Tuesday, May 12, 2015


getty images

 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.


Saturday, May 9, 2015


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..."


Saturday, April 25, 2015


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...


Monday, April 20, 2015

cinematic style - Saffron Burrows in The Bank Job

How funny, how fickle is fashion? If you had asked me six months ago the era I was most likely to be channeling at the moment, my answer would have been: 90s baby. But seasons come and go, a couple of issues of Porter magazine cross your mantle, you see a pretty Chloe bag, and, lo and behold, you're dreaming of a white Corvette, bronzer for days and big gold hoop earrings. In my defence, it's not totally out of character for me. I've always had a soft spot for jeans and tee-shirts. Joan Didion is my icon (style and otherwise). Supposedly we live in a post-trend universe, so maybe I'm not so fashion-fickle after all? Maybe I'm just choosing something new to love. Or maybe I just really wanna wear flares and a whole lot of turtlenecks. 

The Bank Job is such an underrated piece of cinema. It's one of those true stories that defy belief: a group of thugs-for-hire from East London (where else?) crack into a bank vault only to discover that the riches they were expecting also included compromising pictures of Princess Margaret cavorting naked in the Caribbean, a set of diaries detailing secret bribery payments to the police, the entire safety net stash of a sleazy brothel owner's covert taping of his most high-profile customers and, somewhat bizarrely, an activist who goes by the name of Michael X (ahem). How much of it is true is unknown. But yes, a bank vault was hit in the '70s by a gang who tunneled underneath from a nearby shop, and yes, the contents of that vault (and the men who stole them) were never discovered. To top it all off, the whole thing was masterminded (in the film) by the British government. Talk about a Macguffin of the highest order. 

Martine Love (what a name) is played by Saffron Burrows, who my mum hates for some reason (whenever we watch Circle of Friends and Nan comes on the screen my mum says "I hate Saffron Burrows, I really do!"). But she's actually great at this: a statuesque beauty who uses her good looks to manipulate the men in her life. She wears a wardrobe of perfect '70s gear - camel turtlenecks, kaftans and golden sandals, a-line linen skirts with a double breasted jacket, heavy gold chains at her neck - and rocks the smokey eye and the tousled hair like no other. She looks great. This films looks great. It's sort of sepia-toned like an old photograph  It's slick and sharp, built like a racecar: this baby corners like it's on rails. And it's sexy. How could it not be, with Jason Statham - oozing charisma, giving a bit of heart (as well as brawn) as a family man trying to do right by his kids - at the head of an ensemble cast that also includes Hercule Poirot (!!!!!) and Stephen Campbell Moore, who I have always loved. He plays a sort of David Bailey character, a non-bank robber caught up in a bank robbery. I could talk about this film for hours, so watch it and we can, and then lets chat about how damn good Saffron Burrows looks in liberty print shirts and palazzo trousers.


Sunday, April 12, 2015

train journey

Florist and Instagram star Amy Merrick went on a train journey across America last week. She saw mountains and forests, had slow breakfasts for one in the dining cart, read books and reclined in her sleeper cabin. I love trains. Always have. I love the romance of a solitary train journey, that old-school notion of rambling, rumbling travel. I still harbour dreams of catching the Orient Express (my parents did it last year, and came back with tales of dressing for dinner and leather wet packs filled with mini mason pearson hairbrushes). But I have to say the Wes Anderson 1970s Americana of the Amtrak train journey also has me thinking. There's no better way to see the world than through the fast-moving window of a train.


Sunday, March 22, 2015

house porn 2.0

Emilia Clarke in The Observer

I couldn't work out why I liked these pictures so much. I was just going to chalk it up to cute little Khaleesi and her sunny two piece then I realised, hey, it looks a lot like the house they shot Dakota Johnson in for US Vogue. In fact, it might just be THE house. No wonder I like it.


Sunday, March 15, 2015


Sophie Bille Brahe

I'm a jewellery girl. There: I've said it. Some people like shoes, some people can't stop buying dresses. I don't care about those things (much). For me, it's all about the bling. It always has been really. I've mused on it on many occasions here before, with sometimes unsatisfactory results. I think the answer I finally nutted out - after much hemming and hawing - was that I'm a magpie and that I like shiny gold things and that, because I dress so simply a little hint of something blingy here and there was a way to liven up an outfit. There might be more to it though but I don't want to delve even further into my psyche just this minute. Rather, let's just look at these pretty pictures of some pretty bling. Marvel at how modern and fresh pearls can be, strung on a fine gold chain or pierced through the ear on a curved bar. Regard how delicious those earring shapes are, curving along the line of the ear. Think how great they would look with a midi dress and your hair pulled back, or with your hair wet from a swim, or just normal. Pretty.

Sophie Bille Brahe is available at My Chameleon



Hark! Rejoice! Sweater weather is here. Unroll your scarves, dry clean your cashmere. Wash your hair and leave it wet. Make yourself a cup of tea. Slip into something a little more comfortable. Relax.


Wednesday, March 11, 2015

breakfast with chanel


The past few seasons fashion month has left me kind of cold. I used to spend hours refreshing style.com, waiting for the latest shows to drop in. I would write paragraphs (and paragraphs, and paragraphs, you know what I'm like) of show reviews. I would dissect every detail shot. I would check a hundred street style websites. These days I just don't want to. Maybe I'm getting older or and busier, maybe the magic has lost just a touch of its sheen, but I just don't want to. Until yesterday. When I caught my first glimpse of the Chanel brasserie de Coco set - those gleaming brass finishes, that mosaic floor, those red banquette seats - I had one of those involuntary, sharp intake of breath, 'oh my god' moments (and yes, they do happen in real life, just ask me). I spent the next hour or so sprawled across my couch, tea going cold, scrolling through Instagram, trawling through the #brasseriedeChanel hashtag, checking the profiles of people who I thought might have attended, watching ever jerky, blurry video, double-tapping every single damn picture. I felt like I was 14 again, the same feeling I had when I bought my first copy of Teen Vogue, the same feeling I had when I first saw Lily Cole on the Christian Lacroix runway: enthrallment.

It's not just the clothes, although I will say this, for the first time in years I've actually wanted to buy something straight off a Chanel runway (those slingbacks are so darn delicious. I don't just want them I goddamn need them). And yes, there was something particularly HRY about the whole show: from the midi skirts and the cosy sweaters and the boxy cardigans right down to Julia Nobis enjoying the newspaper toute seule and the cafe cremes and the cups of orange juices. No it was the show itself. It was the show for the sake of a show. It was theatrics just because they can. It was that particular thrill of enjoying, revelling in fashion at its most frivolous, for no other reason than because you want to. And why not? I saw a little bit of that old magic, that innocent, wide-eyed wonder, yesterday. It was nice.


Saturday, February 28, 2015

this is not an ad

I swear this is not an ad for Dior. Well, THIS is an ad for Dior, but this post isn't. And this post isn't either. I'm just feeling it at the moment. I'm feeling Marion in the white, I'm feeling JLaw's tribal earrings (why oh why do you cost $500!!!! WHY), I'm feeling how fresh and modern and yeah, young and cool JLaw looks in this campaign. This is how to move stock. Imagine being a young professional with cash to burn (serious cash, I mean this is Dior we're talking about here), maybe you're a high-flying, jet-setting exec in Hong Kong or London, you're all business all woman, you're ambitious, that's you. Where would you go if you were looking for a SRS BZNZ outfit? Maybe you'd think Calvin Klein was the place for you, maybe you're a Celine sheath kind of girl. After seeing these ads, you'd be straight for Dior, no questions. A pair of those pumps, tribal earrings (why not), that sexy little Tuxedo dress. Seriously. Just open up a tab because you're gonna need it.