frivole

The Return of the Scrunchie?

nausicaa88 — Mon, 01 Jan 2007 17:03:37 +0000

Sienna Miller, London gal about town, touted as possible Oscar nominee for the upcoming Factory Girl and erstwhile on/off again paramour of Jude Law, spotted in posh but surprisingly affordable Chelsea restaurant one Wednesday evening before Christmas.

Identifiable from the mass of blonde identikit Sloane Rangers dining in the establishment only by a bright red scrunchie (scarlet sets ecru off delightfully, dah-ling) holding her blonde mane back.

Though not exactly la Moss, Ms Miller does have a certain power to shift sales of items previously deemed ‘fashion death’.

So you heard it here folks… it’s only a matter of time before a certain 80s combination of elastic and fabric will once more be as ubiquitous as… err… leggings.

scarlett: the whole world obviously gives a damn

nausicaa88 — Tue, 05 Sep 2006 22:27:38 +0000

Arguably*, the only actress of this generation to fully embody a throwback to the golden era of film-making when Dietrich, the Hepburn(s), Bacall and Monroe were goddesses.

Her appearance at the premiere of The Black Dahlia – a film where her role is, by all accounts, limited but distracting – at the Venice Film Festival earlier this week sent the paparazzi into a rabid frenzy. And who didn’t see a photo of Scarlett, butterfly in hair (so 5 years ago, non?), resplendent in a very retro cream-gold gown splashed over, most the world’s front pages the next day?

The dress is vintage, the butterfly is Chopard, the hair is certainly reminiscent of Katherine Hepburn’s Tracey Lord. There were naysayers (“Oh, she wears too much makeup”, “She should dress her age” etc.) But frankly, if you were 21 years old and had the choice of looking like a 40s’ movie starlet, wannabe gothic emo skater girl Avril Lavigne, or Size 00 permatanned lovelies Lindsay Lohan and Nicole Richie… well, I know which look I’d be channelling. Avril, incidentally recently lost the skater punk grrl look in favour of erm… a very blonde meringue-like wedding.

Scarlett, it must be admitted, does not make me want to see movies. Lost in Translation struck me as entirely Bill Murray’s movie, and its condescending attitude towards Tokyo and its inhabitants grated. (NB: Scarlett’s Marc Jacobs wardrobe throughout was however, divine!) The Island‘s appeal completed passed me by, as did Woody Allen’s ‘take’ on London, Matchpoint. And I wasn’t quick enough to catch Girl with a Pearl Earring As for The Black Dahlia, well, on strength of preliminary reviews, I might save it for a DVD night.

In any case, though her acting talents still remain untested, Scarlett is a breath of fresh air amongst her literally shrinking contemporaries.

Does anyone know where I can get a hold of her stylist?

*I’d also put Christina Ricci with her kewpie doll looks and curvy physique up there as a gothic, truly film noir vamp, but she does not inhabit the spotlight to the extent of our Scarlett, nor does she, lamentably, show as an acute sense of style.

wit and design

nausicaa88 — Tue, 05 Sep 2006 20:31:13 +0000

The thoughts of edward monkton. Stunningly relevant. His reflections, simply illustrated, on chocolate, shoes, the contents of your refrigerator, friendship, love, pigs of happiness, penguins of death and the ‘madness’ hamsters, pack a potent punch at the insanity that is modern life.

A particular favourite:

“Buy me, Lady,” said the frock,
“and I will make you into a
BEAUTIFUL and WHOLE and
COMPLETE Human Being.”
“Do not be SILLY,” said the Man
“for a frock alone cannot do that.”
“TRUE,” said the Lady. “I will
have the SHOES and the BAG
as well.”

Hmph. If only I had listened to that naughty frock (and Man or my mischievous angel) a little less.

natural shoes can be nice

nausicaa88 — Sat, 19 Aug 2006 19:09:06 +0000

Issues natural shoe store – Westbourne Grove, London

conpiracy or coincidence?

nausicaa88 — Sat, 19 Aug 2006 18:25:00 +0000

Two weeks ago, I had bangs cut. In an effort to lose my classical bob, get a little more edgy (?) and for a change. Since then I have received comments ranging from ‘you look fourteen!’ to the always imaginative ‘it suits you!’ (intimating perhaps that I act and now look like a fourteen year old?) I have also been stopped on London streets and asked for directions four times. Before the bangs, zilch queries. Conspiracy? Coincidence? Does a fringe give one a more trustworthy air? Or perhaps a fringe bearer is more likely to hold ‘the Knowledge’? Or p’haps disoriented persons believe teenagers have a better sense of direction?

Only time will tell.

madame bovary et moi – adjunct

nausicaa88 — Fri, 11 Aug 2006 09:27:17 +0000

As an adjunct to the last adjunct, let me say, oh dear. scuppered finances indeed. However, one benefit of Dodgy Knee and London (lots of walking) is that it has been closed season on high-heels for the last 3 or more years… Once again, no bad thing. Generally, not being able to buy heels has been a fairly limiting option and consequently, I seem to have lost interest in browsing for shoes generally. Except when a particularly hot pair of flats waltzes into my life ie. the recent Chloe purchase.

madame bovary et moi

nausicaa88 — Thu, 03 Aug 2006 15:22:25 +0000

As an adjunct to the last post, here‘s as good a reason for avoiding all purveyors of fine accessories. No holes burning yet (maybe a little singeing going on though)… and I’m sure I have far better control of myself and my spending that these poor girls, but a little wariness in this regard never hurt anyone.

shoes and butterflies

nausicaa88 — Thu, 03 Aug 2006 10:07:53 +0000

I bought a pair of shoes on Sunday.

They are pannacotta coloured, made of the softest kid leather. Flat T-bars, cut low to reveal toe cleavage. And lovingly stitched all around the sole. T-bars with attitude – a lovely attitude which whispers gently: ‘you might not notice how good I look on first glance, or even on the second or third… but even if you don’t ever get it, it hardly matters as your aesthetic remains somewhat questionable. Because I know how well cut I am, and how luxurious I feel, and how fabulous I make my wearer look.’

Which goes without saying, of course, as they’re Chloe shoes.

The butterflies? Well, the shoes were a third of their original cost – a veritable bargain and one I failed dismally at resisting. But I have other pressing financial issues… and well, I guess I’ll just had to shoulder the burden of these shoes… and basically avoid all places offering delectations of the accessorising nature until I sort myself out. But until then, these stomach flutterings will continue.

*sigh* it’s hard being a woman, trying to remain focused on the bigger picture, but with a girlish penchant for bauble-like distractions.

basics and paris

nausicaa88 — Wed, 26 Jul 2006 20:10:57 +0000

I am currently obsessed with basics. Every store I go to, every aisle I wander down, I have a hawk eye out for the ultimate t-shirt, the ultimate singlet… anything simple, classic and well cutl, whether it is a dress, a pair of trousers, a shirt.

Wow. Growing up, indeed.

Block, clean colours are essential – black, grey, navy (another over-riding obssesion atm), red, white… with flashes of yellow, green, turquoise, fuschia and coral. Oh, and heading into autumn, my usual brown – walnut and caramel are favourites – will of course be rearing their heads again. Err… i suppose that covers most of the spectrum… but I’m a girl who likes to keep her options open.

A feminine touch to the basics is even better; a little ruching, a little pleat, the very occasional frill… and fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on bank balance), parisian designers seem to specialise in this sort of luxuries. Comptoir des Cotonniers, APC, Agnès B… and for those flouncier, more colourful moments, Paul et Joe.

Aah Paris… housing a treasure trove of goodies even more bedazzling than London. Looking forward to revisiting and reacquainting myself with the boutiques of the Marais this September after an absence of over 2.5 years.

coat and maturity

nausicaa88 — Thu, 22 Jun 2006 20:25:19 +0000

Falling in love again. When you were young, it was all so easy. You’d meet some vaguely intelligent amusing fellow and it was all bluebirds and Carpenters’ songs and foolish smiles. Now, well let’s just say you’re a little wiser, a little less naive and able to spot doe eyed charmers at 10 yards. Same with clothes. When you’re young, any incarnation of the latest look sent you into reams of ecstasies. Some years later, and the item has got to count, to work for you and last. Eek! A sign of growing up p’haps?

I bought a coat a few weeks ago. It’s a variation on this season’s trench. Seriously crumpled. In it I feel as if I’m some uber dynamic combination of Charlotte Gainsbourg, Jane Austen heroine and dishevelled hipster. Needless to say, the coat is sand coloured and the belt is a little higher than normal… yes, it’s empire line. It’s going to take me right through this season, and I have extremely high-in-the-sky-apple-pie-hopes that it will do so into the next. (Proviso: if the London summer doesn’t suddenly vanish like the mirage that it often proves to be.)

It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this way about a purchase. And I think i’m settling into this particular relationship nicely.