if it's just the cheesy music at the end of the trailer. I'm willing to take the risk that it might be brilliant. (Edit: Hated it!)

LAST NIGHT...

I had a funny realisation last night that Garance and Scott aren't my blog friends I haven't met in real life yet. THEY'RE FAMOUS. Although I'm aware of the rough size of their respective international readerships, with the Internet it's hard to tell - in the space of four years, only one of my friends here in London has even heard of The Sartorialist. All day I heard; "You're going to see the What-ist?" "Gar-who?"

My friend and I first trundled along to Garance's opening in Kingly Street with minutes to spare - it was lovely, the T shirts all there, the illustrations and writing on the walls...Garance looking cute, friendly and approachable, but surrounded, and - I was too shy to approach her! Even though I know a couple of people who know her and I could have been all blahblahblah, I'm so and so, I'm a friend of so and so and thingy etc, I suddenly came over all coy. I'm no good at the blahblahblah. Arrghh, sorry, how rude - I go to your cocktail thing, look around, down a Bellini in three seconds then don't even say hi.

Never mind, off to Scott's book signing. I'm sure she'll be along there soon and I'll have a chat to them both together. It'll probably be quite calm in my second home.

The Liberty Men's Department was filled with a snaking queue of hundreds and hundreds of patient people adjusting their hats and lapels in anticipation. Literally, winding through all the departments like an insane fashion conga. I already had my book with me and we managed to ascertain that they had run . out . of . books, had gone and bought up the entire stock from Selfridges but had then run out again, which was causing the massive hold up. We tried to sort of mooch through to wherever Scott was just to wave, say hi, smile, anything, but no.

Because I already had a copy of the book, if I was prepared to go to the back of the queue (which in the intervening 10 minutes had grown alarmingly and now snaked up the stairs and out of the door) I had a slim chance of getting my book signed before they shut at 9pm, two hours later. I would not like to be in the Liberty Events Manager's shoes tomorrow morning (though I would probably like to borrow them if they're Nicholas Kirkwood). Just as I had decided; Scott, I adore you, but I don't need your signature that badly, Garance passed by me and...I was too shy to say hello.

Outside Liberty, I saw a man leaning against a wall that complemented the tones of his outfit, adjusting his scarf and looking around hopefully. I should have then continued on to the Kitsune/Ponystep party at Shop@Bluebird but somehow the idea of a slice of pizza at Princi and a slug of vino rosso sounded just about perfect.

Cheers to you my loves - Scott I hope your writing hand hasn't cramped up too much and Garance, I promise I'll work harder on my social skills.

REGRETS...

Things I wish I'd done (or not done) this summer:

*Gone swimming in the sea for longer than five minutes.
*Gone swimming in the sea in the south of France.

*Had more than one picnic.

*Had a beach bonfire/bbq.

*Put Duckie's roof down more than twice at all.

*Worn the bikini I bought in March for longer than 5 hours.

*Gone on holiday somewhere in Europe before it was too late / I was too broke.

*Worn shorts.

*Gone on a road trip.

*Made more of the few proper summer days.


Bye summer, I love you, though I hardly knew you.

{photo via Them Thangs}

PRINTS AND RUFFLES AND COLOUR...

Derek Lam
Karen Walker
Rebecca Taylor
Marc Jacobs
Rachel Comey

Apparently some designers are as bored of the whole hard edged bodycon thing as I am. Look, no studs! No black! (OK, I have selectively neglected a lot of collections still proposing just that.) Does this mean that next summer I can be a purty lady and not an ironic '80s power vixen? OK, good!

{source: Style.com}

'80s VIDEO SATURDAY...

I actually really love this song. But what I always love about '80s videos is how quaint and amateurish they seem - full of hope somehow; like hey, let's put Nik Kershaw in a white suit and project images on it - it'll be really slick and futuristic! Bless. I much prefer this attempt to be creative, than how music videos ended up in the early 00s, the cynical age, where every "treatment" was basically boy meets random model girl, can't stop thinking about her (head holding, brooding), sees her in the street where she happens to be wearing a cocktail dress, heels and hair extensions in the daytime and he happens to be driving a sports car even though he's only sixteen (close up of sports car logo) but she doesn't see him, he's looking for her, repeat 3 times in different scenarios (him wearing a blazer and jeans, then a suit and tie with sunglasses, then a casual urban look). Cue him leaning by window mournfully lip synching wearing undone white shirt, then we see her ringing his doorbell/calling him/walking towards him wearing a fur coat, different cocktail dress and heels. They kiss. The end. (Pan to assistant stylist behind monitor attempting to slit wrists with unpicker. )

HELLO INTERNET...

I was without internet connection for two days, which was a shame because I had some really mindblowing and important things to say about nail varnish.

Due to my having to venture into the outside world and socialize during this time, I am feeling a little blurry today. In fact this morning I may have used the words my, mouth, feels and badger's arse in conjunction with each other.

I'm not sure if I'm up to rambling nail varnish related prose, but I'll have a go anyway. I'm certainly not up to doing a photo to go with this post, so I'll do that later. If I'm going to do a photo, then I have to re-do the nail varnish, which to even the most detail oriented person looks perfect, but no, not quite. This is the problem, the thing I was going to talk about. I've become a bit obsessed with a certain nail polish and it's not Chanel Jade, or that You Don't Know Jacques one. Nope, it's Rapid Ruby by Rimmel, which is kind of a 1940s red, if you know what I mean.

And it's cheap as chips, which is lucky as I feel the need to remove and reapply it daily. If there's as much as a hint of a chip, or dent or flake I have to take it all off and start again. No just carefully filling in the damaged bit - I can see it. So I'm off to remove the polish again - at this point my actual nails have turned a sort of acid washed pink colour (even using a clear base coat doesn't help) and my fingers are stained. But I can't stop.

FAIRE DU LINKAGE/RANDOM...

Julia R.R. is so cute in this video!

I believe that the more beautiful images we're exposed to, the better the world is.

I like reading blogs by fashion designers so I can delve into their brains.

Oh - brainchild is my least favourite word - what's yours?

{I found the ancient photo randomly on Flickr - can't remember where but I'm guessing it's royalty free}

YEMCHUK...

...makes beauty I like.

{Yelena Yemchuk}

D.V. IS READY FOR A CHAMPAGNE COCKTAIL NOW...

Oh my goodness, love is in the air! The previous ASK D.V. was all recession, mid life crisis and anxiety. Now look my pretties, it's all crushes on boys, lovers, weddings and tutus. Does this mean things are looking up? As mentioned in the previous post, due to the importance of matters of the heart I have referred not only to D.V. by D.V. (quoted in bold) but also to Diana Vreeland by Eleanor Dwight, which contains some of the bits of her life Diana omitted from her memoirs.

Emily said...
Many years ago a boy and I used to gaze at each other whenever our paths crossed. He gently tried but I was otherwise engaged. Almost ten years have passed since we locked eyes amongst friends on London Bridge, Dec. 31 1999, and ever since I haven't stopped thinking about him: v bad.
He's phenomenally gorgeous and gorgeously shy. I know he is presently unattached. Do I write, do I call?

Dear Emily

I cannot begin with D.V.'s advice without blurting out my own first. Please re-read your question and note: he tried but failed, you gazed at each other each time you met, you haven't stopped thinking about him for 10 years, he's gorgeous, unattached and you have a means of contacting him. (Imagine if you didn't know where he was now.) You have to call/email him and use any old excuse - i.e. I just found your phone number after all these years, have you got so and so's number, I'm writing a book about people's experiences of the Millennium -any old crap, if you feel too shy to make it obvious you lurve him. Then say oh by the way do you fancy catching up sometime?

As D.V. would say, "Nothing like a good push!"

Here's D.V. on her first meeting with Reed, her husband: He was the most beautiful man I've ever seen, very quiet, very elegant. I loved all that. I thought it was so beautiful to just watch him." I met him on the Fourth of July at a weekend party in Saratoga, in 1924. I believe in love at first sight because that's what it was. I knew the moment our eyes met that we would marry.

p.s. D.V. insists on knowing the outcome.

Life with Sofia, Gus and Jim said...
HELP...I'm getting married in five weeks...what can I do to look my best?

Well, first of all congratulations! D.V. says of her wedding dress: The bride of this period was the most vulgar bouffant creature, but my dress had a very strict line and a very high neckline, very moyen age. There was lace strapped around my head and face, and the train was all diamante and encrusted with pearls. I love that D.V. still remembers her dress with fondness, as her wedding was a bit of a disaster (story for another day), but she didn't care. She says, I just wanted to marry Reed Vreeland. Nothing could have spoiled my happiness.

If Jane said...
oh...ok i'll be the angel with a dirty face... ;)) what has she said about lovers...;)))

Flirtations are part of life, part of society - if one didn't have these little flings, where would one be?

Oh, but never lose sight of the fact that D.V. only tells us what she wants us to know, and most of that’s embellished! So she only ever mentions Reed, her true love, though he was thought to have had numerous affairs. There is the story of her travelling to Canada to confront a woman she thought she might lose him to. She apparently made her look in the mirror and said, “Look at you, you are young and beautiful and you have everything ahead of you, but I am getting older and I have only my wonderful husband.” This, of course does not come from The Oracle herself but from the biography Diana Vreeland by Eleanor Dwight. Apparently Reed always sent his lovers gardenias floating in a bowl, so if D.V. went into a room and saw them, she knew.

Gaboushka said...
I'm going on a European backpacking holiday for 12 days next week. Can I take my little tutu from COS and my spotty satin Luella pencil skirt? I'm scared I'll be mocked by other travellers in their A-line's and Quicksilver.

This is how D.V. travelled around Europe: We travelled rather luxuriously in our glorious Bugatti with our marvelous chauffeur and my maid from London. They had an Hermes elk hide lined trunk for the boot of their car. So the idea of a backpack may be lost on her. But I do believe D.V. was all for being different en vacances. A story about her (from Diana Vreeland by Eleanor Dwight) on the beach at Southampton: "At a time when women dressed in bathing suits with skirts, Diana startled everyone at the Beach Club by wearing a beige wool jersey one piece bathing suit and a charcoal grey "playsuit", her hair pulled back in a black snood. She paraded onto the sand from the entrance, swinging her legs at the hip, Reed slightly behind her. Teenage girls would giggle and gawk and go home to practice imitations of her."

Remember you can always ask D.V. by clicking on her photo in the sidebar. I leave you with one of my favourite quotes from herself:

I mean, a new dress doesn't get you anywhere; it's the life you're living in the dress, and the sort of life you lived before, and what you will do in it later.

D.V....

D.V. will be fashionably late in responding to your tellement juicy questions. We had a little glitch with celestial communication yesterday (i.e. a powercut in the 'hood meant D.V.'s humble transcriber was unable to retrieve your questions). Also, owing to the nature of the questions mostly regarding matters of the heart, I have had to bring in/out?! the big guns: not only am I referring to D.V.'s memoirs, but to Eleanor Dwight's tome on D.V. and Diana Vreeland, Bazaar Years by John Esten.

See you this afternoon for tea in the drawing room.