Showing posts with label sunday. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sunday. Show all posts

today is cancelled


I wish. I'm at work in a big sweater and ill-advised birkenstocks (it's pouring down outside, and a little bit inside too, hmmm), and just trying to stay warm. The only upside? My work is inside sydney's best new cafe. Now that definitely helps.

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easy like sunday morning



Yes, I have shamelessly stolen Lin's idea. But when I clicked through to see the collection from her blog and saw the tagline 'easy like sunday morning' I couldn't help but post this, on an easy sunday morning. Easy in the sense that I got up early, made myself a bagel and a cup of tea and ate them while nose-deep in Stephen Fry's biography, dappled light streaming in, promising what I'm sure is going to be a scorcher of a spring day. I do have a lot of work to do, but I know I will get to that later. For now, this sunday is easy. I've always loved that line. It speaks to the poetical simplicity of songwriting, that quality that we call 'lyrical', of course. There are people for whom that kind of artful ease comes so naturally. I remember reading a review of Crazy Heart by Roger Ebert, where he spoke about that line, that great, great line, that bit where Jean walks into Bad's seedy motel room and he says, 'I want to talk about how bad you make this room look.' What a line. What a perfect, perfect country song line, with all of its open-handedness and simple sophistication. I like that. I like things that are obvious, almost self-evident, without being any less elegant. 

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wake up slow


It's the second day of winter. It's raining. And it's a Sunday. So slip into some cashmere, take your shoes off, and wake up slow.

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the weekend



Washed out and sleepy-eyed, with wet-hair and baggy clothes, is how all weekends ought to look if they possibly can. The perfect saturday is one in watercolour.

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sunday morning



Sunday morning is cashmere sweaters and white tee shirts and blue jeans and freshly washed hair that's still a tiny little bit wet.

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sunday snippets

one and two: me, three: rino


I'm relaxing on my first sunday off in ages by doing things that I won't get to do for the next few weeks as I buckle down with final exam preparation and study. I'm taking care of my skin (with rosey Grown cleanser and toner), I'm reading a book that isn't prescribed for my course (Alexander McCall Smith, you wonderful creature, you), I'm painting my nails and burning candles, and I'm finishing off the last of a block of chocolate carried back by a friend from New York, New York. I wish it was always sunday.

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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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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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