20 March - Watches & Jewellery

Sometimes the posh papers, well the Daily Telegraph, have supplements on jewellery and watches. These fascinate me and I almost read them from cover to cover. Or rather, I don't read the jewellery articles, but read the stuff about watches. Even though I don't care if the watch can survive a nuclear meltdown and carry on functioning a million years from today. How do they know? Which nuclear meltdown did they smuggle the watch into to test this? Do they have friends in North Korea? And what if the meltdown is survivable but a standard armoured vehicle crushing your arm/watch just kills its functions?

I just like the look of an Omega Co-Axial chronometer. I do not know what the co-axial stands for, two axis of what? The standard day and night? Good and evil? Above or below water? Standard axis or alternative axis if that one goes wrong?

The thing is, I do not look at women's watches, simple or encrusted with an abundance of baubles and coloured straps. I just adore men's watches. Am I blokey? Clearly not, since as I said the thechnical spiel bores me stiff and I think it's there just to inflate the price of the watches (I read somewhere that at auctions, some buyers are actually disguised stooges of the actual manufacturer who are bidding to raise the price and make the brand seem more covetable). It's just a shame that I can't really indulge in wearing a man sized watch on my slender wrist. It would be interpreted, correctly, as a huge affectation, a signal of some allegiance to god knows what fraternity and I don't wish to confuse people that much. And I don't believe in collecting watches just to keep in drawers and show guests or just slobber over them on my own. But I wish I didn't think like this because I'd be more inclined to spend money on men's watches than on art for the walls for example. Go figure... Never had a boyf. into his watches either. Father wore his gold, simple, Omega (oh la la, one of the brands I like but lets let this one pass all ye freudians) all his life and so on.

6 January - Nail Varnish and Uggs

Terrific news from the beaches of the Mayan riviera... There are no Uggs on site (I thought there may be some idiots who insist on wearing them with their bikini) but no, even in downtown Playa which attempts to become Ibiza trendy, the gals are happily wearing whatever but.

A word of advice though, don't paint your tootsies and go to the beach an hour later, the varnish is still soft enough to be ruined by sand. I have no remover for now so it has to stay embedded on my varnish. Weird.

Pete Tong of all people is meant to play outdoor in the day at the Kool pool/restaurant /bar but he's cancelled due to personal committments. Mmmmh, was he ever coming? Toph is very happy to just stand and watch the action and to point out to me various hats, shoes, outfits. I think it's sweet that he doesn't credit me with knowing that he's actually looking at the tits and bums of the various shoe/hat/sarong owners... bless. Men. I yank him away after a couple of hours. That's enough. Thing is, that he can look all he wants but he's only got me for 'solace' and indeed all the flesh on display just makes him extra horny and I benefit. He has to stop saying 'You look the best ... for your age' though... saying nothing is probalby the best course of action.

tbc

24 November - Chav's Choice

I have lost my solitary (well I have one team member of the 'we hate Uggs' band but we're not organised enough to start a movement) battle against Ugg boots. It seems their new shops were besieged by buyers. I still find it hard not to grimace when I come across an Ugg wearing person, whether I know her or not. I grimace, I kid you not, it's a pavlovian response.
It's bad enough that zillions of credit challenged teenagers have been wearing the knock offs from neu look and the likes but now their older sisters are thronging to buy the real thing, especially as you can find the real ones at low prices on market stalls here and there.

I was mulling this over and then it hit me that as usual the curve for a brand to get established is between 2 to 3 years. In the sense that when the first people to wear them did, they were some music industry/fashion trendssetters bringing them back from their travels and a mere couple of xmas later they're on many lists.
Then I thought that much as a brand owner may be ecstatic to make the fast buck, he may well also worry when his product is embraced across various strata.
I don't have to fight the Uggs, becasue the fact they've become Chav's Choice will see to their disappearance. I give them till the summer and next Autumn I won't see any more though the bastards are offering new designs and bags to match and probably hats. yeah, go the way of burberry check. Burberry seem to have almost completely eliminated!

I realised I tagged this post 'shoes' but they're slippers really...

30 September - Shopping Moratoriums

Not buying anything for a month was easy. I got instant gratification from pots of paint and brushes and other stuff I needed for the house instead. And have in fact spent considerably more amply than I ever do for myself. But walking past the fashions was easier than I thought. The trick was just not to go in. In fact I lie. There was a lingerie shop that had just closed its doors one evening at 9pm but had screaming banners saying 'All bras £2.50 today'. Of course I had to go in so I loitered till a key carrying manager who was obsioulsy keen to exceed her target for the day, seeing my hungry look, let me in thinking I may by 20 or so of the creatures.
As it happens they were a bit boring so I bought only 2 and resisted the further temptation to buy the matching items. I hardly ever do matching. It never works when you have too much stuff and besides, it seems to me that men admire your portions of body separately. When he's focussing on the tits he doesn't notice the knickers and the other way round. Plus we all know that men don't really register if lace is pure, handcrafted by old widows in Seville quality or ... primark machine made stuff that can't be called lace but is of a lacey pattern design. So I don't bother. If I did I'd have to be purist and as such for example I couldn't/wouldn't mix my fabric. I couldn't wear the plain lycra bra with lacey knickers or the cotton knickers (yes I have some, one has to be practical and we all know that chafing delicate areas under gym pants can be hell) with the silk fest bra.

So apart from this giving in to temptation, which had to be done since for the previous ten minutes I had browsed with a friend and not bought anything in H&M, I bought zilch garments.

But it begs the question though that if you do this long term and don’t update your wardrobe with a bit of this year’s tartan (double yawn about calling this a trend) or the right heeled shoes, or the silly fake fur jerkin, you risk being stuck into being ‘old’. Like those men who don't update their spectacles at least every 5 years. In terms of fashion, not buying anything 'now' , not even a belt, can turn you quickly into a social worker type woman or your old teachers who just wore the same summer dress year in, year out. I'll go a bit longer if I can manage. I have to buy a new bed and dining table for example, but party season is upon us soon. I'll ave to think long and hard what to break the embargo with. Right now, having looked at the norma kamali website (cause a friend may take over all the production of it in Europe), I'd like most of her clean lines and colours stuff. Sort of American Apparel for grown ups. I then remind myself that that's not my style at all, it is simply the american princess modern ralph lauren aspect of it that I like when I wish I was of Danish stock and living in property in New England. That doesn't happen often and besides norma kamali lives in dreamland. The woman has a cafe'/showroom where everything is white. She needs to know that most of the world does not live in rarefied Manhattan Central Park apartments with maids and drycleaners on tap... Silly old cow.

10 August - Wrap around

Have noticed subconscious shift in clothes which have changed since weight gain round midriff. Am now buying loose jersey cotton dresses, some are even that boring version of pinafores of yore…the wrap arounds. I’m going older lady, though the provenance is cute Paul Smith’s or plain stuff for 16 year olds at Petit Bateau. In a short space of time I’ve acquired 4 dresses in this shape. It’s fine, they’re sort of euro elegant, can’t go wrong etc, but I definitely see what they do well, ie, make the tummy less noticeable, plus they’re lose so you don’t feel tight on your problem thereby thinking about it more than you already do and, joy, they could serve you well for the next few years of incremental increases. Oh no!

This however seems like a better option (boring) than buying anything recommended in magazines. I have watched on internet the fashion picks for Autumn (or is it next Spring?) – what the buyers are buying from Paris fall shows and I don’t like any out of 34 looks they picked. I guess top fashion buyers get bored and have to pick stuff that appears to be novel, but frankly the stuff is horrendously put together, and even if you took a jacket here and a skirt there, it’s still nothing I like. No wonder I have style but I hate fashion.

18 July - Coco & Vince

Well, some of my friends wonder how I know about this and that, but I will notice some name in the press or other source and decide to check it out. Sometimes going to see a band takes hours and I wish I would check out a new novel instead in the same time span but for some reason crossing London to go to the Boogaloo in Archway seems like a good idea if you want to see Sting’s daughter, hot new best thing, before she becomes tabloid fodder. So disco granny D. comes with and we have to stand through two not so interesting acts until the flashbulbs pop for the lucky 17 year old. All long legs and daddy's bone structure.

She’s much better than appeared on her Myspace selection and doesn’t appear to have written any more songs than those 5. But they have charm, especially the one where she goes on about ‘My name is a Stain, my name is a St a-a-a-I-i-n’ and further says with some pique ‘Never mind my dad, hear my band’. Well, am sure she wishes she was born to a Shameless type family instead of the Stonehenge to Tuscany to the Caribbean lifestyle. Oh and the record deal, come just like that, cause she's nobody.
Teenagers heh? Of which there are many there, including half her school, bopping away.

But disco granny and I have just finished harping on about how badly these kids are dressed these days, no individuality, why do the kids just wear t shirts and jeans everyday and just look like they’re permanently about to get on a national express coach to a festival? Am not advocating a return to Steve Strange and Spandau Ballet idiocy but something a little more creative? When Noel Fielding aka Vince Noir runs on stage for his dj set and stands there, looks around and with mock dismay says ‘There aren’t enough outfits here!’

To which we say ‘yeah, right on’ a little too loud perhaps and draw attention to our own not very well thought out outfits for the night. Disco granny will appear the following day in the tabs photos from the gig but tastefully not in fine grain and hardly recognisable. Me, I’m behind some lanky 18 year old.

Vince, you’re my hero, more and more! Love ya.

Ps Carl Barat is a short arse.

4 May - Are expensive vests the equivalent of album fillers?

Am meeting C. who’s in town for work tomorrow. She’s in the shoe department in Harvey Nicks. ‘Why are you buying Italian designers here when at home you can get them with 20% discount?’ I ask? ‘Because I have no time to shop at home’ comes the reply. Oh yes, she works too hard.

She eventually settles on a pair of Siegerson Morrison and drops the Guccis. She’d picked up two pairs and one was frankly unremarkable, not that either was worth the £300 plus price tag. Then remembers she’s going to NY in a few weeks and could have bought the gladiator style cream and gold sandals Siegerson Morrison there. ‘But sometimes they don’t have all the lines, each shop chooses for own clientele’ she says in her defence. I know, I know. ‘And I have no time’ she adds for good measure. ‘What? You’re so far from a Harry Bendel that you can’t run in and get them? Get your PA to phone ahead and reserve the size. That’s how you make best use of your time.

As I wait for her to pay, I pick up some perfectly plain ballerinas by Alaia and they’re over £200. That’s taking the piss and whoever buys them is really stupid. Don’t mind paying for something specifically different/tat required some craftsmanship but these are plain little nothings which will get ruined in a day.

It’s the same at Stella Macartney. Some items are nice and unique, some are just fillers. Maybe designers do the same as recording artists? Would a plain t-shirt be the equivalent of the 3rd track from the end which could be dropped and nobody would notice? My other friend M. buy a plain shirt with a bit of ruffle, over £150, nothing to denote any design nous. And her sister L. picks up a simple vest with a bit of lurex, £120 if am not mistaken. Why? Because the mark up is incredible probably. It’s a silly vest. Ok made in Italy, so not such cheap labour but it’s a silly nothing vest…. And M. has it in black she says. I predict that after one wearing and one wash, it will be treated just like any Topshop vest. But these two have to have labels…

Why does Stella make these things? Probably because she knows her suckers, and am not just singling her out. On the way out I see a L’wren Scott cardigan that seems sweet, until I turn the tag and it’s over £400. Totally ludicrous. I make a note to limit visits to these shops to a minimum. They raise my blood pressure unnecessarily. Like a tube of Laura Mercier tinted moisturiser for £32. They’re all at it. Milking stupid consumers.

2 May - Lipgloss & Glue

Do you know how much Vaseline, grease or whatever else of that yucky sticky nature there is in a tube of lipgloss? And how hard it is to shift?
My new Primark handbag, (yes, I had a moment of weakness and went in there) is awash with gluey lipgloss after a cap that wasn’t screwed on very well, led to said tube discharging the entire contents. The various sets of keys for my gypsy houses are covered. My wallet is covered. My make up bag is covered.
It’s only a £6 bag and I could get another one, but this brings out the resourceful housewife in me. I spend enough time soaking the lining in washing powder. Then I rinse and in the end, after it’s all dry again, I use my trusty old remedy, nail polish remover. The grease is gone and am just left with a pinkish extended stain on the lining, which I’ll try hard not to notice. The lesson has to be, to stick make up in make up bags and not leave it lose at the bottom of a bag.

Again and again as I scrub and clean, I think if this had happened to a £1,000 designer handbag I’d have not got out of bed for a week for the upset. And there you have the main reason why I never really purchase anything expensive. Because I pretty much damage a lot of what I own and it hurts less if it’s an item I haven’t gone hungry for (well I have never gone hungry for anything or anyone but you get my meaning).

29 April - Various I just can't turn into funny stuff

Still posting this (on 16 May) as a peg to sort out later...

A pret a' manger lunch with Dr S. and his youngest child. The barrister, the couture designer and me! S’s women… Now all on the internet. Gosh, it makes fascinating reading. The barrister especially. What a story (will tell you as soon as I have five mins to detail this strange tale).

Spent time watching Youtube videos of portraits being photoshopped. My god. I wish. What’s the point in trying to look good when the standard in magazines/movies/ads is some fakes/altered images? No wonder we all love the awful shots of celebs in their real skin that the dowmarket rags use. I'm going to save some of these vids in a folder called 'Watch if you have a mood dip regarding aging'.

The lunch advice sessions for D. and J. re bad dates. They're men and they majorly fuck it up too. They need to know what they do wrong and Lisa is here to tell them.

The things the internet is good for: a friend sent a track of his to Carl Craig and He replied instantly to say he wants to hear the rest of the album! If he wants it for his label, that's going to be a very good summer for IB.

I haven't been to Primark in ages, but am passing by. I get two x £1 rings that look very yacht at St. Tropez. They're practically the use and throw away variety as any 'gold' will oxydise in a matter of hours, but I should go back and buy ten and use sparingly. I also buy a dove coloured shiny plastic handbag that will be a good match for a dress I plan to wear at a wedding. It's £6 and I kid you know, around ten women have admired it so far and two have asked me to go get them the very same. Whilst others comment 'But I never find anything decent in Primark!'. Darn, I missed my calling. I should have been a stylist.

J. and the button phobia. Could that explain the no further action with G.?

A night with Bjork.

2 April - My kind of guy

I never said I was an arbiter of style but friends always ask for my opinion and as I've mentioned before it's a minefield. I'd like to be able to say the following sometimes:

‘It’s easy for you, you haven’t got any style’ as spoken by Vince Noir to Howard Moon.
See, Howard Moon takes no offence with that because... he knows it's fundamentally true and nothing ever will alter that status quo. Howard Moon is welcome to think that in other areas of life, he knows more, is better equipped etc than Vince Noir and so there is a balance and contentment. I would probably elaborate the sentence and say 'It's difficult for you, you haven't got any style' meaning, don't even think of trying harder, you will never lift out of the sartorial rut you're in. Just be more accepting of your limitations, and there is someone out there who will love you anyway. Now, that may not be confidence building but confidence building is overrated. You are who you are.

3 February - Naked Torsos & lemmings

I was curious when I saw the big boards with the very gay (or just jock) b/w photos of men’s torsos, advertising the Abercrombie & Fitch shop on the corner of Savile Row. But that was then. I actually finally went in only because we had parked nearby to go to the Royal Academy and there was a man with a naked torso standing in the entrance and it was 6 degrees and he was super beefy so I had to check it out. Yes, that old ruse, show me the flesh. Imagine this: the music is deafening and the store is huge but filled to the rafters with hundreds of items of only a few same lines ie. you get the same t shirt in ten colours or the same polo in ten colours or the same flip flops staked to the rafters and there’s piles and piles, the idea seems to be stack them high, make it like an Aladdin’s cave that will inspire wonder just because of the size and quantity. And everything has the logo stitched on so huge and prominent it just seems obscene. Even Fila have reduced the size of theirs, and look at Nike and their little woosh. But no, this lot seem to aim at a college fraternity type of person. That’s alien in the UK right? Despite rugby and football clubs. So why? The music is relentless and loud, (am more annoyed that I can’t actually identify the tracks) and quite distracting. The lighting is dark and people are wandering around like you do in club going from room to room, like in the Ministry of Sound ten years ago. The most incredible thing is that the store is chocka with people. I mean, Victoria station choka. Why? Just because there aren’t that many stores open on a Sunday? Or not in this formerly lovely little back water corner away from Regent St and Bond St? Is it because if you buy something you get a carrier bag with the naked torso? Is it because you is black or a schoolgirl and everyone has to have what everyone else has? Why why why? This stuff is glorified Gap, in fact it’s worse, it has no design value, it’s just preppy shit made in China (of course) and costing £50 for a polo. Since when are consumers this cretin lemmings bunch? I seriously had a freak out moment, a get me out of here, I hate the Americanisation of everything, I will become radicalised, I will burn their stores, I will never help a dying man at the side of a road if he’s wearing that stupid logo.

I took refuge in the Russian/French influenced painters exhibition. It had no music but it was just as busy. Stupid me to go to a gallery at 4pm on a Sunday. Never again. It was good but not overwhelmingly so. The Picassos on display were hideous African carving period inspired. The Matisse was not more awe inspiring than what you’ve always seen in a book, just bigger.

And Count Arthur Strong at the Arts theatre later was not that funny. Even my 3 male friends who are fans said so. Maybe he works best on Radio 4. He’s not bad looking when he’s out of the shuffling 70 year old forgetful old crony character though… Nice spectacles Stephen.

Maybe I should stick to staying in and reading on a Sunday.

23 January - Real & Fake

I meet a friend who says ‘If I’d known you were going to HK I’d have asked you to bring me back a fake handbag’.
I answer ‘No, I’d have said no can do’. She looks up from her fake little black Prada and gives me the ‘eh? You mad?’ expression so I explain. First of all there are too many shapes and sizes and styles and the whole thing would have taken much texting/calling/double checking and secondly there are good and bad fakes and the good fakes cost around a £100 or so (these are what you find a lot of on Ebay ladies, just in case you thought you were really buying a cast off or because there was an oversupply at Chanel and the factory just had to get rid of them (as if) and so you know, spend the same on a regular handbag. Then there are the bad fakes, mostly for the poor people, you know the Chinese from across the border who come into HK on a shopping trip or for the poor people of Hackney or Willesden or some such, basically the ones that feed the non luxury market.
The good fakes are for the City PA’s and for the people who step off the cruise ships in HK and may pretend when they get home that they got a good bargain in HK or NY or Rome. Or they may be acknowledging it’s a fake, and perhaps even be proud of it, ‘Look what I got’. But why? There are other bags with those shapes and sizes and you don’t need the logo right? Or do you? For the avoidance of all doubt, I read in an interview with the chief exec of Gucci that all their lines are manufactured in Italy and that’s exactly to justify the (perceived) superior quality and therefore the uniqueness and the price. And the didn’t seem to bothered by the fakes. Basically by the time you sold me one bag at £700/1k from one of your own managed shops, then your mark up is so high that you can afford to sell just a few thousands and not hundreds of thousands to make your money. So yes, there have always been ‘seconds’ that escape out of the factory but if I were Mr Gucci I’d have these destroyed so beware of what you buy.

J, the Chinese wife of our Chinese ex banker friend showed me her Gucci at dinner in HK and put me on the spot asking me to identify it. I was pretty worried this would be the start of a bad friendship (we’d just met), but I couldn’t lie. I said ‘My feeling is that this is not a real Gucci’. She said ‘Correct, but tell me why?’ So I told her the stitching on the inside of one handle was not even and it wouldn’t have gone out of the factory that way. Er… plus they don’t do it in that colour.

Trust me, I carried a fake LV (the old classic small hold-all shape) all the way through college. Back then I had to have it as the entire school did (half had LV, half had Gucci- am hazy as to the significance of either in terms of tribes) and it pained me to have it as it was brown and I don’t do brown. But back then it was good quality, there were few around and mine carried heavy loads, dictionaries and stuff for a good 5 years before it started to unravel at the handle and the piping. This probably would have happened to the real one too given the weight. I am not sure that I wasn’t pitied by the girls who did know I couldn’t afford a real one and so mine was an obvious fake though I may have passed it off as a gift from a granny. Who knows, I don’t remember, but I did very little other coveting of brands. Think jeans mattered but in the opposite way ie you wore something nobody had or was unfashionable to differentiate from all the girls who had Levis’.

Anyway, there was so much fakery in HK and the fact that it was not displayed in any iconic way, you know, THE one bag alone in a window with spotlight and plush surroundings that made it the queen of bags to behold, meant it all looked like a jumble. Fake Hermes Kelly? Just a big shopping bag. Fake quilted Prada euwwww that was last year, fake little quilted Chanels with chain handle? Funnily enough these looked pretty normal as they’ve always done but all the other styles were too much. Funny as well how there’s no macqueen, no louella, no paul smith, no stella, no cavalli etc. IT’s still the same YSL, Dior, Chanel, Fendi, some ferragamo, prada, gucci, some armani, oh and those Longchamps the French like.
But I’d have had to spend hours to find one that really had comparable leather to the originals and I’d have been worried I’d overpaid for it etc. It was the same with sunglasses and watches (in this case nobody makes fake Rados, the only ones I’d consider buying – yep… you didn’t know I was a hip hop girl did you?) and I didn’t even trust regular shops, you know regular opticians, to have the real brands, after all what could be better than passing off a cheap fake frame for the real thing, ie. sell it at the top price? After a while even if you were an honest optician you’d be a fool not to make larger profits.

My fake Prada toting friend just says ‘Why do you have to over intellectualise everything, maybe people just like that shape and nobody else is making it’ . True…. She then reaches for a cigarette and tells me all her ‘guys’ (she works in an investment bank) bring her back fags for a few quid as they buy them in the middle east. I’m clearly too worried about fakes because I say ‘How do you know that those are real Marlboros? Why would they be so cheap? Maybe there’s less tobacco in them and more cancer’.
I get another 'pitying you' look. She does them very well S., in her unique Carribbean way.

Ps. Noticed some schoolgirls following morning at bus stop, all around 12/13 with very made up faces, tiny bodies and huge fake handbags… that will be who wants them then, and has probably saved up for the fake. That is history repeating itself then, that’s a version of me with the brown monogrammed LV at college. Am glad it’s taken me this tortuous way to explain fake bags. I guess my thinking now is that if you’re in possession of a job and over 25, you’re a sucker if you buy one, but anyone else is fair game.

21 January - Stylish wanderings

The trusty slimline trainers I bought in Rio in 2003 have finally fallen apart. They were never meant to last and I’d taken them on at least 2 previous trips thinking of chucking them at the end, but then gave them a reprieve because I was totally attached to them. They walked their infant days in the staggeringly surprising botanical gardens of Rio. Full of orchids in every colour and then there was the forest. And my escort for the day was the young Italian with the velvet eyes and long lashes and the lame ‘r’ that made him so sexy. This time they have tears on the uppers and the soles are coming unglued etc. The reason I’ve kept them this long is also to find their twins. They have no laces so you slip them on easily. They’re white and slightly pointed and v. v. light. But I‘ve looked and looked and they’re a no brand so can’t order them on the net or anything and I have no chance to go to Rio for now. So now they’ve gone. I took them off outside the Hanoi Metropole hotel (a girl can’t go for chocolate fountain afternoons in shoddy shoes) and changed into heels and I put them in a bin from which a hawker quickly retrieved them. Wonder if she’s fix them, add some ribbons, colour them blue and they’ll have a new life.

But I refuse to walk in other trainers so once in HK I buy for £30 a pair of ballerina style Rockports which promise to have the same sole technology as a pair of Nike. Yes, for the first 2 hours they’re ok. No, for a whole day walking they’re not. They’re just not light/bendy enough. So I spend another 30 quid (sales time folks) on another pair of much softer black flat shoes with bendy sole, another American brand, oh how this pains me. But why would you match a black shoe with a brown rubber sole? Why??? Why not make them the same colour, easier on the eye?

They have them in all colours and am tempted by white, red, pistachio green but you know, am not rich yet so I can’t buy the same style in all colours (I once knew a man who did that with his cashmere tops… how I envied him, he ended up giving me a lemon yellow V neck that wasn’t that manly, not even an Italian man would wear it. They wear salmon pink though, it always surprises me. Anyway, these softer shoes are cut in such a way that the edge rubs on my bunions (the only thing I have I common with Posh). Most annoying. This means I still don’t have the perfect pair of walking shoes (yes there are flip flops but only Kate Moss looks good in them and you’re an idiot if you wear them in town.

Having said that, I insist on changing shoes every time there’s a photo opportunity and I carry a spare pair wherever I go on my tourist outing. In fact two this trip as the white corked high heels didn’t go with the blue with orange piping dress for example and so on. Yes folks, this is excessive vanity you may think but… ‘photos are forever’ I keep saying and I will not have a bad holiday snap testament left on computers around the world. It was with some satisfaction that upon seeing all the photos from BF’s previous holidays, that I noticed the ex GF looked pretty ropey in most of hers. ‘She scrubs up’ well he said in her defence when I made a catty comment. And that is true, in a few she’s fine, especially if she’s bothered not to take the same clothes on more than 5 holidays. That seems lazy packing to me. But my motto is not to look good ‘when I scrub up’, but … always… so there. Short heels, nothing too fancy, something that goes with everything, pretty black pointy Kurt Geiger mules and voila’ , instant longer leg and better silhouette. I’m not aiming for fashion shoot, oh, no, though I’ve considered one of those white reflective backdrops, there must be some that can be folded up in my bag. Honestly the amount of good photos ruined by too strong a flash on the face to counteract the fading light or against the sun exposure… A simple screen would fix that, but Toph tells me the GF before the last was obsessive about having her photo taken everywhere and I never ask, he offers, but I don’t want to have him make some unwelcome links between us. Ps. I will also not have a photo taken w/o first applying lipgloss, it’s lovely how it catches the light and illuminates your face in all weather conditions. Oh and a bit of white line inside your lower eye rim. Magic.

9 November - Skirts & Nigeria

I’ve tried to get rid of this Kenzo suit from the 80s on various occasions but it’s just too corporate to interest any vintage shop or friend and so it’s survived in the wardrobe/trunk for all these years of un-usage. Clearly I’d never wear a suit, have no compulsion, even when I had jobs that welcomed them, the jacket always lived on the back of my chair. I admire suit wearing women, it makes life so simple. You just stick a thin top/shirt underneath, and you’re sorted. But I can’t do it. But neither can I see a good suit go to waste so today for the first time in probably ten years, I’m wearing the skirt. It’s a pencil skirt so it’s perfectly fine for every year but maybe last time I tried it, it was a bit tight. Not now. The zip goes up smoothly all the way to the (high) waist. So it’s with a certain satisfaction that I announce to the female colleagues that I’m wearing something that I bought in ’85 or ’86. To which one pipes up ‘I wasn’t even born then’. Sigh….

And I instantly remember a flight back from Cannes where a woman I worked with dropped some coffee on it and I had to dry-clean the jacket. What a fun working trip that was. TV stuff, great celebratory dinners, exciting new people and parties, firm friendships formed, that particular one lives in Toronto now, I went to her wedding 7 years ago and she’s divorced already.

I have been working for the entire life of my young colleague who wasn’t born yet in ‘86. It’s not right. I feel tired, I want to go home. I have worked for over 20 years non stop bar a sabbatical which I’m hankering to repeat, only double in length. We’re not meant to work this long and the female life expectancy in Nigeria is 43 years which means you do stop working earlier than I am/will. But it’s not on my list of favourite countries, no matter how vibrant its chaos and how friends from there point out that only people from Lagos are the Nigerians I can’t stand on account of … many things, mainly arrogance and overpowering body shapes. I digress. Mr Kenzo, where is he know? I bet he’s still selling skirts like this one…. Time for google.

1 October - Large bags

Not that interesting but... sack the stylist. If you’re as short as Kylie is, you cannot sport a huge handbag the size of a suit-carrier. It’s just plain wrong. I can’t think of much today but I know that.

26 September - Anorexic & Fashion

Did you see the stuff in the Standard re that Italian company’s posters during Milan’s fashion week? No-anorexia (No.Li.ta)? That’s my mate…. Working for them in Northern Italy and having to shape up her arguments for the press interviews she’s being asked to do etc. I think it’s another no news story, I know some people die of anorexia but it’s hardly cancer from smoking or heart disease is it? And more people die because of what being obese brings on later on in life and nobody sticks huge obese people on posters because the outcry would be too much. Human rights would be invoked and so on. And I’m afraid for once I side with Mr Armani and Messrs Dolce & Gabbana who comment that it’s a psychological disorder that some young girls (and boys) have irrespective of what’s in magazines. It’s like the do violent films inspire violent acts debate, yes in some people, but the majority don’t go out to kill/maim/rape. Why would boys get anorexia when the models to aspire to in magazines are fit and have six packs? There’s no concentration camp chic being peddled in male modelling so explain that one.

I have a close relative who suffered from anorexia from age 15 onward. It categorically had nothing to do with models and magazines and all to do with an almighty dysfunctional relationship with her mother and sister and a desire to control something which only gave her her body as a ‘victim’ she could bend to her will. Sure model agencies tell you to be skinny for shows but I see mostly fat teenagers around on the streets and not that many painfully skinny ones. I have worked in so many places and met/known so many women and their daughters and my mind can’t conjure up any anorexic one apart from my relative. That’s not necessarily a scientific sample I’m offering as I’ve also never known any woman with breast cancer (yet) and statistic say it’s one in however many and I do know however many and more so…

Don’t know what to say. But the model in the Oliviero Toscani poster would be the first one to say she wasn’t starving herself to be picked for a fashion show but because of some other psychic problem. She’s 27 and says she’s been anorexic since age 12 Er… don’t think you’re able to tell you want to be skinny to wear the pretty clothes at that age. She talks about deep family problems she was facing, though doesn’t articulate them, but I can’t yet find her blog so I don’t know any more than that for now.

But it all led to an interesting conversation with my friend in fashion. I told her you better sort out your sizes before you enter this debate fully because your brands don’t offer any clothes above a size 12 and in reality your 12 is a size 10 and so most of my friends can’t get one leg inside the waist of your trousers. She explained that the mannequin that’s used for pinning new styles on is indeed a regular size 8 for example, but by the time the items have been pinned and tucked and pulled this way and that by the designer and get sent for manufacture they have most of the times lost centimetres here and there and so that size 8 on the label is actually a smaller one in reality. This seems to be what top designers do because the reverse is true (in my experience) with cheap clothes and by cheap clothes I’ll gladly include M&S and anything found on the high streets of north London for example. I bought a pair of size 10 office like black trousers and not only are they long in the leg, they are v. roomy on the waist and fall off me even on the ass – which as I have detailed is more Sadie Frost than Sienna Miller and yet there shouldn’t be such a huge difference between a size 8 and a 10. So my theory is that these trousers are in fact almost a 12 and the manufacturer makes the fatter woman feel good by telling you you’re a 10, but when you save up and go to D&G you come crushing down to earth as you won’t fit into their 10. Ever. Their 10 is an 8, their 8 is a 6, their 6 is a 4 and so on.

My fashion friend also offers another explanation that’s to do with body type and not necessarily body fat. She says she has constant arguments with her MD’s because her efforts to break into the north American market are thwarted by the sizes they offer to them. North American gals (and Anglo-saxons in general) are bigger boned than some of their continental European counterparts. They have broader shoulders and backs for example and sizing and just giving them a bigger size is not the solution, it has to be cut different altogether and her bosses just won’t do it so they watch stuff going into Barneys and being returned. Conversely they sell stratospherically well in Japan and I’d say Thailand and similar places where the shapes are leaner. So there you have it. M&S are not lying to me! In fact they do make their petite range for the likes of a continental shaped small woman and their regular lines are for taller, bigger boned girls. Whilst of course D&G being hugely gay (and so are many of the high end fashion designers out there) start off with a mannequin of a woman but they really want to put those nice dresses on a MAN, so they slice off your ass and your chest and give you the smallest boy waist imaginable. If you mess up by buying yourself huge spherical fake tits like Vicky Beckham then you have to wear their jackets just buttoned up with the one button on the waist and everything else hangs out but your shoulders are tiny. You don’t often see female tennis players tucked into a D&G jacket do you? They need whoever designes for the SAS! You can fit any 18 year old BOY into a D&G size 8….

And to go back to anorexia gay Mr Armani and gay Messrs D&G have no idea of what body image hell women go through, though as I said, am with them on the it’s not fashion that makes you starve yourself and even peer pressure is bollox. I never became a pot head despite being surrounded by many… or a coke user later on, despite having it for free if I wanted.

There you go. Is this common knowledge /reasoning or have I discovered sliced bread or am I a fashion writing genius? As for the should we use this model on our posters issue it’s a no brainer. Had you ever heard of No.Li.ta before yesterday? I’d say no, they could afford a few poster sites in Milan but not the world over and now the story of that poster is travelling and being picked up by all media everywhere and hey presto. Not that Oliviero Toscani would admit to it but his desire to highlight some social issues seems to always be done not as an artist/campaigner but as a photographer paid for by a company with products to sell, same as he did with all his Benetton posters for years.

ps just a thought. Why can we not have a better breakdown of sizes/labels? ie. Size 8 for tall and narrow Scandinavians, size 8 waist but with room for huge fake tits at the top, size 8 for Minnesota milk maids (doesn't exist, go back to rack with size 14) and so on?

17 September - Disasters & Ghost

There you go, I thought I was immune to marketing (not really immune but wise to it) and between reading in a Saturday’s paper an interview with Naomi Klein about her new book on the rise of disaster capitalism and being irresistibly drawn to in on Monday in the bookshop of the Tate… I was toast. I turned it round and it’s a whopping £25 for a ... book with no pictures.

Bear in mind as recently as last week I demurred and avoided spending £25 on a reduced (from £250) gorgeous dress at the Ghost sale on the grounds that it was a bit too ceremony/wedding guest style and I wouldn’t have reasons to wear it any day soon. And I was not in the mood to consider its usefulness next year or the following. Needless to say I have thought about it every day, the fabric alone was worth twice that, I could have shredded it and made window blinds if I didn’t want to wear it, they’d have been a touch of nouvel lace for all I care, and I must have been in a maddening African wind that sends you loco mood to say no to such a bargain. And I had H. urging me to get it from under the weight of her 6 or 7 incredibly cheap but totally beautiful outfits she was carrying about before spending, oh, only £90 or something.

So £25 for a book that will be out in paperback by the time I’ve read any more of it than the first few pages before deciding once again that life is too short to read theory and counter-theory and it will remain a beautiful but frankly useless purchase. Unless, unless I only open it carefully, read a bit of it, and repackage and give to a friend in a month’s time for his b’day. He won’t read it cover to cover either but will hopefully appreciate the gift as he positions it on top of the pile of other books he’s yet to read. Comfort book buying is at least not going to make you fat!. Mmmhh. I can totally blame how interesting Naomi’s interview was, how I envied her years of research and related travel and how young she looks for someone so clever. But mostly it was the bright highlighter yellow cover that I liked looking at. It was a grey lunchtime during which I heard harrowing tales of a friend’s life (more about that later) and yellow was the colour of my … fantasy ife out there, where I contribute something by changing the whole world of baddies who profit from other people’s misfortunes by exposing them and … and what? Simply denouncing shit is perpetrated doesn’t mean they stop doing it. I mean, movies don’t do it, books don’t do it (or maybe I have to skip to the last chapters and see what Naomi recommends), popstars don’t do it. Mhh, yes I will be well informed and more outraged and £25 poorer. I’ve been marketed!

27 August - Rum & Coke

If you can't beat them... join them. I mean, I hate the Notting Hill carnival for all the obvious reasons (too many people? and who really gives a shit for the tinfoil parade? I know, I know, it's a celebration and I whinge) but this time I had to go, on account of the BF liking it and having not attended last year, he was eager to exercise his curious gaze on the throngs, or thongs. Admittedly the thought of being able to find refuge in a home that's never more than half a mile away did ease my ... unease.

At the Gaz Rocking Blues system we find people our age, sort of, I mean, Gaz is older or has not had the same amount of hours of sleep we've had. My day is made by seeing Paul Simonon from the Clash looking not like the sex god he used to be, always neat, always with hair, as he now has to wear a hat but… he’s still a god. My eye is caught by Ray, the best kept grey haired dred I’ve ever seen. He’s wearing Moschino patchworked jeans. Are they for real? Were they ever allowed out of the factory in the 80’s? I can't imagine any white guy apart from billy ray cyrus ever attempting these. This would mean this guy’s shape has stayed the same for twenty odd years though, not bad. He's topped them with a plain Versace t-shirt, back to front kangol and sunglasses. He’s a sort of a Samuel L Jackson and he knows it. He's caught me looking so he moves sideways to catch me following him wiht my eyes and gives me the 'Ah Ha' smile, which is dazzling of course. I have to dance with him, whther he's 60 or 70, after all I also took some rum straight from an optic that was being passed around. He starts to grind and I blush I believe, I could stay here all day but the BF has also purchased a nifty hat that many people stop him to ask 'Where did you get the hat, man' and before he decides to grind with a snake hipped girl, I better regain my composure. We head back more slowly than we set off, the crowds are building up.

I get it, only way to tolerate Carnival is if you go out early, say at 1pm and retreat at 3pm before it gets too jammed and you get claustrophobic. It’s all fun if you miss street food (and the Thais have taken over a stretch of road and have a 3 year old child holding up a banner for '3 Red Stripe for £5' - child labour?) till you realise that one street away and several houses to the right, they’re having the mother of a party. Or maybe the party is nothing much but they’ve hired huge amp power and they don’t cut it out till 3am. I'm considering going to join it but Toph says we'd be dancing with people we don't know/won't speak to. Er... what is it that we've been doing all day? But the not twenty something me stays in bed quite happily.

Next day…

So it is that my second carnival outfit had to be the Kylie-esque gold pants I receivd as a gift a while back. I knew they'd come in handy one day. The first day outfit was ok (had saved some rainbow coloured skirt and top from a sale) but we took a detour to a friend's garden where the outfit was sadly far too colorful for a girl who'd just received as a birthday gift the most exquisite Prada black leather purse. So now am walking around with a madras chequered Etro long silk skirt tied above the chest and flowing open with every step I take on my matching gold platforms. Am counting on dense crowd not seeing legs too closely, but there’s a breeze and the crowd is not so tight yet so, I get the looks. Now am counting on the fact that when men catch a glimpse of naked thigh and crotch with the tiny shorts, they will see just that and retain a dreamy impression, and not see naked OLD and NOT taut skin on said legs. Women of course would notice both. Like I did when watching the girls in brazilian samba costumes outside the Mau Mau café. They were incredibly taut as all early twenties. But competing would be foolish.
So, after a while am enjoying the looks I get and Toph who has also clocked them, eventually walks 20 paces ahead and turns to see what the effect is and is shocked. It’s too much! Bless, it’s ok for him to ogle women but not for me to show some flesh. Double standards or what? But am hoping he’s secretly pleased his girl is getting looks. Let’s put it this way, he’s not a backward oik who would send me home to get changed.


We can’t find any music we like, or rather, I could do with the 'new' stuff but it's too Choice FM for the BF, so we head back to Gaz again only this time he has a real band on the stage which is good whilst they play A Message to You Ru-dy, and not so good when they plays something else. And then there’s an announcement about Superman flying and we look up to a crane from which a bare chested Mutoid Waste Company style guy is hanging ….by two hooks piercing his shoulder blades skin. He hangs for a very long time, two songs worth at least. We turn away from the quease inducing dangler, to walk and talk to a young policewoman nearby who feigns disinterest. We want to know if this is legal though the answer is probably obvious, no one else but the willing victim is involved in this stunt. She’s blond, very pretty and young and seems reluctant to say anything because… there it is, we see it flashing in the sunshine, she has a tongue stud!!! ‘You’re kindred spirits!’ says Toph, but she denies it. But she’s smiling. Wow, the Met is all inclusive, proof!

A bit more wondering and back inside for a while. We re-pot a plant or two and water the garden. Nobody seems to have used as a toilet yet. We’re Billy no mates, as nobody calls, not even to use the loo, , so the Wray and Mackay rum is all for me. Delicious… though such a shame cannot be drunk neat and have to mix with hated Coke. I know, I could try it with pineapple juice like they keep telling us on those cheesy Jamaican ads, but the thought of it is unpalatable to me. Back out at 6pm for the last two or three hours and to meet RD who’s in the area with some friends having escape the wife and kids he was with yesterday. Thank god for kiddies face painters is all I can say he would have said. Kids love the stuff and what with waiting in line for ages for their turn, a good hour or more is whiled away in that fashion. He’s at the Westbourne where thank god they are not playing Caribbean music but… the Clash. Hurrah. He’s got a respectable job in radio and a band that’s been going for twenty years and I’ve never heard of. It’s possible to stay under the radar for that long. I wonder how it feels to be 45 and not have tasted real success. Back in the days when he was on yoof TV I remember we used to stay up for it, it was so novel and different. Either coming back from clubs or just staying up late. Or was his slot on the Sunday morning yoof TV, what was it called? Janet Street Porter was lording over it and Magenta de Vine seemed like someone you envied for a jammy job going round the globe doing some touristy programme. But I digress.

I sit down next to a guy who turns out to be the bass player for Mika. I can’t talk to him about much without giving away the fact that I have barely heard two songs, hate the graphics, hate the retro (Scissors Sisters are my exception). I ask him if it’s not boring to have just the one album to play at festivals and gigs and he says they add covers. He's very discreet so no point digging for gossip about an artist I don't care about and whose number ones if he had any don't impress me, truly that artwork kills me. Must be a trend of Lily Allen origin. Ahhhh. He tells me he goes to Thailand twice a year for detox on Ko Samui to rid himself from tour food. How sensible! Another friend of theirs, D, is a very open about the fact he’s hating losing his hair at 48 year old. He’s pretty fit so I tell him with some care and attention he can age like rasta Ray or Paul Simonon and be still hot. And he could take up triathlon and sublimate it all on competing with other blokes. But he’s lamenting the lack of girlfriend, says he left the last one as he didn’t fancy her anymore and promptly proceeds to chat to two really ugly women. Beer glasses? At least they’re the right age. He’s smarting from being totally dissed by a twenty year old the night before. Hopefully he's not told her he's not a successful musician and works for a charity. The twenty somethings of todays seems to me are in training for pulling rich guys or famous ones. Sweetly I hear the BF say to him ‘What do you want with a twenty year old? Go older…’ So I add ‘But not mid-thirties, unless you’re prepared to shoulder impromptu fatherhood’. Clearly the spirit of Carnival is leaving me if I go down that route.

So we go a-wandering again. And I can see by 9pm why it can all turn very ugly. By now the sensible people have headed home or are about to and all that’s in the streets is large groups of young men fired up by alcohol and looking for some action. They’re hoping for love action but the females about are playing the long game of being chased and feigning disinterest (well it may be real but it’s also the usual strange courtship ritual). So in the absence of celebratory love action, the boys are at fever point and anything can set them off. In fact all of a sudden on Ladbroke Grove there’s a stampede, and people come flying against us escaping god knows what. The police go diving in but within a minute there’s no sign of what or why it happened but it’s dark, we’ve seen enough and we go. Bed beckons at 11pm. I guess Big Brother must be today's equivalent of yoof TV which must have seemed equally inane to the 40 somethings of the day. I wonder?

6 August - Autumn conundrums

Leafing through August issues of fashion mags. Ok, I notice the squareish and rigid leather handbags. Should have seen it coming after all the slouchy soft ones we’ve had so far. Darn me and finally clearing out some in that shape/materials recently. I know friends laugh at me not chucking away anything but now I’d be smugly considering I don’t have to spend good money on buying something I had!
I also notice lots of thick winter woolly suits sort of like 40’s and 50’s style. Oh my god I need to be thinner! Oh hang on, I already am. 8st exactly, I've chucked all I can at the cellulite this time and it’s finally worked. The legs are firmer. It’s v. exciting. Why didn’t I bother with all of this say ten years ago? How come resoluteness and bloody mindedness come with age? They’re not good things btw.

On with a non sequitur but… being slinky and foxy makes you even more attractive to yourself and naturally to the BF. Is it possible to have too much sex? Man am tired. There’s something to be said for not seeing your lover for a few weeks, it does add a lot of hunger to it. There’s also the ‘Has he done this move on me before? Or is it new? And if it’s new how did he come up with it? Did he learn it on hotel porn channel or for real?' - see previous posts on the subject and btw his explanation is that the escort numbers are from a few years ago when the ex cut out sex for several months in retaliation for…just not committing to her fully/buying the house/having the babies. Mmmhhh, I think she was probably already getting it elsewhere, but was kind enough not to put forward this theory. However, I've accepted his explanation as for the moment it's conveniently continental to let things lie.
I mean I have been known to watch my porn and adjust my techniques accordingly or get inspired to try something different. Must ask him. We definitely did some mid level acrobatic stuff recently and that was not the norm. On the other hand mustn’t grumble, if your sex life gets even better at nearly two years in, it’s got to be cause of celebration that this is the opposite of what usually gets mentioned ie. some decline in interest/variety?
Ok here’s the deal, if he doesn’t go away again soon, and current quality falls below par, I’ll put in a solo trip somewhere to keep it fresh.

29 July - Handbag search psychology

Am out with my plastic pseudo crinkly beige Prada I bought a mere two months ago in Lisbon for a few euros. It was alright at the time as it didn’t seem to come from the same Chinese factory that makes all those ghastly plastic handbags or I so deluded myself it was ‘different’. However, the vinyl has began so seriously peel off and I hate scruff. So am in Retro Woman and see a gorgeous Furla handbag for £120, brand new and in cream ostrich type leather. I fall in love but am now wise to the fact that such surface will get dirty instantly rubbing against my clothes, god forbid I should wear a pair of jeans. That blasted indigo has even ruined shoes by leaving blue streaks on them. I uhm and er and eventually leave it after asking if they’d drop to £80 in which case I’d have taken the risk and the future pain. When something is scuffed I no longer love it. Then I search all charity shops nearby, why not, I have spare time on my own, nobody is going to suffer waiting around for me. I see nothing I like as much as the Furla but at 5.50pm I then buy a soft bag which is a bit too sporty for me in Dune for £26 and also despite the fact it has brass buckles things and I hate brass. But it’s good enough to allow me to chuck the pseudo Prada immediately. Only a couple of hours later when I get home I then remember I have the camel coloured one short handles ostrich type leather one that I have forgotten to get out this year. Damn. I console myself with the fact hat the Dune one was cheap and has long handles. I need handles to go over shoulder as can’t do the Jackie O carrying handbag. Whoever does that has my admiration. If I had a Hermes I’d be constantly trying to heave it over my shoulder and not just hold it on forearm.

I remember the photographs that Auntie Annmarie (émigré’ bride to South America in late 50’s) used to send to our family. In all the photos she was always carrying a Jackie O style handbag outdoors and hilariously indoors! And she’d be wearing or holding the short gloves. That was her idea of top style/decorum and she stuck to it. My sister and I always wondered what did she have in the small handbag? A purse, a handkerchief, a lipstick and mirror… Life was so simple. I lug books in there and spare shoes and huge make up bags and sun tan lotions and food …. In fact giant handbags would be me if they didn’t dwarf a shortish person. Am reminded I recently chucked a book on Jackie O given me by the boyfriend who also had the Audrey Hepburn fixation. That's what he wanted and I so love Gisele Bundchen (when she's wearing Cavalli, not jeans and a tee). Go figure how we lasted two years.