Sunday 28 February 2010
LFW Super-Amazing iPhone Photos
Seriously, I should take up photography on a professional basis. No really.
My Fashionable Life
On Tuesday I received a call from the beautiful Miss Hofit Golan, socialite extraordinaire and Fashion TV presenter. She was covering the Liberty 10 Corso Como launch event with her crew and invited Yours Truly to hop on board the party train. So off I went (another fashion mate in tow - one can never be too prepared for the awkward moments). We managed to bluff our way into another very sophisticated soiree on the 4th floor, full of ironic photography, beautiful people and more importantly free wine before realising the fashion party we were destined for was, in fact, three floors below. After a minor guestlist moment on the door, we were in and attacking the canapes. After some schmoozing with Hofit and her fashionista friends we headed for the central table to check out the collaboration collection. Liberty hooked up with the famous Milan-based concept store 10 Corso Como to produce a range of silk scarves, swimwear, shirts, ties, purses and bags. The line is sure to be snapped up by Liberty print devotees, especially the adorable bikini which strikes just the right balance between Pucci and paisley.
As we were browsing, people watching and generally milling around waiting for our photograph to be taken (it is one of the few sad joys of my existence that I'm still thrilled every time I get mistaken for a celebrity/someone vaguely important), I glanced to my left. Anna Wintour. No seriously people, Anna bloody Wintour. Now lads, I nearly wet myself with the sheer excitement of it all. Mouth agape, I was literally clawing at my friends sleeve trying to alert her, with all the powers of speech of a newborn child. Possibly the most influential woman in the Western world, bar Oprah (don't worry, you're still my number one), was standing right next to me for crying out loud. The camera crews buzzed around the far side of the table snapping and whirring, all desperate to get a shot of the real star of the night. That's how my dream came true. Let's not forget that I was beside her at this point. So that means that someone, somewhere has a photo with me and Anna side by side, looking like the bestest of best friends, laughing girlishly over our champagne flutes. Well not quite, I'll obviously have my mouth hanging open and she'll be staring in the opposite direction, but you get my drift.
Well ladies, I was on a high for the rest of the evening. I could barely contain myself on the train home. I obviously had a very loud phone conversation with my friend about this in front of the other late night commuters even though I doubt any of the financial suited-and-Aldo-booted types had the foggiest who I was wittering on about. I skipped home, burst through the door and dived into the story of my evening for my fashion-industry flatmates. For some curious reason, no one seemed quite as excited as I was. Just my personal heroine then? Anna love, you made my Fashion Week.
As we were browsing, people watching and generally milling around waiting for our photograph to be taken (it is one of the few sad joys of my existence that I'm still thrilled every time I get mistaken for a celebrity/someone vaguely important), I glanced to my left. Anna Wintour. No seriously people, Anna bloody Wintour. Now lads, I nearly wet myself with the sheer excitement of it all. Mouth agape, I was literally clawing at my friends sleeve trying to alert her, with all the powers of speech of a newborn child. Possibly the most influential woman in the Western world, bar Oprah (don't worry, you're still my number one), was standing right next to me for crying out loud. The camera crews buzzed around the far side of the table snapping and whirring, all desperate to get a shot of the real star of the night. That's how my dream came true. Let's not forget that I was beside her at this point. So that means that someone, somewhere has a photo with me and Anna side by side, looking like the bestest of best friends, laughing girlishly over our champagne flutes. Well not quite, I'll obviously have my mouth hanging open and she'll be staring in the opposite direction, but you get my drift.
Well ladies, I was on a high for the rest of the evening. I could barely contain myself on the train home. I obviously had a very loud phone conversation with my friend about this in front of the other late night commuters even though I doubt any of the financial suited-and-Aldo-booted types had the foggiest who I was wittering on about. I skipped home, burst through the door and dived into the story of my evening for my fashion-industry flatmates. For some curious reason, no one seemed quite as excited as I was. Just my personal heroine then? Anna love, you made my Fashion Week.
Friday 26 February 2010
LFW: The Parties
It would appear that the parties of London Fashion Week amount to a bit of a mixed bag (Birkin obviously). I was invited to the Osman aftershow party in Luxx on New Burlington Street in Mayfair on Monday night. I had two tickets. I also managed to bag a super-scarce ELLE Style Awards afterparty ticket. Only one. This posed a problem. Memories of being the only English speaker at a party full of Parisians at my last magazine came back to haunt me - awkward hanging around the edges with a glass of champers didn't really do it for me. I checked around my fashion friends, Nope, not a single one was lucky enough to get an ELLE ticket.
After a long day of weighing up the options - honestly, this was the most important decision I've had to make in quite some time - my gorgeous plus one and I chose to give the ELLE party doormen a whirl. Now, she's a buyer and a very pretty girl to boot so I reckoned there was a chance she could work her magic on the doormen. Our taxi pulled up outside the Great Queen Street address where we were confronted by a queue of fashionistas tusseling for a space inside. We opted to save ourselves the embarrassment of a refusal and hop on over to Osman instead. Once inside, the mood was clear. It was populated by a gaggle of those edgy student types. The ones who look eternally awkward yet think they are teetering on the brink of fashion-fabulousness. All bizarre prints, funny little hats and deeply unflattering shoe choices. It was upsetting to say the least. Curiously, no one we spoke to had actually attended the show. How odd.
At least there was free alcohol. Or so we thought. Approaching the bar we ordered some glasses of white wine. Not possible. Rose? Champagne? Vodka Tonic? No no no. We only have beer. And they called it a fashion party. The "alternative" (read: achingly hip) band started up soon after. We left.
More on the glorious LFW party scene tomorrow...
After a long day of weighing up the options - honestly, this was the most important decision I've had to make in quite some time - my gorgeous plus one and I chose to give the ELLE party doormen a whirl. Now, she's a buyer and a very pretty girl to boot so I reckoned there was a chance she could work her magic on the doormen. Our taxi pulled up outside the Great Queen Street address where we were confronted by a queue of fashionistas tusseling for a space inside. We opted to save ourselves the embarrassment of a refusal and hop on over to Osman instead. Once inside, the mood was clear. It was populated by a gaggle of those edgy student types. The ones who look eternally awkward yet think they are teetering on the brink of fashion-fabulousness. All bizarre prints, funny little hats and deeply unflattering shoe choices. It was upsetting to say the least. Curiously, no one we spoke to had actually attended the show. How odd.
At least there was free alcohol. Or so we thought. Approaching the bar we ordered some glasses of white wine. Not possible. Rose? Champagne? Vodka Tonic? No no no. We only have beer. And they called it a fashion party. The "alternative" (read: achingly hip) band started up soon after. We left.
More on the glorious LFW party scene tomorrow...
Wednesday 24 February 2010
London Fashion Week: Osman AW10
A thoroughly damp and dreary Monday morning acted as the backdrop to the AW10 Osman show held at Somerset House earlier this week. Despite the rain, hordes turned out to see the young designer's collection, resulting in some badly organised seating queues and less-than-elegant shoving.
Organisation aside, the show got off to an excellent (albeit unusual) start with four models parading down the catwalk simultaneously. Draped navy jersey dresses - hinting at Diane von Furstenburg - clung in all the right places and made a powerful statement. Covetable indeed. The problem lay in fact that, aside from some statement hot pink folder bags carried under the arm and some chic grey Sermoneta gloves, these first four dresses were by far the high point of the entire collection.
A few dashing fur cocoon coats charmed the audience, alongside a few full-length jersey creations in a variety of patterns however for the most part things hit a bum note. Vivid pink and blue in bold 80s prints conjured up images of Saved by The Bell - which, dear readers, isn't always a good thing. Some questionable shapes in the form of wide leg pants and Arabian inspired shirts were on show which made this writer question the whereabouts of a solid theme for the collection. Structured pink dresses with wide bell hems (harking back to the structure of Osman's previous seasons) were accompanied by what can only be described as Amish-style wide brimmed hats. The result was slightly confused, a point which can let down even the best designers - fashion editors love a clear theme (it makes for a nice headline). No doubt the draped and ruched dresses will be clear winners as easy pieces for winter chic but I don't predict any of the later looks making waves in commercial fashion circles. Next time Osman, stick to what you do best and a true star may be born.
Organisation aside, the show got off to an excellent (albeit unusual) start with four models parading down the catwalk simultaneously. Draped navy jersey dresses - hinting at Diane von Furstenburg - clung in all the right places and made a powerful statement. Covetable indeed. The problem lay in fact that, aside from some statement hot pink folder bags carried under the arm and some chic grey Sermoneta gloves, these first four dresses were by far the high point of the entire collection.
A few dashing fur cocoon coats charmed the audience, alongside a few full-length jersey creations in a variety of patterns however for the most part things hit a bum note. Vivid pink and blue in bold 80s prints conjured up images of Saved by The Bell - which, dear readers, isn't always a good thing. Some questionable shapes in the form of wide leg pants and Arabian inspired shirts were on show which made this writer question the whereabouts of a solid theme for the collection. Structured pink dresses with wide bell hems (harking back to the structure of Osman's previous seasons) were accompanied by what can only be described as Amish-style wide brimmed hats. The result was slightly confused, a point which can let down even the best designers - fashion editors love a clear theme (it makes for a nice headline). No doubt the draped and ruched dresses will be clear winners as easy pieces for winter chic but I don't predict any of the later looks making waves in commercial fashion circles. Next time Osman, stick to what you do best and a true star may be born.
Sunday 21 February 2010
Busy busy busy!
Hello there,
This week has been quite the blur what with the Brits and the kick off of London Fashion Week. The city is buzzing with so-hip-it-hurts fashiony types which always makes for good entertainment at the very least.
I'm not quite cool enough to be invited to the actual Brit Awards ceremony, however I was at the afterparty in Altitude 360 hosted by none other than Mean Girls star Lindsay Lohan. The screening party in the Millbank Cinema had a carnival theme complete with candyfloss and popcorn stalls, stilt walkers, burlesque dancers and (slightly bizarrely) some dwarves. The champagne flowed as the beautiful people watched Cheryl belt out her hit "Fight for this Love" on the big screen - possibly the most eagerly awaited act of the evening. Once the clock struck ten everyone headed upstairs to The River Room, a futuristic white space with panoramic views of the city. Lindsay showed up looking quite the movie star - I had been expecting a bit of a hot mess if truth be told - and encouraged us all to dig deep for the evening's auction in aid of the Haiti disaster. Cameras flashed, people danced and lots of money was raised for a good cause leaving guests heading home with a satisfied smile (helped in part by the parting goodie bags - full bottles of Chase vodka, oh my!)and a sore head the next day.
On Friday I went to The Savoy to see Legally Blonde (a classic inspiration for my life), starring the still-fit early Noughties hearthrob Duncan from Blue. He didn't disappoint. And neither did the musical. Amy Lennox was standing in for an ill Sheridan Smith but honestly I can't see how the leading lady could have done a better job than her understudy. It was Amy's first time playing the role and as Sheridan had only bowed out hours before the cast hadn't had a chance to do a full run through. Despite this, it was fantastic, the songs were upbeat and the jokes kept coming. The dance routines were choreographed so well and with a fine attention to detail. No corners have been cut in this production and I thoroughly recommend going to see it whether you are a musical fan or not!
On a slightly arty note, I spent Saturday at the National Portrait Gallery. I went to see the Irving Penn exhibition, a collection of the renowned photographers portraits capturing a host of famous faces ranging from Salvadore Dali to Nicole Kidman. His personal development as a portrait photographer was evident - the images from the 1940's lacked some of the intimacy and depth shown in the shots from latter years. The strength of the images lay in how he captured the character and spirit of his models in a headshot - from the sheer glamour of Grace Kelly through to the childlike naughtiness of Audrey Hepburn. After viewing the Penn collection we took a wander through the Twiggy exhibition, documenting the life of the iconic model ranging from her awkward teen years through to the present day. The woman looks better now than she ever did. Seriously. I stumbled across an interesting Francis Bacon and a Warhol as well as the infamous 2009 portrait of William and Harry Windsor, with Will's head looking slightly more "thatched" than it does in paparazzi shots...
This week has been quite the blur what with the Brits and the kick off of London Fashion Week. The city is buzzing with so-hip-it-hurts fashiony types which always makes for good entertainment at the very least.
I'm not quite cool enough to be invited to the actual Brit Awards ceremony, however I was at the afterparty in Altitude 360 hosted by none other than Mean Girls star Lindsay Lohan. The screening party in the Millbank Cinema had a carnival theme complete with candyfloss and popcorn stalls, stilt walkers, burlesque dancers and (slightly bizarrely) some dwarves. The champagne flowed as the beautiful people watched Cheryl belt out her hit "Fight for this Love" on the big screen - possibly the most eagerly awaited act of the evening. Once the clock struck ten everyone headed upstairs to The River Room, a futuristic white space with panoramic views of the city. Lindsay showed up looking quite the movie star - I had been expecting a bit of a hot mess if truth be told - and encouraged us all to dig deep for the evening's auction in aid of the Haiti disaster. Cameras flashed, people danced and lots of money was raised for a good cause leaving guests heading home with a satisfied smile (helped in part by the parting goodie bags - full bottles of Chase vodka, oh my!)and a sore head the next day.
On Friday I went to The Savoy to see Legally Blonde (a classic inspiration for my life), starring the still-fit early Noughties hearthrob Duncan from Blue. He didn't disappoint. And neither did the musical. Amy Lennox was standing in for an ill Sheridan Smith but honestly I can't see how the leading lady could have done a better job than her understudy. It was Amy's first time playing the role and as Sheridan had only bowed out hours before the cast hadn't had a chance to do a full run through. Despite this, it was fantastic, the songs were upbeat and the jokes kept coming. The dance routines were choreographed so well and with a fine attention to detail. No corners have been cut in this production and I thoroughly recommend going to see it whether you are a musical fan or not!
On a slightly arty note, I spent Saturday at the National Portrait Gallery. I went to see the Irving Penn exhibition, a collection of the renowned photographers portraits capturing a host of famous faces ranging from Salvadore Dali to Nicole Kidman. His personal development as a portrait photographer was evident - the images from the 1940's lacked some of the intimacy and depth shown in the shots from latter years. The strength of the images lay in how he captured the character and spirit of his models in a headshot - from the sheer glamour of Grace Kelly through to the childlike naughtiness of Audrey Hepburn. After viewing the Penn collection we took a wander through the Twiggy exhibition, documenting the life of the iconic model ranging from her awkward teen years through to the present day. The woman looks better now than she ever did. Seriously. I stumbled across an interesting Francis Bacon and a Warhol as well as the infamous 2009 portrait of William and Harry Windsor, with Will's head looking slightly more "thatched" than it does in paparazzi shots...
Wednesday 10 February 2010
Oh, and one more thing...
Clogs. Just don't do it.
I don't care if Alexa looked hot on the cover of Vogue, Alexa looks hot all the time. We humans don't. And certainly not when our foot is encased in a giant upturned leather/wood hybrid shell which weighs about the same as a small child. So not a good look.
I don't care if Alexa looked hot on the cover of Vogue, Alexa looks hot all the time. We humans don't. And certainly not when our foot is encased in a giant upturned leather/wood hybrid shell which weighs about the same as a small child. So not a good look.
Tuesday 9 February 2010
Sexy Sportswear
It's upsetting to say the least.
The rise of the tracksuit pant for SS10, under the clever guise of "sportswear luxe" (ladies don't be fooled, a pair of jogging bottoms shall always scream one thing to me - the woman who has spent less time at the gym and more at the local greasy spoon) is creating a storm in fashion town. Hailed as a chic and comfortable alternative to the Noughties obsession with the skinny jean and latterly the "jegging" (a truly vile word if I ever saw one), this time around the trackie bottom is to be paired with skyscraper heels and a tailored top. That's right, these pants certainly aren't for lounging in front of Jeremy Kyle. In silk, satin and the ever reliable grey jersey, they must be worn tight and tapered at the ankle.
But enough of the blurb. The truth is, approximately 10% of the women who try to carry off this trend will get it right. Mainly because the women who will embrace this style will be the ladies who embraced tracksuit bottoms in their fully fledged Sporty Spice form back '98. Contrary to popular belief, this time around, they won't be hiding a multitude of sins. Rather the opposite in fact. Real women i urge you, steer clear!
The rise of the tracksuit pant for SS10, under the clever guise of "sportswear luxe" (ladies don't be fooled, a pair of jogging bottoms shall always scream one thing to me - the woman who has spent less time at the gym and more at the local greasy spoon) is creating a storm in fashion town. Hailed as a chic and comfortable alternative to the Noughties obsession with the skinny jean and latterly the "jegging" (a truly vile word if I ever saw one), this time around the trackie bottom is to be paired with skyscraper heels and a tailored top. That's right, these pants certainly aren't for lounging in front of Jeremy Kyle. In silk, satin and the ever reliable grey jersey, they must be worn tight and tapered at the ankle.
But enough of the blurb. The truth is, approximately 10% of the women who try to carry off this trend will get it right. Mainly because the women who will embrace this style will be the ladies who embraced tracksuit bottoms in their fully fledged Sporty Spice form back '98. Contrary to popular belief, this time around, they won't be hiding a multitude of sins. Rather the opposite in fact. Real women i urge you, steer clear!
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