Adrian - aka Mr. SnappyLifeStyle - and I were moving through the crowds of Covent Garden, Trafalgar Square, at a pretty, well, snappy pace, on our way to Snap some Pics at the Mall, the day before the Royal Wedding. I'm not sure who spotted Loli first, sitting on the wall, smoking and smoldering. But we both snapped away, and she was so nice about it. Also: this never happens, but I didn't touch anything about these photos. No softening of her porcelain skin, no spot removal. Not even dodging or burning or adjusting the light. She said she'd wished she'd brushed her hair, but I can only imagine how she looks when she makes an effort!
I couldn't remember at the time where she said her dress was from - I thought it was McQueen - but it was actually ASOS, for £14! And the shoes, some shop in Soho (she forgot the name). I'm going to meet her again, for lunch, as she's really nice and frankly: I can feel a series coming on. Note btw: yellow, and black, and yet - I feel - no bumblebee effect whatsoever. Just total street chic.
A few weeks ago, I was sitting quietly in my favourite spot: on the floor, in the aisle between front rows, (with permission, of course), waiting for a catwalk show to begin. Who should sit down next to me, in her front row seat, but Hilary Alexander. I'd seen her before, even approached her shyly (she was in a rush that time) and as the lights went up and the show began, I was really afraid I'd piss her off with my snapping. I was trying to snap QUIETLY. I was as fascinated by her as the show: Hilary, following the show with her keen mind, while taking notes, sketching away..
At one point I even tried to snap her sketchbook - just because what was going on there was so interesting, the way she was capturing the essence of the show - and she turned the page. Call me paranoid, but I'm pretty sure it was the equivalent of a star putting their hand to face when they don't want to be papp'd. I felt like this irritating little gnat, buzzing around with my click click click and just annoying her. I was actually worried I might smell bad, kicking myself I hadn't dosed myself with more Jo Malone French Lime Blossom.
So after the show I spoke to her, like Eve in All About. Babbled something about how I looked forward to reading her review of the show. And to my surprise, she softened. Took my hand, for a brief moment: that very same hand. Gave it a little squeeze, and said something kind, like 'good luck' and then, she was gone.
I'm not putting myself down, or belittling what I do as a blogger. The process of posting, combining photography and writing.. it's fun, and it's hard work. But it's a different skill set. And what I do is nowhere near, and never will be, what Hilary Alexander has built and achieved and continues to achieve. I don't possess the experience and knowledge of the fashion industry, and I never will. But that day, I saw firsthand how tirelessly and professionally this woman works. And while I can't speak with Hilary Alexander's wisdom, I can still say how I feel.
I did read her piece. And although I wish I could say this was from the Chanel show - I wish this is the kind of direction Chanel was headed. But this is JOHN ROCHA, a private man, who, as Hilary's article explains, was influenced this season by his love of salmon fishing. (Note to self: must tell Mr. Dot).
I loved that show - these are just a few examples - and I have such admiration for John Rocha, who has quietly created out of the spotlight's glare. Like so many talented designers around the world, I feel he doesn't get the attention he deserves. On the other hand, he probably doesn't get the drama, and the level of criticism, that more high profile houses would get. He just quietly, modestly, creates. Which is in keeping with a man who loves to fish. There is something admirable, noble, in humility. In not trying to stand on the tallest pedestal. Actually, wasn't it also a fisherman who first said the meek shall inherit the earth?
If you haven't already seen it, here is her piece on Sarah Burton's first show in Paris, as the new head of Alexander McQueen. Hilary, it was an honour to kneel at the sequin hem of your garments, if only for a few moments in time.
Last Friday, Shini and I met at the V&A (and yes, for those of you who have asked if I live there: I do. I've got a small room on the third floor with a hot plate and a cot), and Jen, the Style Crusader, bounded in from a grueling exam, all colt like with bare legs, floral dress (from.. H&M? I must ask!) and the same navy Keds Converse All Stars I've got. Mine were vintage when I bought them, and that was ages ago, in NY.
It's such a simple, quintessential summer look. (Her bag btw is her gorgeous genuine Alexander McQueen). Oh and she's wearing my Ray Bans - also vintage, as in, I've had them forever. I've just sent her a bunch of shots and we're going to do an experiment and not tell each other which we're choosing, or what we're posting about. Just a little blog-game. I'm not even sure I've chosen her best shots here: just randomly picked two that I liked. She's oh so photogenic, our Jenny Jen!
Betsan, who you might have seen in a previous post ('lit chic') @ the Hay Festival, also wore her Keds with bare legs and flowered skirt: hers from Topshop. My other pair are a few years old, from Office, and also in cream. Sorry, nude! ALSO, come to think of it, her sunglasses are Ray Bans. Such American classics.
More about Betsan later, and her fabulous boyfriend Tom. They've got such great style.
I know what you're thinking: that's easy for YOU to say.
But if you consider yourself remotely fashion forward, you've simply got to know Noa. She's the brains (AND the beauty) behind Brains+Beauty. She's pint sized, even for a 13 year old*. She talks more, and faster, than I do, which is a strange experience for me, karmically speaking.
It's hard to follow her thought process at times, but I know where she's coming from: she just thinks so fast and has to get those thoughts out of her head, to make room for the new ones pouring in. She didn't want me to shoot her nails as they were such a wreck, but I just felt that SOMETHING had to be imperfect about her look, and find it absolutely charming: it's so... 13, you know?
So even tho we've spoken & emailed countless times, I still didn't get it straight who exactly made her tights: they're either hand painted BY a friend, or hand painted by someone and a gift from a friend... the dress is the Real McQueen, and she showed me that she shortened it, which seemed blasphemous somehow - it's her mum's dress for God's sake! - but she said 'That's okay, I bought it for her.' HOW? Noa is THIRTEEN! What is it, babysitting money? Is she even old enough to babysit?
She does make me laugh tho. She told me 'everyone says I'm the British Tavi, which is ridiculous...' I mean, just like you could not invent Tavi, you couldn't invent Noa. She is a force of nature: a law unto herself.
Noa was showing me the construction of this dress: McQueen designed it so that it looks like a spine is running down the wearer's spine. I don't know why, but for some reason, that breaks my heart. That's when the tragedy hit me. I can't explain, but somehow seeing how this dress is made.. how could the same being that created this art, not want to live and live and live, to go on creating tomorrow, and the next day?
Oh btw, when I admired her coat - it's that kind of curly black fur like substance that reminds me of closely clipped poodles - I told her I used to have one from my step-grandmother, Martha, and stupidly gave mine away. She then proceeded to tell me how she was related to the coat on her back: something like her great aunt's ex boyfriend's mum. OH and in the middle of this impromptu shoot, the girl in the previous post appeared in the blue McQueen leggings: how wild is that.
I don't know much, but I do know this: Noa packs a ton of brains, and beauty, into such a petite package.
*EDITOR'S CORRECTION: Apologies. I got Noa's age wrong. In her own words:
"one correction hahaha I am 14! Turning 15 in less then 2 months :):) When I was 13 I certainly did not wear eye makeup hahahha"
My husband, Mr. Dot, was calling from another room me to watch Elizabeth with him. But instead, I was looking online at images of Alexander McQueen's last show, in Paris. So to the backdrop of the haunting, Elizabethan melodies, I was surprised at how much images of pretty models in pretty dresses could move me.
There isn't really anything I could say that is any better, or more profound, than what other people are saying. And I agree with you all: his team worked hard, and with grace, and deserve our praise. If the line is to continue, I hope and trust that it will be led by the people who knew and worked with him in his all too brief lifetime.
Two of the photographs, the clothes and the person wearing the clothes, felt especially personal to me. And then, I realised, it was Frida Gustavsson, from Sweden. I met her in an H&M in London, when I was first starting my blog. I took two photos of her, in film, with my Pentax. In that brief moment, I knew I was experiencing something profound: I had shot models before, but this young girl transformed before my eyes, through the lens. She was what they call a natural. Then I put the lens cap back on and she went back to being a warm, slightly geeky girl in H&M.
This is one of my photos, and this was my post ('form following function'). I hear she's home in Sweden tonight, and I can only imagine what an experience this been for such a sweet young woman. And on that note, dear friends, I'm wishing you all a good night.
You've probably seen photos of the wall that the BFC set up for Alexander McQueen. It was so moving, the way our messages covered each other, like cherry blossom petals, or snow, building up on the earth. This is Uthrasie, a model from the Jasper Conran show. Something about the light... it felt like a Norman Parkinson moment. She moved with the grace of a Russian ballerina.
You can see I'm on a kind of caramel roll here: in fact the past few days, I seem to be posting a lot of neutral tones. (That's bound to change: I go thru phrases).
And come to think of it: Jasper is also wearing a necklace with a trench: trend? Coincidence? You tell me. I saw him speak at the Hay Literary Festival, years ago, with his friend Ilse Crawford, I believe, and found him absolutely charming. I wish I'd seen his show, but was at the Welsh Designers Collective at the time. It looks lovely, don't you think? Ladylike, beautiful colours.. he keeps a relatively low profile, but is a quiet, shining star.
I think actually Uthrasie might be Russian, and I'm guessing her friend Melina is, too. I thought they said theyy were both in Jasper's show, but I don't recognise them in the photos, do you? But then again: everyone seems so much more grown up on the catwalk. All I know is, they're absolutely delightful girls.
syn·apse (snps, s-nps) n. The junction across which a nerve impulse passes from an axon terminal to a neuron, muscle cell, or gland cell. intr.v. syn·apsed, syn·aps·ing, syn·aps·es 1. To form a synapse. 2. To undergo synapsis. [Greek sunapsis, point of contact, from sunaptein, to join together : sun-, syn- + haptein, to fasten.]
I've been thinking all day about the images I gathered yesterday, and which I keep sending off to you, somewhere out there. Trying to choose one word for my title. Because everything feels connected these days. And synapse feels like the right word.
First, I'd woke from a strange and colourful and vivid dream today, Naomi Campbell was in it, and now I'm reading Hilary Alexander's excellent piece in the Telegraph on last night's Fashion for Relief/Haiti event in NY. Haiti, where there is so much loss, so much grief and pain. I've met Naomi a few times, and she's quite sweet, quite modest actually.
And then thinking about how Lee McQueen lost his dear friend and mentor, Isabella Blow, and how one day last winter I was having a coffee with my friend and we discovered that we'd each lost a very close friend to suicide in the same week. My friend was in NY, hers was Isabella. The more we talked, the more we realised how similar the two women were. All these these connections. A lovely woman named Laura, a journalist, wrote to me tonight that, by chance, I'd photographed a third person she knew: a colleague. A photographer. We're the eyes, the ears.. we listen, we watch, we make the connections, all around the world.
When I used to work in Soho (NY) for an animator, I'd go regularly to the post office down the block, on Prince Street. Written on the wall was graffiti in large letters: 'Everything is happening everywhere, all at once.' I liked to think it was written by God.
While I was shooting yesterday, other photographers came and went. Real papparazzi. One was so charming, Italian actually, with a wonderfully colourful knitted hat. I wanted to do a portrait of him (I had already got some great shots of him and his colleagues) but he said sadly, 'Oh, no. I can't be photographed, you see. They don't like us: papparazzi.' And I thought, what a strange irony: they supply us with the images we are so hungry for, yet they, themselves, can't be seen. This lovely, charming man, afraid for his image to be seen: afraid people hate him for his job, which he works so hard at, and does so well.
And he was so generous: he said that since 'nothing was happening' there, they were going to go to Mr. McQueen's home instead, and he told me where it was. It was very quiet, sombre: just one or two people arriving, paying homage, starting to lay more flowers in the space where they had been swept away.. at times, it was only papparazzi, photographing nothing: an empty stage. To me, that was what was so beautiful about it. 'For you, perhaps', he said in his wonderfully Italian accent 'But for me, I need the shots of the models weeping.'
Ah, yes: where were the weeping models? In NY, many of them. At Naomi's charity event.
It was starting to rain again, and they left. After a while, I did, too. I walked in the light rain (like models weeping) up Old and New Bond Streets, turning left on Brook, right on Park.. all these simple, country names in the heart of expensive Mayfair. All the time thinking, this would be the path that Lee Alexander McQueen, a boy who grew up in a council flat in Stratford, would have taken home from work. I'm walking in the same path that he could have taken two nights ago, when he turned left from Park onto Green Street.. and then I got there and there was no one there. In the cold rain, I saw a man in a doorway, talking on the phone. No buildings had any sign of life outside them, no flowers or tributes or models weeping. Nothing but beautiful, expensive homes. Bricks and mortar and glass.
We saw the most wonderful film today, A Single Man, Tom Ford's first film. It wasn't Mr. Dot's thing, but I loved it. And I couldn't get over the connections: Tom Ford, too, is a megastar fashion designer, a gay man, a visionary, a genius. This film is just so stylish, so beautiful: not just the fashion, of course, but the casting, make-up, the fabulous sixties modern home.. his colour sense.. and the film, too, is about grief, and love, and loss, and how one man coped with that grief and loss. The connections between these two events.. well you'll just have to see for yourself.
I read the most beautiful comment by my blog friend Amy, of Style Spy, in my previous post, and I keep thinking of Lee Alexander's family, and my heart breaks for his father. This is a private grief, a family matter, and we respect that. And yet, somehow, around the world, those of us who have found ourselves, in our own, personal ways, part of the 'fashion community'.. I keep seeing the same question, everywhere I go: 'Do I have a right to grieve a man I've never met?' It doesn't make sense, this grief. And yet, it feels real. And it connects us.
It feels ironic to me that a man who kept pushing the boundaries of technology and communication should be receiving tributes in the same mediums he explored in his life. He was one of the first (or perhaps, the first?) to do live streaming of his shows: so much so that what was tragically his last, with Lady Gaga, actually crashed because demand was so high.
In 2006, he surprised audiences with this image of Kate Moss in a bride's gown, as a hologram. I can't stop playing it. The music. I find it so hauntingly, achingly beautiful. So sad.
Synapse: point of contact. The space between our nerve cells that passes information, seemingly instantly, so a thought in our mind becomes a movement in the tip of our fingers that become words on a post that somehow, miraculously, reaches you - another soul - who are reading this now, somewhere in the world.
Synapse: To join together. That magical something that is the connection: the space between. Between you and me, between this world, and the next.
It's late. And I can't stop writing. Tomorrow is Valentine's Day, and I'll go back to posting street style and fashion trends. And I won't write this much. My man, Mr. Dot, is asleep (we've got the first of our Valentine's Day planned: we're going swimming at the gym, early in the morning, while everyone else is sleeping). I keep wishing Lee Alexander McQueen had a cat, a dog, some being who needed him to be there for him the next morning. I'm sorry that his grief seems to have consumed him. We owe it to him, just as we owe it to all the people suffering in Haiti, and round the world, to LIVE: the richest, fullest, lives we possibly can.
Happy Valentine's Day. Hope your connections are strong, and beautiful, and bound by love.
This morning - while my fingers stung with cold and I tried to shield my camera from the little drops of cold rain.. I have so many stories to tell you. This girl, for example.
I don't know her name. I was shooting the lilies actually, from the previous post, and I saw this girl wipe away a tear. I apologised for photographing her but instead, she apologised to me. For what? Crying? I don't know if she spoke English, or perhaps not as her first language. But we were kind to one another.
You see, because the shop displays had been taken down somewhere in the night, the windows were black. There was nothing to see and yet, strangely, every passer by, myself included, kept peering in. It was as if, if we looked carefully enough, we'd see some sign of life. We'd turn back time & this would just be a strange dream.
And somehow, the Alexander McQueen shop on Old Bond Street, London, became a kind of conceptual installation: the blackness, the void, behind the glass, became a mirror. A still lake. And in the reflection, we saw ourselves.
I was very moved by something the Sartorialist said. I'm new to this world: blogging, fashion.. last September was only my first fashion week. I was getting ready for my 2nd one and kept thinking: it can't be as brilliant as my first. I don't know.. I'm a displaced New Yorker, living in London, and it only stood to reason, that if I kept this up, I'd meet Alexander McQueen.
This isn't like Diana: we were here for that, and the scale of that was so insane, and I thought there was something wrong with me, that I didn't feel anything for this person I never met. But this is something different: it was such a private event, somehow, which took place on a public street. And this man I never met.. all day, in the rain, as I shot this, I kept hearing James Taylor, kept singing this song.
Like everyone else involved in the fashion world, I am shocked and saddened by the tragic news of Alexander McQueen's death, and am still trying to take it in. He was always one of my favourite designers, and the only reason I didn't post about him more was because I'm dependent on what people are wearing on the street. On the randomness of chance.
And yet: I saw this girl on Tuesday, just as the light was going, and asked only who made her coat. Alexander McQueen, she said. There was something quite profound, and sad somehow, about the moment. The irony is, I had planned to post this shot today. All I know is her name is Tokki, but not how to reach her.
Something made me look up, and see such a heartbreaking beautiful sky. I took this shot, and, in the darkening twilight, made my way home.
Rest in Peace, Alexander. The world has lost an incredible visionary, way too soon.
I don't know about the rest of the world, but the ubiquitous leopard print phenomenon is spreading faster than swine flu. (Hey: it's December. Weren't we all meant to be dead by October?) My Great Motel Rocks Challenge is coming to an end: they were really kind about loaning it to me, but I've held onto it way too long, mostly because it's rained so much. So Mr. Dot & I are off to the V&A today for one last Challenge, and then, sadly, it's goodbye to The Coat that has become a warm and cherished cuddly friend.
Here is Maddy Ford, who rose to the challenge. We were in Green & Stone & I was choosing coloured pencils when suddenly Mr. Dot pulled me out of the store to meet someone 'perfect for you.' I'm wondering if our marriage is getting a bit weird if my husband is now scouting out beautiful blondes. Maddy is a Celebrity Fashion Stylist, as it says on her card, and altho as you know I only post people's first names, I'm including her surname because it's got such a great sound - Maddy Ford - and this way, if you're a celebrity, you'll know how to find her. She's totally rad. And very, very sweet.
She wasn't sure The Coat would work with her outfit (note: the polka dots on her leggings are evenly spaced sequins, and her blackberry has a matching silver sequin covered case) but that's the point of my experiment: I've yet to find a look that doesn't work with this coat. And yet, come tomorrow, it's goodbye. I just hope the next lucky girl loves it as much as I have.
Maddy's tee by McQueen, bag by Louis Vuitton, but jacket 'only Zara'. Leopard print coat, stylist's own.
It seems everyone starts off saying 'I don't normally like fringe, but..' and it's true: this is one trend that just gets under a girl's skin. I don't know why. At first I didn't like it in general - like quiche, it's got such a bad rep, man (there's just too many bad examples that have been orphaned to charity shops, unloved and unwanted, from the 70s) but there are now so many brilliant variations. What I love is, it can be anywhere: on a bag, jacket, skirt, or here, on my beautiful friend Charlotte's fabulous sandals.
I also love her oversized ring, (another trend that I just love to bits), and how it looks with the scarf she was wearing that day. (I've only now realised, the pattern is actually skulls! How cool). My one shot got cut off in an interesting, fringey way, so I'm keeping it for your benefit. Another happy accident!
p.s. (Friday) update: got these sourcing details from Charlotte: 'The sandals were Matiko from Intermix in NY, Ring was designed by jewellery designer Kara and from Scoop in NY and scarf was Alexander McQueen (they have a great copy in Topshop in cream and black right now saw it yesterday)....hope that helps!'
We're already seeing quite a bit of bold, often tribal prints on the street in London, and expect to see more. This example, by Zara, on Kara (I know!), in Spitalfields Market, works really well, which is surprising considering her beautifully pale English rose colouring. Of course this will also look brilliant with a tan, or on black or brown skin tones. Many designers are showing bold, warm ethnic-inspired prints this season: Alexander McQueen is doing absolutely gorgeous stuff - the patterns are stunning in the flesh, and the construction is strong and very feminine, as below. This example, from Net a Porter, is in cooler tones, but he's also doing it in warm orangey browns. Prada of course has been doing this for a while, and Nicole Fahri, but the best looks we're finding, as always, are on the street.
RoadTrip23 is the natural evolution from StreetStyle London, which is still here, and has been since 2009. Because there's more to the world than fashion, and there's more to the world than London. Lovely as London is.
I'll still be posting street style, if something really grabs me, but have expanded into other areas of interest, primarily travel, the arts, culture. Whatever I feel is beautiful or interesting: either man made, or a natural wonder.
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