I SAY...

Yesterday I had the pleasure of being invited to trundle along to The Chap Olympiad, held in Bedford Square Gardens - in the loveliest of the Bloomsbury squares. This event essentially celebrates Englishness. I will try and explain: Attendees might be wearing a tweed shooting outfit, full morning dress, or vintage lawn whites. They will almost certainly sport a monocle, a moustache, a pipe or all three. And oh so many hats: Homburgs, Panamas, Fedoras, Trilbies, Boaters, Bowlers, Top hats, I lost count.

Since my attendance was somewhat spontaneous I went in chapette mode (my influence was Coco Chanel wearing Boy Capel's clothes, but as we all know, if you have to explain your references, your outfit isn't doing it.) But with a little more preparation time; for the ladies, it's a chance to don your finest vintage tea dress, set your hair and put on matte red lipstick if ever there was one.

The events included: The Martini Knockout Relay (mixing a perfect dry martini without a butler), the Cucumber Sandwich Discus (one spectator was so busy taking a photo she got walloped in the eye by a china plate), my favourite event: Umbrella Jousting (on bicycles), the Pipeathlon and the Three Trousered Limbo. I'll let my photos do the talking... Umbrella jousting.

It was all conducted with a degree of gentlemanly decorum, with the occasional brolly in the spoke (the shields are re-inforced copies of the Daily Telegraph). Until...

Blood was spilled. Refreshments were on hand: jugs of Pimms, G&Ts, that sort of thing. BB, you would have loved it. A few more photos...

The BBC has more (and better) photos here. {photos: © me}

SUMMER HAIR...

Ah, the topknot. Something that looks and feels so right for this summer. If this was Grazia magazine I might even say it's a great way to instantly update your look. I've been wearing my hair in a topknot to sleep ever since it got long enough to somehow wrap itself round my neck while I'm sleeping if left loose. And now it gets knotted up in the daytime as well. So easy too - I've managed with just a single bobby pin today. It's perfect if you have a fringe, which also avoids straying into Edwardian laydee territory. In fact, I feel this topknot business is going to get more teased, looser and wider until it resembles just that.

A couple of my favourite recent topknots: The Darling Clementine girls and of course Caroline - who has the best hair anyway (would this be a good time to admit that I basically hair stalked her and took one of her flickr photos to the hairdressers so they'd cut my fringe right? I felt like a bit of a weirdo.)

{top photo: Clare Shilland, other don't know.}

MATERIAL GIRL...

You'd think I'd be all shopped out; but not having been clothes shopping for so long, then going for it like it was 2005 seems to have sparked my pre-recession fervour.

Now I'm coveting this jewellery. (via Lena Corwin)

I'm not buying it, just posting it here so I can admire it from time to time.

A FEW THINGS...

Vanessa Bruno pale mint blouse, APC Russian dress

Vanessa Bruno off white lace panel linen T shirt, Isabel Marant Etoile thin plaid shirt (nope - not sick of plaid) I used to love coming to Paris and getting one thing from Vanessa Bruno each time. But when it started to become easily available in London (same thing happened with Isabel Marant), well, it became everyone's thing. Then there was the infamous "I make easy clothes for difficult girls" quote which I LOVE. Now I just appreciate the ease of these clothes.

 When I was hitting the Paris sales, I made a conscious effort to stick to casual things I can wear in London. Though I haven't had a real shopping spree like that for a very long time and it felt strange. I also got a few other things in the APC sale and at APC Surplus: This linen jersey dress in charcoal, the sailor top version of this. At Merci, even at sale prices everything was incredibly expensive, although I loved the place. The only thing to do was get the ubiquitous Annick Goutal/Merci candle. The fragrance is Dans Les Foins and its dreamy perfume fills my flat even when it's not lit. (I just read a bio of Annick Goutal and was surprised to learn she had been a concert pianist and model before contracting breast cancer, marrying her childhood sweetheart (if I've got the sequence of events right) and starting her perfume empire fairly late in life.)

 I was also overcome by temporary insanity and bought two really heavy Royal Boch plates at Merci, which I then had to lug all the way home to London. This culminated in a £25 ten minute taxi ride home from London Bridge when I just could.not.go.any.further carrying those and my two holdalls, which kind of cancelled out the sale price. Oh, and I got a sweet little vase and some ceramic letters as gifts at Le Petit Atelier de Paris.

I think I'm unpacked now...

SURPRISINGLY PLEASANT...

French breakfast radishes. Yummy dipped in melted butter and sea salt. (Maybe not for breakfast though.)

Carnations! The flower I've spent my life avoiding on garage forecourts.

{my photos}

TWO THINGS...

Two things the French do particularly well are eyewear and underwear. [O.K., also: floristry, shoes, cooking, interior design, bread products, hairdressing, swimming costumes, yoghurt, wine, bicycling in heels, scarves (obviously), small dogs, cafes, and beauty products.]

Let's just stick with two for a minute. Glasses: When I was looking for my first pair of prescription glasses I kept noticing aviator style ones in pictures online, but not in any opticians in London. The following is a verbatim conversation I had with my best friend and recently fired eyewear advisor:

Me: Hey, I really think that normal glasses with aviator style frames in black or tortoiseshell are going to be the glasses everyone wears next.
BFARFGA: What, you mean those massive pilot sunglasses that cover half your face with clear prescription lenses in? No one would wear that, you'd look totally ridiculous.

Fast forward to Paris and wherever I look anyone who's anyone is wearing clear lensed aviator glasses with black or tortoiseshell frames. The manager of the used book cafe at Merci has grey hair, red lipstick and quite heavy black aviator shaped frames and looks amazing. In fact I see many ordinary/respectable/older people wearing really quite kooky specs and carrying them off with aplomb; no doubt thanks to the well trained eye (Haa!) of their opticians. That night I watch Jaws in French and both Roy Scheider and that other bloke in it are wearing aviator spectacles. If that's not a sign I don't know what is. Even The Schwartz (the ultimate barometer) has clear lensed metal aviators. Sigh.

In lieu of getting another pair of prescription glasses when I've just spent a fortune on a pair I'm ambivalent about - and after working out that proper aviators get stuck on my sticky out cheekbones, I plump for a pair of Persol 0649 sunglasses. And in my search for a photo of them online I randomly find out that apparently Jay Z wears this style, as did Steve McQueen (edit: and Marcello Mastroianni! I had no idea.) The lenses are quite light - the woman in the opticians (in Paris) insisted I take the tortoiseshell ones with light lenses when I wanted the black ones with dark lenses. And she was absolutely right.

Underwear: I have a certain style of bra I prefer, that I usually buy in France (sorry if I just alienated my one male reader). For the past couple of years I've been relying on Comptoir des Cotoniers ones: slightly sheer cotton, thin straps, no underwire, but the construction and seaming makes it possible to wear them if you have, you know, boobs. (In England you can only get scratchy push up things or sporty bra-lets that offer no support.) Princesse Tam Tam does the right style but they've gone a bit over flouncy and off the boil recently. Enter Vanessa Bruno underwear, which I'd never really noticed they even did until it was right under my nose in big boxes marked down by 50%. I got one set in really pale pink/nude (which is actually veering into purely decorative bra-let territory) and one in pale pink/nude mesh with black tulle around the ribcage. Here, now I will show you my underwear:

My pictures don't do them justice, but I think we would both feel a little uncomfortable and perhaps slightly violated by a self portrait of me in them.

THINGS I WISH I'D BOUGHT IN LES SOLDES...

Chloe multistrap wedges - oh they had my size, oh they had all the colours. Oh, even half price they were more than 250 euros. Elegance is refusal, elegance is refusal (keep saying it).

Heimstone Bergerac dress. I am in love with the print. I also tried the Roxane at the store in rue du Cherche Midi but it was such a hot day my brain started to short fuse and I had to get out. I now notice the Bergerac is on sale for even less at Amelie Boutique. Hmm.

Later I'll post a few things I actually did buy.

PARIS DIANA...

I used my Diana camera for the first time in Paris. It was so easy to take out and about because it's so light. I didn't really believe that any of the photos would come out, so I tried not to use it for anything I'd be upset about not getting. I ended up with nine photos (should have been twelve - ahem, lens cap). Strangely the vignetting is much stronger on the scans. But I love the randomness of it, the feeling that the more you do it "wrong" the more interesting your pictures might be. Not that these pictures are very interesting, I'm just happy they came out at all and I'm encouraged to experiment further with the ol' Diana.

GETTING DRESSED...

I've been thinking about how inspired I get by just looking at people in Paris. Not just young people; almost everyone really has it together. It came to me that in Paris 85% of people are interesting to look at,  they appreciate both style and craftsmanship. It makes for an inspiring whole if you're in a place where beauty is attended to and nurtured in everything. It's as if care has been taken to bring out the best of each individual and it's taken very seriously.

In London, this percentage is reversed, with a small core of people - in almost all cases young except for a few older eccentrics, who express themselves through how they look. So let's say there's a hardcore of about 5% who are really doing this and another 10% who are really just making an attempt to look nice. In general, in London it's perfectly acceptable to lurch around looking like a total pile of shite wearing holey cut off track pants with your flab hanging out and your gnarly yellow jagged toenails on display.

The irony isn't lost on me that I go to Paris, get all inspired and buy beautiful clothes (which in itself makes me happy) only to have absolutely no reason to wear them once I'm home. This week I've been trying to make more of an effort - it's so easy here to slip into slobdom because seriously, no one cares. And unfortunately when it comes to dressing up the contemporary English idea of what's attractive in a woman is Jordan, not Lou Doillon (above) anyway.

So at first I found this all rather depressing, as I gazed at my unworn lovelies from the Paris sales, unlikely to be appreciated by anyone but me, back in the country where to be interested in such things is considered silly and superficial. But then yesterday I got up and decided to go swimming so pulled on my swimming costume, gardening shorts, the day before's top and ancient fluoro pink havaina flip flops and set off for the pool. After my swim I thought it would probably be cleaner to shower at home so just rinsed off the chlorine a bit. Then I got a text from a friend about meeting in the park (it's really hot here). On the way I stopped off at a Waitrose in a fairly smart area and got some crayfish sandwiches and strawberries to have for lunch in the park. In addition to my slobby outfit I had crazy half dry, uncombed, still chlorinated hair. No one batted an eyelid. After a pleasant diversion in the park I went home, showered, put on a dress and heels and went out to a film screening where I felt totally overdressed.

But I suppose what I'm saying is that I couldn't have had the above day in Paris. I think they have it right though. Sure, there's a leeeetle bit of pressure, but not as much as in Italy where you get withering looks if you're not perfectly groomed to pop out to buy some bread. In London you have total freedom, it's true, and I know lots of people love that about London. But I think a little bit of pressure might not be a bad thing.

{photos: Lou Doillon by Mark Borthwick for Vanessa Bruno s/s 09}

VOCABULARY TEST...

It was very late on a Wednesday night in Paris.
Elisabeth had taken me along to a gorgeous party and I was walking home feeling a little elegantly wasted. Glad of the walk, but not sure of the area, I tensed up as I saw a couple of dodgy looking geezers approach. Here we go, they're going to ask me the time first, then start hassling me. They closed in and one of them said;

"Vous etes ravissante mademoiselle."

Apparently in some quarters this would be considered disrespectful. Perhaps the people in those quarters have never had someone say, "Oi, oi," (difficult to translate) or "I'davesummathat", or my favourite; "Oi, smile love, might never happen." Why would anyone ever respond to that last one with anything other than an icy glare.

I'm under no illusions; I'm quite sure that the last thing I looked at that moment was ravissante, more to the point I am clearly borderline past the point of being addressed as mademoiselle (perhaps in the dark). If this is the worst I can expect from lecherous blokes on late night boulevards, then I'm fairly impressed with their vocabulary. What, no making that strange call that sounds like you're trying to attract a squirrel, or the delightful "Bella Figa" I know so well from Italy?

In any case, I moved swiftly on, obviously; marveling at the quaintness of the phrase and dreading my return to London.

SERENDIPITY...

*When I realised my trip to Paris coincided with Les Soldes I was very happy. I love the Paris sales - everything is 50 or 40% off straight away and boutiques still function as places where you get service, rather than places where the staff bung all the stock on the shop floor, then run away and leave you to elbow your way through the dregs. It's all quite civilised and I don't know if it's a sign of the recession or not, but they seem more likely to have the thing you want in the size you need - rather than the usual situation where you end up buying something ridiculous in the wrong size just because it's in the sale.

*When I arrived at my friends' building in the 3rd where I usually stay, I was looking around the courtyard for the Gardien to give me the key. Then I couldn't help but notice the parade of beautiful young men exiting the door of the Ann Demeulemeester showroom (which is downstairs) putting their shirts back on. Casting. Mens' fashion week. Of course.

So events took an interesting turn - shopping wise and male model wise (though my days as a mens' fashion week modelizer are long gone - about 13 years long gone.)

Paris was hot, sunny and beautiful as always. It made me feel generally more enthused about life than I have been. My trip was too short and I'm still in shock at having to come back to London so soon, when I was having such a good time.

More later, and probably all this week about the shopping (success at Vanessa Bruno!) and the cute boys (fun!). But for now here's a picture of a cute dog: I don't seem to take the kind of photos I used to in Paris; no more gratuitous close ups of macarons and the like, though you can find plenty of those here...

OUI...

London, I'm leaving you. (For a few days anyway.)

CLEO DE 5 A 7...

I have wanted to see this film forever, and kicked myself for not buying the DVD when I had the chance at an Agnes Varda exhibition in Paris. But thanks to some kind soul we can all watch it.

It was really interesting but kind of boring - and that will be the title for my new book on French New Wave cinema! No, seriously, it was perhaps not a good idea to watch it when I was feeling restless, as it unfolds almost in real time. Visually it's the perfect snapshot of 1960s Paris. Watch it in bed on a rainy afternoon with a slight hangover.

WATCH OUT, IT'S A LUVVIE MOMENT...

I realised last night that the reason for going to see opera or ballet, for me at least, is the peak moment. I'm not so interested in technical accomplishment, the set design is not usually stimulating enough to hold my attention and the costumes shouldn't distract from the performance. I'm not thinking about any of those things. Just trying to lose myself to the point where I'm not distracted by the trombonist in my eye line looking bored when he doesn't have to play, or even aware of each composite part making up the whole. This state is not that easy to achieve but last night, during the all too short Le Spectre de la Rose segment of the Ballets Russes performed by the English National Ballet at Sadlers Wells, I was briefly lost in the moment. From then on, The Dying Swan, (tutu designed by Herr Lagerfeld, the incredible strength needed in the arms to perform it) Faune, (two male dancers and two grand pianos) and the bonkers crazy freakout of The Rite of Spring (which provoked riots at its first performance in 1913 by the original Ballets Russes in Paris) was just a seamless whirl of motion. Ah, to be transported. I sound like such a luvvie: Oh! Diaghilev, Stravinsky, Fokine, Balanchine, Bakst, Anna Pavlova...can't help it, it evokes so much. I wish I had been around to see the real Ballets Russes, or that there existed today a true modern equivalent of the creative collaboration between great artists in different fields, pushing a medium forward as they did.

Making the wings for the Karl Lagerfeld designed tutu at Lemarie.

Here's a video of KL's tutu in action at Chanel HQ in rue Cambon.

Here's a good article about the centenery of Ballets Russes.

Here's the trailer for the Ballets Russes documentary.

Before I float away on a cloud of tulle, here's a quote from the increasingly quotable KL (Alzheimers?):

"I think every designer of the 20th and beginning of the 21st century has a touch of influence from the Ballets Russes. It is not something you can put into words. That would be kind of pretentious and not true. If you are good with words you can make hours about this kind of bullshit."

{image source}

STONED...

Playing nurse to Lola, who alternately face plants in her food, stares at the wall for hours or lies purring with her little head cupped in my hand. She doesn't seem to be aware of the huge bald patch below her collar. Heavy sedation prior to manhandling, an anaesthetic, 3 x-rays, numerous blood tests - and this very expensive (but excellent value!) animal is home with a course of painkillers and a report of no broken bones.

PHOEBE'S BACK...

Thank God.

Phoebe Philo's first collection for Celine. See the rest here. Finally, something for, as Cathy Horyn coined it, the post Helmut Lang generation (i.e. me).

{photos from Style.com}

LETTERS FROM AMERICA...

Hello, hello. I have no excuses for my lack of posts in the last week, none at all. However, I have been getting very friendly with the postman, who either calls me "love" or "mate", and somehow coming from him I don't mind it at all. Maybe because he is delivering all kinds of goodies from the US of A via Internetland.

I was very lucky to actually kind of WIN something for the first time in my life. If you have not been following Erica's Laws of General Economy then may I ask why not? Do you not want a chance to help people with impeccable taste clear their wardrobes of barely worn unwanted Mayle, Isabel Marant, Marc Jacobs etc? Or maybe you want a much nicer way of clearing your gently worn, lovely things than ebay. Go there now (after you've finished reading this post of course) although if you're outside the US check listings to make sure international shipping is ok before commenting. I was very very happy to be picked out of the hat and receive this Steven Alan top, which I've been wearing all the time and kept meaning to take a photo of myself in and then post, but because I hate taking my photo I haven't got round to it yet. Anyway I caught Keira Knightley checking the top out when I walked past her in Marylebone (and yes she did that annoying pouty lip thing as soon as she clocked that I'd seen her. Funny girl - looks perfectly normal and lovely until she realises someone is looking at her, then she goes all snooty/pouty.)

I also caved in and ordered some Saltwater sandals - although the people that make them, rather quaintly don't appear to get the whole concept of "outside of the USA" and I couldn't find anywhere that would ship internationally without me handing over my first born. But I managed to persuade a kind friend in the US (thanks R!) to forward them to me. And do you know what? Every time I wear them in London people come rushing up to ask where they're from. At least five times a day. Friends, family, complete strangers (I would estimate 1% of those people who may or may not be acquaintances are trying to be snidey, but I have been used to that for most of my life and know that those are the self same people who've just bought their first pair of gladiators and will be desperately trying to get their hands on a a pair of Saltwater sandals next year, or maybe the year after.)

I love them so much - even though between those and my Chloe ones, which are basically a poshed up copy of Saltwaters, I don't really need another pair, I think I might put in another order for a few pairs in different colours and get some for friends as well. So if anyone in the UK wants some just comment and I'll add you to the order.

LASTLY, I succumbed as always to Wiksten mania. It had always frustrated me that I had never been able to get my hands on any of Jenny's wares. So when her last shop update happened I was there, clicky finger at the ready. I bypassed the Tova, knowing it would go within a fraction of a second. Somehow through my random clicking I bought a skirt, then realised it was a US size 10. I looked at the size chart and thought it looks like Wiksten comes up quite small, maybe I could wear it more on the hips anyway. The skirt arrived, beautifully packaged, beautifully made and...two sizes too big and very definitely wanting to be worn on the waist! I can take it in, though I also now realise that this is the same skirt that Jenny published the pattern of in Stitch magazine, so I may as well have made it myself in the first place! My only consolation is that I don't think you can get Stitch magazine here and the bamboo fabric and the way it's constructed is lovely. I will try and alter it very, very neatly, so as not to destroy Jenny's handiwork.

{photo: my Saltwaters on the beach - I wore them in the sea and they were fine}

QUOTE OFF...

"Fashion is what one wears oneself. What is unfashionable is what other people wear."

"Be yourself; everyone else is already taken."

Oscar Wilde


"Florals are for middle-aged women with weight problems."

"Chanel is an institution, and you have to treat an institution like a whore – and then you get something out of her."

Karl Lagerfeld

MEMORIES...

I always get a little sentimental in Liberty's fabric department; actually it's possible that I get a little weepy and nostalgic and find myself holding onto shelves stroking fabric while trying to control a whoosh of emotion.

When I was a wee young thing my sweet Granny B would take me to Liberty to choose printed cotton for a dress or a skirt that she would then make me. (I'm having deja vu - I think I may have mentioned this before, must be the toxic fumes from the wet asphalt on the roof outside.) These weren't fancy clothes, they were everyday clothes; there was yarn buying for the cardigans she knitted too - always a solid colour with three same coloured buttons. It was all very specific.

Then we would go and have open faced prawn or smoked salmon sandwiches for high tea at Dickens & Jones (which used to be opposite Liberty).

There's a particular Liberty print that makes my pulse race and my heart jump. It is the strongest sense memory I have, more so than any scent or flavour. I know I had a dress made out of it when I was about five but what I did in that dress that causes me to have this reaction, I couldn't tell you. I can never be sure I've found the exact print in the exact colour either - maybe they don't make that colourway any more, pinks and purples, but if I see something similar I get the reaction.

The other day I went to Liberty to get some Tana Lawn fabric and I was creaking around on the wooden floorboards thinking of all this, how it affected me, how maybe those early visits were what made me love clothes. I was thinking, you did a good thing there Granny, you really did. Then I picked up a Liberty handkerchief and the name of the print was Mary Jane Hart. Mary, my Granny's name, Jane, my mum's name. H(e)art. I stared at it amazed, as if Granny B herself had cosmically guided me to pick up that particular one.

Then the guy cutting my fabric (which I just saw is called Claire something!) was super grumpy and kind of snapped me right out of my nostalgic reverie. Anyway, I love it when Liberty prints are everywhere as they are this summer, makes me feel five again!

edit: Ha! I just looked through some old photos and from birth to about age 6 I have a different Liberty print in every one. I'll try and scan some if I can get the scanner working...

{left: Mary Jane Hart, right: a bit of the Claire-Aude fabric I bought
collage: my first ever Polyvore set - baby steps}