screencaps of "La Delicatesse" from here, Alexa by Vanessa, all other photos by me.
I've been a tomboy most of my life. I was the girl with the hair cropped close and the bruise-strewn knees digging holes in the garden with the boys. I was the girl who volunteered to play the boy in the talent quest dance to "Coco Jumbo". I was the girl in overalls and converse, zooming down steep Paddington hills on a Razor scooter. My mum tried and tried again to get me in dresses - even a skirt would do! - but it was cargo pants and pool sliders and baseball tees that dominated my pre-teen wardrobe. Even now with a wardrobe full of fitted jersey midi skirts and sweeping floor-length numbers in silks and crepe de chines I think that my style is not particularly "girly" or "cute". Hovering in that casual, comfortable, non-descript territory somewhere between the femininity of, say, Lover and the unashamed high-flying vampiness of Dion Lee, to paraphrase Maya Singer. It's just basic. Bassike, even. I don't like bells and whistles, I don't like anything too fitted or girly. I don't like anything that draws too much attention to me. I prefer simple fabrics, plain prints and a wide cut. It's not particularly masculine - except when I suit up, at which point it is, obviously, unavoidable - it's almost unisex. A lot of the clothes I wear could be worn by guys. And some of them are menswear. I'm not sure if that means anything, it just is.
But recently I've felt the touch of delicate things hover over my wardrobe. Two little lace bra-lets from two different cities which are so feminine they almost make me blush. A beautiful pair of Carven ballet flats with a bow-back - not something I would ever really look at twice, but they are slowly coming to take place in my wardrobe as one of the prettiest things I own. With some plain trousers and a breton top I could almost pass for a parisienne - or is that wishful thinking? Brand new, fresh as anything flowers that I picked up a coupe of days ago and which are brightening up my room. And the delicate remnants of my trip away - stolen bottles of C.O Bigelow toiletries which smell like Lavender and Peppermint and are so tiny they almost begged to be secreted in a handbag and whisked away to Sydney. And the packaging on this chocolate - some of the best in the world - is that kind of delicacy that only the French can make work. Small, insignificant, unobtrusive things that have been making a world of difference recently. They - all of them - are enough to raise a smile on my face despite being weighed down with work and life at the moment.
I saw a movie at the French Film Festival last night - it's kind of a tradition in my family (my mum goes to every film, and loves it!), I recommend it to anyone looking for a lovely night out. It was called "La Delicatesse" and it starred the pixie herself, Audrey Tautou. I love the storyline - love and loss and all things in between - but I was immediately grasped by Nathalie's simple, delicate wardrobe. She wore plenty of printed dressed with bow-ties on the waist, several incredible colour-blocked, lace-insert, sheer-panelled, cable knit sweaters and tapered trousers with raised-heel ballet flats, and three spectacular coats. One was a navy blue duffel coat, oversized and with the perfect Paddington-Bear toggles, one was the grey military-style number above and the third was the archetypal, cliched trench coat, which she wore in the pivotal end-scene of the film, and which could not have been more fantastic. It's nothing new - it was french, parisian style through and through. But I was struck by how lovely it all looked. Lovely like Alexa Chung with tousled hair and a fitted pencil skirt. Lovely like a girl wearing Salvatore Ferragamo flats and a babydoll mini. Lovely like having a touch of something delicate in a simple outfit. Today I wore a breton top and navy blue pants and my Carven shoes and it all felt so good. I'm not girly - not at all, not one bit. My inner child, who climbs a tree and scrapes a knee, whose dress has got a tear, was railing against the delicacy, the pants that need to be ironed, the shoes that need to be scotchguarded, the bag that needs to be conditioned every time I wear it.
But the grown up me couldn't have been more content.
X
ps. Lin from one of my favourite blogs, Out of the Bag, interviewed me and wrote it up in a questionnaire post. If you want to read more of my rambles check it out! Thanks Lin for your kind-hearted lovely words.
I've been a tomboy most of my life. I was the girl with the hair cropped close and the bruise-strewn knees digging holes in the garden with the boys. I was the girl who volunteered to play the boy in the talent quest dance to "Coco Jumbo". I was the girl in overalls and converse, zooming down steep Paddington hills on a Razor scooter. My mum tried and tried again to get me in dresses - even a skirt would do! - but it was cargo pants and pool sliders and baseball tees that dominated my pre-teen wardrobe. Even now with a wardrobe full of fitted jersey midi skirts and sweeping floor-length numbers in silks and crepe de chines I think that my style is not particularly "girly" or "cute". Hovering in that casual, comfortable, non-descript territory somewhere between the femininity of, say, Lover and the unashamed high-flying vampiness of Dion Lee, to paraphrase Maya Singer. It's just basic. Bassike, even. I don't like bells and whistles, I don't like anything too fitted or girly. I don't like anything that draws too much attention to me. I prefer simple fabrics, plain prints and a wide cut. It's not particularly masculine - except when I suit up, at which point it is, obviously, unavoidable - it's almost unisex. A lot of the clothes I wear could be worn by guys. And some of them are menswear. I'm not sure if that means anything, it just is.
But recently I've felt the touch of delicate things hover over my wardrobe. Two little lace bra-lets from two different cities which are so feminine they almost make me blush. A beautiful pair of Carven ballet flats with a bow-back - not something I would ever really look at twice, but they are slowly coming to take place in my wardrobe as one of the prettiest things I own. With some plain trousers and a breton top I could almost pass for a parisienne - or is that wishful thinking? Brand new, fresh as anything flowers that I picked up a coupe of days ago and which are brightening up my room. And the delicate remnants of my trip away - stolen bottles of C.O Bigelow toiletries which smell like Lavender and Peppermint and are so tiny they almost begged to be secreted in a handbag and whisked away to Sydney. And the packaging on this chocolate - some of the best in the world - is that kind of delicacy that only the French can make work. Small, insignificant, unobtrusive things that have been making a world of difference recently. They - all of them - are enough to raise a smile on my face despite being weighed down with work and life at the moment.
I saw a movie at the French Film Festival last night - it's kind of a tradition in my family (my mum goes to every film, and loves it!), I recommend it to anyone looking for a lovely night out. It was called "La Delicatesse" and it starred the pixie herself, Audrey Tautou. I love the storyline - love and loss and all things in between - but I was immediately grasped by Nathalie's simple, delicate wardrobe. She wore plenty of printed dressed with bow-ties on the waist, several incredible colour-blocked, lace-insert, sheer-panelled, cable knit sweaters and tapered trousers with raised-heel ballet flats, and three spectacular coats. One was a navy blue duffel coat, oversized and with the perfect Paddington-Bear toggles, one was the grey military-style number above and the third was the archetypal, cliched trench coat, which she wore in the pivotal end-scene of the film, and which could not have been more fantastic. It's nothing new - it was french, parisian style through and through. But I was struck by how lovely it all looked. Lovely like Alexa Chung with tousled hair and a fitted pencil skirt. Lovely like a girl wearing Salvatore Ferragamo flats and a babydoll mini. Lovely like having a touch of something delicate in a simple outfit. Today I wore a breton top and navy blue pants and my Carven shoes and it all felt so good. I'm not girly - not at all, not one bit. My inner child, who climbs a tree and scrapes a knee, whose dress has got a tear, was railing against the delicacy, the pants that need to be ironed, the shoes that need to be scotchguarded, the bag that needs to be conditioned every time I wear it.
But the grown up me couldn't have been more content.
X
ps. Lin from one of my favourite blogs, Out of the Bag, interviewed me and wrote it up in a questionnaire post. If you want to read more of my rambles check it out! Thanks Lin for your kind-hearted lovely words.
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