the other day


I bought flowers, and made a ginger cake, and had tea with Talisa, and window shopped at bloodorange, and played with my cousin, and bought birthday presents for some friends, and made a lobster, prawn and butter lettuce salad from Sophie Dahl's from season to season, and had a glass of champagne and went to bed.

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hard working


one to four: Thursday Sunday's Melbourne studio, mood boards and knitting details from Portable // five and six: Where They Create details from Badlands // seven and eight: Bernadette Pasqua and Andrew Stinton's apartment on Design Sponge // nine and ten: my room, photographs by me


I love looking at pictures of the studios of young, hip creatives. It's semi of a guilty pleasure, considering how many Selby-esque bookmarks litter my laptop (freunde von freunden, work place and other people's houses to name but a very, very few) or how excited I've been to follow the "working girl" posts on Garance's blog. It's partly the desire to take inspiration, being somewhat of a young creative myself (not hip though, oh no), to see how other people do it, how they inspire themselves to do work with flowers, or cups of tea, or clean, white walls. My creative space is equal parts my bed, or leaning against my wardrobe sitting on my floor or - if the house is empty - my glorious dining room table. This table comes from an English boarding school - it's an old rec from their mess hall, and it has the nicks and scratches to prove it. I love how long it is, it can fit loud, noisy groups of 12 people or more, crowded around its edges, sharing food and drink and smiles. But I love it more when it's just me, and I've got books and notes spread out across its wide expanse, and a tall glass of water or maybe a steaming mug of tea and I lean back in my chair and I get ready to write. It's not glamorous - there's no Philippe Starck ghost chairs - but it works, it really does.

I love the look of Thursday Sunday 's Melbourne studio, timber floors and tall windows and natural fibres. I love the two tins of tomatoes and the packet of spaghetti resting on top of them - important elements to a successful studio indeed. I can't wait to ha ve a studio of my own where I can stick up moodboards with uneven pieces of masking tape and sit at a big wooden desk with a bunch of fresh flowers and put pen to paper. I really want to get my hands on a copy of Where They Create for that reason. A whole book of creative inspiration? Talisa has it and I've leafed through her copy briefly but I definitely need one of my own. And Bernadette Pasqua of Decade Diary's apartment? Well that's been quite firmly filed under inspiration for the future. Oh, to have an apartment in New York and fill it with all your things, your favourite things, your special things, special by virtue of the fact that they are all your own. That is truly a dream work space.

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little things


one: Isabel Marant jewellery bags // two: hand-stamped wrapping paper // three: a box of Aesop goodies // four: 2012 Moleskine diary // five: Aesop rosehip seed lip balm // six: Isabel Marant beaded bracelets // seven: Short and Sweet by Dan Lepard // eight and nine: "Small Things" chapter and detail of Me and Ro citrine necklace // ten: Vanessa Bruno silk blouse


It's my first real day off in about two weeks - Christmas doesn't count as a day off, does it? - and I'm making today all about the small things. The little things that make big days, as it were. I've always loved the little things. I revel in Christmas traditions, like spending whole nights wrapping thumb-sized chunks of home-made nougat with pieces of turkish delight gems throughout in squares of cellophane. Or in the niceties of downtime, of recorded episodes of Lewis on the TV and a steaming plate of spaghetti with butter and cheese for dinner. Or in just lying in bed, with a nice necklace on, looking at my ceiling and thinking of tomorrow. 

A couple of little things that are charming my life at the moment. Rosehip seed lip balm from Aesop, which is so rose-y that it makes me smile, and reminds me of my childhood nickname (Rosebud. haw haw haw). The Isabel Marant dustbags, with their little scribbles and hand-writing that could not fail to delight. A gorgeous Vanessa Bruno blouse that my mum picked up for me in the Boxing Day sales, a chic Navy Blue covered in the most beautiful, tiniest of tiny white stars. Dan Lepard's amazing cook book which was in my stocking on Christmas Day, an incredible pastel-hued tome that tells me exactly why butter and sugar needs to be creamed so, and why egg whites must be firm but not stiff, and why baking is so precise, questions I've always pestered mum the masterchef about and now have all the answers to. Each chapters has a cutesy title ("small things" for candies, "crusty" for pies, etc) has a gorgeous printed end paper, my favourite is this green, pink and lemon yellow number. And oh! How could I forget? Resting on that chapter is the Me and Ro necklace my parents gave me for Christmas, the littlest gold pendant with a citrine stone in the middle. I have loved this necklace for so long and was in despair when I turned up at bloodorange and saw that it was gone. Little did I know (although others did! and they kept the secret so well) that my parents had nipped in to get it for me as the most generous and thoughtful gift. It goes so well with the other me and ro necklaces I've received for my birthday, the yellow stone winking when it catches the sunlight. I'm in love! And I think my small, but perfectly formed delicate jewellery collection is pretty much complete.

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opposites attract


one to four: bambi in bergdorf's campaign, from fashion gone rogue, five and six: my photos

From the sublime to the ridiculous. Today is boxing day and I've just gotten home from a mammoth shift at the store that I work at, starting at a quarter to five this morning and wading my way through crazed shoppers hunting for a deal. It was truly madness in the city today, brave are those that battled the crowds (I'm looking at you, Sophia, whom I saw bursting through the doors bright and early at 5 am!) to find the best deals. In truth, I'd rather be bare-shouldered on a beach, like the one where I spent Christmas morning, flinging aside my Benah sandals and loose dress to dive headfirst into the water. I'd rather be holding up a hand to my face and squinting into the sunlight, I'd rather be eating mangoes by the barrelful and dripping sauce onto terracotta tiles on the wide balcony of the house we stay at there, all palm springs bungalow, retro decor and a view of the ocean, silent and still. I've talked about that wonderful stretch of sun and sand and surf before, and it was amazing to be back there this Christmas, even for a whirlwind tour of two days, which really wasn't long enough.

Having said this, I found these pictures I had taken in the cold snap a couple of weeks ago. I'm still not sure which extreme - sun-kissed, sun-drenched, sun-loving or wrapped up, tucked in and turned out - I love the best. I'm lucky to live somewhere with temperate summers and winters, meaning that I truly do get the best of both worlds. It doesn't stop me longing for a white Christmas or an Indian Summer, though, but I have to say I'm quite happy with my standard Aussie Christmas prawn-and-oyster entree and my flaxen-hued sunlit days, though. I like having my cake and eating it too!

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ps. I know this is flogging a dead horse, but MAN bambi has good eyebrows! 

pps. thanks for all the birthday wishes guys! I had a fantastic, fantastic, never-gonna-forget-it day.
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mood


Languidly stretching in Amy Kaehne knits // millions and millions of double rings like Jess // being completely surrounded by technology at all times // bright Celine totes from the coveteur // Brigitte Bardot's thick headband in Le Mepris via Badlands

I'm listening to this and, I'm not going to lie, I wish it would never stop raining.
 
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five winter wants...



A.W 2012


one. Thursday Sunday two-tone bamboo knit sweater

two. Maille charcoal knit cardigan with belt

three. Dress Up navy blue boxy knit sweater

four. Carly Hunter black shearling vest

Five. Carly Hunter black shearling and wool coat


Knitwear and shearling for winter - what else? Man it's getting hard to narrow down this next season wishlist...

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sidekicks

'"In best friend couples one always thinks the other is a sidekick," said my sidekick.' 

Alexa Chung in Vogue UK January 2012

vogue uk january 2012, scanned by Luella Luella at TFS


I really want to go on a holiday with my friends, somewhere happy and sunshine-y if at all possible, where we can be alone by the pool drinking dangerous cocktails and alone on the sand reading dangerous books and alone on a boat somewhere fishing and sleeping and sleeping and fishing. I know that Alexa Chung is a bit frustrating, polarising gal that she is, but this article about her time at the Turks and Caicos with her BFF was kind of charming. Putting on a full face of makeup for the beach, making collages out of World of Interiors cut outs, fighting over banana fritters and not having to explain anything to anyone are the kinds of behaviours I can whole-heartedly get behind. If I went away somewhere beachy with my sidekicks we'd fight ever day - about the music to play, the food to eat, the movies to watch, the cocktails to drink - because that's how we are, totally, irrevocably different to the core. But that would be fine with me, as long as we were all there together.

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oatmeal



I found the most perfect piece in my wardrobe in the bargain bin of a no-name Australian high street store that I only wandered into because I was lost and I needed directions. It's embarrassing being lost in your own city, and I chickened out, instead choosing to fish around in a big black tray that had been strategically placed close to the cash register. There it was, slightly crumpled at the bottom underneath some heinous velvet leggings and a ludicrously yellow tank top. It had bracelet length sleeves, the best sleeve length in my opinion, and a wide, oversized drape with tiny pockets and a chic row of buttons down the back. A reverse cardigan, if you will. It had a boat neck with a tiny rib hem and larger ribbed cufs which you could push up easily, past your forearms, past your elbows, ready for getting down to business. And it was the most delicious, delectable shade of warm porridge fresh from the stove. 

I love that jumper, I really do. It makes me want to pout and pose just like hanne gaby whenever I wear it. I've worn it probably at least once every three days for the past year, summer and winter, and barring the inevitable wear and tear of something that isn't meant to last longer than a season it's held up pretty well. I wish it hadn't pilled as much as it has, but it cost next to nothing and I'm not surprised. And I still love it. It has a worn in feeling to it that reminds me of my roly-poly house, and incredible, mind-blowing lectures, and late nights that turned into early mornings at Parisian bars. It makes me feel comfortable which is no mean feat, and probably the most important thing really. When you read style advice tomes in the vein of Ines' one, they inevitably proffer the same tidbits of wisdom. One which has always stuck with me has been the old adage of sticking to what works for you. When you find something that makes you happy and looks good and is functional, hold on to it with both hands and a firm grip. Well, I've found my perfect sweater. I mean, this Opening Ceremony one reminds me of it, if a little fancier, but, well... I kind of like my no-name Australian high-street sweater the best! It could be fashion laziness and an unwillingness to break out of the box and try new things, or it could also just be because I've been lucky enough to find something so perfect that it kind of defies any description at all, and to give it all up for something with a designer label and a fancy detachable scarf would be nothing short of madness.

The day I get rid of that jumper I reckon some old hag will appear to boo me, declaring that "I had true sweater perfection in my hands, and I wore another..."

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softly, softly



I'm steadily building up a list of things that I want to purchase in January and February when I head overseas, with a strong Australian dollar and the promise of international sales my imagination is running just the teensiest, smallest of a bit wild. I'm hoping to pick up some jewellery from Catbird and BRVTVS, both for myself and friends who have placed a personal order (it's kind of fun shopping with other people's money!), something from Isabel Marant, some cozy, oversized sweaters from Margaret Howell or Opening Ceremony or something like that - on sale, of course, Byredo Blanche perfume and a pair or two of these. I've only heard good things about Porselli ballet flats, beloved of Audrey Hepburn and Brigitte Bardot (even though she infamously had a pair of Repettos named after her), who adored the softly, softly leather upper and the discreet nailed soles. Garance Dore even loves them. I know that when it comes to ballet flats it's a case of same same but different, but I really like the brushed nubuck leather and the wide, flat, simple layout of porsellis. I think they seem a little bit more relaxed than Repettos, which while beautiful, have a very turned out feel to them. Like most things French they seem to demand ironed shirts and clean hair and perfect manicures, which I never, ever have.

On the surface it seems a little odd that the as-french-as-you-come label A.P.C would collaborate with Porselli and not Repetto, but I'm glad they did. The fruits of their labour - an edited version seen above - are so perfect in their simplicity they can't help but make me smile. I love that the bulk of the collection, in place since last spring/summer, is made up of beautiful shades of tan, running the gamut from a milky cream through oatmeal to caramel and tobacco - my favourite colours. From thence there is a short romance with mustard yellow and a leafy, philosykos pale green and then firmly onto navy blue. Ultimately the A.P.C sanctioned spectrum of colours; tan and navy. Fine by me! I love the middle pair, a delicious oatmeal colour that would be perfect with bare legs and midi skirts, and the navy blue pair, which would fill a wardrobe void against my tapered trousers and jeans. Has anyone here had porselli ballet flats before? What are the reviews, and how do they shape up against repettos?

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found!

 petite grand for my chameleon



Hark! Rejoice! Just a day over a week from christmas (and bang on a week from my birthday) I have found it. Perfection, distilled into a dainty gold chain with charms hanging off it. Beauty, winking from every flaxen-hued link. Luxury, crystallised in a pair of anklets. Long have I searched for the perfect one, something to match Ashley Olsen's fabulous Ileana Makri pair, something as fine as the one Garance loves, something as ridiculous and gaudy and therefore wholly fabulous (yet without the wholly extravagant price tag) of the subsequent Ileana Makri for The Row number - clearly the Olsens wanted to answer the prayer of anklet-lovers the world over, yet failed to recognise not all anklet-wearers have their multi-million dollar bank accounts. Best intentions and all that. And thus, deflated but not dejected, the search continued and the obsession prevailed. I predicted that next year everyone would be wearing anklets. I commented that the ankle was my erogenous zone of choice. And I waited until someone - someone! - would make exactly the kind of anklet that I wanted and had dreamed about, falling delicately over strappy sandals and bringing a touch of the ghetto-fabulous to every outfit.

And I found it. Petitegrand, a lovely little Australian jewellery company, has collaborated with one of my favourite online stores My Chameleon on a capsule collection of brightly-coloured cord bracelets and beads and - oh! - anklets. ANKLETS. Amazing, amazing anklets. Silver anklets with cross charms dangling down, caramel coloured anklets with twin jade beads or a radiant indigo blue version of the same and, the crowning glory, a gold anklet with oval charms that is just the ticket, something that Ashley Olsen would surely wear, paired with birkenstocks and straight-leg jeans or stilettos and a tailored blazer. She might have two, or three, or four, and wear them all at once, cord and gold strung together in a perfect harmony of kitsch and cool. Long have we wondered just how, exactly, the Olsen twins can do what they do and make things that are so wrong so very, very right. We may not know, we may not ever know, but at least we can wear anklets while we ponder on these pertinent, pressing questions of mankind.

monday. long skirts and lace bras and matching anklets




tuesday. byredo blanche and black backpacks and matching anklets




wednesday. a handful of rings and shades of grey and blue and matching anklets.
 


thursday. shearling and sandals and matching anklets



friday. tweed and tortoiseshell and matching anklets



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