Monday, September 28, 2009


Can we talk about The Rachel Zoe Project now? Forgive me, I am the only one in my non internet life who watches and is obsessed with it. So apologies to anyone who isn't into it, the following will sound like gobbledygook and you'll just have to catch up. Last season was all about Brad and Rachel. This season the producers seem to have taken a more balanced approach, rather than going for the more obvious "this character is evil" "this character is nice" reality show format. And more than anything, this season I LOVE Taylor. I must first explain that I was a stylist's assistant for a reaalllly looooong time (at least twice as long as T) so I can identify with her there. It's hard to go out on your own, in fact it's probably easier not to assist anyone and just go straight into it. She works really fucking hard, is good at it, keeps the whole thing together, doesn't kiss ass and most importantly has incredible style. Obviously she has access to every amazing piece ever made, hence my lusting over certain pieces of Balenciaga, Lanvin and Chanel in her wardrobe (some of it must be borrowed from the rails, but still.) But it's never overdone, always simple and chic and young. Even a leopard Dior dress. Every time I see her I want to dye my hair platinum blonde, which would um, not be a good idea. Anyway I'm so glad they're showing that there's more to her than being a grumpy bitch.

Left - leopard Dior dress, right - that could be a Boy Band of Outsiders ad. I think the shirt is Steven Alan actually...

Mmm, pink Lanvin flats...
1. Balenciaga skirt, vintage necklace, 2. Balenciaga bag
Chanel jacket, American Apparel deep V -ultimate high/low.
{screencaps: sill/tfs}

Wednesday, September 23, 2009


An online replacement for Domino magazine? By and featuring its ex staffers? Prayers. Answered.

A blog full of the inspirations for Where the Wild Things Are? (Like peering into Spike Jonze's brain.)

I can't decide if this film might veer into schmaltzy Notting Hill territory, or if it's just the cheesy music at the end of the trailer. I'm willing to take the risk that it might be brilliant. (Edit: Hated it!)

Tuesday, September 22, 2009


I had a funny realisation last night that Garance and Scott aren't my blog friends I haven't met in real life yet. THEY'RE FAMOUS. Although I'm aware of the rough size of their respective international readerships, with the Internet it's hard to tell - in the space of four years, only one of my friends here in London has even heard of The Sartorialist. All day I heard; "You're going to see the What-ist?" "Gar-who?"

My friend and I first trundled along to Garance's opening in Kingly Street with minutes to spare - it was lovely, the T shirts all there, the illustrations and writing on the walls...Garance looking cute, friendly and approachable, but surrounded, and - I was too shy to approach her! Even though I know a couple of people who know her and I could have been all blahblahblah, I'm so and so, I'm a friend of so and so and thingy etc, I suddenly came over all coy. I'm no good at the blahblahblah. Arrghh, sorry, how rude - I go to your cocktail thing, look around, down a Bellini in three seconds then don't even say hi.

Never mind, off to Scott's book signing. I'm sure she'll be along there soon and I'll have a chat to them both together. It'll probably be quite calm in my second home.

The Liberty Men's Department was filled with a snaking queue of hundreds and hundreds of patient people adjusting their hats and lapels in anticipation. Literally, winding through all the departments like an insane fashion conga. I already had my book with me and we managed to ascertain that they had run . out . of . books, had gone and bought up the entire stock from Selfridges but had then run out again, which was causing the massive hold up. We tried to sort of mooch through to wherever Scott was just to wave, say hi, smile, anything, but no.

Because I already had a copy of the book, if I was prepared to go to the back of the queue (which in the intervening 10 minutes had grown alarmingly and now snaked up the stairs and out of the door) I had a slim chance of getting my book signed before they shut at 9pm, two hours later. I would not like to be in the Liberty Events Manager's shoes tomorrow morning (though I would probably like to borrow them if they're Nicholas Kirkwood). Just as I had decided; Scott, I adore you, but I don't need your signature that badly, Garance passed by me and...I was too shy to say hello.

Outside Liberty, I saw a man leaning against a wall that complemented the tones of his outfit, adjusting his scarf and looking around hopefully. I should have then continued on to the Kitsune/Ponystep party at Shop@Bluebird but somehow the idea of a slice of pizza at Princi and a slug of vino rosso sounded just about perfect.

Cheers to you my loves - Scott I hope your writing hand hasn't cramped up too much and Garance, I promise I'll work harder on my social skills.

Thursday, September 17, 2009


Things I wish I'd done (or not done) this summer:

*Gone swimming in the sea for longer than five minutes.
*Gone swimming in the sea in the south of France.

*Had more than one picnic.

*Had a beach bonfire/bbq.

*Put Duckie's roof down more than twice at all.

*Worn the bikini I bought in March for longer than 5 hours.

*Gone on holiday somewhere in Europe before it was too late / I was too broke.

*Worn shorts.

*Gone on a road trip.

*Made more of the few proper summer days.

Bye summer, I love you, though I hardly knew you.

{photo via Them Thangs}

Tuesday, September 15, 2009


Derek Lam
Karen Walker
Rebecca Taylor
Marc Jacobs
Rachel Comey

Apparently some designers are as bored of the whole hard edged bodycon thing as I am. Look, no studs! No black! (OK, I have selectively neglected a lot of collections still proposing just that.) Does this mean that next summer I can be a purty lady and not an ironic '80s power vixen? OK, good!


Saturday, September 12, 2009


I actually really love this song. But what I always love about '80s videos is how quaint and amateurish they seem - full of hope somehow; like hey, let's put Nik Kershaw in a white suit and project images on it - it'll be really slick and futuristic! Bless. I much prefer this attempt to be creative, than how music videos ended up in the early 00s, the cynical age, where every "treatment" was basically boy meets random model girl, can't stop thinking about her (head holding, brooding), sees her in the street where she happens to be wearing a cocktail dress, heels and hair extensions in the daytime and he happens to be driving a sports car even though he's only sixteen (close up of sports car logo) but she doesn't see him, he's looking for her, repeat 3 times in different scenarios (him wearing a blazer and jeans, then a suit and tie with sunglasses, then a casual urban look). Cue him leaning by window mournfully lip synching wearing undone white shirt, then we see her ringing his doorbell/calling him/walking towards him wearing a fur coat, different cocktail dress and heels. They kiss. The end. (Pan to assistant stylist behind monitor attempting to slit wrists with unpicker. )

Friday, September 11, 2009


I was without internet connection for two days, which was a shame because I had some really mindblowing and important things to say about nail varnish.

Due to my having to venture into the outside world and socialize during this time, I am feeling a little blurry today. In fact this morning I may have used the words my, mouth, feels and badger's arse in conjunction with each other.

I'm not sure if I'm up to rambling nail varnish related prose, but I'll have a go anyway. I'm certainly not up to doing a photo to go with this post, so I'll do that later. If I'm going to do a photo, then I have to re-do the nail varnish, which to even the most detail oriented person looks perfect, but no, not quite. This is the problem, the thing I was going to talk about. I've become a bit obsessed with a certain nail polish and it's not Chanel Jade, or that You Don't Know Jacques one. Nope, it's Rapid Ruby by Rimmel, which is kind of a 1940s red, if you know what I mean.

And it's cheap as chips, which is lucky as I feel the need to remove and reapply it daily. If there's as much as a hint of a chip, or dent or flake I have to take it all off and start again. No just carefully filling in the damaged bit - I can see it. So I'm off to remove the polish again - at this point my actual nails have turned a sort of acid washed pink colour (even using a clear base coat doesn't help) and my fingers are stained. But I can't stop.

Monday, September 07, 2009


Julia R.R. is so cute in this video!

I believe that the more beautiful images we're exposed to, the better the world is.

I like reading blogs by fashion designers so I can delve into their brains.

Oh - brainchild is my least favourite word - what's yours?

{I found the ancient photo randomly on Flickr - can't remember where but I'm guessing it's royalty free}

Sunday, September 06, 2009

Wednesday, September 02, 2009


Oh my goodness, love is in the air! The previous ASK D.V. was all recession, mid life crisis and anxiety. Now look my pretties, it's all crushes on boys, lovers, weddings and tutus. Does this mean things are looking up? As mentioned in the previous post, due to the importance of matters of the heart I have referred not only to D.V. by D.V. (quoted in bold) but also to Diana Vreeland by Eleanor Dwight, which contains some of the bits of her life Diana omitted from her memoirs.

Emily said...
Many years ago a boy and I used to gaze at each other whenever our paths crossed. He gently tried but I was otherwise engaged. Almost ten years have passed since we locked eyes amongst friends on London Bridge, Dec. 31 1999, and ever since I haven't stopped thinking about him: v bad.
He's phenomenally gorgeous and gorgeously shy. I know he is presently unattached. Do I write, do I call?

Dear Emily

I cannot begin with D.V.'s advice without blurting out my own first. Please re-read your question and note: he tried but failed, you gazed at each other each time you met, you haven't stopped thinking about him for 10 years, he's gorgeous, unattached and you have a means of contacting him. (Imagine if you didn't know where he was now.) You have to call/email him and use any old excuse - i.e. I just found your phone number after all these years, have you got so and so's number, I'm writing a book about people's experiences of the Millennium -any old crap, if you feel too shy to make it obvious you lurve him. Then say oh by the way do you fancy catching up sometime?

As D.V. would say, "Nothing like a good push!"

Here's D.V. on her first meeting with Reed, her husband: He was the most beautiful man I've ever seen, very quiet, very elegant. I loved all that. I thought it was so beautiful to just watch him." I met him on the Fourth of July at a weekend party in Saratoga, in 1924. I believe in love at first sight because that's what it was. I knew the moment our eyes met that we would marry.

p.s. D.V. insists on knowing the outcome.

Life with Sofia, Gus and Jim said...
HELP...I'm getting married in five weeks...what can I do to look my best?

Well, first of all congratulations! D.V. says of her wedding dress: The bride of this period was the most vulgar bouffant creature, but my dress had a very strict line and a very high neckline, very moyen age. There was lace strapped around my head and face, and the train was all diamante and encrusted with pearls. I love that D.V. still remembers her dress with fondness, as her wedding was a bit of a disaster (story for another day), but she didn't care. She says, I just wanted to marry Reed Vreeland. Nothing could have spoiled my happiness.

If Jane said...
oh...ok i'll be the angel with a dirty face... ;)) what has she said about lovers...;)))

Flirtations are part of life, part of society - if one didn't have these little flings, where would one be?

Oh, but never lose sight of the fact that D.V. only tells us what she wants us to know, and most of that’s embellished! So she only ever mentions Reed, her true love, though he was thought to have had numerous affairs. There is the story of her travelling to Canada to confront a woman she thought she might lose him to. She apparently made her look in the mirror and said, “Look at you, you are young and beautiful and you have everything ahead of you, but I am getting older and I have only my wonderful husband.” This, of course does not come from The Oracle herself but from the biography Diana Vreeland by Eleanor Dwight. Apparently Reed always sent his lovers gardenias floating in a bowl, so if D.V. went into a room and saw them, she knew.

Gaboushka said...
I'm going on a European backpacking holiday for 12 days next week. Can I take my little tutu from COS and my spotty satin Luella pencil skirt? I'm scared I'll be mocked by other travellers in their A-line's and Quicksilver.

This is how D.V. travelled around Europe: We travelled rather luxuriously in our glorious Bugatti with our marvelous chauffeur and my maid from London. They had an Hermes elk hide lined trunk for the boot of their car. So the idea of a backpack may be lost on her. But I do believe D.V. was all for being different en vacances. A story about her (from Diana Vreeland by Eleanor Dwight) on the beach at Southampton: "At a time when women dressed in bathing suits with skirts, Diana startled everyone at the Beach Club by wearing a beige wool jersey one piece bathing suit and a charcoal grey "playsuit", her hair pulled back in a black snood. She paraded onto the sand from the entrance, swinging her legs at the hip, Reed slightly behind her. Teenage girls would giggle and gawk and go home to practice imitations of her."

Remember you can always ask D.V. by clicking on her photo in the sidebar. I leave you with one of my favourite quotes from herself:

I mean, a new dress doesn't get you anywhere; it's the life you're living in the dress, and the sort of life you lived before, and what you will do in it later.


D.V. will be fashionably late in responding to your tellement juicy questions. We had a little glitch with celestial communication yesterday (i.e. a powercut in the 'hood meant D.V.'s humble transcriber was unable to retrieve your questions). Also, owing to the nature of the questions mostly regarding matters of the heart, I have had to bring in/out?! the big guns: not only am I referring to D.V.'s memoirs, but to Eleanor Dwight's tome on D.V. and Diana Vreeland, Bazaar Years by John Esten.

See you this afternoon for tea in the drawing room.