Naughty Noughties

I plan to start the New Year as I mean to continue - in Chanel, clasping to my heart my new delicious purple Liberty 2010 diary. I've never felt grown up enough to warrant a beautiful diary, but my new journal, all smug in it's regal leather jacket, is just the ticket to see me out of the noughties. Whilst others advocate now is the time to look forward, the tag line 'New Year, New You' makes me heave. January is the time for sales, failed resolutions and bitter weather without mulled wine redemption. January is dire. Even the January Vogue that arrived on my doorstop a good few weeks ago looked like it had begun it's diet; thin and detoxed of all last years fashion faux pas, it paled in comparison near it's September cousin. Still, there's no better time than now to cast a cynical eye over the frolics of 2009, and the end of a decade.

The year that saw the death of Michael Jackson and the rise of Obama also shot Lady Gaga well and truly into the firmament. The ever invasive and controversial spiral of reality television hit a cataclysmic wall with the death of Jade Goody; anyone left questioning how far is too far needs their head screwed tightly back on. And the continuing production of gadgets and technological delights came so thick and fast that even a consumer with the highest rate of retail metabolism could suffer indigestion.

And so to look back with haute couture hindsight at noughties fashion. The birth of the WAG and the fail safe Ugg (don't knock them til you've tried them; I used to think they were Satan's footwear for those who had bypassed style, until freezing toes screamed their thanks in snug sheepskin!) saw even the discerning tackle casual attire at it's most lax. Juicy Couture tracksuits... Need I say more. We wanted to be thin, then fat, then thin again, then curves were in whilst secretly inside we idolized thin thin thin. The size zero debate rages on, with enough comings and goings to compete with the tide. But in the perimeters of accessories, all we wanted was XXL; big sunnies, big heels, big handbags. Investment bags replaced IT bags (I always knew Chanel would triumph, forever and always, the 2.55 epitome!). Luella crumbled, McQueen skulls skulked round every coquettish neck and high street collaborations with designers pulled the sinews of the fashion world even tighter together. We enter a new decade with the circumference of the circle of fashion trends and patterns minimized. I already think the whole contraption has folded in on itself, spewing out every furore there is. Everything is in, and everything is out. Marvelous? Perhaps.

And me? The noughties has seen me enter and leave my teen years, and long may it be remembered. The blog has seen a makeover already for 2010, even though it is still at the tender age of 2 months old. Enjoy whatever you may be doing on this New Years Eve - and be sure to check back in the New Year!

Patience is a virtue

As the sherry and Babycham ebbs away from my tired arteries, I am running a little low on festive cheer. This year was the first to herald my dwindling Christmas sparkle, and I fear I may have grown up too much! Plus the previous week to Christmas had bestowed on my doorstop enough snow to make even a woolly mammoth think twice about trekking out. It was, to say the least, uninspiring. Impatient as I am, my major Christmas present had been warming on my back since early November; the coveted, Barbour inspired All Saints jacket. Of course, I had many a little treat under the tree, but as I watched friends and family open their crown jewels beneath the boughs, I couldn't help feel the pang of disappointment that comes with knowing your prize present is hanging in the hall way, smelling of damp wax and decorated with an array of dog paw prints and cat hair. Chic? Non. I have taken note, and will be a more patient, better behaved girl next year.

TWENTY FOUR: Chanel 2.55

I had to leave the best til last... have a very merry Christmas and a wonderful day tomorrow!
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TWENTY THREE: Selfridges

Last minute shopping?!
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Chanel shoes for a tenner....

I think the novelty of the snow wore off quite sharply when I discovered the Christmas turkey wasn't nestled snuggly in the freezer compartment in our garage, but laying anonymously along some supermarket shelf. Panic set in. To think, the staple of our Christmas day feast had not been secured! And any adversary reassurance that all would be fine was dashed by another blizzard of snowflakes, bringing the approximate depth of the snow outside my doorstep up to the dizzying heights of six or seven inches. The manic and dangerous outing to our local Waitrose to secure said turkey has not been my only outing of the last 5 days; I made a rather exciting dash home across the woodlands with some emergency sausage rations today, and yesterday travelled the length of the common and took two trains just to see one of my oldest and dearest friends, returning home with a much sought after panda hat. I don't think I've ever been so excited to go to a crippled run down shopping mall full of pigeon droppings, or entered River Island with such vigor, but desperate times call for desperate measures. For anyone numerically challenged, I have left the house a grand total of THREE times in the last five days. To shy away from the kind of stir craziness that should be harnessed well and truly in the film stills of The Shining, I have decorated the Christmas trees, tidied the larder, read every magazine in the house, ordered a new hoover and I even stooped to such levels of boredom that I gave my nails a leopard print finish. Tacky.
But the snow hasn't been all bad news. Money has been burning a hole in my pocket and without adequate shopping trips, I reverted to trusted eBay, and have managed to snaffle up not only a Louis Vuitton vernis wallet for the not too shabby price of £50, but I've unbelievably bought a pair of vintage Chanel shoes for £10. Typical of the classic design, the pumps are red suede with black leather toes. They are my size, but whether they will fit a treat or not is yet to be revealed! I'm sure I'll take pictures of them when they arrive; Christmas has come early for me!
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TWENTY TWO: Lucie Campbell Ring

Christmas isn't complete without frosting...
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TWENTY ONE: Chanel Ski Gear

I doubt I would ever be accomplished enough to make it down a ski slope with an ounce of elegance, but Chanel ski gear would certainly make me look the part.
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Westwood backing

It's been hard to escape the Copenhagen furore, and I was unsurprised to see the lovely Viv rear her bonkers head at the slightest whiff of anything green. Backing campaigns set to save the rainforest, Westwood has designed a t-shirt to promote green thinking, and whilst it may not be currently available in the shops, I have no doubt the humble shirt would sell like discounted Moet. Of course, there are many things about Viv which are a tiny bit delusional but I can't help but be unashamedly fascinated by her. I admire her so much, and despite being as mad as a a box of frogs, you can't knock her determination and free spirit.
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TWENTY: McQueen Tights

I struggle to pull a coherent sentence together to express how much I love these tights, but all I can muster is an O, an M and a G.
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NINETEEN: Ray Bans

The fashion savvy's sunnies of choice, whether your skiing or Sloane Squaring it, don't be seen without them.
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EIGHTEEN: Marc Jacobs Hair Band

With an ivory plastic flourish, transform your outfit from dull to delish with this hairband.
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Tiddlypom

Some things in life are worth waiting for. Other things, like decorating gingerbread houses, are not. There's a photograph of my completed house - despite advice from the recipe, I decided to throw caution to the wind and decorate it anyway last night! Would have posted completed pictures earlier but I was up to my elbows in icing and was quite delirious from all the sugar sniffing.
This blog has taken rather a festive turn of late. We've had about 5 inches of snow so far, and the blizzards are still raging outside. The fashion finesse might have dwindled from my posts, but I'm hoping the scent of cinnamon in your nostrils and mulled wine in your gullet excuses a lot of Christmas cheer! Tomorrow, I shall decorate the trees. The weekend brings a Narnia themed party; I have sliver eyeshadow, a tiara, cream dress, Chanel shoes, sparkly lipgloss and an abundance of Swarovski crystals at the ready. The thing I love most about snow is the way it falls so silently. You literally can wake in the morning, with the strange opalescent gleam outside, and peek with surprise at your street or garden lavished with snow!
Now to creep to bed with my near frostbitten feet and snuggle down in my feather duvet for the night, with my little cat for company. Come the morning, maybe I'll be inspired to write a more formal and interesting post.... or maybe I'll just go and frolic in the snow...

SEVENTEEN: Lady Gaga

I couldn't get through my advent without a mention of fashion's latest music pet and muse. Everyone's going crazy over Gaga; love her or hate, you can't deny that the girl knows how to toy with fashion.
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Candy Cane Construction Ltd.

If you're anything like me, e.g curious and slightly bemused, you might have seen the most amazing gingerbread houses in the shops and then wondered why they ask so much for them. Hence why I decided to make my own gingerbread house this year, and discovered within five minutes why they demand such a high price; a) if you don't have lots of bakery goods in your house, it'll cost you around £20 to make a house with your own fair hands anyway, and b) they are bloody difficult to make. To be honest this post comes a bit early, and the house isn't finished yet, but I'm impatient and I can always add more delicious looking posts of the house as it nears completion. If you're a boring old fart and don't want to read about my trials in making the house, you can look at the recipe online here. And if you have severe difficulties in contemplating how anyone could create, let alone eat, a fantastically fattening house that contains gallons of sweeties and tons of butter and sugar, I suggest you don't read on.
Now for those who have stuck with me in reading this mundane but salivatingly good post, I'll tell you now I'm no cook. Everyone who knows me knows I'm an awful cook; the only thing I seemed to have perfected so far is home made chunky chips, and let's be honest, a life time of chunky chips isn't going to lend itself well if I want a life time in couture. Couture just doesn't accommodate thighs. Or any vaguely rounded flesh. Or anything, really, that isn't pointy and boney and skeletal. Anyway, I digress... so I'm not quite sure why I suddenly took it upon myself to create a gingerbread house. I hate Christmas cake, so it's nice to have a festive cakey option for me this year as I love gingerbread. My search started with the cook books in the house, to no avail, so I turned to trusty google. The first recipe I looked at warned how difficult a gingerbread house is to make, before even going into the ingredients or the where's and why's, so I clicked away immediately and found a recipe that didn't give me a foreboding commentary.
Any other blog readers have snow today? Uh huh, me too. So I had to set off, in my little car which I haven't driven for months (watch out pedestrians, I'm mounting a curb near YOU) and headed out to buy ingredients with TWO pairs of shoes, which clearly means this was a serious trip (I can't for the life of me drive in Hunters, and Uggs aren't snow proof). Back with my shopping bags, I started to mix!

First went the dry ingredients into the Kitchen Aid, whilst I started to stir the butter, sugar and syrup on the Aga so it made a really scrummy treacley sticky gooey sweet sugary yummy gloop. Mmm.

Oh and by the way, yes I did document all my processes using my BlackBerry camera. I'm terrified my little house will fall apart and I'll have nothing to show for my herculean efforts, so feast your eyes on the pictures!

Out came the goo and it was mega greasy, I've made gingerbread men before and never known a dough to be soooo sticky and greasy, so I was a bit concerned, but the dough set nice and hard. I had to make little templates for the bits of the house, which was a complete pain because you're really proud of your dough shapes, you pop them in the oven and then POOF ten minutes later, they're baked and distorted!

ANYWAYS. So then I had to wait for them to cool, and then I could finally put the walls together.

Note the crazed cat in the background. Don't worry, she's gone no where near the house, despite her unnerving interest. I think she'd quite like a bit of icing.

I am using icing for glue, so to speak, to keep all the gingerbread walls together. Now I have to wait three hours for them to set, and then I can put the roof on, and it won't be until tomorrow that I am able to decorate it! I'm so impatient. I baked a little gingerbread man to inhabit the house, and made him an Xmas tree too, so I was able to decorate them to keep myself busy, but I'm so desperate to decorate it now!! Fingers crossed it doesn't fall apart....

SIXTEEN: Jimmy Choos

Jimmy Choo's compliment the perfect LBD, and with so many Christmas parties approaching, it could be time you go Choo hunting...
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Miaow

Isn't that an awww and a half picture! Not my own little kittykat, but a regular visitor of my boyfriend's old house. I'm aware that this post may fall of deaf ears (or blind eyes since you're reading?) but I thought I'd plug it out there on the off chance someone might be looking to rehome a cat. Cat and Kitten rescue do the most amazing job in rescuing and rehoming poor little pusscats. Sure, they might be a bit scraggly and need a bit of TLC, but they can become the most beloved little critters. My dearest Niamh was a bag of bones when I first brought her home, but she has turned out to be the most glamourous sophisticat (pun intended). This is the time of year I'm labelled even more of a mad cat lady as I start to gather together a bundle of cat friendly fishy pates, kitty kibble and an assortment of pingpong balls (FYI, cats LOVE pingpong balls) for the poor cats at the home near me that don't have any family to call their own this Christmas. If that pulls at your heartstrings and you're interested in rehoming a cat or kitten, there are always plenty of fuzzy headed felines just waiting to be snuggled. CLICK HERE TO BE FORWARDED TO THEIR WEBSITE.

I'm dreaming of a nice Christmas card

Sometimes I think that maybe I shouldn't expect so much in life. But then I think, what's wrong in wanting the best in everything? Of course, that leads to much disappointment, and my latest objection is with crap Christmas cards. Bar the odd delight, this years reap so far has been dire. Every year, it's kind of fun to spot the Christmas card that you think you received the prior December; cheeky, you think to yourself, they tried to get away with not buying new cards this year and reusing last years sorry batch. This year, it's more like a Who's Who of stingy senders. A lot of cards are usually culled to the window sills, as only a select few make it as far as the mantle piece, and right now pride of place is this stunning gold and cream beauty from Lucie Campbell. I'm overjoyed to have received such a delightful card from one of the most beautiful shops in the world. Is it ostentatious to display a card from your favourite jewelers of Bond Street in your sitting room? It probably is. But the sting of well-and-truly-up-yourself is a lot more palatable than stationary leftovers from the late noughties. Bah humbug.

Fits like a glove

Have I finally kicked my addiction for silk scarves? Maybe not, maybe another stint of accessory rehab is in order in the form of beautiful, unusual and kooky gloves. It was only yesterday that I was dragging a rather sad and bedraggled pair of Vivienne Westwood gloves from my draw that it dawned on me that I needed a new pair as my extremities turn into frozen stumps in this weather. Now, usually I'm very good and considerate with my designer items, so I'm not quite sure what happened with these gloves... well, I am... I got pen on them within a week of owning them, spilt some kind of carbonated drink down them and then wore them in the snow. The result is a rather limp pair of leathery gloves, uncanny to gorilla paws (do gorillas have paws?!) bar the odd water mark and biro stain. And they always were a tad too big for me. So, the thought had crossed my mind that new winter gloves were in order. Enter super Mutti (that's German for mother, for any of you who didn't take their German GCSE... don't ever tell me that I didn't pay attention in that class, because I did. A bit. I remember Opa, and Oma, and regenbogen, and...). Flying home from Vienna last night, the only salve to my jealousy for my Mutti's cosmopolitan trip without me was these rather dashing leather gloves. Black on the palms and white on the outside, they are utterly stunning, and I rarely stray into the realms of anything other than monochrome so they slip into my wardrobe a treat. The buttons add extra appeal too. It's always satisfying owning something really rather lovely from abroad, safe in the knowledge you won't see throngs of girls wearing them from Tottenham Court Road to Marble Arch. Asking where my mother snapped them up from, she replied a glove shop, to which I replied "You mean, it was a sort of glove shop? Just for gloves?", and Mutti affirmed "It wasn't a sort of glove shop, a glove shop was exactly what it was. Just for gloves". How ruddy marvelous.

FIFTEEN: Vivienne Westwood Pirate Boots

You'd feel proud to be a land lubber with these pirate boots!
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FOURTEEN: Miu Miu Wool And Rabbit Stole

Hot from the catwalk, a bit of Miu Miu magic.
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All that glitters

It seems nigh on impossible to wear sparkly make-up without looking like a lost little 5 year old; all too often does it scream let-lose-in-someone-else's-make-up-box. But with Christmas and New Year parties fast approaching, I can't help but dabble in the latest glitter inventions in the cosmetics industry. I can't speak from experience, having not tested and tried it, but Givenchy's Gloss Interdit looks like it combines the perfect amount gloss with subtle minute specks of glitter - if in doubt, smaller sparkly particles strike a more elegant look.
I'm usually one chained to Chanel 4 ombres, so it takes a lot for me to embrace a new eyeshadow, but Nars' Night Life is the thing of grown up fairytales! Magical.
And lastly, the rather clumpy and difficult subject of mascara. The worst 'glitter' mascara I've tried is Lancome's Hypnose shimmering edition. Well, it isn't that bad, but for the odd £20 you have to hand over for it, I can almost guarantee disappointment. I hate to give a bad review, but it doesn't offer much in the way of volume or length, and as a top coat effectively sticks your finely brushed lashes together in a cosmetics car crash. Guerlain's Fairy Mascara is by far the best I've ever tried. A limited edition launched a good few years ago, I don't know if I should be impressed that my tube hasn't dried up yet, or grossed out that some make-up I own is many years old! Still, this isn't one to give to the bin in the name of hygiene, and besides, it rarely gets an outing because it is too special for every day use. The clear mascara is sprinkled with tiny glitter pieces, in a beautiful spectrum of multi-colours. Brushed just on the lower lash line, it really brings just the right amount of sparkle to your make-up look! Perfect! Shame you can't buy it for love nor money...
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THIRTEEN: Louis Vuitton Trunk

If you can pack all your troubles into a Louis Vuitton case, you're laughing!
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Bidding frenzy

Every now and again I manage to source a real find on eBay and it reignites the auction fire within me, that keeps me scouring the webpages regularly for the next online treasure. From 99p 1960s rabbit fur coats, to vintage Vogues and mod dresses, I've had a fair reap of second hand goodies, but today I got lucky with a brand spanking new item. All hail, the marvelous tongue in cheek Chanel graphics of this gorgeous tee! No need to say why it appealed to me, but I must admit I was torn between this item and another Chanel spoof design. It's rival was the simplistic but powerful motto 'Coco says imitation is the highest form of flattery' below blocky intertwined CCs and a silhouette of the marvel herself. I love the irony behind it, but the jumbled up letters would encourage friends and foe to stare at my belly whilst trying to decipher the message. Not a good look. I've always regretted not being quick enough to grab an Alex and Chloe bleeding rendition of the locked CCs, so I was keen to buy this little item before the great corporate powers that be put a stop to it. Sadly I'm expecting the tee to be a bit on the large side, but I think a quick roll of the sleeves and paired with some nice leggings or skinnies and I could get away with it. Now all that's left is for the postman to get a move on and deliver the tee pronto!!

Something wicked this way comes

If I were only allowed to pick out one defining annoyance from the eternal list of reasons for my hatred for January sales, it would be that they aren't even in January any more. A few posts back, I grumbled a bit about the dreaded sales but stopped myself before I reached a rant at the brink of no return, but I can't hold back forever. It used to be just after Christmas, whilst I was still bloating from mince pies and wearing a jaunty cracker hat, that I'd wince at footage of the sale scrums that would inevitably be shown as the 'And Finally...' on late night news. Oh, how I'd sneer, and vow never to be a woman so possessed by slashed prices that I'd freeze my behind off for an out of season, probably ill-fitting and tarnished garment. But low and behold, come December whilst some of us are still grappling to source the last Christmas presents for our beloved, the sales pack are back with a fevered vengeance fueled by bargains BEFORE the jolly fat man slips down the chimney. And in some ways I can see why; who doesn't want to save a few pennies at what is arguably the most expensive time of the year? But then I remember the horrendous cliched red and white bags that serve as a siren for sale devotees (and may I ask, when was it decided that sales warranted no merchandising?! That a red and white SALE banner was enough?!), and I start to feel quite nauseous. Scrabbling for discounted goods on the dusty floor whilst someone kicks you in the oesophagus just doesn't have that relaxing shopping appeal to me. Surely perusing the stores should be blissful and easy, not a foretelling of what World War Three would look like should it be headed by Donatella Versace and her motley crew of fashion scallywags. And besides, haven't these crazed people not heard of ONLINE sales?! If you're really that desperate, why not put your feet up and have a cuppa whilst snapping up the bargains? Well, I have a theory why not. The only lunatics unhinged enough to actually enjoy January sales are the kind of sadists that like to look their opponent square in the eye as they snatch the last size 10 Vera Wang dress and chortle all the way to the cash desk. Madness.
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TWELVE: Alexander McQueen Clutch

A second appearance of McQueen in my advent, this snap clasp knuckle skull candy deserves every scrap of recognition it gets. A.MA.ZING.

A Mac match made in heaven

Scooping the latest fashion news tidbits from the glorious world wide web fashion portal that is Vogue.com, I see Mulberry has given frugality the cold shoulder and seen a 39% rise in profits. Surprised much? No. With a strict one week loan of my mother's favourite Bayswater, I invested all the energy I could into the sinews of my biceps (if you've never lifted a full Bayswater before, may I recommend you limber up before doing so, to prevent a hernia; they are HEA-VY), and on my crooked left arm, headed about town with my borrowed goods. Gaining compliments seems as easy as low calorie pie with a Bayswater as your bestie. Both the tanned cowboy-esque version (delightfully nicknamed by my friends as, The Bayswater On Crack) and the blush pink number that I have been lucky enough to borrow from mother dearest have been festooned with compliments from strangers; even at the Jimmy Choo event, when all eyes were darted with stiletto lust, did a few members of the gracious public and Vogue Goddesses run up to me, just to swoon at my bag and give it a cheeky stroke. If I wasn't so fixated on all things Chanel and the glory of the 2.55, I'd suggest that anyone with a bit of bag bunce should make a beeline to Mulberry and snap up a Bayswater, as it is an excellent investment. My current urge to splurge resides with Apple's collaboration with Mulberry; suppose you weren't the glorified owner of Mac 13 inch laptop, I bet you'd be first in line at Apple to grab one if only to excuse the next hurried purchase of Mulberry's latest ultimate dream bag. Both beautiful and practical, the outside of the bag boasts the Bayswater facade we've grown to love, and the inside a cunning protective section. And the black patent is divine. Apple Mac, I love you, but you'd look even better in a Mulberry sleeve!
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ELEVEN: Louboutins

If you thought McQueen's armadillos made your feet wince, check out these bad boys. I'm pretty sure Mrs Santa Clause would throw caution to the wind and wear Louboutins (the red sole would match her red outfit... EVERY year!), but maybe not this pair. Still, if all I ever did was own and look at these shoes, I would be very happy.
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It's all so quiet...

To any devoted blog readers, you'll have noticed an abundance of advent posts and a drought of anything you can really sink your teeth into in this blog. These last few weeks have been hectic; right now I should be running round in marigolds with bleach and polish as my choice weapons, for I am leaving the capital tonight to hibernate in all that is countryfied and green. My little flat, therefore, needs to be blitzed, but not before I issue an apology. I promise the holidays will bring a myriad of joyful posts, and if you thought many of my recent posts could be easily shoehorned into festive fueled Christmas rants, you'd be right. I'm desperately clinging onto the last month of the year, for the January sales make my skin crawl (expect a post about THAT in the very near future) and I'm making the most of the last few enjoyable shopping weeks of the year. Now, I must return to the unenviable task of packing for a month at the family home before the tube whisks me into university to hand in the last few scraps of work. DRink, be merry and don't give up on me; the blog will be busting at the seams with posts before you know it!

TEN: Anna Wintour

Queen of all Queen Vogue-ey bees, Anna Wintour couldn't not bless my advent. All hail the author of every fashionista's bible.
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NINE: Balmain Velvet Dress

Slip into this and bag yourself a millionaire able to pick up your credit card bill where you left off after splashing out on this velvet masterpiece... £4705? It's not too bad if you say it quickly...
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EIGHT: Pringle Cashmere Cardigan

Wrap up, be warm and look snug in Pringle's gorgeous geometric cashmere cardie.
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SEVEN: Miu Miu Purse

Nothing screams style guru like whipping some Miu Miu from your bag.
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Killing X Factor

No sooner had my naive brain been atuned to the discreet details of trend forecasting and what it held for the music industry, that I heard about this brilliant gambit to get Rage Against The Machine to Christmas number 1. It would be wrong to pretend I was some kind of free-spirited anti commercialism hippie freak, but I am sick to death of Cowell and his army of ill talented one hit wonder machines. I remember watching these kind of talent contests when wee Cheryl was still wielding a hairbrush as a microphone, and the whole thing seemed fun and innocent. But those were the days when I thought a pineapple hair-do was half alright and body glitter was a must for every Christmas party. As of the last decade, the Christmas charts have been saturated by talent contest winners; the likes of Girls Aloud, Shayne Ward, Leon Jackson, Alexandra Burke and Leona Lewis (and this is to name a few) have contaminated the number one top spot, interjected only by a heart warming charity jingle courtesy of Band Aid, and a lovely number from Bob The Builder. This just doesn't sit well with me. Word on the grapevine is that a Cowell backlash has been brewing for some time, and if RATM manages to get number one this year, I think a new dawn in music may be upon us. The X Factor devotees would hate it, but doesn't that make it all the more satisfying? Yes, the finalists are alright, no, I don't have any major qualms with them, and no, I'm not pretending that I hate all modern pop music. But RATM has guts and purpose; what purpose do any of the X Factor finalists have other than to make Cowell's wallet grow fatter and his trousers higher? This year, please please please, from the 13th of December, NOT BEFORE,, buy Killing In The Name in your thousands, and scream along with the rest of us 'Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me!' in the general direction of all things X Factor.

SIX: Chanel Pearls

I couldn't get too far into my lovely advent without Chanel cropping up!! Laid in swathes if you bank balance allows it, Chanel pearls complete any outfit.
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FIVE: McQueen Scarf

I scream, you scream, we all scream for McQueen!

Lacroix emergency!

I remember the first time I discovered Lacroix. It was a good few years ago, in the depths of Winter, and I was bitterly cold and looking in Lille boutiques for Christmas presents. This was way before my epic scarf collecting had begun, but I must have already been evolving into a silk square hypomanic critter because I was drawn towards a window where a great expanse of the scarves were laid out, and I just stood there and huffed all this condensation onto the glass. I wanted one so much, I can’t even remember what the designs were now but I’m assured they were absolutely marvellous. Seeing the light at the end of the recession tunnel is one thing, looking back and seeing what we’ve left behind is another. To think Lacroix will no longer being running couture shows makes my heart bleed. Couture is fast becoming the weathered, mothball heavy coney coat burden a luxury fashion house has to bare, and it’s inevitable that when the houses come under pressure, they shed what's holding them back for a super duper heat tech anorak that ticks all the right boxes, but for the prestige and magic. I'm not naive to the fact that the biggest bucks lie in cosmetics representative of a given brand, or that couture is beginning to seem redundant, I just wish it wasn't so. Couture just isn't commercially viable, and Lacroix has long been at the brink without fashion savvy SOS. Eddy would be reeling in disappointment.

FOUR: Alber Elbaz

Oh look!! It's little Alber!! I saw him in conversation with Colin McDowell once, and adore him! Lanvin lust....
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Strutting in style

Frantically searching online for the past few days, I've been waiting for some kind of technological miracle whereby I could access the footage of the 2009/2010 Victoria's Secret show ASAP, but alas, only today did I get a stunted glimpse at the coverage. And from my slightly pixelated YouTube vantage point, I have to say I am very impressed. However, I think it was without as much 'pizazz' as previous shows, but maybe I look back at past shows with gaudy-tinted glasses, awed by a flamboyancy that's died a frugal death in the past year due to the dreaded R (recession). Forgive me, friends across the pond, but the whole angel talent contest flew right over my head so I was immune to that new rouse. Opening the show, the Black Eyed Peas provided all the drama and energy I had expected from them, and I thought Fergie looked pretty fierce in a forest of willowy girded loins and freshly waxed flesh. The first model appeared as a futuristic pink star across the emerald background of the set, and I felt the modernistic spin on the outfits, whilst cliched, provided a much needed nod to the catwalk. Though the bubblegum balloons and enchanted vines about their undercrackers was impressive, my favourite segment was when the models pranced their way to a Kings of Leon medley. It was all about the fur coat AND the knickers, and in my eyes gave the face of the recession an opulent middle finger. And good on them!

THREE: Burberry Trench Coat

There's nothing more classic and fashion fabulous than the Burberry trench coat.
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TWO: Marc Jacobs Mouse Pumps

Squeak squeak! Is anything cuter than these Jacobs mouse flats?! NO!
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There's no place like Harrods

A few tube stops later isn't quite the same as a click of the heels, but Harrods offers enough in the way of Wizard of Oz memorabilia to lure you from home and into the grand emerald doors of the Knightsbridge department store. Maybe I've had my head in the clouds but I'm pretty sure there hasn't been too much press about Harrods celebrating the 70th anniversary of the classic that is the Wizard of Oz. I was therefore pleasantly surprised to walk up the slightly cliche yellow brick road (it was a tacky plastic transfer, naturally) and into the ruby red slipper boudoir. Clasping at boxes, the besties and I did our best at sourcing our size but with only size 4 and 7 left, it was slim pickings. Bestie 1 found her size but her tootsies were too small, Bestie 2 couldn't find her size at all, and I was left with what seemed a snug size 4. The Shoe Gods must have known they had a lot of making up to do after the McQueen fiasco, and to my utter surprise, a glimmering ruby pair of size 3s had been cunningly disguised in the size 4 box I had picked! Fate?! YES. The limited edition beauties are mine, and whilst I see their appeal as a collector's item, flying monkeys couldn't stop me from wearing them outside and leave a glittering trail of red sequins behind me.
A slice of the profits of the shoes goes towards Great Ormand St Hospital, so if you're size 4 or 7, why not treat yourself to some glam £29.95 ruby slippers and do a good deed at the same time?! Harrods is also littered with designer editions of the iconic heel, which is definitely worth a peekle.
See a pretty Harrod's professional pic of the slippers.

ONE: Victoria's Secret

Coinciding the airing of the 2009 Victoria's Secret show with my first advent post, I give a warm thumbs up to the nudie angels of Victoria's Secret!
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What would Audrey do?

I think it may be my imagination, but the swathes of London's fashionable ladies seem to have taken an elegant turn of late. Perhaps it's the nip of cold in the air that's forced them out of their tacky cruise clothes and into their tailored winter coat, or the lingering recession that's forced them to put on a brave face and some ladylike gloves; or maybe, just maybe, it's the whisper of Hepburn in the winter winds that's getting us all riled up.
I've spoken before about my indisputable increase of interest when it comes to all things 'up-do', but it's not just my beehive that's got a distinct whiff of Audrey about it. My pearls, too, have had a few more outings lately, and I have got such a lot of use out of my vintage black gloves. With an auction of Audrey Hepburn's rags taking place just next week, it wouldn't be beyond the realms of possibility that I have become spongelike, and by a process of osmosis have subconsciously absorbed all things Audrey.
The cutesy side bar that corresponded with Style's coverage of the auction made me chuckle; if you didn't see it in the Sunday Times just gone, it was just a silly little piece about how one can live as a Hepburn in a world of Hiltons. But between the superficial digs at Paris Hilton's lifestyle, there was some damning evidence that to live as Hepburn would not only make us much more classy and elegant women, but would make us better people. Whilst I would never give a Parisian lip-curl to peroxide blonde and pink girls, I've never fitted in with that crowd, and never wanted to. I adore Audrey, her box set takes pride of place on my buckling bookcase, and I could watch Breakfast at Tiffany's over and over again (not least of all because when cat gets wet at the end I want to cry and rescue him and squish my own little kitty). If it wasn't for the threat of pneumonia, I'd don some capri paints, a nautical sweater and some dolly shoes and go skulking about the corners of Tiffany myself, but as it stands I'll have to make do with watching the DVD at home in my balding Uggs. The world would be a much better place if we all asked, what what Audrey do?
Link for picture

Shhhhh

My posts have been somewhat hurried and petite of late, and I would apologise profusely, had I not been working on some lovely little treat for my trusty blog readers. Next week heralds the start of December, which means most of us will start the day with a bell/holly/present/indistinguishable Christmas item shaped chocolate and, in the style of a turkey, gobble our way up the advent til Christmas Eve. But while you're licking your chocolately fingers clean, why not satisfy your beady fashionista eyes on my visual blog advent extravaganza! From the 1st til the 24th December, when the clock strikes midnight, a new post will appear with a lovely fashion themed picture as we count the days til the big fat red beardy man brings us LOTS of presents! How marvellous, I can hardly wait myself even though I know what stylish treat each day brings!
I shall sign off with one of my favourite Chanel adverts of all time. I remember watching this advert on TV when I was a 90s legginged child. Shows what subliminal messaging can do to the soft vulnerable squidgy brain of an infant; maybe it's to blame for my worrying obsession with all things Chanel.

Objects of desire

Ellen Von Unwerth has it all going on. Sexy, saucy and sensual, her photographs are the only kind I can imagine blutacked to the dressing room mirrors of the Victoria's Secret angels, as a stedfast monochrome pin-up of inspiration. Forget the slut and sleaze of the Playboy mag, Von Unwerth captures the naughtiest sides of girls with enough flesh to get tongues wagging and enough class to affix them between the glossy ads of Vogue. In my opinion, it's rare to capture eroticism in fashion photography that isn't goodytwoshoed or cliched; Von Unwerth gets straight down to the gristle of the shoot, and her photographs are an utter joy to peruse. I honestly can't remember what sparked this post, I think I probably saw something about Von Unwerth on my home-from-homepage, a.k.a Vogue.com, and got looking at her pictures again. I've been a fan for a long time, but never really appreciated how much she had contributed to not only the fashion world, but the film and music industry. Her talents have clearly affected all walks of life. But so seems the blessing of being under the scrutiny of a high definition lens. Before the camera was clasped firmly between her facile fingers, Von Unwerth modelled, and years of being a subject has grafted her into quite the photography master. How wunderbar.
Photo credit

Hairy Fairy

Once upon a time I had a bob. A proper, serious bob. It was cute in a kind of Amelie way when I was in primary school, but by the first year of secondary school I felt like the ugliest duckling and was craving for lush, long reams of hair. I mean, you could see EARLOBES it was that short. I'm off to have my hair lopped off tomorrow, and as much as I'd like to go for a quirky pixie cut, I'm currently indulging my inner child's wishes and growing my hair out. I just can't seem to find any inspiration for how I want it to be styled, so I guess I'll just have the split ends off, short and sweet, just like this post.

Hunted

I was style hunted today!! A few years ago, my seventeen year old self was hounded for a photograph and I refused and have always regretted it for some reason. But today I was obviously feeling in the right mood and stood, cheesey grin and all, to have my outfit snapped. They paid particular attention to my tights and shoes (told you I had a thing for hosiery!). The shoes are Chanel, I was wearing a cream dress from Mango, Chanel pearls, crocodile bag, mink cape and I forget where I got the lacey tights from. I didn't catch which website it was being taken for, but if you see my lacey limbs all jolly on your browser then let me know! I adore thesartorialist and I commend those with enough patience to hit the streets and style hunt.