love, loss and what i wore - tulle tulle tulle


on the way to the concert - check out my dad's acid wash jeans!

How funny is it that little girls do ballet, and little boys do soccer? I remember my mum trying to buck the trend in this post-modern way by sending my brother to ballet and me to soccer. After two weeks my brother and I swapped gear and made a pact - we would head to each others practices. Mum was thwarted, the first of many times, and the gender balance was restored. Even now I remember my poor brother's face as he was carted off to ballet when all he really wanted to do was kick around a ball. Sure, it worked for Billy Elliot, but if you knew my brother now you would laugh at the thought of him doing pirouettes and arabesques. He is the sportiest of alpha males, captain of teams and leader of groups etc, etc. And I am hardly Keira Knightley circa Bend it like Beckham. 

I was reading a column by Sean Lennon in the sunday paper last week about summer fishing holidays he took with his famous father when he was a child. He mused how childhood memories are so crystallised, so very, very clear for him, unlike some of his friends. He posited that having his father die while he was still young meant that everything that went before was frozen in time forever, he can still taste salt on his lips and feel the wind in his hair as the sailing boat whipped over nasty waves. I have been lucky - I still have my parents, but I feel the same way. I'm not sure why, perhaps it has something to do with the fact my parents took a lot of photos, but childhood is, and has always been, very clear to me. I never have to struggle to remember things. I can still recall details like my party frock - aged 3, a midnight blue velvet number with scratchy lace collar. Or the family holiday we took to France when I was 6 where we travelled from Castle to Castle (or chateau to chateau, natch), imagining ourselves Richard the Lionheart and Eleanor of Aquitaine. I can still remember things like lemon drizzle cake and the smell of my grandparents beach-side house (fish and soy milk) and my uncle's beaten up jeep that he used to pick me up in from school, throwing my backpack into its muck-ridden boot. 

I remember my first ballet tutu with the same child-like persistence, that dogged intensity that is very youthful. I always remember the clothing, always. 

It was perfect - frothy and frivolous and fun, the palest of pinks with a matching leotard and blush tights. It sat on my pudgy waist, grosgrain ribbon encased, and shot out like magic in perfectly formed, perfectly crisp, perfectly perfect layers. They were so stiff, i still remember, that when I pushed them down they sprang back up again. I know, I tried for hours to keep them down. My little feet were encased in worn ballet slippers and my mum had pulled my hair up into a tight bun. My first ballet concert, my first tutu, my first brush of lipstick onto virgin lips. I remember thinking - why is everyone smiling? Why does everyone want to take my picture. I posed for endless hours with my right foot pointed and my arms above my head. 

Anything so perfect is magical when you're a child. Think - frosted cupcakes with lollies on the top: magical. Shiny black shoes with bows: magical. Blooming flowers at the bottom of your garden: magic.  The first time the lights go down at the cinema: Magic. What is this light that holds us fast? 

The funny thing is, I don't remember much of the concert itself. There were blinding lights and lots of applause, but did I actually dance, or did I just skip around the stage and wave at my parents? Perhaps it was nerves. I can't remember. But afterwards there was fairy bread with just the right amount of hundreds and thousands and cups of home made lemonade that stung my tongue. There was all my family and my grandparents and aunts and uncles, too many people, too big, all grinning and saying how marvellous I was. There was an Angelina Ballerina book. There was my little brother, holding my hand. And me in my tutu that bounced around as I walked and made me feel bright and airy as if I could fly.

It was so perfect it couldn't have been anything else other than magical. 

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sexy-serious

It was something Garance Dore said today at the launch of her Winter with Westfield installation - more on that to come, I promise, but suffice to say it was fabulous and wonderful and she was fabulous and wonderful and i couldn't wipe the smile from my face all day!! - about the similarities, and the differences, between the Parisian and the Australian girl. They are both fashion forward, sexy and supremely stylish. But Garance Dore said something else - the Australian girl is relaxed. She smiles. Parisian girls can be very "sexy-serious" but the Australian girl is fresh and lovely and bright as a star. 


I don't know what's going on - what with that post on Australian style, or the return of Aus harper's bazaar, I guess I must be in a very patriotic mood - but I can't get this Australian girl out of my head. Sure, I'd like to think that I'm the girl, but I think some of my friends represent her very well. Sunkissed and golden with legs for days and a smile for hours. I have a friend who lives near Bronte who is just like that - she has beach in her bones. Even in winter I imagine she has sand in her hair and a bikini under long sleeve shirt. 


 So maybe I'm not a denim cut offs and thongs kind of girl, but I think there is something quintessentially Australian about my style - that I'll never get rid of no matter how quick I move to London and no matter how many cafe au laits I sip. So maybe I'm not your typical beach babe lounging around in Byron Bay. But my style is relaxed - sometimes too much so, but it cannot be doubted that there is a casual thread throughout everything I wear. I never take anything too seriously, even if I do occasionally get worried about what to wear (hmm, this morning was a case in point of that). I have messy hair and rips in my skirts and loose threads hanging from hems and a big toothy grin on my face as I go about it.


This certainly isn't groundbreaking - but I like it when people recognise something more about Australia and Australian style than what is on the surface. Sure, you could say that Australia is all about bikinis and billabong, but that's only the tip of the ice berg. That NATURALNESS that is so very, very Australian is more than just bronzed limbs and clear skin. It's more, even, than flyaways, chipped nailpolish and scuffed trainers.  It's about sand dusted toes, steady gazes, and watermelon juice dripping all over your lap. 


the girl from oz
vogue uk august 03
corinne day
gemma ward
















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well played, harpers bazaar


sassisam blog

I have been the first off the block to criticise australian harper's bazaar. light on actual content - their pages seem to have a 4 inch buffer border - and reprinting more than they should, i haven't always been happy with what they front in the past. But the magazine had glimmers of brilliance that signalled a change in the air, a shift, and good things to come. Christine Centenera managed to produce editorial after editorial of beautifully styled australian casual wear. They roped in Michelle Jank for a jewels galore editorial that stunned me. And the April issue's 'fashion fantasy' was fantasy on a whole new level - think the opera house and a cast of thousands. 

This month, without even peeking inside, I can safely say that Australian harper's bazaar has raised the bar.



sassisam blog
1- subscribers
2- news stand

The subscriber's cover for June has up and coming australian models of the moment in black and white with a coloured bazaar that pops. The layout is amazing, and showcases the best of what magazines have to offer - inspiration, imagination, and best of all, simpering, sizzling style. In Ksubi shorts and singlets the girls are nothing short of bloody brilliant. It reminds me of peter lindbergh covers of old, with the supermodels crowded around in black and white, staring soulfully into the camera. These girls may not be linda, naomi or christy, but it's a promising thought... they may not be linda, but they just might be. wait and see.

Well played, harper's bazaar, well played. 

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down under



Fashion's first couple - Garance Dore and Scott Schuman have arrived in Australia, carrying the hopes and dreams of every fashionista with them. I remember when they were here for fashion week last year every fashionista within a 5 mile radius was primping and preening for the chance to get shot by them - certainly a sight to behold. I am going to the Garance Dore launch tomorrow at Westfield, and hopefully get to meet her, I truly love her photos. And I am glad that they are here - it probably cost Westfield an arm and a leg to bring them out, but i think Australian fashion needs to have a little more attention paid to it. If you think about it, some of the great new talents - Josh Goot, Dion Lee, Richard Nicoll - all Australian. And when more and more big industry names travel down, take street style photos (tommy ton, i'm looking at you), report on shows (susie bubble, ahem) and be general style superstars (garance would definitely fill this role), the world should sit up and take notice.

And, besides, I think the light in Australia is particularly beautiful and conducive to taking breath-taking photos. But hey, maybe I'm biased. 

I get a rush of patriotism whenever I see a picture in Sydney, or Melbourne (or anywhere else in Australia, for that matter) on Garance's blog or the Sartorialist. But, more often than not, commentators say things like 'You make Sydney look beautiful', or 'Wow, through your lens melbourne looks good'. I am no patriot, not by any means. I can't wait to move away - but I have travel and restlessness in my bones. When I take a step back and look objectively at Australia I am often moved by its raw, roughly hewn beauty. Beauty in things like bright, blinding sunshine, high cloudless skies, never-ending stretches of green, blue and golden sand, jutting cliff faces, deep fried fish and chips and juicy fruit the colour of rainbows. Nothing is perfectly formed here, but who wants perfection anyway?

Yes, Sydney might look delicious in the photos of Garance and Scott, but it looks delicious anyway. You just need to know where, and how, to look. 


my favourite australia photos from the sart and garance:










1-4: the sartorialist
5-10 - garance dore

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alexa arrival?


tFS


I am clearly some kind of fortune teller. Not in the manner of Sybil Trelawney or anything (sorry, sorry, the harry potter references will abound seeing as i am RE-READING the series in preparation for Deathly Hallows part 1 this November). No, no, in the manner of someone who actually feel the future. I have been posting a lot of Alexa Chung pics on my tumblr recently, because I've been loving what she's been wearing (and her, obvs) and wanting to share the outfits. And, lo and behold, I hear news of a rumour that she is COMING TO AUSTRALIA for Fashion Week next week - specifically Harper's Bazaar and Blackberry's 'White Bold' party in Potts Point to celebrate 15 years of RAFW. I have to go! I have to meet her! I have to grill her about how she does that cat eyeliner of hers, and where she got her perfect raffia and grosgrain espadrilles, and whether she has a secret stock of Sabrina lipstick since Nars cancelled the line...

Now, I know those of you who know me well and read my tumblr will say this - you can't be a bloody fortune teller, you're always posting pics of Alexa Chung, you're bloody obsessed with her. This is true, of sorts. But I would like to say that I could foretell her presence in my country soon. The last time she came here she was holed up in a hotel room with Alex Turner and the Arctic Monkeys - not that I'm saying that's a bad thing, Alex Turner is so damn cute! but hardly conducive for good celebrity sightings and photo taking and the like... This time she'll be out and about, attending shows, getting shot by Garance Dore and probably sipping cocktails in the RAFW fashion week VIP lounge. 

Perhaps she will mingle with the commoners - like me! Oh to meet her!!

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the divide

After doing copious amounts of research - i love that you can trawl through tFS and the selby for 'research' for you blog, research for my uni essays requires hours spent in musty libraries and checking out so many books on 'Hohenstaufen Literary Culture' that you end up splitting your bag open hmmph - I have come to the conclusion that the American Fashion Editor comes in Two Sorts. 


Sort 1 - Polished Perfection

Sleek as a bullet, Slim as a cigarette, Rich as a Rockerfeller (which, lets face it, some of them are). Not a hair out of place. Cocktail dresses and spindly heels and long lines and hermes bags. Sure, they run around in Proenza Schouler and Thakoon too, but it's a polished look, not a mary-kate olsen look, if you know what i mean. It's Glamour - but not the magazine Glamour, because it's Vogue. 


E.G LAUREN SANTO DOMINGO - Contributing Editor, Vogue US









Sort 2 - Mixology Master

A little bit UES prepster, a little bit downtown grunge, a little bit vintage cool, a lot of designer labels. Leather and colour and fur and bling and studs and utility vests and chanel 2.55s and... drop crotch pants? Similar to the pure craziness and off-kilter fash of an English Fashion Editor but slightly reined in by a New York Blow Out and the sheen of the big city that you can never quite wash off, no matter if you live off Bowery or off 5th. 


E.G TAYLOR TOMASI HILL - Style Director, Marie Claire US







All pictures from tFS


When Sort One gets married they wear HAND MADE Olivier Theyskens for Nina Ricci gowns that take over 180 hours to hand-embroider. 



When Sort Two gets married they wear Alaia shoes to offset a gown of frou frou perfection. 




Sort One's favourite colour is NUDE:





Sort Two's favourite colour is EVERYTHING, but especially COBALT BLLUE: 



I must say I like elements of both, but, of course, I lean heavily towards Taylor's incredible mixed up style. The girl has the best eye in fashion for pulling together things that, quite simply, should not go together, but on her (and with that swingy mane of fiery hair) they look incredible. LSD has the class and elegance of a deb, but Taylor has the midas touch! 

Give me some of that, if you please. 

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couple of kids








What to say about this new style couple? Other than the complete AWESOMENESS of a twilight star dating a harry potter one, I think they are really cute together. I've always liked Bonnie Wright as a fashionista (not so much as ginny, but that's a whole other cauldron of love potion). She has a sort of youthful hit and miss style - one day she's oh so right in murky urban burberry layers (check out the nicholas kirkwoods!!!) and then she's incredibly wrong in a chunky, grandpa size knit on LA's red carpet. But hey, if you can't get it wrong when you're young and gorgeous, then when can you? And I think that Jamie-Campbell Bower has this Johnny Depp rogueish quality to him, with the face of an angel to match. What can i say? I like it when the boys dress a little rough. 

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