Love on the Run.

Katy

It has been forever since I've had a second to update this blog so I'll just dive right into it. This term has been insane as Louise and I work non-stop to produce editorials to be printed in the paper every Friday. This involves choosing a theme, hunting down references, sourcing the clothing, finding the models (in lecture halls, cafes and the houseparties we crash), styling the outfits, picking a date, location and photographer and praying that the weather cooperates because we don't have fancy studio lighting or paid assistants who can hurl their bodies over the clothing when it starts to rain. Once all that works out, we process, pick, and retouch the photos, set the layouts, write the credits, colour-edit for printing and post it all online before we start all over again on the next week's shoot. (It's no wonder my dissertation has been languishing in an unopened file for months...) It has been an absurd number of things to juggle but tonight as we sent our newest shoot off to print, Louise and I laughingly realized that in spite of being sleep deprived and on the brink of academic probation, we're having the time of our lives!

Inspiration.

The Laughing Cavalier by Jason Alper.

There is no end to its source. At its most genuine, it creates genius. 

Desire.

Why can't i just be you?

Aviator shearling; high-waisted, straight-cut trousers; ox blood and camel...F/W 2010 is a major throwback to the 70s (and it's about flipping time!) High street's obsession with the neon-grunge 90s was starting to make me want to ram a few Charles Anastase dungeon spikes into my eyeballs...

Directed Advertising.

Jude Law and Guy Ritchie for Dior Homme.

To Top it Off.

Long Hair - Exposure Deliberately Set to Hide the Fact the Cut Cost £7.

To the T.

The plain white T is the foundation of a man’s wardrobe - literally and figuratively speaking.

Photo Courtesy of Jak and Jill

Something that is so seemingly simple isn’t exactly in practice. It starts with the frame you provide it with.

Flash Forward.

Louise, by Arturo Guéret.

For awhile now I've been stuck in one of those periods that are replete with planning and utterly lacking in action. Every waking moment has been spent preparing for something in the future (photo shoots, articles, conferences etc.) and I'm getting really antsy for it all to begin! Here's a preview of all the exciting stuff I've been working on with Pete and Louise.

Short Summer.

Ok, fine it isn’t yet. But already fall lines are either in pre-sale or are making their way to the shelves as we speak. That said, here are some thoughts on shorts.

Shoe-isms.

Alexander McQueen Spring 2010

Call me crazy, but I've never been a big fan of wearing heels. And it's not because I'm too much of a hipster to touch anything that isn't charmingly frumpy. Nor is it because I'm too much of a feminist to believe they're a male invention for reducing me into a subservient sex-object. 

Ashes to Ashes.

Nhuc wears a blue sequined dress, vintage.

Apologies that I haven't written anything substantial for awhile! This was taken at Rosie Hardy's photography workshop in London. It was so much fun to play around in the studio and to see Rosie at work. Her dedication to her medium is so inspiring.

Mandal(lay).

From this.

Done and Dusted.

AWESOME news! My friend Pete and I just got chosen to be the fashion editors of the university paper! VERY excited to start sourcing stuff from up-and-coming designers, shooting some kickass editorials and spicing things up a little in this sleepy old town! YAAAAAY!!

Endurance.

Vintage Virgin

Swimming lesson.

 Liu Wen, by Hanneli.

Sit, Walk, Strut.

Shorts and Boots from Guilty Brotherhood by Hanneli.

The phenomenon of V-high (vagina high) boots is often associated with a post-Pretty Woman world. I remember reading an article in the Evening Standard on how “Freud thought the shoe or boot was a symbol of the female genitals, too - a gap or perceived lack when the little girl realises that females do not possess a penis.” Accordingly, many many find such footwear (or more accurately, legwear) tantalizing, to say the least.

Monday Measures.

Today, Alexander McQueen sent me a measure of Shakespeare.

Green.

Lily Cole and Andrew Garfield shot by Annie Leibovitz for Vogue US, December 2009; styled by--who else?--Grace Coddington.

Recently, the impossibly awesome Lily Cole (whom I met one night in our student-run bar--in her inimitable, soft-spoken way she told me how excited she was about going to Venice that weekend, modestly neglecting to mention of course that it was for Salma Hayek's wedding...) ahem, Lily Cole and a few friends started a fascinating project called The North Circular, which produces fashionable knitwear made by grannies exclusively from the wool of rescued Wensleydale sheep (who are raised on organic pastures).

The Swagger of Old – an addendum to Trashable Fashion.

McQueen, working out - note his boxing gloves (or rather taped hands).

Unfortunately, today’s fashionable man has become a caricature of what it once meant to have style. More dandy than distinguished, trends have become much more widely accessible. What people wear is no longer as tied to their status, profession or culture.

Trashable Fashion.

Dad's battered Levi's 505s.

It is a truism that fashion turns the old into the new. Magazines and newspaper style sections often proclaim that 'the [insert decade here]'s are back!' and I have no doubt that these are correct observations. One need only check out the latest acid-washed denim, wayfarer sunglasses or bouffant hairstyles for confirmation.

The States and the Union.

Obama on the cover of Ebony, August 2008.

Marmite vs peanut butter, football vs football, monarchy vs republic...it is clear that the pond is not the only thing that separates the UK and the USA. Recently, with the British elections approaching, the inevitable comparison has been drawn between the nations' leaders. 

Bucking the Trend

Clogs circa 1890.

I think one of the most important elements of personal style is the ability to say 'no.' Nowadays it's easier than ever for brands and retailers to bombard us with images of a trend. Before long, as magazine editors, fashion gurus, and tween bloggers and their peanut galleries proclaim its coolness, we find ourselves unable to tell the difference between what we like and what we're told to like.

Mystics.

Mammoth and oxidized sterling silver cuff, a BS + PS collaboration with Pamela Love.

I have always believed that jewelry should be deeply personal. It's very different from clothing for me--there's something about how it interacts with and draws warmth from the body. As long as you're wearing it, it's a part of you. By that logic, you shouldn't wear jewelry unless it means something to you or says something about who you are and from whence you've come...I admire pretty things, naturally, but I rarely buy them. Jewelry for me has to have history, mystery, magic.

The Power of Fashion.

Sketch of cape for Chanel F/W 2009.

We might have expected a return to minimalism. Simple lines, earth tones, basics. After all, simplicity is often associated with lean economic times. It was no coincidence that during the 1990s, the height of fashion minimalism coincided with five major international financial crises. The domino collapse of asian currencies in the late 90s may have been the best thing that ever happened to Helmut Lang, and Cathy Horyn certainly had a point when she said that 'to some extent, we associate minimalism with failure'. When an economic crisis hits, minimalism makes sense: it's fairly obvious that when you're living from paycheck to paycheck, you're not going to blow your budget on crystal knuckledusters.

Fake it till you make it.

My paper Chanel cuff.

Couture is pricey. If you've ever wondered why, you need to watch this video about the Chanel Maisons d'Art from the Paris-Shanghai series. With every miniscule golden stitch, every hand-trimmed feather and every gorgeously rusted paillette, you can almost hear the retail cost racking up. 

Farewell, Winter!

Agathe in Balmain, photographed by Garance Doré.

It happens to me every year. When the air loses its sharp edge and the sunlight lingers a little bit longer, I emerge bleary-eyed from the comfort of an indoor winter and am suddenly walloped by neutrals! nauticals! and (gag) pastels...