Piccadilly Pickings

I once heard that if you stand in Piccadilly Circus for 20 minutes, you are guaranteed to see someone you know. I have always wanted to test this theory; well, I am no closer to an answer on this, but I can tell you that if you stand in Piccadilly Circus for 5 minutes you are likely to get accosted by at least one revolting man.

Last night I was waiting in Piccadilly for Ben before going to a house party. I was here…



…minding my own business and finding the tourists mildly amusing when a man stops and asks me
‘where are we going tonight?’. He then pursued some idle conversation, he was a ‘doctor’ etc etc, (a load of trollop) and was becoming pushy and offensive. Eventually he left thank goodness, but I wonder do these chat up attacks ever work?

This guy was clearly on his own, and dressed up for a night of the tiles; was he simply prowling tourist central for someone stupid? It offends me that people launch themselves at lone girls, I saw someone else having the same trouble. Just because we are not with a man it does not mean we want you. Perhaps I am taking a joker a little too heart, but I just getting sick of people shouting at me and bothering me all the time just because I am a girl on my own; if there were a boy at my side I would not have this trouble.

Bah! And after he left a guy in a hat asked me what music was I listening to, was it emo? The look on my face scared him off. Oh well, the house party was really quite amazing. I will probably never again experience a house party with lifts, chandeliers, balconies and rooms bigger than my entire flat.

Links A La Mode: The IBF Weekly Round Up

Links à la Mode : August 28th

More fashion bloggy links:

• AuctionDivaFashion - Vintage Hawaiian Pineapple Dress
• dramatis personae - Boundaries between designing & knock-offs
• Dress Me Up Dollie - Weekend Update
• Fashion Journalist in the City - Vintage Vogue
• Frassy - D.I.Y Chanel Bottle Pendant Necklace
• Independent Fashion Bloggers - How NOT to get ripped off
• la boudoir - A review of all this falls fashion trends - straight from the runway.
• Little Black Book - Style Trend: Statement Tights!
• Mademoiselle Robot - This week’s interview with the extremely gifted Nubby Twiglet.
• Or False Glitter - Fur in Fashion: Glamorous or grotesque?
• poetic & chic - The frequent J.Crew catalogs in my mailbox are a constant source of torture!
• Retro Chick - Vintage Clothing & Retro Style - Autumn Florals: Keep on blooming
• ShopDiary - Impulse Buy: Should I keep? Or sell? Should I save up for another Chanel?
• THE COVETED - Coveting Chinatown, a Visit to 1930’s LA

Expensive Capers

Nowhere is safe. Even though I avoid shops these days, and keep away from ASOS I am getting accosted by fashion purchases via my daily blog haunts! I was directed towards Cocco Career and the designs of Belle Sauvage and found the most perfect cape, that was possible made with me in mind, how else could they get it exactly how I would wish a cape to be?

Curse Kingdom of Style and their brilliant designer spotting, now I know about this cape I need it. Oh I know, do I really need another cape? Won’t I soon grow out of my gothicy fashion phase? Where would I go in it? The rational Sarah is present, but as usual the passionate desperately emotional one is more potent. £200. Two weeks rent. Is that a lot for such a cape? How much would I regret it? Realistically, I can’t even afford Topshop at the moment...but it is such a cape!

In the Dolls House

Tonight I finally got to the Viktor and Rolf exhibition, and quite by accident…last minute I arranged to meet Josef from Pollocks at the Barbican, for what he mysteriously labeled an ‘event’; I found myself be-plimsoled and make-up bare at what turned out to be a late night showing of the exhibition, themed as a dolls party.

Late night events take place at the Barbican every Thursday I believe, and this Dolls party invited folk to dress up as dolls and come eat cake and drink tea after milling around the exhibition. People really went to town with this theme and there were some amazing ‘dolls’ wandering around; the effort put in was really quite outstanding and would beat any East London fashion party. What was particularly wonderful was the variety of people, young, old from all walks of life it seemed, all dressed as dolls with icing on their fingers.

How I wished I could have partaken in this fancy dress! I have some amazing eyelashes that are totally doll, and think of the make-up fun?! I, however, looked like a scruff, but I soon got distracted by the exhibition itself.

The House of Viktor and Rolf has a fairly small but perfectly utilized showing space. A massive dolls house towers up in the middle of the room with freaky china dolls placed on each level. Their outfits are direct replicate of the catwalk and apparently their hair is real and dyed to exactly match that of the model who walked in it.

We were then treated to the full size versions of each look, and it is cleverly separated into seasons with tapes of the shows running in the background. Their designs are art themselves, which is perhaps why this translated so well into an exhibition.

What I particularly like about their designs is the way that the clothes take over; the clothes wear the models, not the other way around. This is magnified by a multitude of special lighting effects in the shows as well as the clothes themselves.

I really could go on all night, but my bed (and a 3rd cup of tea) beckons. I will just end by saying that I found it a very inspiring evening, and I fully recommend anyone who can to go and see it before it ends 21st September. I think I myself will try and go again and even pay the £6 in my poverty to do so. I was wary of security and didn’t take photos of the exhibition itself, but here are some shots of the tea party goers.

Very Dazed and Confused

A Dazed and Confused exhibition warranted the premier outing of the furry gilet (it must be pronounced with a silent t and a flourish for maximum effect). This ‘gilet’ is made of long faux black fur that almost looks like feathers when worn, and quite strangely it came from Miss Selfridge. Despite dithering in the shop, wondering would it work, I purchased and Thursday evening the temperature seemed suitable for the gilet.



The Dazed exhibitions= a good knees up, of course with a little art thrown in for good measure. The cocktails were plentiful, pretty and so strong a sip made you wince and blink.




So we winced and blinked happily to some music in the Old St offices. It was warm but I rather stubbornly, well stupidly, did not remove the gillet for I had grown accustomed to it. I took a pictures of my companions as we stepped outside for some fresh smoky air.

Ellie (on the left) is actually wearing a maternity dress she found in Angel market! Looks brilliant, and it must be nice to know you have a little accommodation should you fancy a large lunch, unbuttoning trousers is so unbecoming…



We left quite early and went for a bottle of fine white and some bags of crisp in Bar Music Hall. There some Jane Normans with jangley belts started a little ruckus, but we left leaving them clanking away ‘sexily’ and were safely home by 10. Becky and I cooked some bagels on the toaster and set the fire alarm off. All in all an enjoyable eve.

Creature Comforts??!

One afternoon, my friend Kara and I decided to take a trip down Kings Road. I was hungover, but I had a Starbucks panni and it hit the spot. We went for the charity shops at the end of the road- rich peoples casts offs just happen to be much nicer than most things we own- and after a a browse we went to Harrods. It was on this journey when Kara whispered the controversial question to me…

‘What do you think about fur?’

I was momentarily stumped, because if the truth be told, I’m not sure what I think about fur. My mind is not made up on the subject. Part of me is totally disgusted by fur in fashion; I love love animals to such an extent that I wanted to be a vet until I realized I couldn’t do science. I am so squeamish that I became a vegetarian after seeing Gordon Ramsey kill a veal, and I am a girl who can comfortably sit through child poverty adverts, but if a Jack Russell comes on TV talking about how he was abused I weep like a child! So it stands to reason that when I see the hairy protesters outside department stores waving pictures of skinned bloodied animals, I am always repulsed and very affected. The idea of breeding animals to cruelly cull for vanity can surely never be endorsed?

But, and this awful but always enters my mind, there is nothing quite as glamorous as a fur coat. Fake fur is never the same, it sits differently, looks different and feels different. The idea of being all heeled and lipsticked with fur draped over me is very attractive. I am well aware that this perception is probably due to images of stars from the 20s and 40s who wore fur; no one can argue that they achieved a level of glamorous and sophistication that we can only dream of, but is there a place for fur in modern society?





I think that my main issue is with designers who put fur in collections that have a high distribution numbers. Having a fur coat in a ready to wear show has different connotations to having a fur coat in a couture show where it is very much a one off piece, though I suppose morally there is very little difference.

And this is where my argument becomes tied in knots and folds in upon itself. It doesn’t matter how you wear fur, you can buy vintage safe in the knowledge that this coat was sitting there, the animal dead before you came into existence, but morally is it any better than buying a coat from a new collection?

Luckily I don’t have to worry too much as fur coats do not enter my budget and are unlikely to do so for quite some time; when I have the £36,000 for a Dior white fur coat I will ponder the issue in more depth. Plus, it seems that marching outside Harrods with a placard is really quite a fruitless activity, style.com have just named fur vests as the season must-have, proving that there are some things in which fashion will always remain stone age.








(Fur @ Etro, MaxMara and Marni this Fall)

Playing with Polyvore

As an ex- humanities student, I have no knowledge of photoshop by trade, in fact I don't even have it on my Mac; this has proved quite annoying when I have wished to be a little creative and make some inspired pictures.

A solution is at hand however! I discovered a internet programme called Polyvore; this allows you to make 'sets' of things, you can clip images from the internet yourself, and it also has thousands of fashion bits and bobs already stored from sites such as netaporter and Topshop.

My first attempt is pretty typical of my look at the moment, lace and black; though obviously many of the goods are far out of my price range. It is more of a wish board of what I would wear if I could afford it.



(Dress-Warehouse, Shoes- Kurt Geiger, Nail Polish-Chanel, Necklace-Urban Outfitters, Lashes- Shu Uemera, Cape- L'Wren Scott, Bag-Hermes, Tights- Express Fashions)

Links A La Mode: The IBF Weekly Round Up

Links à la Mode, August 21st

Check out these fab links from my fellow fashion bloggers:

• dramatis personae - Trashy Diva did it again.
• 
  
• Dress Like a Celebrity - I Want to Dress Like a Celebrity - Kate Beckinsale
• 
  
• Dress Me Up Dollie: - Runway Report: Emma Cook
• 
  
• Independent Fashion Bloggers - How to Make Money with Affiliate Programs
• 
  
• Little Black Book - Rock up your wardrobe
• 
  
• Mademoiselle Robot - Becoming… Wonder Woman
• 
  
• Or False Glitter - Latex, lace, and toilet art
• 
  
• PR COUTURE - Plus Size Fashion PR Request for Fashion Week Documentary
• 
  
• Quail By Mail - She will wear Shweshwe
• 
  
• Retro Chick - Take a Bow…..
• 
  
• SwanDiamondRose - Image love ~ the prettiest clutter
• 
  
• THE COVETED - Cutting Edges : An Interview with Alithia Spuri-Zampetti

Christian Dior Me

Style.com have just added a new beauty photo search feature to their flashy new website and I have spent a great deal of today trawling through the photos. At the moment only the big guns are up there but I hope that the directory will expand in the near future. The feature makes it far more easier to access beauty shots and gives lots more lovely make-up photos (some that actual give the models personality).

I have spotted my next challenge:




I am going to try this Christian Dior look over the weekend. It will need a steady hand for the eyeliner and lashes- I have had far too many glue in the eye incidents. I like the arched eyebrows but look closely and you will notice that the models natural eyebrows have been blocked out. This must take industrial strength concealer which I don’t have and is probably expensive to buy; might have to leave the brows out.

I have been dying to try a black lipstick look for some time. I loved the symmetrical anonymity of the YSL’s Fall black bowl cut and lips.


Whilst this look seems like it would not translate into real life, there is a guy I’ve seen around London who has embraced the look full throttle with amazing, if a little impractical, results (but who needs to see anyway?).

(Pic By Alistair Allan)

If I could I definitely would try this striking look, but chubby cheeks do not mix with bowl hair cuts, and lets face it, its a commitment of a hairstyle! The Dior look is the perfect way to try out high glam goth black lipstick in a more subtle, yet still effective way, it could still go one of two ways though will report back.

Livin La Vida Loca

When I was young ‘ambitions’ were all the rage; all of us had some ambitions decided, it was something most thought about. Mine were written and signed in a notebook with a padlock-aka a secret book. It went as so:

AMBITIONS

1. Swim with dolphins
2. Meet Hanson
3. Fly to America in a jumbo jet


Over ten years later I did indeed achieve 2 of the 3 (unfortunately still waiting to meet my favourite blonde brothers). Now ambitions has lost its relevance as a word, and I certainly don’t sit around making them; yet there are still small things on my ever increasing ‘to do’ list and recently I managed to tick another off. I finally sang Ricky Martin Livin’ La Vida Loca in karaoke!

This wish began many moons ago on a family holiday in Tenerife. My sister Sian and I were about 16 and 14, so old enough to venture into the bars at night and that we did with one aim...to do karaoke. We found a bar, and selected our song, Ricky Martin Livin’ La Vida Loca. Then we waited patiently for our turn, soberly in a bar of old Spanish. Our turn was next! (we had chartered the handing-in process) We got ready to ascend the stage but alas! an old portly man took our place. He sang Enrique Englasias I Will Be Your Hereo Bay-beeee to his hag wife as they exchanged loving glances. And then they stopped the karaoke, it was over! We trundled back to the hotel with sad faces. Our song was not heard.

That desire did not go for either of us, and every time I go down the karaoke I try make someone sing it with me only to get my request rejected. Finally my bold flat mate Becky agreed and I was the happiest girl alive; I only wish Sian could have joined in the song last Wednesday.
'This ones for you Sian'



(Becky thinks this is 'the worst photo [of her] ever!' but as I was quick to point out, I have a yellow canine, plus there is nothing wrong with a little passion for Ricky, he is a latino God after all)

Darkest Dalston

Post tube-rage French Fancy eating, I changed into a lace/latex combo (not as stripper as it sounds) and headed out to meet my friend Ben for some drinks. First stop was the George and Dragon; I only just realise that the ladies toilet is in fact an art gallery cleverly named 'the White Cubicle', and has ever changing exhibitions. I did think it was an elaborated decorated loo on previous visits! A clever idea, and it seems that there is a long line of artists waiting to exhibit in this very popular pub.

(Pics by ponystep.com)

We then went to ‘Come’ in Dalston; my last experience of Dalston was stumbling around in heels during fashion week, intoxicated with Moet , trying to find our way home. And I believe Dalston is very good at confusing ones sense of direction, because we had the same problem this time!


The ‘club’ was down a dead end street through some metal railing and up some stairs. I met a very blonde Patrick Wolf trying to go to into a cubicle in the ladies. Now, I used to be OBSESSED with Patrick and was never without his tunes in my ear. So I told him that his album got me through a ‘hard time’ ha I laugh think about this now, and I gave him an embarrassing ‘fan hug’. He held onto the hug for a little too long, but he was well away poor boy and I wanted to wipe his nose and sit him down with a pint of water. I didn’t though. He did however muster the energy to ask me whether it was the happy or dark I liked in his album (dark of course) and went on to reveal that his next album was going to be ‘much darker’ which I look forward to.



Ben and I then took a fair amount of photos of ourselves for amusement. Reviewing each photo I would shriek ‘gosh I am such a poser!!’ but then the next would be equally poser-ish. Conclusion? I am a poser. At least those interested can evaluate the latex and lace. I really love my shiny black leggings at the moment, but as a pear shape must remain very cautious in how I wear them; without consideration I would literally be a latex pair of hips, and no one wishes to see that, lest of all myself.

A Grivance Resolved with Sugar

Why are people SO annoying. On the tube home a group of young friendly friends got on, a-hoisting hiking sacks between their knees. Ok, we get it, you are going to a festival, well done, now lets go back to our silent sleepy commute.

But could we? Could we heck. The ring leader started spouting stories of Glastonbury, how she got to the front, and it was amazing blah blah blah. I’m not too Hitler, fine, share your excitement with your peers but not in a decibel that is challenging my Ipod.

Luckily afterwards I saw a man in Tesco with 4 items in his basket: 2 big bottles of coke, a Pizza Express Pepperoni and a small bar of Cadbury’s Carmel and it really cheered me up; I imagined him choosing his meal, and treating himself to that little chocolate. It looked so small in the basket but was put there with purpose and consideration! We should all treat ourselves to get over the stress of annoying people. And so I shall. A large glass of fine white wine, and a French Fancy or eight and a small spot of partying should do the trick.

Plastic Fantastic

Last week I read fashion super -blogger Suzie Bubble’s post on Melissa shoes and how I chortled, as I myself had a plan to blog about them after seeing the next seasons collection at Pure.

Melissa shoes are a spectacle to behold and in the dull accessory section of the Olympia exhibition, the rainbow colours beckoned me like a gold starved magpie. The shoes very much remind me of the silver glitter jelly shoe heels I had in primary school, all plasticy and tempting with a stench of youth around them.

Shoes made of plastic you say, but don’t they make your feet terribly sweaty? The sales girl said that this is a question that everyone asks, and diplomatically replied that they are no hotter than the average shoe. This seemed a little hard to believe, a pure plastic brogue cannot be a good match for a hot, tube bound, London foot, surely? Even so, I can see the attraction of a purchase as the plastic gives them a gorgeous ‘toy shoe’ air about them; apparently Alexa Chung and Kelly Osborne have just snapped up the white and black brogues below.



However, what really tickled my fancy was the Vivienne Westwood collaboration. She has designed a set of gladiator sandals and Mary Janes, in very tempting juicy colours.





The stand out design has to be these amazing heart heels. They are like something out of Alice in Wonderland, and here the plastic works to its full synthetic advantage to create something more fairyland than Earth. I think they retail at about a hundred pounds and although that seems like a ridiculous amount to pay for shoes made of plastic, I will never say never. Plus, they are made of recycled plastic and I quite like the environment. Saving the planet by buying shoes sounds good to me.

My Modern Jo

I have always found something pitiful about children growing up in cities. Rich or poor, they all seem to face the same problem of being launched into a very adult world too young. Perhaps this is due to my Dickens obsession; every one of his novels contains great Victorian London and often are riddled with the wandering child in a city, caught up in a commerce-fuelled environment.

Dickens’ city children have become iconic, the young souls who for the most remain cheerful, relying on adults yet helping them with menial tasks. The children always know their trade and carry it out to live. My favourite is Jo of Bleak House the be-capped road sweeper who holds the key to the novels mystery. Well tonight I met a twenty first century Jo who goes by the name of Dave, and is not a sweep but rather a launderette boy.

I don’t know what possessed me to journey to ‘Spin and Dry’ on a Tuesday evening, in a thunder storm, maybe it was my lack of clean anything; but I found myself in the dreary yellow place all the same.

After a small read of a very confusing book, up popped a young boy in wellies and a massive puffa coat who didn’t seem to belong to anyone. He did however, know the art of washing very well and advised us (myself, a man washing table cloths and a middle aged woman) on the prices of loads. It appears one can wash a load for £1 in Hoxton, and drying is only 20p.

He could fit himself in a tumble dryer, and yes, he did so by art of demonstration. He advised me to use a spinner to cut drying costs, and then when I feared my washing was stuck in the machine showed me which button to press to release it. Most useful for when a load of washing contains a pair of magic knickers, you do not want to have to abandon it.

We had a little conversation and I was a little surprised when he asked if I had a boyfriend- a question all singles get a lot, but not from strange ten year olds in a launderette.
‘no’
‘why?’
‘I don’t want one’
'You should get a man with lots of money'
‘Its hard to find one'
‘I found a girlfriend just like that’ and here he snapped his fingers, 'and she bought me a watch'

He then asked if I had a Mum, and when I replied that she was in Wales he said ‘is she coming back?’. I think this is what cast me back to Dickens. The thought process to ask such a question so young appeared to reveal much about this boy’s life.

But before it got too serious, Dave upped and left. It was nine o clock and his Mum was coming out of the Bingo.

A Hoochie Affair

I am late with this, but as a mother – or indeed anyone sensible- would say, ‘better late than never’. I would like to report the Hooch for Topshop party last week.

It was a smart day in work so I was kitted out accordingly for the party which was in the Burlington Club. We arrived too late for the fashion show; there was a crowd around the catwalk and all I could see on tippy toes in platform boots was some model cloud hair drifting down. I love the cloud hair trend and think it will appear on my head sometime soon, watch this space…

From what I did see the clothes were rather nice, very different to my preconceptions of logo embossed tracksuits. I think I saw a silky dress or two going down the runway. The models were kitted out in mini top hats with lace attached, a stab at high fashion perhaps? They also secured Portia Freeman as campaign girl, and show hair and make-up was very edgy. I think that Hooch may well succeed in this new direction, especially with their flagship in highly accessible Topshop.







We spotted a twin from Big Brother, and then another (or should I say the other?) Although the twins have fantastic figures and are really quite pretty, they hadn’t got it quite right with their outfits. I know I am no fashion guru but they have such potential and with a tweak here and there and they could really look fabulous. I vote Jeanie and Ellie to style them!

(twin toes)

We left rum sodden with a very strange goodie bag. A Urban Decay pressed powder (good), a hair thing (good), Office discount (great-I want some heeled boots) AND this naked rag doll with hairy hair and little shoes? Quite an unexpected pull from the bag let me tell you. It is quite hideous and looks a little like it might come alive at night and kill you, but now it has sat in my room for a time I am quite fond of it.

I am but a child

I have become fairly predictable when it comes to fashion, some may say I am in a fashion ‘rut’. Almost everything I have could be labeled under black, lace, frills, metallic or gothic.

But dig a little deeper and there are some very bizarre items that that look very out of place. You may find a mini dress with coloured printed faces, or a pair of gold trainers, even a graphic printed hoodie with –dare I say it- hearts doodled all over.

Alone they do not offend, but a rushed work morning I found that a combination of these had been thrown upon myself. I was even unlucky enough to do my hair in a plait and trodding off the tube caught sight of my reflection, I was but a child!

Being someone who gets asked for ID at every venture possible, (I’m talking rum truffles in Thorntons and cough syrup in Tesco- a high level of IDing), do I really want to make myself look any younger?

No of course not, but there are some purchases that I have no logic for. My head says no but my heart says yes. These heart shaped diamante sunglasses illustrate this point perfectly. I have no idea what attracted me to them, they are ridiculous and every time I put them on I think to myself ‘you look ridiculous’. Yet I like them, despite them being more suited to an infant.

So I will keep on with my silly childish fashion whims, and wear them with pride. The only real obstacle is to keep them safe from little hands; cousin Zoe took a fancy to my sunglasses, and I must say it is rather demoralizing when a child of two works an accessory far better than you ever could.

I hate your smell

I have noticed scent association before; as strange as it sounds, I recently used a face wash I bought daily as a teenager, and from nowhere flooded back memories of beach days and bonfires. The fragrance of the wash unconsciously brought how I felt those months using it. Quite romantic in a Keatsian sensual way, but my keen nose also detects memories of hate, and my most hated cosmetic smell is Guerlain’s perfume ‘Insolence’.

My first whiff of this perfume was when a promotions girl attacked me with it in Selfridges. Strong and pungent it has an undertone of something that really offends me. It reminded me of the smell of over enthusiastic perfume spraying in duty free, when you go all up your arm with different scents until there is no skin left, then feel sick with a headache for the entirety of the flight. This smell makes me ill.

And then came the hate association. There was a girl not to long ago whom I was unfortunate enough to work with. This person would drop a name at any opportunity, strut around dropping bitchy comments and orders to the minions (I was one) whom in fact she was no better than. I cannot fully express what a nightmare this girl was, and guess what perfume she wore?

Now my nose is super sensitive, and I can detect it everywhere, on the tube, on the bus, as a person passes. And the sad thing is, it makes me automatically hate them too. Even sadder is that I cannot bear to approach the Gulerlain counter for their pretty antiquated packaged eyeliners, and coloured pearly blushers due to the insolence of this detested scent.