Sunday, 29 June 2008
Wednesday, 25 June 2008
I’m a Cornucopia regular, however, this dusty, over crowed space is not for the impatient or shy consumer. You will need to a set aside a good hour or more to sort through the racks and racks of coats, suits, skirts and dresses - from personal experience, a lunch hour will never suffice. The coats are crammed so tight it actually requires strength to push them apart. There are so many chiffon shirts, that as soon as you remove the first from the downward slanting rack the others simply follow - onto the floor. The shoe shelves are a mish mash of what used to be some type of colour coded arrangement, oh and having a torch handy would also be an asset as light in this department is quite limited (just in case you had one hanging around in your tote).
Sadly, it’s closure means an end to a tradition that has been handed from many a stylish mother down to her fashion savvy, vintage loving daughter. It will, however, remain in history as one of the best of it’s kind in our fashion capital.
Try to get in before it’s all over to grab yourself a bargain in the sale and experience a true vintage shop like no other. Do, however, remember to pack a sandwich, a torch and arm extensions. You're in for a long afternoon of delightful discovery.
Tuesday, 24 June 2008
Sunday, 22 June 2008
After a little inspection, the shop owner, let's call her ‘Olga’, declared that "On second thoughts, accessories from the 1920's are extremely rare and I'm not quite sure I want to part with it (inspects condition once again, pauses for effect) actually it's not for sale at all". At this point, I swallowed slowly and became very still. All of a sudden I began to sweat and then panic slightly - "But you must sell it to me, I must have it, I must have that cloche, if I can't have it I will have to change my entire outfit again, head to toe, 24hours prior to the event, that can't happen to me, I don't have the time or the strength for that, you must help me!". I fear at this point the middle aged, eccentric shop owner, wearing a smokers coat and an embellished turban of sorts began to fear for her safety. I’m guessing she decided the best way to deal with this crazy consumer was to negotiate. Olga decided she would hire the cloche to me for a swift 10er if I left her a £50 deposit. Was I in a costume shop? I decided Olga would hire the cloche to me for a quiet 10er and I would leave her only a £20 deposit (I needed that extra 30quid for pimms and champagne). Priorities ladies.
I then left Olga and her smokers coat, super chuffed; believing I had some how won “The Great Battle Of The Cloche” and set off for a fabulous day at the races. Deluded, I tell you, deluded.
Thursday, 19 June 2008
Friday, 13 June 2008
Yesterday I stumbled across yet another large, must have item in the form of a gorgeous, mounted canvas by a very talented Parisian Illustrator know as Michel Canetti. After much deliberation and “how could this be done?” style conversations with myself, I returned to my small, dark, underground London dwelling 'canvasless' and sad.
Just when I thought all hope had been lost, a beam of light shone from the deep, dark, depths of the world wide web. I was informed that a) Mr Canetti specialises in advertising for women’s fashion, classing Louis Vuitton as a previous client (very nice) and b) has left his beloved homeland and now resides in the (equally as stylish) city of Melbourne – that’s right friends, Melbourne, Australia, home of the original Australian Fashion Week, the illustrious Kylie Minogue, the street of all streets Chapel and now Michel Canetti, one of France’s leading fashion illustrators – Bingo.
I’ve considered ordering on line, do you think my parents would mind storing two 42 x 58 cm mounted illustrations of women in big hats in our family home? Just until my visa runs out? All for the sake of the art right?
Wednesday, 11 June 2008
Tuesday, 10 June 2008
Last night I admitted to the boyfriend that I, Francis Girard, self confessed fashionista (ridiculous term but what else do I call myself?), 600 hits per day fashion blogger (is that a lot?), fashion week usher and back rower (standing at 165cm I may as well down load it when I get home) has never sat in the front row of a fashion show.
“Never?” He replied “Are You Sure?” Like as if I had somehow forgotten such a momentous occasion.
I’ve since decided that September 2008 is the year of sitting – it may not be the year of front row sitting but it will be the year of sitting. Baby steps. No more will I wear black trousers, a free fashion week polo and direct the who’s who to their seats. This year, I will wear what ever the hell I want and sit exactly where a nice girl (who is not me) directs me to sit. I will also smile at her and tell her I like her trouser and polo combination.
Monday, 9 June 2008
The pictures, the colour, the heart ache – the cinematography was truly something to behold.
For those who are yet to treat their eyes, be prepared for sheer beauty in all forms. Patricia Field certainly brought us a true delight.
Mud highlights included:
Running through the snow on New Years Eve.
The deep coloured attendants and the bridal bird.
The anger of the bridesmaid in black.
The great loves.
Is it weird that I now wear pearls to bed? The boyfriend thinks so.
Thursday, 5 June 2008
Working in fashion is a career for the lucky few. Dedicated and passionate individuals (often on student wages) will go to great lengths to get their 'wannabe' red soles in the door. They beg and plead with respected publishing houses, borrow the perfect interview outfit (keeping the receipt to return it) and they steal email contacts from work placements for future reference. It really is dog eat dog out there in the fashion world. So when one of my "I work in fashion" friends recently told me she didn’t read fashion blogs, it had me somewhat perplexed. She states her case by saying; “I work in fashion all day and the last thing I want to do when I get home is read about it.” Scoff!
During my time in their world, not once did I become saturated, overwhelmed or bogged down in this ‘chameleon like’ industry we all love so much. Day after day I would spend my commute immersed in glossy pages being well aware that I would spend the next 8 hours consulting with the people behind these exact words and images. My evenings were spent downloading the latest shows despite knowing that tomorrow at 9 I would have to actually attend one, and I still lined up in the rain at sample sales regardless of the fact that I could receive a piece of the new collection FOC in a goody bag the following week.
I can understand that particular industries are difficult to escape - flight attendants not wanting to travel on their days off, brick layers not wanting to DIY on their lazy Sunday - I get that. However, not wanting to read and stay up to the minute on an ever-changing and fickle industry? This, I don’t understand. I mean, does my friend not realize how quickly she could miss a trend simply because she chooses to shut off after work? In a cut throat industry like fashion, such a dangerous attitude puts oneself in a very vulnerable position.
Scoring a position in a competitive industry is a golden opportunity. If you are lucky enough to break into the industry you should be sponging every new bit of information, taking advice and considering all opinions in order to stay well informed and on the ball. Frankly, I believe that if you don’t have the passion, the love, the all consuming, think about it every minute of the day obsession with fashion; then you need to get out and let someone else with bigger dreams fill your designer shoes!
Tuesday, 3 June 2008
Just 12 hours shy of my birthday celebrations, a last minute costume change found yours truly with a lovely dress, a sweet pair of shoes but no belt for the party of the year. What’s a girl to do? Panic and shop - In that direct order but never simultaneously!
Monday, 2 June 2008
What a roller coaster of emotion this weekend was. Firstly, I was guest of honour at a lovely soiree in Notting Hill to mark 30 years of stylish living (outfit details will follow, watch this space). Secondly, I woke to the very sad news that at 71 years young International Fashion Great Yves Saint Laurent has passed, what a huge loss to the world of fashion and couture. Finally, as I sat feeling slightly melancholy and taking in how his legacy will undeniably remain, an invite to the Dior Sale Preview appeared in my flat. The Irony considering Saint Laurent worked for Dior for many a year was just a little too much and seemed to push me over the edge. The sadness came as such a surprise, reminiscent to that of a flash flood, big, fat, fall on your breast type tears were rolling, a face full of black mascara (clearly not water proof) and an uncontrollable runny nose. Was I grieving a man I'd never met? Was I over excited by the presence of the invite? Was I being a crazy emotional girl? I suspect this sudden case of depression was a combination of all of the above, the aftermath of the incredible amount of French Martinis consumed at my soiree, the realization that I’m 30 and the fact that it's Monday.