what are you doing new year's eve?

But in case I stand one little chance
Here comes the jackpot question in advance:
What are you doing New Year's
New Year's Eve? 

Teresa Palmer in Harper's Bazaar Australia April 2010

New Year's Eve in Sydney is pretty spectacular. The harbour bridge - our instantly recognisable icon, our Eiffel Tower - is lit up with millions of dollars of fireworks that each year try to out do each other. The whole harbour becomes this sea of sparkles and colours and smoke, and even though it only lasts 15 minutes, it seems to go for a whole year, reminding us of what has just ended, and what is about to begin. Welcome 2011. I'm excited for 2011, a lot of things are going good in my life right now - I have a lot to be thankful for. And i'm excited to see where the next year will take me. At the end of the month I'm off to Edinburgh, Paris, London and beyond - funds permitting. And from then on, it's 3rd year of university (3rd year! really!!), internships, writing, seeing, living. Last year I made a resolution to try and live a bit more this year. To take more time out to have fun, to pause, to not worry so much, to just enjoy everything. I'm not sure that I totally lived up to that resolution. I still worry, I still get stressed out (a lot), I still have that very Capricorn tendency to overthink things. But, and here's the thing, I did try. So this year, I am going to make a resolution to try to enjoy the simple things. Life doesn't have to be about grand gestures. I want to make sure I appreciate the beauty in simplicity this year. Let's see how I fare.

Thank you to everyone who came to my blog this year - you are the people who have made this year what it was. I hope you have a great new years eve and start to 2011. I hope you had a drink for me. Onwards and upwards!

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thin line

Samantha Harris in Vogue Australia February 2011

Last year when I bought Vogue Australia February there was the hipper than anything Nicole Trunfio on the cover, rocking those twisted, ruched Burberry skirts and a "yeah, what?" facial expression. I was house sitting at time, and I remember sitting back in palatial surrounds - by a pool, actually, if I remember correctly - and soaking up all the new season fashions. I happened to be babysitting, and I went through the magazine with these two 10 year old girls, explaining to them how flat lays worked, and why fashion features front of book was the best part of the whole magazine. I can't get quite as excited about this year's issue with Catherine McNeil on the cover. It smarts of same old, same old, and I'm not going to lie - I'm not a fan of this laid-back hoodie and bikini styling. We may be Australia, but we're not always fresh-from-the-beach thank you very much. In fact, the only image that I can really get excited about is this one. Samantha Harris, aboriginal model and she of the bee-stung lips and incredible beauty, slightly-tousled (and balayaged?) hair, hands thrust in the pockets of a so-simple, so-chic Calvin Klein gown. A shift dress, long and loose and navy blue, with nothing but a couple of darts along the bust and a thin ribbon tie across the middle. Something that you might have made in year 8 dressmaking, perhaps, with cheap calico from Spotlight and a noisy sewing machine. But somehow those wide shoulders, that low-cut sleeve that hits just under the curve of the bust (coincidence? I think not, say what you will about minimalism, but it has sex to burn), those long lengths, those pockets (oh! i love pockets!), seem so modern and so very now. How much more of an impact would this have made as a cover, with nary a coverline in sight except "modern minimalism", nestled amongst the bikini clad Jessica Alba that adorns Harpers Bazaar and the bevvy of celebrities soon to be found on Cosmo and Cleo?

Samantha Harris has had a quiet, long journey to the top of modelling. Sometimes it is easy to forget just how hard she worked to get where she is today - especially when models like Bambi come out of nowhere to score covers and make headlines. Her first cover of Vogue last fashion week was all attention-grabbing in Versace dresses with cut out panels, bright neon yellow lycra and a leg spread pose to rival Sharon Stone. But this one, well, if I was Kirsty Clements, I would have had a little smile at the appropriateness of this as a second cover. The atypical Australian model in a simple, clean, unfussy dress that sings of Australian lifestyle. Catherine McNeil in hoodie, bikini and denim shorts? Clements, you've lost your touch, that's rookie stuff. Harris in Calvin Klein? Now that's an Australian image I'd pay $8.50 for.

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everytime we say goodbye

Vogue US January 2011

Ph: Peter Lindbergh

St: Grace Coddington

 

How beautiful was Daria Werbowy in January's Vogue US? That european brow, that full-skirted loveliness, that longing gaze, (those crazy shoes!). This editorial managed to be cinematic and exciting without resorting to theatrics and celebrity (hello, natalia vodianova and puff daddy (!!) in the feb issue last year). Just good old-fashioned retro clothes, one hell of a storyline, and the world-weary, totally believable figure of David Strathairn playing off against slightly naive, but oh!-so-stunning Daria.

Every goodbye should look like this.

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casual gal

Usually, when magazines do profiles of different girls, I never fall into one of their "types". The "fashion" type ends up being way too conceptual for me, the "girly" one takes my penchant for macarons a step too far, the "bad girl" likes to dance on tables and do all the things I never even dream of, and don't even get me started on their so-called "good" girls. I always wonder, do girls even fall into these carefully elucidated brackets? Well, for once, I don't have to wonder. In this month's Elle UK, that explores the world of workwear, I am firmly and unashamedly, 100 percent represented in a page. 

The "Casual Girl", the last of the work wear types, has me down to a tee. Long skirts, layered tops, simple neutrals, statement jewellery, pared back bags, comfy flats. A girl who, even though she loves fashion doesn't let it rule her life. That couldn't describe me more even if I had written it myself. Easy, simple clothes for easy simple living. Of course, the Elle girl wears hers to work - apparently someone who DOESN'T work in fashion or creative industries (which I am looking at, being writing prone etc), but more of an office chick looking to shake up the tried and tested uniform of suit jackets and power lapels. My 'casual girl' wardrobe is restricted to, well, casual wear only as at work I must wear all black (boring boring boring). I am, however, most definitely casual. At all times. I have been known to wear a sweatshirt to a club. I'm just not one to bother with theatrics. if I love something I'll wear it whenever, regardless of protocol and uniform restrictions. Smart Casual/Dressy means nothing to me. What means something to me is dressing the way you feel. But still, I am so excited to fall into a magazine bracket. Finally, I'm fitting in!

Monday 

Tuesday

 

Wednesday 

Thursday

Friday

 

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this very minute

Country Road Fernanda Boots (25% off today and tomorrow!), Camille's dainty bracelet,  Celine linen and leather bag, Style Me Romy's Stella McCartney Safari Hat, Yasmin Sewell's Christmas Party Christopher Kane, Olivia Palermo does casual chic, Sofia Coppola's inspiration board for the movie Somewhere.

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merry christmas!

Vogue UK December 2007

Sasha Pivovarova et al by Mario Testino

It really cannot be denied. There is something quite inexplicably magical about christmas. The tree, the pudding, the presents, the food, the family gathered together, the sea of wrapping paper, the laughter, the cuddles with little cousins, the carols, tra-la-laing in the distance. I love Christmas, really I do. It's that childish joy of waking up in the morning to find a stocking bulging to the brim with things that have magically come from nowhere. That excitement and happiness and joy will always be associated with Christmas. So much so that, even though it is the day after my birthday, I still get a huge smile on my face just thinking about it. And now's here. It's a classic Australian christmas today - it's boiling hot outside and sitting in our fridge is a huge tray of prawns just waiting for the hoards to descend upon them and we're headed off to my godmother's, whose sapphire blue pool is screaming out for us to dive in. Whether you're about to tuck into seafood and pavlova and all things antipodean, or if you're snuggling up with chestnuts roasting on an open fire (!! do people actually even do that?), I want to send you good tidings of comfort and joy. I hope you got everything you could wish for - and some that you didn't even know you wanted. And I hope you have one of those classic christmas days where you eat too much, you sing too loud, you laugh too hard and you just generally have too much fun.

The merriest of christmases to you all! 

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happy birthday to me!

the cobrasnake

There is something so uplifting about donuts, isn't there? I've never met anyone who has failed to be cheered by those cakey, sugary rounds of goodness. When I was first becoming friends with my best mate Frances, we used to skip out on our boring medieval history lectures to go to donut king and gossip over thickshakes and an array of baked goods. It's my birthday today, and my family have made a tower of krispy kremes. Not chic, classic macarons or hip cupcakes, but trashy, crass, in your face krispy kremes. And it's put a huge smile on my face - despite everything I said yesterday about my birthday being a bit bluesy this year. To tell you the truth, I don't even rate Krispy Kremes that much (give me a classic iced donut anyday), but there is something about that just warm, greasy krispy kreme donut that makes you proud to be alive. Not everyday mind, but sometimes, you need a little bit of pure trash in your life. And that's why you click onto the cobrasnake, and drink beer, and eat donuts and watch soap operas. And if you can't be trashy on your birthday, then when can you? 

Happy birthday me, 20 years young.

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set me down

My favourite scene from Sofia Coppola's Somewhere. Those perfect days when you can still goof off with you dad, and you spend the whole time just mucking around, like nothing else could ever happen. Accompanied by what is still one of my favourite songs, after more than 5 years; The Strokes' I'll Try Anything Once. It was a demo track of what became one of their greats, You'll Only Live Once. And here, in it's fledgling form, you can get that sense of languid, slightly melancholic musing that i always associate with the Strokes. Maybe it's the way that Casablancas drawls out his words when he sings, or that tinny synthesizer that accompanies this tune. And it is perfect, perfect in this scene, rolling along while the camera pans out so slowly it's almost painful to watch. Why? Because in this moment Johnny is making decisions that will change his life. Is this joyful play between father/duaghter something that will stay with him forever? Or is it just another meaningless passing of the time? Who knows. But at the very end of this scene, when Cleo explains the plot of Twilight to Johnny, everything just seems so perfectly formed, I can't believe that it's all fake.

The Strokes - I'll Try Anything Once

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birthday blues

It's my birthday tomorrow. This year, more than others, It's crept up on me because I've been working so hard and hardly thinking about the future, just focussing on every day as it flies past. And suddenly, here we are on the 23rd December, and it's my birthday tomorrow, and I'm going to be 20 and no longer a teenager. I'm a little sad because we're having our family christmas tomorrow, which means that Christmas day is going to be so quiet - no children screaming everywhere, no wrapping paper strewn across floors, no broken toys or too much pudding - and not going to feel like christmas at all. And I'm worried then that my birthday isn't going to feel like my birthday either. All I really want to do is to wake up, and feel older, and listen to silly music, and have someone make a cake for me, and laugh all day long. But, I've found, you rarely end up getting what you really want on your birthday. So since it's going to be distinctly un-birthday tomorrow, I've decided to buck tradition and head out for birthday drinks that night with my nearest and dearest - who cares if it's christmas eve, we can still get a drink, can't we?. And I'll keep watching this video by actress Sophie Lowe to Style Me Romy on their birthday, which is so lovely, and to me, what birthdays are all about.

At least I've got the day off work.

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ps. i know this all sounds very bratty and down-on-myself but i don't know.. this year more than others, it really doesn't  feel like my birthday. but who knows about tomorrow!!

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all the cool kids...

prism blog

Prism Sunglasses. Anna Laub was a journalist and trend-forecaster until she realised that the trendiest thing in fashion were her own glasses. A few months later here we are with Prism, a label that offers five styles (New York, Paris, Rome, Rio and my favourite - London) in a host of different shiny acetates from turtle neck, to matte black, to crystal clear. They have just enough geek chic to be hip, but also enough of a sense of humour to be fun. These are glasses who don't take themselves too seriously, for people who don't, either. I'd love a London in the cream tortoise shell, thanks!

And yes that is Tim Blanks, too good not to post, right? At the launch party there was a photobooth camera set up on someone's obliging laptop, and naturally, Tim Blanks got his pose on in a pair of Prisms and a long glass. Fashion-y types letting (what's left) of their hair down? Now that's something I don't need glasses to appreciate.

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do you remember the first time?

The Face May 2000, "Do You Remember The First Time" shot by Corinne Day, Text by Sofia Coppola 

I remember the first time I saw the Virgin Suicides. My mates and I, we had rented it from this poky little video store in a sleepy suburban shopping village where we had also gotten the candy we would munch and the hot chicken and chips that would be forgotten about. I can't even remember what i was that made us take it off the shelves - our other rentals that day included the abysmal horror film "fear dot com" and never been kissed.. so our mood was, as ever, inscrutable (as teenager's moods often are). What moved me about the film was how beautiful it was, even in sadness. How hypnotic it was. And how, bizarrely, even in all its artifice it seemed so very, very real. 

This weekend I took myself off and saw Sofia Coppola's Somewhere. For lack of friends who would see it with me - and because I quite enjoy going to the movies by myself - I sat there alone in the cinema and revelled in what was essentially (and I don't want to ruin it, so i'll keep details sparse) what I thought was her most mature film. In the Virgin Suicides and Lost in Translation and Marie Antoinette you get the sense that Coppola is in commune with her young leads, they understand each other, they feel each other's need for new shoes and rock records and cigarette smoke. I felt like Somewhere took us one step back. We're not part of the world, but we can watch for a couple of hours or so, and enjoy. I think maybe this comes from the fact it is set in Hollywood, a place so rarefied that no-one really knows what it takes to get in the inner sanctum. But nonetheless, I really enjoyed it. I thought it was once again very real. The dialogue was so steeped in real life - the exchanges between father and daughter were so true, I thought - and some of the moments, like when Johnny follows that beautiful woman in his car all the way to her house, or, in true bachelor style, he cooks a whole box of pasta for himself and it overflows his collander, it was so hard to separate fiction from real life. It frustrated the hell out of me in the way that all good movies frustrate the hell out of me - I wanted to know what happened, I wanted more. And the sountrack was fab.

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cool and casual

via MoveSlightly

What is not to love about the new T by Alexander Wang spring collection? All those midi lengths, rusty neutrals and drapey layers - it's practically an advertisement for my own wardrobe (minus the clunky boots, though). I have loved that terracotta brown, sure to be the biggest hit in fashion since camel, since I saw it in the Nathan Smith collection way back when. And I love what has come to be the T by Alexander Wang staples - the long and lean tee dresses, the baggy hooded sweatshirts, the drape front cardigans, the slouchy sweaters - all in fantastically soft and smooth cottons or wools. I love how it is the perfect fusion of tomboy and girly girl with the longer lengths - not prim but hip - and the "i mean business" rolled up sleeves. It's cool and casual, exactly the type of clothes you want to be mixing it up in on lazy sunday afternoons ambling down to markets to buy fresh daisies and french cheese and sticks of bread. Leave the theatrics and the symbolism to Wang's eponymous line. T is all about being consistently cool and casual.

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vive la reine!

Vogue Paris August 2008

I remember this editorial so well. I searched high and low for the Vogue Paris August 2008 issue for a glimpse of this - Carine Roitfeld's finger to the fur industry, an up yours in defence of fashion and all things fabulous. I'm abivalent about fur, I have to admit, but there was something about this editorial that was invigorating, and exciting and just a little bit cheeky. I loved it, and it still remains one of those editorials that sticks in my mind, to the extent that when I heard that Carine Roitfeld had resigned from Vogue Paris last night, all I could think about was this editorial. Will her successor have the guts to do this kind of thing? Will they have the class? Will they have the glamour? 

I've always said that Vogue Paris is just like any of the other Vogues. They use the same models over and over again (lara, Daria, Raquel, Lily, Eniko, please stand up), a lot of the shoots have the same content, theme or ideas, and every month has that same feel, no matter the theme - that same sizzling eroticism and high-octane glamour. Vogue US has its preppiness, Vogue UK its aristocracy - Paris its sex. Yes, Vogue Paris is just like any of the other Vogues stuck in its own bubble. With one tiny difference.

It might do the same thing over and over again. But it does it bloody well. 

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wants and needs

Jak and Jil

I need one. One with little tortoise shell buttonts and ties around the cuffs. One in that glorious, so frenchy so chic shade of golden beige. One in a material that is stiff without being restricting, warm without being overpowering, the perfect foil for balmy nights and crisp mornings. One that you can tie the belt for at the back so that when you have it open it hangs from your shoulders with perfect definition. One that you don't mind so much about that you can spill a drink on it, or accidentally drop some ash on it, or brush the sleeves against a tree that leaves a mark. It will certainly start out perfect, but it doesn't have to stay that way. I really need a trench - I even wrote it on my hand yesterday. TRENCH.

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fine and dandy

garance dore

Remember me? She of the ManiaMania and chunky YSL ring? She of the adage, too much jewellery is never enough? Well, you might not recognise me now. Because all of a sudden, I'm all about the fine, delicate, simple jewellery. Blame it on BRVTVS, Caroline Ventura's pretty as anything label filled with delicate gold bracelets adorned with one simple bead, who I talked about way back when. Now all I want to do is place a huge online order and tap my fingers against a hard surface until they arrive. Or maybe it's Jordy Askill's fault, whose heart rings and fine necklaces with funny little pendants have been roaming around my mind for a while now. And then there's this picture on Garance Dore. So mesmerised was I by that stunning collection of jewellery - oh that dior oui ring! oh those thin, barely there rings of rose gold! - that I didn't even notice the celine box bag in pink python. Am I sick? Is there something wrong with me? Who knows. But for now, you'll find me trawling through the BRVTVS site, fingers poised over the "check out" button.

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hello summer!

garance dore

I know, I know. It's a little childish of me to gloat. But Garance's latest post was all about how sad she was to head back to the Northern Hemisphere away from Summer. Well, I'm not going anywhere (not till February, anyway), and I'm saying a firm hello to the summer sun. It's been a bit wet, a bit windy, a bit humid and a bit muggy and we haven't had a proper sydney summer until right now. The sun is high, the skies are bright blue, and finally we have dry heat, without a hint of humidity. Nothing but heat, sun, brown skin, salty water, freckles, sand in your toes. Finally! It's about time. The other night I made a Summer playlist - it has 85 songs on it. You could say I might just be a little bit excited for eating seafood and having pool days and drinking mojitos. But anyway, here are just a few of the songs on that list. Everytime I hear them a huge smile crosses my face. Because it's summer - and everything is going to be alright.

Hot Chip - Baby Said


TANLINES - Bejan


Flight Facilities Ft. Giselle - Crave You


Best Coast - When I'm With You

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all i need

Some of these things I already have - the perfect parka, the man-style overcoat, the k.jacques, the strappy ballet flats, the leopard print ones, the bassike tee - but a lot of them are dream items I need to get my hands on. My search for the perfect grey calf length jersey skirt grows increasingly frustrating by the day, as does my desire for those Celine metal-heeled sandals and that classic box bag. If someone would direct me to where I can buy Equipment shirts in Paris, please do, because I will be queuing up when I am there in February. Likewise for Prism glasses and the perfect, oatmeal coloured scarf. I wouldn't mind replacing my classic levis 501s as well - they have a big rip across the back and even though it pains me to say so, I think I'm going to have to bid them a sad, sad farewell. A couple of things I couldn't fit on this polyvore - some more tee shirts, a denim shirt, a breton top, a pencil skirt, some wedge buckle boots that are totally not me but that I totally love, some more crazy jewellery (that celine cuff isn't mine, unfortunately, but oh how i long!), a leopard print coat, a tartan shirt, a sleeveless trench or two, maybe even a black blazer and denim jacket. But for now, what's here will do. The perfect capsule wardrobe. The only problem is, where is it?

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lashings of mascara

into the gloss

I have loved Jen Brill ever since I saw her in itsy-bitsy denim cut offs in i-D magazine way back when, a real australian making it in fashion. And she's half chinese. I thought, if she can do it - be australian and successful and half chinese - then so can I. And she also had the most perfect red-lipstick-ed pout I'd ever seen. Well, you can imagine my excitement this morning when I logged onto Into the Gloss and found that she was featured in my favourite section - Top Shelf, where we are given sneak peaks into the make up cupboards of fashion professionals. I love her neatly organised make up - tons of chanel, of course, I love that she uses an old Diptyque candle as an eyeliner holder (what an idea!), I love that she says that all she really does is use a smidge of foundation as concealer and tons of mascara - something I do. I love that she shares the secrets of her favourite red lippy (MAC Ruby Woo), and I love that she wears Chanel Beige, a perfume that I've been spritzing over myself at work the past couple of weeks. I love that she uses Cetaphil as a cleanser, I love that she has a staple beauty routine - red lips, red nails, tousled hair fresh from a bun - and I love that at night time she adds a little sparkle. She has that kind of make up effortlessness that people spend thousands of dollars trying to get with face creams and illuminating foundation and ten different kinds of eye shadow. Funny, really, that all it takes is some mascara, a red lipstick and a couple of bobby pins.

But what I love most is that Into The Gloss has shared all this with us. A little bit because now I've got a brand new list of tips and products to try out when I have a bit of spare cash in my pocket, but mostly because I do some of these things too (hello cetaphil! hello scrunching up wet hair to give it bounce). I think I love Jen Brill even more now!

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full circle

I still love this. So much. Not because of the clothes - although they are fabulous in that sleek minimalism way. But because I actually do this on a daily basis. Put the first outfit on, take off the top, change the skirt, try the old top on again, put some pants on, take them off, put them on again, try a different shirt, put on a jacket, change the shoes, put the original skirt back on, roll up the hems, try a belt, take off the belt... Until finally when I walk out the door, I'm in the first outfit all over again. I'm sure that there are some girls out there who don't have to worry about their outfits, who don't have to try a million things on, who can just get up and go. But that girl is most definitely not me. THere are some days when I can, and I manage to pull of some effortless get up. But most of the time my outfits are the result of studied, tireless trying on (and off, again). And hey, I just love this video. Because even if it is fantasy, it is a little comforting to think that even girls with a wardrobe full of The Row and Christian Louboutin still have trouble finding something to wear.

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light reading

Early finishes at work call for celebratory magazines. From the sublime to the ridiculous - Vogue Paris' mammoth 90th birthday celebration issue and the January/February light as a feather Harpers Bazaar Australia. One is weighed down with lace masks and androgynous pantsuits and the other with so many gratuitous shots of Sydney beaches that you could mistake it as a tourism Australia ad campaign. Both of them have a bit of youthful vigour - Vogue Paris used Ines de la Fressange's 11 year old daughter in an editorial, Pierre Toussaint's 6 year old son Ollie was a feature in another in HB Aus (and bewitchingly listed "swordfights, Robin Hood, archery and the beach" as his favourite things in the contributors section). I'm sort of on a magazine buying moratorium considering my impending trip overseas and the need to conserve funds. But hey, I finished work early, I've been working straight for the past 5 days, and I needed a little pick me up. Nothing simpler, cheaper and quicker than a hit of Emmanuelle Alt's rock and roll glamour or the high sheen stylings of Jillian Davison and Christine Centenera. 

These are two of my favourite pictures. The first is Celine's birthday message to Vogue Paris. With my own anniversary looming in a matter of 11 days (11 days! wow! that sneaked up on me), I like to think this is a birthday cake that Phoebe Philo has baked especially for me. Why thank you, Phoebe. And the other shot? Well, it's just so ridiculous that it becomes sublime. Maybe because I've actually seen women walking along the main strip of Bronte Beach - or actually, more likely Parsley Bay or Neilson's Park, but who's counting - dressed up in their designer exercise gear, dripping in diamonds, pushing prams and keeping an eye on their long-haired children. This shot is so very Sydney it hurts, and I love it.

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on air

garance dore, jak and jil, saywho

I have a new girl crush. She's not even technically a girl, but actually Alexandra Golovanoff, the television journalist anchor of french tv show La Mode. She embodies that easy french effortless that is so oft-coveted and so rarely carried off. She is elegantly undone at all times, has reportedly never dyed her hair and hardly wears make up. She has that knack for making bizarre pieces work - like hot pink Balmain chubby furs (perhaps these french girls just have balmainia in their bones?).What I love most about Alexandra is she has an earthy, tousled, irrepressibly 'real' quality to her style. I'm going to dub it the Tracey Emin effect. Just like the famous artist, Alexandra can't help but seem wholly present in whatever she wears. Not untouchable like Anna Wintour, surrounded by an eternal glass wall. Not perfectly poised like Barbie Blake Lively. Just real. Her hair is messy - she has flyaways (but oh! what flyaways!), she has bags under her eyes, her clothes have rips, she wears the same things over and over again. It says something about France that a television host would be allowed to represent herself in such a way - irrepressibly earthy, touchable, real. I can only speak for Australia, but the canon here is overwhelmingly of the bohemoth kind - the bigger you are the better you are. Don't associate yourself with reality, even if you are a reality star. Be bigger, be better, be bolder, be braver. To be on TV is to become a personality. I think Alexandra is someone who represents the idea that to be on TV is to have personality.  

She is another one of those golden girls who reminds me of that Yeats poem. "Who could love you for yourself alone and not your yellow hair?" Oh, to have golden locks just like that.. 

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a touch of leopard

viceland, jak and jil, say who

I am a recent convert to leopard print. Barring my 16 year old dalliance with 60s mod when I had a little cropped leopard print jacket and thought I was the Eurasian reincarnation of Edie Sedgwick (those days are much better left unsaid, really), I've never really been one to rhapsodise over leopard print. I have friends who buy everything in that speckled fabric that they see - jackets, shoes, bags, belts, scarfs, hats - you name it, they have it. I've admired it from afar but never thought I could love it myself. It was always a bit too showy, a bit too glamorous, a bit too decadent. Leopard print is always that print that recalls Milan's excess heyday, Versace and Cavalli and Gucci and women in leopard print dresses wearing enough diamonds to sink the Titanic. That just ain't me. 

But when I look at leopard print now, I am more intrigued by the French take on it. They wear a touch of leopard - a little scarf, a chain bag, or a big coat - with an outfit that is otherwise quite plain. They treat leopard print like an accessory. In all black a leopard print coat becomes that statement piece that you add at the last minute to pull everything together. In a casual look of washed out denim and a simple coat a leopard print bag is that crazy thing you bought a million years ago that you wear to cheer yourself up. A touch of leopard is enough to hint at glamour and decadence and excess without going overboard. 

I've convinced myself that I need a leopard print coat in my life - if only because I think that if I had one I could be as effortlessly undone as Alexandra Golovanoff or Valentine Fillol-Cordier. My friend has a great leopard print coat, it's not quite as bright as these ones, it's more subdued. The colours are like murky browns and blacks and it's really dark and I love it. That's my perfect coat. And the search begins...

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