Gail Sorronda

Colour! Brights! The slightly whacky intersection of Charlie Chaplin and circus clowns. Gail Sorronda's presentation on day 1 of MBFWA was all this and so much more. Utilising Sorronda's canon of staple shapes - the voluminous tops, the trapeze, tent-like dresses, the ruffle embelishments - this collection seemed lighter somehow. For Spring/Summer it will work well, all those colours play off the brightness of Australian heat, and the oversized, overblown shapes won't go astray when it starts to get warmer. 

But it wasn't just about dressing for summer or commercialism or whatever that even means. This collection almost seemed like a coming of age for Sorronda. After seasons and seasons and countless seasons of monochromatic collections and a focus on black and white the blooming of brights in such an extravagant, eye-catching way seemed almost mature. Splashed happily and with carefree, reckless abandon across overalls, shift-dresses and tailored shirting the effect was something quite marvelous. It took many a bystander's breath away who, coming to expect black and white designs infused with Sorronda's trademark dark romance, were faced with this. Cheery - clown-like, remember? - designs with slicked-back hair and sensible shoes. It was so simple that it was surprising that we had never thought of it before. 

Oh my goth. Oh my goth indeed. The title of the collection was particularly apt. Hardly a goth-like figure in sight, as clown-like flared trousers jostled for attention against Rosette-strewn skirts. There was plenty of black in there, don't get me wrong. But you barely noticed it. And it didn't seem like the heavy, headache-inducing, angry sort of black that a lot of designers spew forth. There was a lightness to it all, which was the most intriguing thing. Oh my goth might as well be an exclamation, both of incredulity and surprise, though not, we might add, an unwelcome one. The goth girl is all grown up. And look how far she has come.

Ilustrations by Talisa Sutton, photos by Rohan Peterson and words by me. Check out our review of Romance Was Born on Talisa's blog Badlands.

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5 MBFWA minutes with... Rachel Yabsley

Rachel is a blogger, street-style photographer, visual co-ordinator at Tuchuzy, and ultimate babe-and-a-half who might as well be my sister for how much advice she gives me (and how similar we look)! I caught up a moment with her amidst what turned out to be the madness on day 1 of MBFWA.

What are you doing for Fashion Week? I'm kind of trying to balance it work, it's really taking it's toll on me, so I'll be really exhausted probably, at the end of it! We'll see. 

What's your new job? It's at Tuchuzy as visual co-ordinator. It's really exciting. It's going well!

What are your fashion week essentials? Fashion week essentials are my camera, making sure I have a spare battery that is charged and spare memory cards because last year I got caught out a couple of times and I've definitely learnt my lessons. Also, face powder because you get really really shiny running around it's not very nice. What else... Just comfort mainly. I know everyone tries to be stylish but for me, you can be comfy and stylish at the same time. 

What are you going to wear? Don't ask me that! *laughs* To be honest I haven't really planned anything out. I think I'm just going to face my wardrobe in the morning and see what floats my boat. My wardrobe is pretty limited at the moment. *laughs*

What are you most looking forward to seeing? I'm really looking forward to the Magdalena Velevska, last year they were my favourites and they blew me away. That and Bowie was really good last year too to finish out the week so looking forward to both of them tomorrow. They are probably my top two for now! 

What are you going to do next week when it's all over? Back to reality. Back to a normal sleeping pattern! Just running around again like normal at Tuchuzy. 

Are you excited to be celebrating our two year friendship anniversary? (We met at fashion week 2 years ago!!) So much! You're like my long lost sister. 

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this year

All photos by me, watercolour and handwriting by Talisa. Three fashion week things: 

1. Invitations!

2. My bag of the week, the Benah Limited Edition Tara bag in matte croc from Mychameleon

3. Since I don't wear heels, plenty of flat shoes. And yes, that includes converse. If Candice can do it, then why can't I? 

This year Talisa and I are going to be doing fashion week coverage together. It's going to be pretty big and I can't wait to share the results. I couldn't be more excited. I can't believe that this is the fourth fashion week that I have attended with my blog. There's something special about the preparation rituals that you go through each year. Forget hair and nails, for me it's always about making sure I have a notebook to jot down my review thoughts, my camera fully-charged, and a couple of pens, since I always seem to lose them. I've vaguely thought out my outfits for the week but not really. Peony told me in New York that you should always have them planned out so that you don't faff about in the morning, but I just can't get organised. And, a couple of things I want to wear are contingent upon the weather being cold enough to necessitate shearling layers. C'monnnn Sydney weather. Do it for fashion! 

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to market to market

Colours and sights and sounds and an overwhelming sense that this is how food really should be - so fresh that it still has dirt on it, ready to cook, ready to eat, ready to sink your teeth into the second you pass over that $10 note. Those loud, brash, clashing sounds of markets will always make me feel like a kid again, red-cheeked and wide-eyed, gripping my mums hand and skirt as we wandered through covered markets in Normandy. It's alarming and comforting at the same time - it makes you feel alive and yet it makes you feel so small. Going through markets, picking up this and that, maybe for lunch, maybe for later... It's an act of supreme humanity. We need to eat, so why not eat well? I love going back to the same Chinese grocer who insists on calling my dad "champ", which always makes me laugh, the lady who runs the cheese shop who always lets me try the $150/kg Saint Augur blue before I buy my modest Brie or Comte, the french woman who runs the basket stall who always chats with me in French and makes me want to start up lessons again. Every time we go we always seem to leave with the same things. Flowers (pink, natch), Beef from Spring Hill Butchers, Pastabilities Four Cheese ravioli, bunches and bunches and bunches of brocoli, basil and bok choy, at least 2 dozen eggs and a wedge of some cheese. Then we head home and plate it up and we dig in. It really is that simple.

Fox Studios (are we supposed to called it the Entertainment Quarter now? Sorry, force of habit) farmer's markets, Wednesday and Saturday 10AM-3:30PM.

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cinematic style - Scarlett Johansson in Lost in Translation

screencaps

I saw the Avengers the other night - and it was fantastic, of course! - but every time I see Scarlett Johansson now I am struck by how much she has changed. Her sexiness and sultriness is laid bare now, which, I guess, is fine. She's older and more grown up and that's just the way it happens. But what I loved about this film - and this time in her career, see also Scarlett Johansson in In Good Company and The Girl With A Pearl Earring - was that it captured her when her beauty was almost painful. She was so young - and she looked like that - and Sofia Coppola let her radiate that inimitable, ineffable, can't-get-enough-of-it va-va-voom that she just seems to oozes without any pomp or ceremony at all. It's not like it's the change from Norma Jean to Marilyn Monroe here. Scarlett Johansson always had it. It was always there. She just used to wear baggy jeans and oversized baseball tees and let the mind conjure up the rest.

Her wardrobe in Lost in Translation is great. Big cosy sweaters, Paddington bear coats, daggy oxfords with hipster pants and hoodie sweatshirts. It was simple but comfortable, easy but still eye-catching. Everything that Sofia Coppola is about, really. Everything that travel should be about. I've always wanted to have a holiday that is like this. Staying in a nice hotel, lounging about for a few days in hoodies and araks lingerie, and wandering about the city, in and out of the hotel, in and out of restaurants, in and out of train stations, in an out of shops without really worrying too much about what is going to happen. Holidays are rarely about this, only in an ideal world with lots of money, but I would love to have one of these 'nothing' holidays soon. My friend just got back from Japan and although she managed to pack a few more things into her holiday than just lazing about in hotel rooms, she had the best time, and she just enjoyed herself, and she didn't worry about anything, which is how holidays ought to be, but rarely are.

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beare

It's one of the better spots in Sydney. A wide expanse of green overshadowed by some of the city's more extravagant real estate looking out onto miles and miles and endless miles of sapphire-blue ocean. It was always a great spot to spend an hour or two with a book and a bottle of something sweet and a sun high in the sky. It was always a great spot to get away from the brash, brazen noises of the city, barely 5 minutes walk uphill in alcohol-stained Kings Cross. The one thing that could make it better would be a nice little cafe, someplace with a small, but perfectly formed menu, somewhere with good coffee, and crunchy muesli, and an egg dish, and then a few fresh salads for lunch. The kind of place where locals would emerge from the water, tie up their kayaks, and settle in for avocado on toast. The kind of place where you can sit at a table by yourself and look right out onto the water and not need a book, or a magazine, or even Instagram to occupy you while you eat breakfast because there is simply too, too much to see.

The Beare Park Boat Shed Cafe, 13 Esplanade Road, Elizabeth Bay

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it'll do

It's not the perfect trench, but it'll do for now. The weird zippers at the collar kind of annoy me, but it has plenty of swagger and swing, and I've been throwing it over everything recently. The past couple of days in Sydney have been cold - especially at midnight when you're heading to the premiere of the Avengers!!! - and I couldn't be more excited. Any excuse to dig out the shearling and the wool and the tweed and the cashmere and all that. I guess it was for that reason that, even though this trench was one of my favourite jackets about a year and a half ago, it has languished in my wardrobe for a little while. There were too many other winter candidates vying for attention. But in this in-between weather we've been having I've found it to be the best thing. Sleeves pushed up and collar slightly turned and belt tied in a haphazard knot at the back. It goes so well with the forget-me-not blue of this fantastic Thomsen shirt, and the inky blue of boyfriend jeans, and the navy blue of ankle-strap sandals. Beige just goes well with blue, I find! No wonder everyone loves trenches so much. You can literally just throw it on over everything. And it works so well, so easily, every single time.

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don't worry

freunde von freunden

The other day I ran into the mother of the kids I used to babysit on the street in Paddington. She was wheeling her brand new baby around and I cooed for a bit over his mop of curly hair and easy, toothy grin. She asked me what I was doing next year and I mumbled something vague about wanting to move to Paris and she grabbed me by the shoulders and said "do it, don't even think about it, don't even worry, just do it. You'll never regret it but you will always regret it if you don't go." She was so serious and so earnest that it was quite shocking. But after the initial surprise wore off I couldn't stop thinking about what she said. Don't even worry, just do it. I'm a little way off to committing myself to anything at the moment - I barely know what I'm going to be doing tomorrow let alone next year. But it got me thinking. And then I watched some french movies, and then I ate a macaron, and then I went on freunde von freunden and I saw this house, and yes I'm not silly and I know life in Paris won't actually be like this - all breton stripes and messy hair and une fille comme les autres - but at the same time I am silly and I know in my heart that life in Paris would be totally, utterly, completely, unashamedly, forever-and-always kind of perfect and that if I lived there I would have great hair and fantastic skin and the best wardrobe and I wouldn't have to worry about a single thing, not ever, not at all.

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an evening with

Flannel. At the Bite Club. What a gloriously decadent night, in the most beautiful surrounds, presented with Flannel's incredible new collection. Jazzy and flirty like some kind of lithe Phryne Fisher, the models swanned around in their beaded frocks and silky separates, 'languid as a duchess', to borrow Tim Winton's wonderful phrase. Being completely in awe of everything - from the dessert plate for three (or for two, considering me and Sara wolfed it down in minutes) to the fresh flowers blossoming everywhere - I forgot to take snaps of the models. So you'll have to make do with a little shot of what the lovely Holly from Little Hero was wearing, a monochromatic number from the new collection with cut-out detailing across the back. What a great evening, and what an inspired idea for a new season presentation. Imaginative and romantic and full of life.

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