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the first


The first thing that I thought when I saw this collection was: drape. The second, was silk and the third was the shoes, but they kind of tie into the first idea, really. What a collection for Phoebe Philo to showcase just how much of a master she is over proportion. Not everyone is going to like it, but Philo has really modernised that commes des garcons/junya avant garde take on outsized fashion, and rendered it completely wearable for today. I think some of it comes from her just having had a baby. The shapes are forgiving and the fabrics skim. The shoes are flat - strappy, pool sliders, occasionally embellished with some funky bling - and remind me a lot of that first The Row collection, when Mary-Kate and Ashley sent out a barrage of perfectly tailored trousers and frock coats with thick-strapped leather sandals. I don't mind them, and I like the tension between them and the clothes. It's like Philo has captured that moment when a woman gets through the front door, kicks off her heels and slides into some slippers, wandering into the kitchen for a cup of tea still in her evening clothes.

The thing is that not everyone gets Phoebe Philo. Everyone gets Celine, that is, they get the bags and the jewellery and the sunglasses and the shoes. But the clothes? The clothes with those thousand-dollar price tags and their slouchy fit and their outsized gambit? Not so much. They'd rather have a luggage bag and call it a day. But there is SO much more to Celine than accessories. In fact, as much as I love the bags (and I live for the bags), I would give them all up in a heartbeat for a wardrobe of Phoebe Philo Celine clothes. And this collection is no exception. It's so in-tune with exactly how I want to dress when I'm grown up and fabulous, it's so in-tune with that MK&A way of wearing big things on little people and turning it into a business at The Row, and it's always consistently outside of a fashion mold, even when it's setting that mold, that you have to admire it. There are so many things that Philo has done in this collection that show the growth at Celine since the start. This is the collection with the least amount of leather in it and even the least amount of cotton, linen and canvas. The focus is on that beautiful, drapey silk, molten liquid falling across the body in one fluid line. This collection has hardly any runway bags, just a few scrunchy leather clutches - enlarged versions of her famous tri pochette - like some sort of glamourised paper bag. This collection takes what is essentially a winter colour palette and makes it summer, first through those sandals, then through the silk, and lastly through shapes of such ease and breeze that you wouldn't be mad to wear their them poolside at cabo. In fact, the whole crux of Philo's design method is how she takes staid ideas and renders them so modern they are quite shocking. This collection is, actually, very sporty, probably the sportiest she has ever done. It's got mesh vents and side splits and cropped sweaters and sleeveless cuts. But it's sporty like you've never seen before, which of course is the point.

And, unsurprisingly, I love it. I love it because, from a personal point of view, Celine has become one of the few brands - alongside The Row and occasionally Stella McCartney - that actually present clothes that adhere to my own standard of dress. I live for that oversized cut, that slouchy swagger, that silhouette of a girl in a drapey top with her hands shoved in the pockets of her silky track pants. I love it because every one of those lithe, long-limbed models had a face that was scrubbed free of makeup. I know they probably weren't scrubbed free, and that someone backstage was spending hours liberally applying radiance cream, but god Julia Nobis looked tired, which I kind of like. If, as one critic once posed, every Celine girl is actually crafted in the image of Philo herself (think Daria in last season's campaign!), then why not give the girls a centre part and bags under their eyes? And we end up back at the fact that Philo has just given birth... People often muse that the problem with male designers is that they never understand the female form. They either design for a sexual ideal, a motherly ideal, or a friendly ideal. In many ways this is true. I think that a key strength of a female designer, which Philo has proved in her collection, is not only to understand the female form but the female mind. You've just given birth, what would be the ultimate thing to wear? Some silken lounge pants and a drapey sweater. People may not like this collection, they may not even understand it, but I'll put some money down right now that this is going to sell like mad.

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the third



In fashion month I hold my breath for Paris as long as I can. I hold it for the street style, and I hold it for the front rows, which are generally full of people like Clemence Poesy and Marion Cotillard and not, well, d-list italian soap opera stars or rock star progeny and radio djs. And I hold it for the shows. I actually hold it for three shows in particular. The first is Celine, for aspiration and inspiration and sheer sense of unitary purpose. The second is Isabel Marant, for real life, for cote d'azur summers, for endless glasses of rose. And the third is Dries Van Noten.

It's funny, I don't own a single piece of Dries Van Noten. Not the one. I've toyed with a few - namely bits and bobs from what is actually my favourite collection of all time which, not coincidentally, was also my favourite season of all time, f/w 10-11, Phoebe Philo's first foray at Celine and the season of Isabel Marant's first woolly Bator coats with deep pockets - sleeveless trenches and silk skirts and cropped sweatshirts with tie-cinch waists. I've flirted ostentatiously and without success with those dip-dyed jeans and jackets. I've wanted so much but the timing and the bank balance has always been wrong. But, unlike with other brands, where I get the feeling of buy no or regret it later, I never have that with Dries. Because I know that every successive season will be as good as the last, if not infinitely better. I know that those floral silks or digitally printed shirts that I was so enamoured of nearly 3 years ago will return (this season in grunge-tacular Tartan or watercolour splodge trousers). I know that the heavy brocade applique and attention to detail will re-emerge from the ether (this season on sweaters so glorious it is almost rude to call them sweaters, laden down as they are with puffs of silk organza flowers and strips of beading). I know that the shapes that the Dries girl loves; oversized sweatshirts with silk pants, boxy shirts with fitted skirts, dresses that trail at the back and slim-cut blazers that tuck into a-line skirts will never got old and never go away, because Dries uses them every season.

It's one of those funny chicken and egg scenarios, really, when you think about it. Is what Dries does so popular because it is in tune with a fashion model that resonates at the moment, or because Dries does it? I think the answer speaks for itself. In his entire career - all two decades of it and counting - he has been consistent in voice and tone and ideals. I think it's funny that the moment when he was least popular; in the 1990s, the heyday of heroin chic and tartan shirts tied around the waists of every cool girl and guy with greasy hair and ripped jeans, is the exact same moment which dominates this collection. But Dries has taken grunge and not only modernised it - the washed out colours, the masculine shapes paired with the feminine styling (classic court heels and red, baby, red lips!), that ineffable Dries way of mixing print and fabric and technique - but he has also rendered it even more cool than it was the first time around. Not everyone can do that. When designers delve into the past they either come up with costume or creation, it's always either purely referential on one hand or completely alternate on the other. What Dries has done, what he always does, what he excels at and what makes him so incredibly indispensable in this fashion world, is make a collection that was inspired by a moment that it both operates inside and outside of. This is the kind of thing that girls will wear today and in ten years, those screen-printed blazers with stripey tee shirts and ripped jeans and flat sandals as they stroll pass the Quai Malaquais (where Dries' best store resides). But it's also the kind of thing that Sadie Frost or Meg Matthews might have worn, those tartan pants with a holey sweatshirt, maybe, or a band tee shirt with the sleeves hacked off, curled up on a tatty sofa in Primrose Hill, smoking cigarettes through burgundy-stained lips.

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we'll always have paris

 one // two // three


In street style, as in so many, many things, no matter what happens, we'll always have paris.

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secret garden


The door was grey. That was a let down, but you can't always have everything in life. It was grey and standard and the paint was peeling off a little bit in parts. But oh, it had vines that creeped along its side, and a big jacaranda tree that seemed to cross the threshold - roots on one side, an unmade bed of purple flowers on the other. But, really, it's never about the door, is it? The door is only a means to an end. And what an end. "It's a secret garden," I would say to friends who passed the test. The test was normally just them wanting to come over to my house and not being mean. But still, I had protocol. "It isn't," they would protest, and I would grin. I would grasp the heavy metal handle and turn, pushing the door open with my shoulder (it was heavy!). The first thing anyone ever saw was green. So much green. And it was shocking, to have that much space all to yourself amidst the space of the victorian sprawl of paddington. There were other exciting things about it - a mangrovey corner perfect for playing cowboys and indians, a vast sprawling underground network of tunnels that provided endless exploration entertainment as kids, and enough space to play a real game of cricket (anyone who hit the ball over the fence was 6 and out). But everyone saw the green first. Lush and slightly fragrant - in the years I have been there I've seen waves of gardenia and tea roses give way to jasmine and lavender and rosemary (in fact my garden smells like this) - but always green.

Even though we share it with other people I've always thought of it as mine. This is the garden where I first played hide and seek, the garden where I climbed a tree and scraped my knee (and I did tear my dress, actually), the garden where I had countless birthday tea parties with pass the parcel and wore a funny hat. This is the garden where I knelt, dirty shins and all, alongside my mum, planting little whispers of mint and basil and coriander and parsley, which now have taken over our little vegetable corner with their proud green. It's a garden of sunshine study sessions - multi-tasking as tanning - and late afternoon stolen moments with ice tea and a book, of whole days spent lying on towels with your best friend, eating mango weiss bars and painting your nails and laughing so hard you start to hurt. It's also a garden of broken hearts and tears and fights with my parents, but that's old news.

Not everyone gets it. Some people don't like the feeling of grass and the smell of dirt under their feet, some people prefer sand and surf and the impersonal tiles of a pool to an impressionist's dabble of colour and sight and sound. But sometimes you find people who do. They'll bring a picnic over to your house and set up shop with bread and cheese and ham, and you'll take loads of pictures and eat loads of things and talk about loads of things and even though the clouds start moving over and even though the air turns crisp they can't bring themselves to move inside and give it all up and lose the garden. It's that special.

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shopping list



After the tickets and the accommodation and the insurance comes the shopping list. I don't care how many galleries and museums and monuments you throw at me - and I'll take them all, I'll take them all - one of the greatest thrills of overseas travel is the chance to snag something that you can't get at home. Yes, with chain stores opening up in Australia and online stores starting to ship to our shoes this is getting harder. But luckily there are a few little bits and pieces that seem to have slipped through the clutches of globalisation. Such as COS, that beautiful, beautiful high-street store full of minimalist separates and chunky shoes and lace knickers. And specialty French teas, so beloved of my mum, and always guaranteed to put me in the good books when I return, jet-lagged and exhausted and and with a suitcase full of washing. And how could I forget porselli ballet flats. They're hard enough to get your hands on in Europe - either at A.P.C (who they collaborate with) or at their specialty stores, where they sell out regularly within minutes. Forget Repetto. Here are some authentic ballet flats made by a family company based just behind the Scala in Milan, with a softly softly leather sole, tiny little tie threads hanging loose at the top and a long toebox, which I've always thought is more flattering on the foot. These are, hands down, the best ballet flats, comfortable and simple and easy, and I always stock up when I'm overseas.

I remember reading a December issue of Vogue America once, ages and ages ago, where three editors discussed their gifting methods for the holidays. One was going chain store, getting everyone presents on the cheap. Another was going for a recycled theme, scouring vintage scores and antiques markets for the perfect present. But the last - my favourite - bought all her relatives their gifts when she was in Europe at the shows. Some people got small things; little squares of chocolate from Mazet or tiny wardrobe scent blocks from Diptyque. Others got larger, more special things. Personalised stationery from the historic paperie in the Marais, an antique wooden shaving set (purely decorative, of course), tiny little baby booties hand-knitted in Venice. And someone got a pair of Porselli ballet flats - "the original and the best" - because they were young, and lovely, and mad about ballet. The editor who wrote that article was Sally Singer, the then Fashion Features Director at Vogue, and totally brilliant. It was a great piece, because Singer managed - as she always does - to walk that fine line between that breathy, holier-than-thou glamour of Vogue and the breathy, starry-eyed glamour of a true romantic. So you need to have money and position and place if you want to run around Europe buying antique shaving sets and personalised stationery for everyone in your life. But porselli ballet flats... well, you can just be a normal girl on holiday, stumbling into a store on a search for ice cream and trying a pair on and suddenly, swiftly, completely falling in love. Love at first sight.

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normal casual



Brown Isabel Marant coat - I'm so glad I still own you. Nubby grey sweatshirt with the holes in the sleeve - I'm so glad you're so oversized and comfy. New denim jeans from k-mart - I'm so glad you're the perfect shade of blue. Emmanuelle Alt - I'm so glad you're keep doing your casual thing at the shows, even when everyone else around you is, quite frankly, losing their shit.

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cinematic style - Elle Fanning in Somewhere








 source various from here


I love this movie. It might actually be my favourite Sofia Coppola film. I know that's a big call - especially with that husky-voiced Scarlett Johansson running around Japan like the ingenue that she was in Lost in Translation - but there is something quite wonderful about its total simplicity and ease. It's sunday, distilled into film form. It's those moments of plain happiness, of hours spent by the pool, and ice cream in bed, and the writing of lists, that make up the every day, but have their own kind of importance. Coppola's movies are always about those moments. But in Somewhere I think she does it best. She has said before that it was the first movie she made after giving birth, and her approach had changed. There are some great stills from the production that show her daughter Romy curled around her as she peers into the viewfinder... It's those moments that Coppola captures. The quiet of companionship and the love between a child and a parent that forgives almost anything. One of the (many) good scenes in this film is where Cleo and her dad drink pretend cups of tea in the pool at the Chateau Marmont. At the end, out of nowhere, Cleo explains the plot of Twilight to her father, and he responds with the typical bewilderment of parents towards teen culture. It's so normal, so real that it's quite astonishing. But an even better scene is when the duo are having room service breakfast in their hotel in Italy and are joined by Johnny's one-night squeeze. The look on Cleo's face is priceless. Equal parts condescension and indignation, it is perfectly offset by her peachy-keen linen shirt.

So I know that Cleo is 13 in this movie, and you should dress your age and not your shoe size (which Coppola herself actually said, oops!), but her wardrobe is so great that I can't leave it out. It's all about the stripes - when isn't it, really? - and I don't know what I love more, those loose tee shirts with the thin, almost pin-stripes, or the lemon yellow and grey breton sweater she dons for a ride on a private jet. There are stripey sundresses and playsuits too, in enough mint greens and navy blues to populate an entire A.P.C store. I guess you have to recognise that this is no ordinary teenager, and this is no ordinary movie. They've got Sofia Coppola helming creative direction and picking out petit bateau singlets for Elle to wear. But in many ways the wardrobe of a young teenager is never just the product of the girl herself. Their mums are still calling the shots, remember? That's why you have hard-wearing materials and sensible shoes and nothing ridiculous. Teenagers, being teenagers, will always put their own spin on things, like funny little necklaces or cat-eye glasses. But the beauty of being young and lovely is not needing clothes to make yourself so. Teen Vogue is not really about the clothes, is it? It's about the lifestyle. Clean skin and bright eyes and perfect hair. Of guitar hero, eggs for breakfast and cheeseburgers for dinner.

And since my wardrobe is all about hard-wearing materials and sensible shoes, I can't help but love it. It's lin's normal casual - rendered haute casual because of Elle Fanning's quite spectacular beauty, and beauty in youth is always spectacular, don't you think? - which is, of course, the best kind of casual. It's also a kind of hotel casual - clothes that are made for that hop, skip and jump from room to rooftop pool. I love hotels. When you think about them, and I mean really think about them, they are fascinating places of transience: stop-overs from here to there, somewhere to rest your head for a little while, but just somewhere. So hotel casual, by extension is always going to be the perfect blend of comfort and style. The exciting, maybe even off-beat mix of stripey dresses and colour-blocked sweaters, or the ease and obviousness of jeans and a tee shirt.

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another 3



I'm seeing more home inspiration than I am fashion inspiration lately. Maybe it's finally time to move out. (or maybe I'm starting to get excited for house sitting next week!) When I have my own place it's going to have: 

one. A dining table with room for 24, perfect for bi-monthly supper clubs and stretching out to write essays.

two. low furniture. Low chairs, low sofas, low tables, low low low.

three. Retro fittings. I have a friend who just bought a drinks cabinet like this for her studio. I've always loved that colour of wood, bronzed and honeyed and content.

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shackles



Probably the biggest fashion revelation to come out of this fashion month (so far! let's not count all our eggs until Phoebe Philo scrambles them, hmmm?) has been these totally awesome ear cuffs created by one of my favourite jewellery designers Caroline Ventura of BRVTVS exclusively for the Jason Wu show. What I love most about Caroline's work is that it manages to fuse both history and modernity in equals parts. Jewellery is an excellent medium for this - one of the oldest and most sacred forms of bodily adornment that we as humans, and particularly we, as women, have, alongside tattoos. Her designs always reflect this historical tension and she always teases that out, whether it be the tongue-in-cheek product names she assigns to her pieces, or the way that her 18 carat gold items always seem to allude, in some way or another, to an ancient roman or greek legacy, albeit in modernist ways, such as the 'friendship' bracelets which spawned the name BRVTVS, or the Cleopatra necklace with its three-piece centre (Cleopatra, Caesar, and Mark Anthony, history's greatest love triangle, no?).

When I met her in New York we chatted about the new developments in jewellery design. At the time we were both enamoured of first knuckle rings and that occupied quite a bit of our gushing. But I have to say that the zeitgeist this moment seems to be leaning more towards ears. I've mused before that the ear cuff appears to be the final frontier for jewellery. There's a hardened, fiery edge to an ear cuff which off-sets any item of clothing or experimentation with makeup, but there's also a sort of cheeky, wink-in-the-eye glimmer to them, the look a child gives you as it tries on its mother's high heels. Ear cuffs are getting steadily more extravagant and more futuristic, but at their core they will always be a nod to the desire in all of us to be the badass who has their upper ear pierced while in the same breath being a reminder of the fact that we are just too chicken. I think that's what I like most about the ear cuff. It's just a tiny, insignificant little thing, but there's a real potent sense of unrealised desire in its golden touch. They're the best kind of edgy, that is, the kind you can take off at the end of the night, right before you go to sleep. I know I seem to go off on jewellery tangents all the time and I agree that sometimes it can seem a bit daunting to try and keep up with the ever growing world of bling trends (dainty jewellery! memory rings! anklets! what will she think of next!) but I can't help it. I've always been fascinated by the little things that can speak for the whole, and in one tiny piece of jewellery you can often see so much. Now, the only thing left to do, Caroline, is find out how, exactly, I can get my hands on a few of these little things!?

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colours


I'm going to have two winters this year, and I think they're going to go down in history as the winters of blue. I can't stop wearing blue, or thinking about blue, or talking about blue, or writing about blue. I have blue bags and blue shoes, blue jeans and blue shirts, blue jackets and blue scarves. This is my blue period. I was a late bloomer when it came to blue. I always liked navy but the kind of denim monogamy that most people have passed me by until about 6 months ago. I'm just glad I never threw out those jeans I bought in high school - they've become the hero piece of my wardrobe, alongside an oversized navy blue sweater and a pale blue bassike tee shirt. What I like about this look book is the combination of all those blues together. I like the marled blue jumper and the royal blue pants, and I loooooove that quilted denim jacket with the fur collar. It would be perfect for a wintery January in Paris next year, wouldn't it?

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it's here!


I-D August 2008, Pierluigi Macor/Anastasia Barbieri

That Organic by John Patrick trench coat that it seems like everyone - well, maybe just me, Talisa and Georgia, but still - have been waiting for has finally landed at My Chameleon. It's perfect in so many ways, but here are a few. It has a beautiful line that drops from the shoulder, it's oversized, and it is that perfect, perfect trench coat shade of milky tea. What could be better? And it is on my summer shopping list, you know (it even made it through the revision!). The perfect trench coat has eluded me for so long - and I still despair that when I did have it, a vinnies find and a steal at $10 I let my trend-driven self CHOP THE SLEEVES OFF to make a sleeveless trench (why WHY did I do that, WHY?). This one is shaping up to be the long-awaited replacement, perfection personified for someone who has just been making do for so long.

In my crime history class we've been learning about the origins of the private detective, and the perils of the modern city. There are a few things that I have always wanted to do, purely for drama or image's sake. The first is to catch a train to Russia up through China and drink vodka martinis in a gilded dining carriage with a plate of caviar. The second has something to do with expensive hotels and fast cars but the third is totally achievable, and soon! It would be to wear a trench coat with the collar upturned at night-time. Sure, Sydney is no downtown New York or windy Chicago, but looking the part is half the battle, really. I used to have this book that charted the history behind 10 of the most iconic pieces of clothing - the LBD, the red lipstick, the high-heeled shoe, the denim jeans - and, of course, the trench coat was one of them. I loved reading that chapter, of mice and men and Audrey Hepburn kissing George Peppard in the rain. I'm a bit hesitant to link to this, but I can't believe that it's been almost 3 years (a long 3 years, so long) since I wrote this post about the trench coat. How things change and how they stay the same!!!! It's funny re-reading things you wrote, especially about items of clothing that you are still interested in seasons later. 18 year old me was all about the glamour, the excitement, the mystery of the trench. I thought I had grown past that, with my sensible shoes and my comfy clothes and my boring, casual style. But then I just re-read the paragraph above and it would seem that I haven't. Maybe that has to do with the trench coat itself? That it's the type of garment that inspires a little bit of imagination? And that only makes me want one more.

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today


I'm wearing: my Amy Kaehne hand-knit cardigan, jeans, sneakers and a washed-blue tee shirt.
I'm reading: From Russia with Love (why not?)
I'm watching: Puberty Blues
I'm thinking: that it's too lovely outside to go to work.

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bits and pieces


Photos doing what photos do best, slipping through the cracks, again.

"These are clothes to live in. These are clothes to really wear". My favourite page from the My Chameleon look book, designed by Talisa and written by me // Onion rings and burgers at Jazz City Diner with my brother // Small, but perfectly formed // An abandoned house that Rachel and I explored // A perfect afternoon

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normal


It's Sunday, and this is Sunday, and this is lovely, and this is so lovely. I like messy hair and toothy grins and denim and sweaters on a Sunday. I like late breakfasts and long walks and no makeup on a Sunday. I like that Sundays come round every week, but they always seem like such a treat. I like normal things. Bread and butter, bars of soap, Sunday mornings.

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now, voyager


I've always said that once you get a travel wallet you know you've made it. To me, a travel wallet - in some luxurious, exotic leather with an art deco clip by Smythson - is one of those definitive luxury items: straddling that fine line between necessary and unnecessary with such style and finesse. I've always, always wanted one, and even almost, almost bought one (the aforementioned Smythson beauty), heavily reduced in Harvey Nichols Hong Kong when I was 17 years old. But I wasn't old enough, or well travelled enough, or sophisticated enough to have a travel wallet back then. I wanted one so bad, and I knew that once I had one, there would be something different. It's the ceremony of pulling it out at the check in counter to withdraw important documents, and the way you look carrying one around tucked under your arm. I think I will be ready soon, and I think that my end of year trip is going to be the trip of the travel wallet. I have to add  another travel necessary/luxury/necessary on the list. The Byredo "necessaire de voyage" (see what I mean?), a little leather travel perfume dispenser - liquid regulations acceptable, of course - to fill with a vial of your favourite Byredo parfum. I'm mulling over a new fragrance purchase at the moment. Several times I've tried to commit, but I'm finding it hard. I want something spicy and warm for winter, since I have Philosykos for summer climes, and I'm steering into Byredo Rose Noir or La Tulipe territory. It's crazy, because the last time I wore a floral fragrance I was 15, shy and green as spring grass. Maybe it's time to go back to where it all began. Because neither of these scents - with their pepper and vetiver and musk - are florals in the traditional sense of the word. They're sophisticated and full bodied and surprisingly endearing. It sounds silly, but they're fragrances that a woman with a travel wallet would wear. Am I that kind of girl? I really, really want to be.

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really all gone




Part 2. A slice of raspberry, coconut and sour cream cake from the Kings Cross Saturday Markets.

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