Smokin'

I packed up about four months ago, I used to be anything from six to ten-a-day, at one time 15-a-day. I smoked Marlboro Golds and had done so since fourteen. I quit mainly because I was thinking about quitting anyway, partially because I was cash-poor, and also because I was too ill to smoke at the time (I had the flu for about three weeks.) It was difficult, on top of the symptoms of the flu - typical cold symptoms and vomiting, loss of appetite and a burning throat - I had to deal with nicotine withdrawal symptoms. Which, unless you've given up smoking yourself, you wouldn't understand.
I never started because my friends did it or simply to be cool, I did it because I liked it and that is that. I was aware of the 'peer pressure' but didn't allow that to be a factor in my judgement. I liked the smell, the fact that when me and my two best friends smoked we'd really talk, and also the fact that I could rely on it. Life's pretty unreliable, your friends can get pissed off with you and not talk to you for three weeks, you could drop from the top in the class to the underachiever, you could work endlessly on a project and still be eclipsed by some moron who hadn't worked half as hard as you did... A pack of 20 always cost £6.25 and when I lit up it was like all the bullshit in my life just 'lifted' always.
I would smoke behind 'the trees' at school, with my head out of the window at home, and as I walked down the High-Street in town. I loved it, it became a part of me that even my most judgmental friends eventually accepted. I didn't let it change me, I was still the same guy and my teeth stayed white.
The idea that what I was doing was damaging me felt ridiculous; at the time.

Two and a half years later I don't smoke, And it's weird to think that because I always smoked. I never left the house (or returned) without a pack and a zippo; even today when I get stressed the first thing my mind thinks is 'cigarette' and my hands sometimes even dive into my bag after one; only to find a magazine, my wallet and a phone.
The transition left me with worse skin, I broke out when I quit and my skin hasn't quite calmed down since. I detest that. People used to ask me if I spent hundreds of pounds on skincare because I had such good skin. I would say something like "Ooh, I sware by 'Clinique Scrubs'" or "Kiehl's Soothing Lotions" the truth being that all I ever needed was bog-standard Clearasil in the mornings; now my skin... it isn't bad but it's far from its enviable former glory.
Quitting hasn't given me much to celebrate, I was moody and didn't talk to anyone. I snapped out at nice people; and when I finally got over that and went out to see friends they would talk about their neuroses and I would have to pull a face like I cared while I tried to push the subconscious chant: 'Smoke... smoke... smoke...' out of my head. Then I would go out with old smoking buddies and they'd look at me expectantly whilst they lit up, I would stare at the floor until they remembered why I wasn't joining in; and then try to inhale as much passive smoke as I could.

I guess what provoked this was last Tuesday at Cafe Nero's ; I was having a nightmare day, the pattern I had spent two days drawing out for this design was fundamentally flawed and would require serious overtime to repair. So I did what I always do in this situation and took a long lunch (knowing after that I wouldn't be taking lunch until it was finished) I ordered a huge Cappuccino, a giant ciabatta and my usual sad spot by the window. I pulled out my copy of 'Wuthering Heights' and sat there like nothing in the world could possibly piss me off. I suddenly remembered what I would've done five months ago; stood outside and chain-smoked, and to be honest, I missed it.
I missed everything I described, the rush, the taste... the bubbly, smiley person I was when I smoked.
Now I am moodily sitting in a Cafe with a burnt coffee pretending to give two shits about 'Mr Lockwood's clumsy dealings with Heathcliff and Joseph.

I have not yet succumbed to the temptation that is the rack of smokes behind the cashier at Tesco Express, but it's there. Every time I go to buy a Mars bar. 'Smoke... smoke... smoke...'

[Photoshoot]

This is a post I've been meaning to do for ages now, I did this photoshoot with a friend of mine, Anjelica, she's an excellent model and photographer (despite not spending any time behind the camera for this shoot.) This was all about her personal style, (and my jacket) and I just had to share these images with you.

Leather Jacket, mine, Ponyskin Bag from Camden Market, Ponyskin Skirt, indeterminate origin.

Red Writing Case, heirloom from the 30s, Crocheted Backpack, another Camden discovery.

Jacket, again mine, 'Sheels' (Shoe/heels, a phrase coined by a drunk girl at a party we went to) by Topshop

Fleetwood Chic

Stevie Nicks is, for me, a god. I'm not going to do a big ol' The first time I heard her music I was... post because that would be wet. No. I'm simply going to state her godliness, offer up some explanation as to why she is a deity and then shall be off on my way.
The Nicks is, in my opinion the best voice in rock, she has a low coarse voice that reminds some people of Dolly Parton (remark as such and recieve a digital back-hand) to me, she sounds like a female Jack White, but edgy-country with hints of Ms Winehouse; except without the drugs. As soon as you hear it you're spellbound; which is her scene entirely. All of her work references spirituality, witchcraftiness sometimes, and softly you're drawn in. It's the lyrics as well; "I'll follow you down 'til the sound of my voice will haunt you... you'll never get away from the sound of the woman that loved you..." and then she'll repeat it "I'll Follow you down 'til the Sound of my Voice will haunt you... You'll Never get away from the Sound of the Woman that loved you..." And then there's the whole first verse of her veritable masterpiece "Planets of the Universe" that leaves you going "What?!" because it's totally ritualistic and abstract.

"The Bright Light is lying down,

The Earth and The Sea and The Sky,

Is at rest with The Ocean [oooh]

And the days go by...

They go into the seas that have no shores,

haunted by that same closed door.

Looking up! at skies on fire,

leaving nothing left of us to discover."

At NYFW no-one can hear you scream...

I am OB-fudging-SESSED with Ridley Scott's 'Alien.' I believe I have devoted a fair few Tweets to declaring my undying love for Sig-Weaver's 'Ripley' portrayal. She truly is my greatest style icon, whether it's her custom Reebok's from the second film or her jumpsuit from the first, to me she represents true grace in utilitarian androgyny. and that's just wardrobe. In my mind no-one else could portray a character like her with the same consistency as she did. Sigourney rocks my world.

Of course you could draw parallels between any 'Grungy' collection and films like 'Alien' but at Jeremy Laing's Fall '11 show a few days ago I detected a MEGA 'Ripley' vibe.

Grunge chic's been a 'thing' since Marc Jacobs in the nineties, but Laing's latest collection translates the darkness of the mood into the glamorous silhouettes of the season full length organza instead of . It's these collections that I find are the most inspiring, because all it would take to replicate some of these looks at home would be the ability to sew organza into a long skirt and chop up the hem, I just love these looks. NYFW always comes up with a handful of designers who don't really care about 'trends' so much as whatever inspires them, when I go to London on Weds/Thurs for fashion week I pray I see something like this.

I'm, like, so 'punk'. yeah.

Okay, I'm no punk, in fact I'm far too neurotic to look like I don't care. But I love punk culture, I love Dame Viv's (far left) 'Sex' era work; I love the Ramones and 'Bondage Trousers.' But, for me, true punkism is inaccessible. I can only attempt it, never actually succeed.
'Punk' is angst, first and foremost, its followers draw inspiration from their quarrels with the world/their family/government/pop music and they wear it on the outside, and NOTHING makes me angst-ier than Valentine's Day; a day designed to make single pringles feel like nothings.
So with all the pent up V-Day angst boiling in my blood, I had to find a suitably positive outlet for this negative energy before it boiled over into a 'Don't make me AAAANNGGRRYYY!!' killing spree a la the Hulk (in case you didn't get the last ref.) I chose to attack my defenseless clothes with my bare hands. You shoulda seen the looks on their faces... they weren't suspecting a thing.

This is what I made, sorta, see once upon a time I had this amazing skeleton necklace that was jointed like a proper skeleton and I wore it every day. You see, I have a tendency to play with any necklace I have on whenever I get nervous and anxious and revising for the finals saw me my lovely skeleton fiddled into pieces. All that was left was the skull attatched to the chain, the ribcage and all of the disassociated limbs; I scooped them up and dropped them into a box until I found them again a few days ago.

This leather thong with a ring is also a broken necklace (do I have any unbroken jewelry? I don't think so) and I wore it around my wrist 'cuz it's so kewl. But after reading The Melancholy Death of Oyster Boy I knew what this wrist-lace was lacking, severed limbs!

Yeah, the story behind this is simple, I wore the skull on the chain mainly because it was cute to have a teeny little skull around your neck, and whilst working on a piece in my college fashion course I found I couldn't be assed to walk the VOYAGE to the cupboard in the other room to replace the safety pin; so I sneakily slipped it into the necklace; and I think I love it as much as my dog-tags.

These are my dad's dog-tags from the gulf, HE'S STILL AROUND Whenever someone compliments me on these they ask 'Wherever did you get these?' I say 'They belonged to my dad' and then they go 'Oh I'm so terribly sorry!' at which point I have to assure them that No, my dad did not die in the gulf; he just let me had these because I loved them and he thought it would be cool for me to have a decent pair of Dog-tags with some real background.

ehhh, aren't Dog-Tags like, soooo 1997?

Shut your noise, I'm bringing them back.

The Talented Mr Wu - 'Boy-Clothes'

Jason Wu - F/W 2011

Have I told you about how much I like, no, love androgyny? In Fashion, few things are as difficult as to be truly androgynous. I actually managed to force my best friend into my shirt and one of my biker jackets for a photoshoot the other day, but other than that 'I'm not going to wear boy-clothes.' What is it about androgyny that scares women away? is it the fear of looking like a lesbian? perhaps, men shy away from wearing skinny jeans for fear of 'lookin' like a fruit' but shouldn't it be different for girls?

Last year I ended up at this University bash in London, it was boring and I was too nervous to talk to anyone from St Martins; anyway, as I was going in there was this girl was outside smoking like Uma in Pulp Fiction, contentedly secluded from everything around her. She had this perfect, long, brownish, wavy, 'Freja' hair, curly with bangs [fringe] that were perfectly curled and landed just above her eyes. She hadn't even a touch of makeup on her face but she had flawless pale skin and long eyelashes. That was what I noticed of her first. When I took a second glance she was wearing a mustard-seed wool, double breasted, men's summer coat over a blue dress shirt, buttoned to the top. She had these camel trousers on that could've been saville row, they were a perfect 'peg' sitting exactly on her hip, like a pair of jeans. They stopped precisely above her ankle with a superfine Turn up. No socks, just brown brogues with none of the 'punched leather' embellishment.Her arms poked out of her coat, sitting on her shoulders, sleeves rolled up like a railway-worker from the wild west and she'd folded her arms with her cigarette pointed away.

Never before had I seen a woman pull that off. But every time I look at my girl-friends I think 'Why won't they try it? why won't they even consider that?'
Because they never saw her.

#GodMakesNoMistakes

They Gather no moss

Lately I've garnered a secret guilty pleasure... it's so secret that nobody but you and my credit card knows about it... Every night when everyone's asleep and I'm all alone I mute the sound on my laptop and... Order vintage designer clothes on Ebay. I know! I know it's dirty and the bible says I shouldn't but it just feels so good, forbidden...

Comme Des Garcons is always worth having a look at and on Ebay it's like my 'favourite' search or something and it always turns up some well-bad shizz (read 'amazing clothes.') such as the jacket bottom-centre-left which I am now fiercely fending off enemy bids for. I LOVE this collection, it's so unlike Rei K. to do a collection with such a direct reference to pop culture. I cannot wait for this piece to arrive, I truly have an addiction (or a fixation at least.)

Andy Warhol's covers for the stones are, no doubt, some of the best album covers of all time and I adore the way that Rei's interpreted his work, polka dots, metallics, checks... I love how some of the looks resemble 80s Record Company people and producers with plain beige wool blazers and kooky T-shirts.
Give Rei a mainstream source of inspiration and she will always turn it into the most 'out-there' concept of the season; and not only will it be the edgiest collection in paris. It'll actually have a point. something so many other 'edgy' designers lack in their collections. Edgy simply for the sake of edgy has no chic value, but when a designer has the refinement to take 'Pop Art' and make it, well... this. That really means something.

You know? maybe I've been a bit rash with the whole, 'no colours thing' maybe I need a new rule... 'No colours unless it's CDG.'

Don't worry, I'm not going to go all Shawshank on you...

Colour-blocking an entire outfit orange or red was a surprising womenswear trend last editorial season, it caught on and soon all sorts of celebs were doing it; so I guess I shouldn't be surprised now that it's going to be such a big thing this season for men.

As I was staring at the trend predictions in textile view I was throwing, how does a man wear an all-orange outfit? Women get away with things easier than men, if a woman wears an orange suit people think 'She's being edgy with her fashion' if a man was to wear an orange suit people would think 'is he supposed to be in a juice advert?' This is a great fashion conundrum! it calls for Super-Viv! (how would you call Vivienne Westwood like a superhero? perhaps shine a gigantic searchlight into the sky shaped like Tracey Emin throwing up?)

Vivienne must've read my mind when she and husband Antheas Kronthaler designed that prison jumpsuit for her fw2011, I've been ebay-ing orange jumpsuits for ages in search of a suitable outfit for London Fashion Week (I'm allowing myself to bend the rules in hope that someone like Tommy Ton might take my photo, vain? or simply ambitious?) perhaps now though, I shan't be the only one bedecked like OJ at LFW, maybe we should all get together and perform 'Thriller' in trafalgar square? maybe not.

Either way, THAT viv.w. design is pretty much at the top of my f/w2011 wish-list. Plain. Simple. Perfection.

This season Galliano went 'Gruau' for Dior

theater of the exotic

of all of the shows at couture week, armani prive was the most in. your. face.

maybe it isn't such good 'blog-journalism' to give away your favourite collection first but, I adore it.

people often ask how the slowly dying couture tradition will translate into the modern world

this collection is how

Belated French shoes

I know it's an easy excuse but... my internet died, blogger went wierd, my town was hit with a wave of zombies, I got dumped, I was hired to comb Kristen Stewart's eyebrows... and after all that I was recruited by the UN to stop Dr Evil reincarnating Anna Nicole Smith (too soon?)
Basically a lot has happened to me lately but don't take pity, I still neglected this sapling of a blog and I shall pay dearly; with a HUGE couture week post comin' soon! Truth is I've actually been putting a lot of stuff together lately for this blog but annoying little things like scanners not working and the fact that the only good camera I own died the other day have gotten in the way.

Balenciaga has, since ever, been one of my favourite Parisian houses. Ghesquiere is, how do you say? a visionary; he's so good he deserves asterisks in the words that describe him, f***ing amaz*ng. (fudging amazing, actually. No dollar in the cuss box for me)

This entire collection was very Gaultier. Harking back to his early leather influences and the london punk-meets-disco scene. The jackets were simply marvellous and even though the girls were dangerously waify, wudja take a peek at those Monk-Straps?

This season Nicholas teamed up with Pierre Hardy (a peddler of epic proportions) to create the perfect shoes. They're golf shoes, but they're also early 90s dress shoes, and they're patent orange...! I simply adore them, this season has seen so much in primitive, unrefined explosions of colour (beautiful in and of themselves but unlikely to maintain their attraction in a few months' time) it's such a refreshing feeling to find a designer who's looked at this season's colour charts and found somewhere to take it besides '70s Glam' (I mean, please, Frida Giannini? are you serious?)

I may well die if I see these at LFW in a few weeks, After years and years of telling my best friends that they should wear hooker-height heels and throw away their ballet pumps, I'm actually really looking forward to a season where I'm not be-hobbit-ed by the scale of the platforms.

He's no French designer, and Shoes weren't a big part of his collection but I am a huge Junya fan. Mr Watanabe, enfant terrible of the almighty Rei explored the world of bending black-and-white stripes this season, leaving the colour to the wigs. I go weak at the knees for any collection like this, because of its simplicity. I'm a minimalist, I like my room uncluttered, my DVDs arranged and tucked away, my idea of hell is dusting those china animals you see on the shopping channel as they gather dust day-by-day, working hard to ugly-up your house. To a borderline OCD like me, Junya's work is sheer beauty. Simple, clean, but so full of individual character and charm.

style.com/fashionshows/review/S2011RTW-JNWATNBE this collection needs to be viewed as a whole. So go and 'ave a look-see fer yerselves!

But what post on Paris would be complete without Chanel?

G'night kids. Sleep tight and dream of shoes.