fringe dweller.

Uni outfit: 

Cos top, studded belt from markets, vintage skirt, Kazui gladiators, dries van noten-esque jacket. 

Oh, and how hilarious is this photo:

grow fringe, grow!

HAPPY APRIL FOOLS!

X

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It's dries, dahling.

Of course, my love for Dries will extend far into the future. 

Fabulous Future Me, that is. 

(can you tell that i am desperately procrastinating uni work?)

Monday 

Dries Van Noten blazer, Marni skirt, dinosaur designs bangle, lanvin heels, YSL bag.

Thank God for cone heels. This pair may be embellished dramatically and opulently with pailettes, baubles, and enough semi-precious stones to keep costume jewellery in gin and knickers for a month, but they are marvellously comfortable without sacrificing an inch of glamour (literally or figuratively). Which, of course, was the point. Stripes and circles may not be broach-able territory for anyone else, but it is a hazy monday morning, and the softly graduating stripes in french navy of the Dries blazer are calling to you. You dress in a bit of a daze, knowing full well that the only thing awaiting for you at work is a big feature to write and phone calls to make and an editor to suck up to who only really likes you because you're going out with a famous actor. Well, it all pays the bills, darling. 

And by bills, you mean your store charge at Dries Van Noten. 

Tuesday

Dries van Noten lounge coat, chloe blouse, malene birger skirt, marni bracelet, marc jacobs pumps 

You're running horridiously late for lunch with your fabulous friend, a photographer and model and all around style maverick. Unfortunately for you, marc jacobs didn't design these pastel pumps with running in mind. By the time you make it there, shuffling ineptly along the london streets, you are 20 minutes late. Damn. You hand your coat to the maitre'd at the front of the restaurant and go to move towards your friend, her eyebrows raised in bemused annoyance. However you've noticed the Maitre'd hasn't moved. He's still clutching your coat, a starry expression in his eyes. 

'There are coats, and there are coats.' He manages to choke out. 'And this is of the latter.' 

You smile. 'It's Dries, darling.' 

Wednesday

Vanessa Bruno blazer, miu miu heels, dries van noten dress, marni bangle, marni clutch. 

On your way to a play opening, you push the sleeves of your blazer up in a hurried attempt to take your work look 'into night-time'. Elle Magazine might exhort you to add a little diamond sparkle at your neck or throat, but unfortunately all you've got on you is lip gloss. That'll do. And anyway, you never really believed in day and night dressing in the first place. If you want to wear sky high stilettos and sparkly dresses to work, why don't you? Likewise if your idea of an outfit to party in is a flowing skirt and loose top, then you own it! Feeling empowered you walk up the steps towards the theatre and see the Boy waiting for you, the sleeves of his tuxedo jacket rolled up as well. Great minds think alike. 

Thursday

Dries Van Noten blazer, stella mccartney shoes, marni dress, rayban wayfarers, marni bag. 

you've managed to escape the office for the day, whizzing up to Cambridge to see your mother, and then to interview a young director holed up in his manor house as he contemplates his oscar win. Kill two birds with one stone, and it means you can wear a bright sunny dress without seeming frivolous (your colleagues tend to wear a lot of black. A LOT of black). Your mother is delighted to see you of course, and plies you with brownies and chai tea until you protest innocence, holding your balloon bag in front of you as you escape. You speed along the winding roads over to the quaintly named 'Coddington Hall'. The young director is terribly talented, and as such, terribly difficult to interview. As he mumbles his way through your questions, you notice he's staring absent-mindedly at your jacket. 

'I never really thought checks could go with spots.' He says at last. 'But you make it look quite good.' You blink. 

'Its the Dries, dear.'  

Friday

Marni top, lanvin necklace, dries van noten skirt, givenchy leather jacket, ysl bag, forever 21 gladiators. 

Casual Friday hits you like a ton of bricks, and you can just hear your feet singing with happiness as you stride up the stairs to your office in sandals. Oh the bliss of completely horizontal feet! Thank god for small mercies. You love the way this skirt moves too. It clings to your legs and every curve, the material a bright, sunny, goldy gold that is so opulent and extravagant (without a price tag to match). And besides, long skirts aren't just for night time. You think there is something very elegant about the sound of material sweeping over the floor. To prove it to yourself you stride across the floor of the bathroom, loving the swish swish noise of lurex against tiles. 

'What on earth are you doing?' your boss says, surveying you as if you are an alien of indeterminable danger and your odd behaviour is catching.

You shrug, grinning. 'It's the dries!'

hahahahahahhahah that was fun. but now i really have work to do.

love!

X

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young love, it never seems to last.

Ah young love. heart beating wildly, can't stop thinking about them, palms sweaty at the mere mention of their name, clicking through pages of their photos, drooling slightly at their beauty...

This may be a recent infatuation, but i am determined to make it last through the night. And this lust is for none other than Dries Van Noten, a very recent love, bred mostly from reading and seeing so much beautiful dries clothes on Brigadeiro, one of my favourite blogs out there. 

Maybe it's the slight growing up i've down over the year, landing firmly with my feet resting in a sartorial corner that is news to me. Lots of colour (oranges, turquoise blues, crimson reds, pale lemon yellows, deep purples), exquisite drapery, loose, fluid silhouettes, a sort of languid, nonchalant elegance, and a generally idiosyncratic view of fashion. 

This is a big change for me. Even if you scroll through the archives, i leant distinctly towards vintage, covering myself head to toe in thrift-store finds, hoping to emulate 1930s screen goddesses. While i still love that look, i find that it doesn't sit as well with me as it used to, and i feel dated rather than dashing. So, as these things go, progression ensued, and to cut a long story short, i ended up here. Completely, whole-heartedly, butterflies in the stomach, heart-beating wildly infatuated with dries van noten. 

Just like all young love, i am currently experiencing the honey moon period. Everything that Dries does is fine by me right now, he could even set forth some kind of satin jumpsuit in bright canary yellow and i would love it. I'm not even kidding, i'm being totally sincere. And like young couples freshly in love, i just can't keep my hands off the dries. 

Fortunately for Dries, but unfortunately for my roving hands, the only store in sydney (that i know of) that stocks him is Poepke in William Street. It's not far from my house, but it's out of the way, and thus a deterrent for me going there every day to stroke lovingly that whispy silk of a baggy shirt dress, or the scratchy lurex of a bright gold knitted skirt. *sigh*

So, Dries... i'm settling in for a big long romeo and juliet- style commitment. i'm ready to drop the l-bomb (and some serious cash, once the sales roll round). 

I.

love.

you.

X

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Birds of a feather.

A fashion editorial that is not primarily concerned with the fashion? Who would have thought? Where are the skirts, the pants, the long flowing drapes of a dress, the sharp staccato spike of a high heel? Out of frame, and thus, in terms of these photographs, out of mind.

Lily Bird

Photographer: Greg Kadel

Model: Lily Donaldson

Magazine: Numero 87, October 2007

One: her clothes are exotic and opulent in a very self-entitled way. the kind of girl born with not just a silver spoon but the whole damn cutlery drawer in her mouth, a reincarnation of the old 1930s bright young things swanning around in backless jersey. Smoking gasper after gasper washed down with scotch on the rocks and a dozen oysters. Forbidden nightclubs, a diamond as big as the ritz, champagne dreams, fast cars and tuxedo men. so much grace, so much elegance, so much money. filled with self importance, and loving ever fucking minute of it. 

two: primping and preening, fixing the watcher with an expectant, lazy stare. narcissistic in a very subtle way, flexing their feathers this way and that. A proud showy visage adorning their face as they stalk around their domain, eerily reminiscent of models. Funny that.

Peacocks. 

Both of them. 

Of course, one is a literal peacock, and the other not so literal, but nonetheless contains the same essence: proud not because they have anything of which to be so, but because they were born to it. Stunningly beautiful, always fabulously adorned, the envy of every other person (or peacock, naturally) around them. 

There may not be a beak or wings or feathers (well, there are feathers, but you know what i mean), but Lily Donaldson is more a peacock here than ever i saw one. feast your eyes darlings!

X

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c'est la vie.

Homer's Odyssey, a letter to a friend, piles and piles of uni readers and textbooks, apricot coloured chanel nailpolish, and all my jewellery haphazardly thrown in an antique strawberry dish. that sums up my desk right now. 

And the moet, well... i'd like to think that sums up my life right now, but as these things often go it sums up wishful thinking much better. 

X

more posts to come! happy end of weekend sunday, read: NOOOOO! UNI!

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It's not me, it's you.

Now you see i never thought you'd be/A constant person in my life/

And i don't think you'd be/If you'd stayed with your ex-wife.

Lily Allen, He wasn't there. 

Guy de Maupassant said once 'black words on a white page are the soul laid bare.' Well here's a little something my soul would rather keep hidden in the depths and recesses of guilty pleasure:

Lily Allen fascinates me.

I'm not talking about fashion here, even though her inane ability to get it oh so right (think little chanel dresses in french navy with sky high louboutins and a bevvy of beautiful bags on her elbow) one day and look like a complete fashion victim the other (need i mention her penchant for uggs and track pants OUTSIDE OF THE HOUSE) alone could fill a blog post. No, what i want to talk about is her music.

I'm aware that music, despite being listed as one of my loves in life, and despite being something to which i devote a lot of time and energy whole-heartedly and unabashedly adoring, is not a regular fixture on the blog. Just think of it this way, it's not the most visual of experiences, and given that my posts tend to run on the lengthy side i need pictures to break up the 'black words on a white page' monotony. But i was on a very long, and delayed, train trip back from visiting my friend at her college and listening to my ipod on shuffle when one of Lily's unreleased songs from the new album 'It's Not Me, It's You' began to play. 

I am of the firm belief that Lily Allen is one of the best lyricists of our age. She is unrivalled in pop for deliciously snarky, fiercely ironic and wholly loveable lyrics that evoke all sorts of emotions, ranging from loathing to guilt to adoration. She is up there with Alex Turner and yes, Chris Martin, for being able to write songs that are, completely unexpectedly, layered in a way that each nuance is only revealed by more and more listens. Her brand of pop is deceptively bubble gum sweet, sugary sun-shine bright through clouds melody lines bely the truth of the lyrics, which you only really comprehend after a few listens. LDN is chief example of this on her first album. On this new one, 'He wasn't there', an unreleased track which i'm sure will not stay that way for long, is perfect. 

It is a cool little track that cleverly and successfully juxtaposes the crackly, bee-bop andrews' sisters piano backing against the clear, sweet tones of lily's voice. The scratchy record-player quality of the backing makes for a really interesting combination with the vocals. 

And all this before i even start on the lyrics.

The song is intriguingly vague and unclear about exactly who she's talking about. At first listen i thought it was a lover who Lily laments was never there for her 'his reputation preceded him/he was out on the town', but who she still loves anyway, and after some time their relationship is fine. But after a few listens i am wondering if she's not talking about her father. There is one moment in the song where she says 'Because i know that you love me very much/I'll always be your little girl.' 

See what i mean? You're toe-tapping away to a tune that is upbeat and uplifting and suddenly you cop an earful of the lyrics and suddenly everything is different. Wham. She's done it again. 

And though it may be a little embarassing to admit considering the rest of my music taste veers to painfully hip electro and psychedelic rock, Lily Allen is one of my favourite artists. Aside from her sometimes, quite frankly, embarassing public life, i think she's a really intriguing person, direct and frank to a fault, but still irrepressibly charming and witty. Every interview with her is drastically different to the one that preceded it. Ever photoshoot with her shows a different side to her personality. And the best thing about her is that she's even better live than she is on the album, creating a dialogic relationship with the audience that, at the sydney festival i saw her at, resulted in her bumming cigarettes from an audience member and telling rude jokes in between songs. 

In a way i suppose one of the most endearing things about her is that, just like her music, Lily Allen is a bit of a bright ray of sunshine twinged with a bit of sarcastic realism. She's never sweet to the point of sickliness, bandut her tracks that are heartfelt are never ones that behove you to reach for the kleenex. In fact, you're much more likely to go looking for your shotgun or, in the case of non-american readers, various knives and/or shovels. 

There's no bullshit about her, and for someone who prizes honesty above almost anything else, i find this refreshing and fascinating. The Music industry, like many other areas of the arts, is rife with, excuse my language, complete bullshit. People who feel lying is the most fun a girl can have without taking her clothes off (thanks, panic!) and that it is the best and easiest way to the top. Song after tepid song recycling the same old sentiments from cookie-cutter artists (take mildly good-looking boy/girl, merchandise them up with the latest shoes and/or hair cut and add a slightly saturated video clip), the words from whose mouth you don't even believe anyway. And that's not even to get started about the film/fashion/art industry. 

When Lily writes about a boyfriend who's, ahem, 'not big', or about how to escape from sleazy pick up lines in the delicious 'knock 'em out', you nod your head in agreement because you've been there before, had the same lines used on you - and you know Lily has too. Her first album was littered with songs that offered a slice of life for a 20 year old fresh-faced ingenue in London who had a famous dad, but as yet no infamy of her own. Like the debut album of the Arctic Monkeys it was a study in the poetry that can be found in mundanity, about lads nights out, about buying cigarettes, about night clubs and stolen kisses and being young. 

Lily's (and indeed, the Monkeys') second album is, by necessity, incredibly different. Gone is the relative anonymity. (and doesn't Lily know it, she recently lashed out at photographers for harassing her and defacing her car, successfully procuring and AVO on a group of papparazzi from the Big Photos Inc.) I wouldn't say the first album had a naivety, perhaps a sinful naivety (if that is at all possible). Perhaps it is more possible to say that the youthfulness, the playful exuberance of Alright, Still is no longer in the second album. Lily's matured, and her style has come along with it.

Replacing the upbeat tempos and biting lyrics against ex-boyfriends and frisky club matrons are a slew of thoughtful, incredibly intelligent songs about celebrity, the drug world and in particular cocaine, truthfulness, bigotry and cattiness. she still attacks her favourite victims: crap ex-boyfriends, vicious B-list starlets and fame-whores. But this time her songs are so subtle it's really stunning. 

Lead single 'The Fear' only reveals what it's really about when you listen to the lyrics intently. The soaring electronics of the chorus are exciting, and Lily's voice suitably melancholy, but its the lyrics that grab you around the head and shake you around. 'Now I'm not a saint, but i'm not a sinner/and everything's cool as long as i'm getting thinner.' Sarcasm? Irony? Truth? Is Lily attacking the world of celebrity, fickle as it is, or simply reveling in its excesses, crass as they are. The best thing about the song is that you're never really sure. 

She's fascinating, all right. Still. (har har). Her transformation from gobby london girl with a bite to glamorous london girl with a bite has been a pleasure to watch. Her music is what real pop should be - witty and clever. And Her person is what a real artist should be like - unable to ignore with an irrepressible presence, both on and off the stage.

Tickets to her concert, her album on constant rotation, and an unhealthy obsession with her collection of shoes (not including the uggs, of course)... Secret pleasure? 

Guilty as charged. 

Lily and Kate attend the Chanel RTW Fall 09 shows in Paris.

X

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Magic Makers.

'I met a lady in the meads, 

Full beautiful—a faery’s child, 

Her hair was long, her foot was light,

And her eyes were wild. 

I made a garland for her head, 

And bracelets too, and fragrant zone; 

She look’d at me as she did love, 

And made sweet moan.'

La Belle Dame Sans Merci, John Keats. 

There is something poetic about the clothes that Laura and Kate Mulleavy create for Rodarte. 

Vicious, wild, terrifying poetry it may be, but poetry it is nonetheless. 

They first erupted onto the scene in 2005 in a dark cloud of unbelievably well made dresses (think whisps of chiffon piled on a thousand times over and intricate details that were impossibly delicate) all housed in a cardboard box. Since then the Mulleavy sisters have shown themselves to be an incredible fashion force. More important than their meetings with Anna Wintour, though i am by no means diminishing the importance of such an accolade, they are that most rare of beasts: ready to wear designers whose clothes have the finish and feel, and more importantly, the transformative power, of couture. 

Their special brand of romance seemed whipped up and pulled fully formed from the mythical tales of norse sagas or the ancient greek legends in which good and evil both grappled with magic and where beauty was terror. Where to be in love was to be consumed and where a girl could be both wonderful and horrible all at the same time. Light and airy dresses in the palest of pastel colours tempered by lashings of dark lipstick and some of the most savage shoes ever created. The collaboration with Nicholas Kirkwood won them the appreciation of anyone left in the fashpack yet to be enamoured of them, and the spiky, studded, bondage shoes of the most intense kind wound their way on the feet of any editor and stylist worth their money in fashion weeks to come. 

 But aside from fickle 'trends' and 'it-factor', Rodarte is an incredibly intriguing brand, stemming primarily from the fact that both Kate and Laura had no formal fashion training. Unbelievable, no? especially when you consider the amount of exquisite workmanship that has gone into the clothes, and i really mean exquisite, up close these garments seem, trite as it may be, woven from silk threads by dedicated fairy weavers themselves. Fairies they may not be, but dedicated they are, devoted to the label, and to bringing to life the magical designs they have in their heads, whether it be spiders web knits, harlequin cut tights, dresses that are boned, appliqued, beaded and embellished to within an inch of their life, and yet move as if they were made from essence of cloud. The mind boggles, and squeals, all at the same time .

And i was surprised to find that they had released an advertisement. And not only had they released one, but that it had escaped the notice of the fashion world until quite recently. Most thought that the image showcasing the SS 09 clothes was the first, but fashionista noted that an advertisement with Karen Elson from AW 08 ran in magazines last year, and thus makes it the first... Who knows? 

The more important thing, i think, is why on earth Rodarte released an ad in the first place. I feel the clothes that they make are both beyond commercial justification, and are above it too. Yes, a design house needs to make money, but with the cult celebrity following, magazine showcasing and the fact that Rodarte is, ultimately the brainchild and labour of love of the two sisters, i feel their costs may be covered. And even then, what purpose does the advertisement serve, running in small circulation in selected publications reaching an audience who, lets face it, probably already adore and worship the ground the Mulleavy sisters walk on? The advertisement from being on the cover of Vogue US, or the cover of WWD, or being the most talked about show each runway season, is enough, in my opinion.

Their pieces are expensive. I've seen them in person, and the price tags are Balmain-esque. But, like Balmain in a way, although i think the Mulleavy sisters take it to the next level. I mean, i don't have the kind of budget to afford, even on sale, anything by Rodarte. But in a fantasy world, like the one that the Mulleavy sisters weave into the threads of their garments, i would quite happily drop the money necessary because i am aware of the buckets of effort poured into each item of clothing. And so i don't think, unlike other design houses who rely on dragging in customers with glossy, high maintenance advertisements, Rodarte really needs advertisements. 

The garments themselves are advertisement enough. 

[fashionista]

Although, if they had to use an advertisement, i think this one with Karen Elson is just... unbelievable. To me it's like some kind of good witch  swanning around in her spider's web gossamer gowns, conjuring the red, blood red, paint bubbles around her. Or perhaps it's not fantasy at all, it's a society girl, swathed out wool so fine it resembles hair, dancing in her apartment to gotye in front of her pollock-esque work of art. Karen Elson is regal, and the Rodarte clothes are magical. She looks like La Belle Dame Sans Merci, and though we can't see her eyes, don't you think they would be wild and unruly and yet wholly beautiful, just like a rodarte gown? Don't you think she would thick men's blood with cold while sending them burning with heat all at the same time? Blood red splattered on the wall behind her, red like blood and hearts and love... A match made in heaven, n'est pas? 

Oh what a tangled web they weave.

X

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Speaking of credit crunch…

INTERNET IS BACK AND SO AM I HAHAHA!!!

I hate to exploit the fact that many design houses are suffering horribly at the hands of the economic crisis, but at the same time it would be cruel of me not to buy something that I love just because it has been reduced, right? I mean, it would be wrong . Immoral. Inhumane. 

There’s nothing I love more than a good sale. Like Becky Bloomwood (from the book, not the movie, although isla fisher is a doll) I am a like a moth to the proverbial flame when I see the word sale. Especially the sales of the overseas fashion houses and designers, even if I don’t buy anything I get a little thrill out of seeing a price tag incredibly out of my price range be reduced to just a little bit out of my price range. 

But, at the moment, I can’t complain in that department. Why? Because I have just made two amazing purchases, both of them exquisite quality Australian pieces at bargain prices. Incredibly bargain prices. Like I had to be pinched to believe the price for one of them. I present: 

My Richard Nicoll dress 

And my Mad Cortes top/jacket.

Mmmmm colour. Maybe I was a little crazy when seeing the price tags that were insanely low, or maybe I am evolving a little in my style, but I loved the colours of both of these. The bright orange of the Mad Cortes jacket was what made me love it in the first place when I saw it in Myer in October of last year. But I was saving up for my overseas trip then and didn’t buy it. It was silky and smooth in the way that parachute silk excels at, and when I tried it on it just seemed to drip from my shoulders, the kind of look that back in October I was only beginning to want for myself. But, I let it slip through my fingers then because I knew the greater good (read: a marni bag and stella mccartney coat) would come to me all in time. Imagine my luck when strolling into Harlequin market yesterday for a spot of retail therapy (huge fight with my mum.. gah!) and I find it

on the rack, reduced within an inch of its life, and just begging, really BEGGING for me to buy it. 

It needs love. And who would not oblige? 

The Richard Nicoll dress was another success story. After a whole afternoon of wandering lazily around oxford st in Paddington with my friend we ended up at Lands End store in five ways, made infamous by my post regarding its decidedly sizeist range. I’m not going to say everything is forgiven, it would take a lot more than this delicious blue dress in stripes of cotton and silk to make amends, but at the same time, I was pleasantly surprised to find a dress that fit me, and looked really good, because on the rack it seems kind of shapeless. The kind of dress that needs a body within it to do it justice. 

I can’t be the only one to have succeeded from the tragedy that is this economic crisis. I know for a fact (my new york friend told me so) there were absolutely crazy 80% off sales in some of the department stores that led me to wander bewilderly through the last remnants of the stock in barneys, my eyes blinking strangely at the three figure prices on a column of red jersey from valentino, or the fact that I could have afforded a nina ricci skirt in sumptuous baby blue brocade (did not buy it for the simple fact that it was 4 sizes too small. But has I been a size 4 Australian then of course I would have parted with my money faster than you can say ‘recession’)

It is a horrible thing that sales like these are occurring, especially for the small designers that are being hit so hard. I encourage you all to buy, I know it is what I’m doing, and still support, in however small way you can, the designers that you love. Not because you have some bizarre compulsion to shop, or because want the label, but because you love the piece. Labels are, at the end of the day, just that. But clothing that you love, well, I hate to sound a little crazy, it can change you life.

I would love to hear your success stories! Tell me all! Let it be your guilty pleasure. 

X

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ah the dreaded excuses...

i actually wrote a wonderful post for you all regarding my newest shopping purchases, not the DVN unfortunately brigadeiro, as when i returned to purchase it the skirt had been bought, but two other lovely things, but i don't have any internet! so i'm at uni, posting this very brief apology and excuse for why i haven't posted for a while (i actually have another great post about lily allen too, but that'll have to wait until internet returns at the home).

you can imagine that i am not dealing very well with this temporary lack of connection to, among other things the fashion spot, facebook and blogger. all in good time, and i promise to inundate you with pictures and posts when it returns.

uni is still pretty painful, but i'm sure it will get better! if you, or anyone you know, is attending sydney uni, let me know! i need friends!!!

X

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Dior - An Anglo Saxon Lament, not a French Fashion House

I drew you all in with that title, but no! Fools! You thought you were going to get mindless, all-consuming fashion, instead you're going to get Medieval Anglo Saxon Poetry that is written in old english, although i won't torment you that much and give it to you in the original version. 

'Weland knew exile among serpents, 

The single-minded man pulled through hardship.

He had sorrow and longing as fellow travellers 

On the winter-cold exile; he often discovered woe

After Nidhad placed him under restraint,

Supple bonds of sinew on a worthier man.

That passed over - this can too. 

To Beadohild the death of her brothers

Was not as sorrowful as her own situation - 

She had clearly realised

That she was pregnant. She could never

Confidently contemplate what should come out of that.

That passed over - this can too.

Many of us have heard about Mathilde:

Great embraces became an abyss,

So that the painful love deprived them of sleep.

That passed over - this can too. 

The sorrowful anxious man sits, cut off from happiness,

Darkening in the mind, it seems to him

His share of hardship is endless.

He can consider then that throughout this world

The wise Lord often brings about change,

On many a man he bestows favour,

A particular prosperity on some share of woe.

I will say this about myself,

That for a time I was poet of the Heodenings

Dear to my Lord; Dior was my name.

For many years I had a good post,

A loyal Lord - until now: Heorrenda,

The man skilful in song, has got the revenues

That the protector of men earlier gave me.

That passed over - this can too.' 

What do i love about this poem? 

Well, the nerd in me first of all loves all the allusions to other epics of the middle ages. Weland in the first stanza is the speaker/author (?) of a piece of norse mythological epic poem regarding a trio of swan maidens and their princely lovers, as well as the subsequent ill fate that befalls them when an angry father and curse is thrown in. Beowulf, another slightly more famous (ever since Angelina Jolie graced the mother with her presence) epic is also mentioned, as are many more. 

An interesting aside about the epic is that it is a genre that exists as an idealised, absolute past, untouchable and unchangeable, and yet also wholly better and more incredible than our own time. It is deeply rooted in tradition, and exists as a sort of tangible expression of cultural, and often mythical, tradition. Think the epic poems of Homer (the Illiad and the Odyssey) as well as the various Roman poets who followed him, Virgil. The Epic Poem is often very hard to conquer, but so charming in its complete belief in its own perfection. I do love reading about Odysseus' adventures described in the same way every time: Cunning Odysseus, Sincere Telemachus, even inanimate objects have epithets: 'rosy-fingered dawn'.  

But the other thing i love even more about this is the sense of poetic melancholy twinged with hope that ends each stanza. 'That passed over - this can too.' Especially the last one, which follows a stanza about the poet himself, who once was the poet in residence of the Heodenings court in East Anglia but was ousted by another poet, and now has no job. 

Poetry is notorious for drawing on the individual's sorrows as artistic fuel. But the majority of this comes from heartbreak and romantic tragedy. There are few poems for whom the main source of despair is the loss of a job. Perhaps a fitting sentiment given our times, then? 

Credit crunch? Well, they had one in the great Depression.

That passed over - this can too. 

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Paris is burning (but the food isn't)

just as the title sounds, the food porn in Paris is unlike anywhere i've ever been. 

mmmmmmmmmmmmm

This particular meal was the brunch that we had at Alcazar, Terence Conran's Restaurant and Jazz Club in the 6th Arondissement, left bank, almost directly opposite the Louvre. And, to contextualise it for Brigadeiro, very close to a Dries Van Noten store. There really is no words to describe this meal. It was worth every cent, and not having breakfast when the aroma of freshly baked baguettes wafted through the air vents, to sample the fine cuisine. And you get so much! They really do fill you up, it's just divine! 

Without wanting to give a restaurant review, it was bright and airy and very light, exactly what you want mid-morning in between dashing to museums because it was 'free sunday'. The service was prompt and really helpful, as well as laughing politely at our terrible french pronunciation, and the food was out of this world. Here's the menu to whet your appetites, and the contact details. If you are looking for a good brunch (they also have dinner and cocktails there with jazz shows that i've heard is simply stunning) then i really recommend it, and for the price it is excellent value, really. And, if you are travelling with kids, the menu is a steal for the kids, half the price with almost the same amount of food. 

BRUNCH : (bolded is what i had, italicized is what my friend and her parents had) 

-Fresh orange juice
-Raspberries muffins
-French baguette, butter, jams
-Coffee or Chocolate
Or Tea Earl Grey (black tea flavoured with bergamot)
Darjeeling (green tea of Darjeeling)
Ceylan (black tea of Ceylon)
Lapsang Souchong (slightly smoked black tea)
Marco Polo (fruity black tea)

*
Scrambled eggs with smoked Salmon (for those sydney siders: apparently not as good as bills though)
Or
Fillets of bass with lime, young vegetables
Or
Pollack, cockles juice
Or
Shredded ray, ravigote sauce (served warm)
Or
Free-range chicken asparagus,mushroom cream sauce
Or
Duck breast fillet, spicy sauce
Or
Grilled king prawns, mixed leaves

*

Chocolate fondant, vanilla ice cream
Or
Raspberry and liquorice vacherin
Or
Pear charlotte, chocolate and grapefruit
Or
Creme brûlée with raspberry (this was HEAVENLY).

ALCAZAR - 62, rue Mazarine - 75006 Paris - 01.53.10.19.99

Bon Appetit!

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out with a BANG!

So the news is in, and apparently Olivier Theyskens has been fired, or ousted, or has elected to leave the house of Nina Ricci. the Gossip mills of the fashion world are spinning with the news that my man Olivier was not making commercial enough collections that were not selling well, and that in times like these making money is more important than beautiful clothes. And then he releases an autumn/winter 09 fashion show that BLEW everyone's minds. and not in a good way. 

Let's just get some pictures first, i think, because image is everything, is it not? 

[catwalking]

When i woke up this morning and clicked on the Nina Ricci show coverage i was not expecting to see clothes like this. The glitter? the bright 80s neons? the strong shoulders? The diamante embellished jeans (a look i chose not to include in the pictures above)? And, well, those stripper heels?!!! From someone who has loved and adored Olivier since before the Rochas days, and someone who has literally matured along with his romantic and truly beautiful gowns, it was nothing short of a shock.

Then what... after the initial knee jerk reaction, what were my thoughts: 

God, i love fashion.

This was completely unexpected. Yes? Did we ever think that Olivier, our Olivier, would send down a sequined jumpsuit that was so reminiscent of Balmain, or a dress with his signature short at the front long at the back hem complete with HUGE 80s shoulders you could land an airplane on? The answer, quite frankly is no. Accustomed as i am to his romance tempered with a hint of sinful sexuality (the dark sheers of last collection?), i was thrown by this collection, but in a good way. In fact, the darkness and nocturnal (his word, not mine) mood seemed like romance at night, the kind of Theyskens girl who keeps a gun in a garter hidden just beneath the folds of those gravity-defying swirly skirts. 

Sure, i don't actually think i could wear any of this personally, but then, did i ever think i could wear the Ricci dresses that were edwardian-esque in their sculpted bodices? I liked them because they were so beautiful, and stunningly lovely dresses is one of the reasons i fell in love with fashion, but another of those reasons is because you are never wholly sure of what is going to happen. Each season a designer has the ability to completely change or completely evolve, it is why i love CHristopher Kane so much. And yes, although there are elements of design in this collection that i think are completely horridious (like the orange puffer jacket), there are also some really stunning fashion moments here. The last couple of dresses were magical in a very 80s way. The dress on Lily seemed to morph from brocade flower print into sequins and then into her skin like a chameleon mid change. And the blue skirt on Vlada seemed to shimmer around her legs like cloud vapour, a look that Theyskens arguably has patent on.

It seems most people are up in arms about this show either because it is A) so different to Theyskens' other collections, or B) because it is not designed very well. To the first i would direct them to read the paragraphs above. Change is not always a bad thing, and there may be reasons why this change is necessary right now. For one, he is leaving the house, and therefore wants to leave with a BANG, either a BANG that shoots the creative director in the eye, or a BANG that leaves everyone pleasantly stunned. 

With B) it is a little difficult. I can see where they are coming from, considering that on the most part all of this is new territory for Theyskens. The bright colours, the sequins, the rock chick vibe. It is all a departure, and a grand departure, and he is a new hand at it. So there will be some beginner-esque element to his design in this collection. On the other hand, though, i think there is some  truly fabulous design. In the dark outfits that opened the collection the tailoring on the suits and the military jackets were precise and fine, in a way that Ricci fans have come to expect from their young designer. There was a depth and maturity to the outfits that showed clever allusions to Mugler and Westwood, as well as a development of his signature looks. And Theyskens has always favoured a more defined shoulder, in the jackets of the later look he has merely explored this further in a very sophisticated way, shoulders that both jut out sharply, and also those that are rounded as well. 

If it was a show giving the finger to the Nina Ricci bosses and the executive officers powers that be, well, the better for him in a way. I hope it wasn't just a bitter attack on his former employers, however, and that there is that element of versace-esque crazy fashion here. Because i do see something great, and i don't think i'm reading too much into it. It may not have been great design, or great vision, or hell, great romance. 

But by god, it was great fashion. 

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