something blue

I never cared about the dress.

I never cared about walking down the isle, or the ring.. I wonder if there was every a time, as a young girl, where I dreamed of my wedding day.. nope, not really. My friends and I played Barbie dolls, of course, and had our Kens, and the Kens were the Beatles, and we'd choose which Beatles we'd marry, but we were just as happy to be their girlfriends. If my sister wanted to play, she'd usually get Ringo, even tho she really wanted George.

When I did finally get married - not that I was a lonely spinster til then, mind you - it was a quick affair in the Palm Beach registry, and I wore a nice light navy and white flower print shift, from Barney's, because it rolled up small in my bag, and we were flying off to London shortly after, and wanted to see my parents first.

And now, whenever I have something special - or something I'm a bit nervous about - when I fly, for example, I check my person. Am I wearing something old? Check? New? Check. Borrowed? Usually: I figure either a gift, or something thrifted, or a hand me down, constitutes borrowed, as well as old. And blue? Almost always.

I just love the colour blue. Especially pale blue. The colour of our childhood car, Max - the star of my first children's story. The colour of sky.

Shot at the V&A, as before. Blue skies out in London town today! Off to the outdoor pool, in Surrey, with the man I married.

Hope every one of you reading this is living happily ever after. 

the definition of glamour

1: a magic spell (the girls appeared to be under a glamour — Llewelyn Powys)

2: an exciting and often illusory and romantic attractiveness (the glamour of Hollywood); especially: alluring or fascinating attraction —often used attributively (glamour stock) (glamour girls) (whooping cranes and … other glamour birds — R. T. Peterson)

It's hard to describe, you'll have to see for yourself. But whatever that indescribable definition of 'glamour' is to you, it's there, at this exhibit, at the extraordinarily renovated V&A Fashion Galleries, and their new exhibit, Ballgowns: British Glamour since 1950. 

You come in downstairs, where the permanent - yet new - exhibit resides. And that alone feels pretty darn glamorous. And you think, great. But then.. there are these stairs.. and you're up in what feels like heaven, the dome of the V&A. The gowns for the ball, and these giant balls. And I'm not sure who the woman in the top shot is - in this season's leopard print, lizard - but I'm guessing she was one of the curators, either Oriole Curren or Sonnet Stanfill - both absolutely glamorous names. Whoever she is,   she was simply glowing with glamour.

blown away @ the v&A

I was not prepared for yesterday's press event at the V&A, Ballgowns: British Glamour Since 1950.

Or rather, I was not prepared to be as blown away by it as I was.

I knew - because I'd seen in the Times Style section, and on the BBC News, and in the invitation itself, that this show would coincide with the launch of the redesigned fashion gallery. And I knew I'd love it. But still, I wasn't prepared for the impact, architecturally or emotionally. I was so blown away, in fact, that I got a bit... snap happy. I even started shooting other people shooting the mannequins. A brief return to my streetstyle roots. And I know that rather than try to get all complicated and try to encapsulate my experience into one perfectly cohesive post, I'm going to do it in stages.

Maybe not quite one glamorous gown at a time, or maybe I will.









The weirdly serendipitous thing about this, my first choice, is that when I researched further into it (see description, below), I found that the woman in the photo - the owner and wearer of the dress, by a designer named Yuki, is an American actress named Gayle Hunnicutt. Further investigation revealed that while she had only the briefest of Hollywood careers, she was married to the late actor David Hemmings (see Blow Up: Bad Boys). During his cutest bad boy years, from 1968-1975. Which couldn't have been easy: an American wife, in London in the swingingest years, married to the baddest boy. I tip my cap to her.

And then she married Sir David Jenkins, the journalist, but they separated in 2008. I would so love to go for a coffee with this woman, and hear the story of her life.

I never used to get it, all the fuss about a dress. But this one was worn by Lady Jenkins, to a ball at Windsor Castle, by a girl from Fort Worth, Texas, the daughter of an American Colonel. This kaftan must have caused quite a stir at the time. I wonder what the Queen made of it - or her. I'd love to hear how this particular Cinderella felt, in this gown, at the ball.

There is so much - so very much - woven within a dress. Memories of moments, 'thrilling and exciting.' Of love: at once eternal, and yet, ultimately, fleeting. I think of the Beatles song, 'In My Life.'

All our lives are so rich, so full. We all have so many stories yet to tell.

The new space - which will blow you away, I promise - and the new show, Ballgowns: British Glamour Since 1950, will open to the public this Saturday at the V&A. Thank you to the lovely Charlotte, and more to come.