File this under hair, outfit, jewellery, beauty, everything goals. Growing my hair long - but not too long - keeping it choppy and messy, looking for something kinda Keira-y to go with unfussy clothes and a little bit of bling.
Planning a weekend lounging around on sofas and beds and plenty of soft furnishings in various states of undress, hair all piled up, knee high cashmere socks and all. After all, this is what a winter weekend is for, isn't it? I've always loved this spread, always, and the news that Kristen will be on another ELLE UK cover next month got me all excited to revisit it. More Kristen, says I. She's ballsy and bold and uncompromising and I like it.
Sandy Liang FW15 // Vogue US July 2015 // Wall Street Journal // Alasdair Mclellan //
There's something in the air. A crispness; survival instincts kicking in, shrug on an extra-large cardigan, get yourself a fuzzy scarf, have eggs and soldiers in bed. Things are getting cold here in sydney, and it's finally time to slip into something a little bit more comfortable. You know when you open your wardrobe and you hate everything in it? Well, that's kind of how it is for me at the moment. I'm wearing the same ribbed skirt and loose silk tee over and over again, the same comfy midi dress. I got a few ideas of what I would like to wear over it - a fuzzy, astrahkan jacket, a snuggly shearling vest, a tasseled, fringed shawl, a downy, streaky soft fur coat. There's something about winter that demands that you feel it.
A few months ago I found myself chatting on the phone to Joanna Vanderham, this bright young thing, while she sat in the park opposite her new flat, and I sat in the meeting room at work with my feet curled up underneath me getting comfortable. We had trouble getting a good connection, you see, and what had been promised as a 15 minute call had ballooned into a 45 minute one. But she kept chatting happily and I kept listening intently and I learned something: the best starlets are the ones who aren't yet spoiled by fame, even when they teeter right on the precipice of it, like this one does. Anyway, you can read the full interview here.
Recently I've begun to wonder if I'm a grown up, or at the very least, growing up. I want to stop dancing at 11.30 and run home like Cinderella and dive into bed, I don't bounce back from a bottle or two of wine like I used to (I spent all of last Saturday in bed, feeling very sorry for myself and watching North and South on Netflix), I find it harder and harder to leave my house on the weekends, I complain that my feet are cold, I am concerned about girls in the club who are wearing short skirts (or no skirts at all). Also, I want to start wearing a watch and I'd like it to be this one: Chanel's new Boy.Friend watch, a perfectly grown up, all woman and certainly sort of all business, kind of timepiece. I will wear it while I write my book in Paris and only take it off when I'm washing veggies or making passionfruit sponge and having Epsom salt baths and right before I get into my bed (with fresh stripey linen sheets).
I love this. I love this. I love this. It's lovely and fresh and pretty: a glass of ice cold Pimms lemonade, the start of a tan, a girl in summer. It reminds me a little bit of this other cover that I loved, this gorgeous Harper's BAZAAR Australia Miranda Kerr situation (hate the girl, love the look). All autumn-y, moody broody browns and burgundies, poker straight hair and rugging up (sort of) for the colder months. This Alexa cover feels naturally different, but it has that same sense of time and place, this wonderful sort of calm, this serene, painterly prettiness. Every June, or so it seems, BAZAAR UK do these 'Best of Britain' issues and they reel me in. Maybe it's the latent anglophile in me rearing its ugly head, but yeah, hydrangeas and tea dresses and green fields and 'what what' (all this, basically) is pretty much my idea of paradise.
Like many a girl, I think I'm falling for Dior. It's happened slowly - a floral couture show here, a pair of tribal earrings there - but it's happened surely. There's something playful and supremely, serenely confident about the Dior girl now, she's large and in charge, she's all business all woman. I like the way that, over the years, Raf Simons has shaken out the cobwebs at the old house, once a bit staid and pedestrian, now a youthful, revelatory breath of fresh air in the world of fashion. I'm not talking groundbreaking trends or design (but yes, that's there too), but more the sense of energy, of lightheartedness, or sheer fun that radiates from a Dior show spectacle. Profitability in fashion is, after all, about tapping into a mood, marketing a feeling, or rather, the way a feeling smells ("J'adore Dior"), the way a feeling looks on your lips ("Dior Addict"). But this kind of energy doesn't need much in the way of marketing. Bright young things, well, they market themselves.
Oh to be young and beautiful and wearing a ballgown in New York City. I recently spoke to one of my favourite writers, a New Yorker by birth and by trade, a woman with the big smoke running in her veins. She said that she thought New York was over, that the moment of the big city - the allure of never-ending boulevards unspooling ahead of you, and new dresses, and 3AM whiskeys, and yellow silk curtains - was over. I was inclined to agree, even though I'm currently in the throes of dreaming of places other than my own hometown, which seemed so big only six months ago and now seems impossibly, constrictingly small. I was inclined to agree, and then the Met Ball happened, and I remembered these pictures from last year, and it all came flooding back to me, unbidden but somehow, yes, very welcome. There's a magic in being young and careless in the big city, a kind of ingested light, something kind of shiny and incandescent to it. If there were words I would use them. Suffice to say: "I still believed in possibilities then, still had the sense, so peculiar to New York, that something extraordinary would happen any minute, any day, any month..."
Something pretty for those of us suffering in Sydney's stormageddon. Many people have given up on Vogue US but not me, occasionally they come up with the goods, and their May issue starring Carey Mulligan is one such instance. Look how beautiful, how pretty, how romantic this is! Love in a cold climate, love amongst the ruins, love in a cashmere twinset and an a-line skirt. I've seen the film that Carey and Mathias are shilling at the moment already and, can I tell you, it's bloody beautiful. It's about the first all business all woman heroine in literature - Thomas Hardy's Bathsheba Everdeen - and how she deftly carved out her own path to love and happiness, via rascally suitors, very poor, very poor decisions indeed, and quite a lot of sheep. It's a marriage plot that you can really get behind, one where the marriage is the sum total, be all and end all of the plot, and yet is somehow secondary to the plot. More important is how Bathsheba grows up and realises what she really wants in life: a big hulking Matthias Schoenaerts of a man. Not really, not really, I jest. What she really wants is to be independent. And how is she going to make that happen? Watch the film...