| "Chim picked up his camera the way a doctor takes his stethoscope out of his bag, applying his diagnosis to the condition of the heart. His own was vulnerable." - Henri Cartier-Bresson In an ideal world someone would make camera bags that looked something like Phillip Lim's Adin purse...because then I'd be able to actually enjoy toting my camera around...and not feel the need to cram its rather hideous nylon case into a larger handbag anytime I want to take it out for a stroll. |  |
 | Taken in conjunction, the twin considerations of a) my manicure phobia (where I get decidedly uneasy at the thought of a stranger buffing my nails)...and b) the klutzy (and some would say slightly shoddy) way that I approach the job myself (i.e. the varnish does end up on the nails but it frequently appears on the surrounding skin...and clothing...as well)...suggests that I should dismiss all thoughts from my mind of trying to recreate the navy and metallic digits from Ruffian's fall/winter runway. At least that's what my practical side is telling me...the other little voice inside my head is suggest buying some drop cloths and letting the varnish fly... |
| My personal theory, when it comes to kitchen appliances, is that unless you're investing in an Aga stove or a Smeg refrigerator...a double delight, you keep your milk in a work of art and you get to use a little British geek humor by referring to it as "the Smeging fridge" at every possible opportunity...you should disguise as much of the offending article as possible. Which means that basically the only portion of my fridge currently visible to the human eye is the door handle...the remainder is covered with postcards, drawings, and other paper ephemera held in place by a varied collection of magnets. A collection that I think would benefit by the addition of these odes to the polaroid... |  |
It's probably a warning sign when you wait half an hour in the rain for the hotel shuttle only to discover that said shuttle is actually a white limo...which you ride in for the next twenty minutes pondering two of life's eternal questions...
| There's no real reason why the sunglasses from Band Of Outsiders' Fall 2010 collection should immediately make me think of Donald Hamilton...though the fact that I've been reading way too many Matt Helm books recently could have something to do with it. The point is, they do...and have re-ignited a desire for something over-sized, and gold-rimmed, and tinted in the sunglass department... |  |
While flipping through some street style photos from London fashion week I came across this...
| Jasco Chan's comb USB drive (aka the "Barber") creates a modern etiquette problem worthy of Miss Manners...in all likelihood you wouldn't groom yourself in public (well, unless you happen to be the gentleman that I used to sit near...back in my days of cubicle hell...who would clip his nails into his wastepaper basket each morning)...but would you use a grooming tool to hold your important data? |  |
| "To be successful, keep looking tanned, live in an elegant building (even if you're in the cellar), be seen in smart restaurants (even if you nurse one drink) and if you borrow, borrow big." - Aristotle Corduroy dress - APC, turtleneck - Club Monaco, denim jeggings - Zara, boots - Russell & Bromley, cashmere and lace scarf - compiled by me |  |
"There's a little brown road winding over the hill
To a little white cot by the sea
There's a little green gate
At whose trellis I wait
While two eyes of blue
Come smiling through at me." - Arthur A. Penn
| It's an annual ritual. Here I sit...yearning for Spring (which, it has to be faced is still some time away)...and heeled sandals (for which I have neither the sense of balance nor the enthusiasm to welcome all the flotsam and jetsam that would make its way off the sidewalk and between my toes). Yet here I am...oggling Surface to Air's safari green suede trellis-y numbers...and dreaming of an end to all this snow and ice. |  |
This dual-messaged doormat could be thought of as either a helpful hint for those of use who are never quite sure whether we're coming or going...or a (marginally) tactful hint for unwelcome visitors...
| Considering the number of silk scarves in my closet, the last thing I need is another one...even one with satisfyingly chunky lumps of brass attached to it. What I should do is add yet another line item to my ever-increasing list of craft projects and start hunting for some wooden...brass...or glass...chunks to add to it. |  |
In Greek and Roman mythology, Castor and Pollux (in Greek, Kástōr and Polydeúkēs - Κάστωρ καὶ Πολυδεύκης) were the twin sons of Lēda and Zeus/Tyndareus, the brothers of Helen of Troy and Clytemnestra and the half-brothers of Timandra, Phoebe, Heracles and Philonoe. They are known collectively in Greek as the Dioskouroi or Dioscuri (Διόσκουροι), "sons of Zeus", and in Latin as the Gemini ("twins") or Castores.
Castor means "beaver" in both Greek and Latin, and polydeukes means "much sweet wine".
Back in the day my mother shopped like Castor and Pollux...or Noah stocking the wardrobe in the ark...things often entered the house in twos. The theory was that when a beloved item wore out its brand new twin would be waiting in the closet ready to be worn...in reality, however, the pieces that she bought were so well made that they never really needed to be replaced. Which is why...long after they were purchased by dear mama...I have two Mulberry mackintoshes...two marled Joseph sweaters...and two Mulberry duffle coats...packed away in storage.
| It's also why I'm generally wary of buying multiples of the same piece...slightly variations on a theme are fine (as evinced by the numerous variations on the Breton top theme folded on my shelves)...but the same item, never. Well...almost never...Frye's black leather Chelsea boots have turned into such a wardrobe staple that I fell prey to the drunken beaver and bought their distressed suede brethren. As the DB himself might say, "Oh dam! Dam! Dam!" |  |
I know it's been said...frequently..at length...and generally by the folks who claim it "wasn't this way when they were a girl/boy"...but sometimes it does seem like new ideas are a little short on the ground.
Take French Connection's latest ad campaign...which I, for one, love...brooding men with excessive facial hair who look like they haven't slept for a week because they've stayed up reading poetry or killing chickens...and insouciant, disheveled, girls with bad posture...affecting me that way.
"There was Topper, and there was the Mediterranean. A magnificent spectacle, that - Topper and the Mediterranean. Kindred spirits well met, contemplating each other across an alluring girdle of sand." - Thorne Smith
One more vaguely Vegas-y post. Though, truth be told, the only thing Vegas-y about Balenciaga's raffia tote is that it happens to be where I first caught sight of it...the bag itself is pure "walking along a quiet little rue in the south of France...sun shining...air smelling of lavender and verbena...and a freshly baked baguette poking out of your bag". Which is probably why I'm so smitten by it...it is summer...at least the summer that I had once before and want again...the fact that it doesn't fasten closed in any way (and is therefore hideously impractical for city life)...and that it is staggeringly overpriced (for what is essentially a straw bag)...is not making a whit of difference to my usually quite practical soul.
| "Life is like a box of chocolates. A cheap, thoughtless, perfunctory gift that nobody ever asks for. Unreturnable because all you get back is another box of chocolates. So you're stuck with this undefinable whipped mint crap that you mindlessly wolf down when there's nothing else left to eat. Sure, once in a while there's a peanut butter cup or an English toffee. But they're gone too fast and the taste is... fleeting. So, you end up with nothing but broken bits filled with hardened jelly and teeth-shattering nuts. And if you're desperate enough to eat those, all you got left is an empty box filled with useless brown paper wrappers." I'm blaming V-day...first, kittens...now, the most cloyingly saccharine sweater ever created...mid-80's Ralph Lauren...ice-skating children amidst over-sized snowflakes...I feel vaguely sorry for whoever had to knit this chocolate box monstrosity. |  |
Oh cupid, you commercial little swine...the day isn't even half over and already a host of retailers have tried to convince me via email that I need to buy something...anything...immediately...in the name of love.
Urban Outfitters wins the prize though...both for brevity (clocking in at a mere 5 words)...and the sort of chocolate box romance (pink kittens anyone?) that makes you want to sit in a dark bar and read Bukowski.
If the colors themselves weren't captivating enough it would be hard to resist their descriptions...because Jane Schub, Rhode Island School of Design grad and the designer behind the nail polish brand STRANGEBEAUTIFUL, doesn't believe in names. Instead she relies upon words, and the images they inspire...so you can paint your nails "the dull red color of a lobster shell immediately after it has been removed from boiling water"..."the saturated rusty iron color of an Irish bog caused by the reaction between tannin, wood and iron"...or "the dreadfully wonderful dirty almond color used on kitchen appliances".
| The danger of traveling to climes even marginally warmer than the ones that your regularly reside in is the “dear God, it can’t still be this cold...can it?” sensation that you experience as soon as you touch down back home. I may not be a fan of searing heat but I’ve been getting a small thrill from be able to leave my temporary home (aka hotel room) without being weighed down by more layers than an onion. On the upside the temperatures have to dip pretty low for me to be able to pull this particular behemoth of a scarf out of the closet... Scarf - Hermes, plaid shirt - Old Navy, sweatshirt - Resistance RX, jeans - Joe's, hi-tops - Converse |  |
I have to admit that I hadn't realized how much damage could be done, from a shopping perspective, in Vegas. I'd anticipated the cheap tsotschkes...the craving for which was satisfied with fridge magnets, chip key chains, an Eiffel Tower cookie cutter, nail files, and Pina Colada lip gloss (the last two of which were particularly questionable purchases as I rarely take the time to file my nails nor quaff a PC).
Back from Vegas...and feeling happy...though a little damp...thanks to the timing of our visit coinciding with that of a freak weather system which hurled enough water down on our small portion of the desert to initiate flash flood warnings...strand sightseers in doorways as they watched the rain bounce two feet back off the sidewalk into the air...and cause legions of maintenance men to take to the sidewalks surrounding some of the ritzier buildings, armed with giant squeegees, attempting to dry off portions of the pavement long enough for pedestrians to walk through the watery depths.
British though I may be, I had thought that it was safe to venture into the desert without an umbrella...I stand corrected. Thanks to Marc Jacobs I was able to rectify the situation in gloriously tacky style and set forth to do a little exploring...
Spring is the season of romance; at least that’s what the purveyors of Valentine’s Day ephemera try to convince us of, and who am I to argue with the hundredweight of heart shaped chocolates that stare up at me every time I visit the drug store to get a bottle of aspirin? The inevitable consequence of all this ‘love’ is that spring is also the season of weddings and the attendant miseries of overly chilled shrimp, bridesmaid’s dresses that manage to hide every part of your body that you’re happy with and highlight every flaw, and the question of what to wear as a guest.
The latter is causing me particular angst at the moment, as not one but two weddings have somehow appeared on my calendar. And despite protestations along the lines of “never again” last time I attended a set of nuptials both events are inescapable. Equally inescapable, and even more angst inducing, is the fact that my normal color palette of black, black, and associated murky hues is as welcome to a bride as Attila the Hun at a meditation retreat.
My desperation may push me, as it has so many others before, into placing a Lonely Hearts ad, “Wanted: One dress for reluctant wedding attendee. Wish to avoid looking like the mother of the bride or the Easter bunny.”
I'm not sure why I'm quite so drawn to Tatty Devine's ruler necklace...it would, after all, be easy to replicate...and all to simple, while wearing it, to fall prey to off-color humor (insert 6" joke here).
And yet...it does hold a certain childhood nostalgia...even for me, the product of a school that practiced corporal punishment and were therefore more likely to use a ruler as a method of correction rather than measurement.
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