Jeepers creppers, your shoes hurt my peepers and other stories...

http://www.thelocal.se/48596/20130619/

Jean Paul Gaultier's new show hits Stockholm
http://www.thelocal.se/48666/20130624/

Is it true that all Swedes dress the same?
http://www.thelocal.se/48704/20130626/

Why Swedes should be grateful to hipsters
http://www.thelocal.se/49000/20130712/

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Check me out... if you like

Currently interning at thelocal.se - fashion writing and newsy stuff. Check me out.

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ps. if you don't want to take a peek at my work on thelocal.se (and why wouldn't you?), here's a nice picture of a panda. Because, well, it's cute. Enjoy!

Image: George Lu/Flickr

Blooming beautiful

Ahhh the Chelsea flower show. One of my favourite world events of the year. That and London Fashion Week and World's Strongest Man. I have an eclectic bunch of interests.

Whilst I'm not sure what I could post as fashion-related to World's Strongest Man - muscle vests and knee strapping perhaps - I do know exactly what to write about when Chelsea is on.

Flowers.

I've never been lucky enough to visit the world's best flower show that is The Chelsea Flower Show, but I did recently visit the wonderul Keukenhof in Holland. Unfortunately, although it was early April, the blooms were not out in full splendour as they should have been because of the silly cold weather. Not that I blame the buds, I don't come into bloom unless it's at least 17ºc.

The wonderful indoor displays in Keukenhof of tulips, lillies and orchids amongst hundreds of other species made up for the lack of colour outside. Not to mention the fabulous fashion and London-themed displays.

An indoor tulip display at Keunkenhof

Hats and flowers make the best of talking pieces

If I could, I would wear a dress entirely made of blooms. Imagine the fresh and sweet scent for one thing. Alas, it's probably not that practical. 

Hello pretty

Sitting on the bus would be problematic for one thing. In fact moving, would probably not work period. I'd shed petals faster than you can say 'walking pollenator'.

Never mind, the designers have floral fashion covered.

Givenchy 1956

Christian Dior s/s 13

Christian Dior s/s 13 Haute Couture

Be inspired and bloom.

Holly Fulton s/s 13

Prada s/s 13

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Let's keep things short.

Please excuse my tardiness in writing another post. 

I’ve just made the leap over to Sweden from the UK, and journeyed through seven countries in two weeks before setting up camp here in beautiful Stockholm. I’ve therefore been rather too busy to indulge in any writing whatsoever mores the pity. My fingers have grown chubbier and less agile in the interim, my brain is rather stodgy and both limbs and organs are in drastic need of creative stimulation.

So, here I am; sitting in my new bedroom next to a window looking out on a park where birds are chirping, children are playing and thank the heavens, the sun is shining. Thoughts of sunshine and happy summer days has lead me to ponder what we shall be wearing this summer should the temperature rise (as it rightly should).

Causing quite a stir both on and off the catwalk is the crop top. That little piece of insignificant fabric you wore without worry as a child, much like the bikini or (ahem) cycling shorts, but in adulthood, an item of clothing that stirs up body image issues and thoughts of unwanted chills around the midriff.

That said, I rather like the idea of the cropped or crop top; one need only look at the very recent Coachella festival to form an image in our minds of an item of clothing that in its very form is wonderfully free-spirited, bohemian, cute perhaps? A little daring? 

Left to right: Alexander Wang s/s 13, Balenciaga s/s 13, a Coachella 2013 sun-worshipper

Of course, done right and the crop top can also be elegant and chic. Karlie Kloss and Diane Kruger have both recently managed this to perfection by coordinating top and bottom, showing only the narrowest and daintiest of gaps in between. A delicate tease of skin.

The crop top is not a classic, it’s not practical or even easy to wear (unless you're Alessandra Ambrosio). But this season's crop top is far more refined than its predecessors: in delicate matchy-matchy prints, geometric cuts and sophisticated cloudy tones of white, grey or blue.

But no matter how it is dressed, the crop top will always be a little cheeky, ever-so nonchalant and a trifle playful.

And just as before, the crop top will come and go and it is its frivolity that makes us fall so easily in love with it every time Summer rolls round. Crop tops allow us freedom, the kind we enjoyed as a child or teenager before we lost out and became adults.

I remember as a teenager quite often showing off my midriff, my grandmother telling me I would catch a cold by doing so and ever so concernedly, shuffling my t-shirt down a cm or two before the fabric reaffirmed its rightful place just above my naval.

And surely, that is the very essence of the crop top: care-free clothes that are meant for frolicking in the sunshine and show we don't give two hoots whether we get a little chilly or not. 

And heck, if we are lucky enough to bathe in sunshine this summer, there will be no stopping us. Our daring, laisez-faire teenage spirit will be out in full-flow and who knows, we might just have fun.

Mr Sunshine, don’t let us down.

v

It's time we sat down and I confessed something to you... something about shoes.

The fact I have developed a gouging hole in the left shoe of my go-to flats got me thinking about my attitude to my shoes. In fact, my attitude to all shoes.

If I could, and believe me I would try were it not for the copious amounts of rain and snow we get in this country, not to mention the uncleanliness of doing so, I would clothe myself in swathes of beautiful fabric and not even bother with shoes.

When I can eventually inhabit the luscious, always-spring-like meadow world of my daydreams, I won't even need shoes. No, I shall dance and laugh with bare feet gleefully exposed and not have a care in the world. This will happen. I'm determined.

But back in the oh-so dreary real world, of course shoes, boots, trainers etc. etc. do serve a purpose. Shoes protect our feet from the elements and from that God awful pain when you stand on something sharp, pain second only to stubbing a toe; shoes keep our tootsies warm, and when chosen correctly, our shoes tell others a great deal about ourselves. That we are smart, sophisticated, girly, boyish, sporty, even rich or poor.

And it is this realisation that has caused me great concern. What are my shoes saying about me and more importantly, how has my relationship with shoes come to such dire straits? 

Not only do my most used shoes contain holes the size of moon craters, but after a full-on tussle with the shoe cupboard the other morning, I realised I'm actually rather villainous with my shoes. I shun them to the dark, disorganised cupboard under the stairs alongside the vacuum cleaner, my other half's dirty work boots and with not a drop of light or comfort. Goodness, my shoes are like Harry Potter. How shameful.

To make things worse, I'm actually from a town in the UK that is famous for its shoe-making past; Northampton is home to Church's, Crockett and Jones, Dr. Martens. What is my problem?

Perhaps I favour the freedom of unconfined feet or I'm just too wrapped up in the softness and movement of clothes to really bother with rather spiritless accessories, because as it goes, I'm not too concerned with handbags either. Are shoes spiritless because they don't move in the same way as clothes do? 

I'm not sure, leather, once aged is characterful and there is something rather charming about a ballet flat. They just don't have that same sense of liberation to me. 

Or maybe I just haven't met that many great shoes (or just can't afford the good ones)?

I do, however, have shoes that I take care of and couldn't be without. My weekend biker boots are irreplaceable and I have a pair of Victorian lace ankle booties that I've never worn because they are far too pretty and life will only taint them.


Perhaps I am missing out on something and need to expel this rather nonchalant attitude to shoes. Heavens, the rest of womankind supposedly have gazillions of them in their wardrobes and who wouldn't wish for the collection of Carrie Bradshaw, Victoria Beckham or Imelda Marcos?


I should start a shoe fund and save up for a beautiful and ridiculously expensive pair of shoes. I will revel in the feeling of wearing them for the very first time and look after them as if they were puppies. I will stroke them, gaze lovingly at them, place them on a special shelf and take pictures of myself with them.

Maybe not.

v

My education into menswear continues... The Prada Man aka the stylish über nerd

Always one to offer an alternative aesthetic, Prada, has once more delivered an odd form of brilliance with its recent NY menswear collection for autumn/winter 2013/14. 

Muiccia's focus on 'perfection' for this collection was certainly evident in individual pieces; jumpers, jackets, trousers, were excellent renditions of staple menswear items but viewed all together and the look is evocative of a mathematician in his fifties on Redbull. Smart, sure, but clumsy. Oh and I'm pretty sure the fifth model down the catwalk was Mr Gilbert from my old secondary school.

In persuit of mathematical perfection Prada autumn/winter 2013/14

It would be wrong to call the Prada aesthetic weird. Charmingly odd perhaps. Whatever you’d like to call it, Prada certainly has a knack at capturing the audience’s interest, albeit in a 'I can't quite help but look' kind of way. 

Don't get me wrong, I liked parts of the collection. The above-ankle pleated to perfection trousers, the slightly iridescent black/blue wool jackets. 

I also loved how Muiccia used typically punchy punk colours and patterns (blood red, blue and yellow checks) and managed to make them look so, well, uncool; which of course, unequivocally and by its very definition makes it cool. 

Thanks Prada, for making me appreciate the unexpected. 

And may the über nerd live long and prosper. 

v

Couture.

Last week's Paris Haute Couture Fashion Week... for the super rich, the super famous and for the super green-eyed. And me.

Nothing quite gets my juices flowing like haute couture. An opinion I’m sure most of you reading this will share.

Gazing at images of Valentino's masterful and exquisite creations on show at PFW last week caused some kind of physiological condition that I can only describe as the feeling that at at any moment my bones may actually melt and I would turn into a big heap of jelly on the floor.

Perhaps I should see a doctor. Or perhaps, that's just couture.

Sure, if I were a hardened industry professional maybe I'd walk away from viewing Chanel couture thinking about my next meeting or how Miss Vogue has arrived about twenty years too late. Sad face.

As it is, I’m constantly moved by fashion, and thank heavens for it. Of course, fashion can be about words: Chanel, Prada, Dior or images: Cara, Kate, Louis Vuitton’s Edwardian train (PFW 2012). But the best fashion is more importantly about a feeling.

 

Jean Paul Gaultier’s couture offering for autumn/winter 2013 epitomise the word “creation”. Ensembles of Off-his-rocker, eclectic, magnificent, jaw-dropping creations. If God were on some hallucinogenic drug when he created man, and decided, against his initial thoughts, to clothe them, I think he’d have come up with something a little like JPG’s haute couture collection.

Tribal printed enough to ensure survival, fur-lined enough to stay warm (and ultra glamorous should Adam wish to whisk Eve away on a pre-historic getaway) yet divine enough to remind us all that his creations were heaven sent.

Jean Paul Gaultier Haute Couture autumn/winter 2013 Images from Google

I’m as old-fashioned as one could possibly be at 26 but I do have to praise Sir Tim-Berners Lee for doing whatever futuristic, techy stuff he did to form the World Wide Web. Why? Because last week I settled down on my sofa with a cup of tea and watched the Valentino autumn/winter Haute Couture collection live from Paris.

And if that weren’t pleasurable enough, I then, for the next 13 minutes 17 seconds, barely breathed lest I somehow miss one drop of the visual dream that was Valentino Haute Couture in the Rocco suite of the Hôtel Salomon de Rothschild.

Intricate lace was worn high to the neck in fairytale gowns of black, stark white or crimson red; soft enough to portray the most delicate of femininity but plentiful enough to evoke drama and heart-pounding romance. The iron-gate embroidery, intricate beading and sumptuous antique florals were nothing less of exquisite. 

Maria Grazia Chiuri and Pierpaolo Piccioli are fast becoming two of my favourite people in the entire world because their designs, in addition to being ju-ust beautiful, are perfect examples of quiver-at-the-knees couture that is best appreciated with the most simple yet euphoric sigh.

Valentino Couture, Paris 2013  Images from Google

As much as fashion is about the words, the image, the concept, it is that most important of things that keeps us yearning for more. That feeling.

That couture feeling.

v