Girl crush de jour

When you think back to your teenage years you remember which male rock/pop stars you had on your wall (the acceptable ones, like Jarvis Cocker and Kurt Cobain). You conveniently forget who was on your wall before that (for obvious reasons). Mine are embarrassing. They're also surprisingly female. (My first love was Debbie Gibson when I was about seven). Now I feel like I'm reverting back to my formative years. I'm not excited about a single male front-man (and Pulp are reforming!) I love Cathy from Fanfarlo (see earlier post devoted to her), I want to be in Warpaint and last week, I was just as mesmerised by Twin Sister's lead singer, Andrea Estella during their first-ever London gig, as I was by their is-it-folk-or-is-it-disco-who-cares melodies...

Twin Sister are a new signing to Domino Records and have the stage presence of Dirty Projectors, ie, you need to see them live. Don't be fooled by the Anne Hathaway locks in this rather sedate PR pic – Andrea was wearing a long flowing green wig that made her look like one of the smurfs and one of the guys' guitars had feathers wrapped around the neck. They were so much fun. I loved their look, precisely because they didn't have one. In each picture I've seen of them, they look like an entirely different band. 

But I'm not collecting these pictures and putting them on my wall, I'm not reverting back that much, honest. I'm merely recalling how much strength and inspiration you can get from front-women. Having finally emerged from six months of post break-up hell to realise I'm so much better off without him, for the first time in my life I don't want a man, because I don't need one. Now I sound like I'm turning lesbian. I'm not, quite. But I do want to form a band, and I will buy a green wig.

Nightmare on Cardozo Road

Name: Ghostbuster
Costume: A child's jumpsuit from a fancy dress shop in Camden.
Effort: 9/10. Liz queued for half an hour outside the most popular shop in London on Halloween. Then ripped the crotch open with a pair of scissors and sewed it back up because the legs were too short. And still found time to cook dinner for us all. Gold star.
Fear Factor: 8/10. Back combed hair and an inflatable backpack that kicked a lot of ass.

Name: Morticia Addams
Costume: Long black dress and structured black jacket. Face paled with powder. Morticia wig.
Effort: 7/10. Helen was going for long flowing goth locks. The wig was dishevelled so it went under the iron. Being presumably made of acrylic, it melted on the iron bringing back painful memories of a home economics class with a particularly witch-like teacher in secondary school, which seems appropriate for Halloween in hindsight but distressing all the same. Helen wasn't too chuffed with the missing clumps of her new hair either.
Fear Factor: 7/10. The wig is bloody scary.

Name: Wayne's World
Costume: Ripped jeans circa 1992, band t-shirts, checked shirts and attention to detail from the drum sticks (do they look like wooden spoons?) to the fetching white blonde wig
Effort: 8/10. Julie Tipp-Exed Wayne's World onto the black cap with such precision it looked better than the original. Sort of. And marvelled at how far Tipp-Ex has advanced since, well, 1992.
Fear Factor: 6/10. Not nearly as scary as they were worried they would look. Which is like a couple of teenage boys. I thought they looked cute.

Name: Mia Farrow in Rosemary's Baby
Costume: White M&S slip, vintage lace dressing gown, plastic dagger
Effort: 4/10. I already had the hair so this was an easy one. What I didn't have was the white nightie. Despite my sister's efforts to post one to me (it didn't arrive on time) I ended up running around M&S after work on Friday in a mad panic with a facial expression a bit like the one above.
Fear Factor: 4/10. The facial expression I had down to a tea. The dagger caused some damage. It's just no one knew who I was meant to be...

Dead Man's Shoes

If this season really is the one that boyfriends won't get - the time that sex forgot - and I think from the number of snowflake/Mark Darcy reindeer jumpers I saw seemingly uniting for a convention at a Chalk Farm cafe last weekend, it must be... then I am unusually on trend. I'll draw the line at chewbaccas (sorry, Chanel) but I have invested in some new winter footwear.

Nothing unusual about a pair of brogues, or so I thought, until I paid for them. I was in Paper Dress Vintage in Curtain Road, Shoreditch when I innocently asked if they were mens. I'm a size seven so stumbling across vintage shoes, especially women's flats is annoyingly rare. So it turns out they are, which is fine (it merely makes me a bit paranoid that they look kinda clumpy, which is silly but that's just me). Only in order to reassure me, Hannah the owner starts telling me about the other five pairs of brogues she had in that were also snapped up by girls. That she acquired from a lady whose husband had died.

Was he wearing these when he snuffed it? Cue more paranoia. And bad jokes from my friends that my new shoes are possessed and will start 'walking' me to places I'd not normally be seen dead in (scuse the pun), like Tiger Tiger in Piccadilly Circus.

It dawned on me that in all the years I've been wearing vintage, I've never once thought about wearing a dead person's clothes. I'm not sure why, because it's so bloody obvious. Possibly because of my irrational fear of death I've instead focused on the various people who could have worn that item. Seen it as a journey from person to person who loved it in equal measures and passed it on. Well it's a brighter way to look at things in this so very dark and dreary season, she says, listening to Smog.

Here we go round again

The blog's been a bit neglected recently, but starting a new job is as good an excuse as any. You put in more hours, emotionally stress yourself out worrying, not to mention knacker yourself out physically skipping around the office like an eager beaver. Then, if you're like me, you agree to work at the weekend too. I'm like frigging Danny Wallace in The Yes Man at the moment. Not that many people I know would turn down going backstage at London Fashion Week. My 13-year-old self would have been squealing in her pop socks. My (much) older self... actually came to an important realisation.

Just going behind-the-scenes with a photographer and then watching the Topshop Unique show was an experience. It was eye-opening, fun, and slightly bemusing at times (watching models preparing for the runway is like watching a herd of gazelles trying to form an orderly queue), but the reason I could enjoy it was because I was on the outside peering in.

I've always wondered whether not pursuing fashion journalism per se was a mistake but consoled myself that I don't have to be a part of a world to appreciate its creativity, berate its bullshit and still write about it. That was what this blog was for. Fashion baffles me because so little changes, it just evolves, and sometimes not very much at all. Jumpsuits, prints and metallics are all back in for Spring/Summer 11. Just like, (ba boom) Spring/Summer 10. When did they go away exactly?

Of course I love the idea of new designers (and old ones) showcasing their collections, but what is fashion week really about? Who hangs out backstage (Olivia Palermo) and who sits on the front row (usual suspects Lily Allen and Pixie Geldof)? When I arrived into the TopShop show space I was practically knocked over by paparazzi trying to get a shot of Lily, who was walking behind me. Me in my old faithful Oxfam wool cape, she in her YSL...

I'm somewhere in the background making a sharp exit... Before the show started, I had to leg it (in four inch heels) from the backstage area all the way around to the front entrance with my ticket. I was stopped by four photographers (FOUR!) who instead of taking pity on a not-very-fashionable-girl-in-a-rush made me stop and pose awkwardly while they disected my outfit with their cameras. Their favourite part? My 1970s 'man' bag I carry with me everywhere. Yep, I was carrying it last season, the season before, and the season before that. So now I'm fashionable? I gather there must be a trend for over-sized bags. Yawn. Just like last season. And probably the season before that.

 

Diamonds are a girl's best friend

So they're not exactly Swarovski but they'll do for now. I've spent the last few Saturdays wandering around Bang Bang with gift vouchers that have been burning a hole in my purse for months. I'm skint at the moment and wanted to reward myself for getting through a challenging first week in my new job (with no boss!). As much as I love Bang Bang for its Aladdin's cave of vintage designer/high street pieces, the trouble with it, I've discovered (and this applies to both the Goodge Street and Berwick Street branches) is it's very hit or miss. If you set out looking for something, it's almost guaranteed you'll never find it. Yes, I'm still talking about clothes. I've tried on a pink 1950s gingham skirt (too twee), a beige cotton full-length jumpsuit (too 1980s), a (on the slightly brassy side) gold bolero (I don't need another), I even considered a fitted red mini Peaches for PPQ dress (yeugh)... So jewellery it was.

Not finding a single compatible item of clothing in the dressing rooms of the Berwick store gave me plenty to time to stare into space. But I might never have noticed what a pretty space that was.

Shoes. Shoes. Oh my god. Shoes!

I was considering entitling this post, 'Shoes for everyone!' but a) why quote from a film I hated (Sex & The City 2) and b) why give Carrie Bradshaw any more credit for getting us excited about Jimmy Choos? No, when I think of shoes, I think of Liam Kyle Sullivan's stroppy teenage alter-ego Kelly and her 'these shoes rule, these shoes suck... those shoes are mine, beeetch'. If you've never seen that video, I insist you click here.

Ahead of the launch of Shoe Galleries in Selfridges next month, they're running a competition to win a year's supply of shoes. All you have to do is tell your 'shoe story' on the website, by clicking here. Just write a few sentences and submit a picture if possible, but if not, they have illustrated placeholders.

The shoe galleries have been long in the making, after being envisaged by architect Jamie Fobert to house 4,000 different pairs of shoes and over 150 different brands. It's going to be the biggest shoe department in the world and everyone from Christian Dior to that wretched little Mr Ugg has been invited.

'Imagine you are in a gallery. From the entrance you see a succession of doorways and at the end a huge window flooding the space with daylight,' says Selfridges' Director of Accessories Sebastian Manes. 'Your journey begins at the front, with shoes from the best of the high street. Slowly you begin to travel through different galleries until you reach the end – the couture designer gallery, flanked by Chanel and Louboutin, and a vision of Eden – the new suspended garden at Selfridges. Shoe heaven.'

Speaking of which, my first pair of shoes (ie, ones I had a say in) felt a lot like heaven. Magic Steps by Clarks, with the little silver key... and the advert where the girl puts them on and is then transported into a forest and has to climb a wall and defeat the big bad witch... relying on the power of her magic shoes. I always was a sucker for fashion advertising...

I'm still undecided on my shoe story but my first pair did feel very special. And then there's the vintage leather cream (almost) knee high boots which sound pretty horrendous written down, but I loved them, especially with a sixties mini and thick black tights. Unfortunately they died on the way to an unmentionable night club in Clapham. I was stepping out of a taxi when the heel completely snapped in half, never to be reincarnated again. In hindsight, I think they were desperately telling me that they wouldn't be seen dead in there (which they weren't, as I went home to change). They deserved more respect. And I definitely learnt my lesson.

Biba my baby

Repetitive, generic so-called maxi dresses today don't know the meaning of the word, maxi. Take this picture of Twiggy in 1960s Biba. A free flowing, print-tastic, don't give a f*ck maxi. Anticipating House of Fraser's September relaunch of the brand, I'm not sure they'll do justice to the long towering gowns (not to mention micro minis) that made Biba the most iconic store of the decade, but I'm hopeful that they will.


I've loved Biba since long before making my first purchase (a black and white crocheted cardigan from Dapper Boutique in Camden) and think its founder Barbara Hulanicki, sounds like an amazing woman. I'm currently reading her autobiography, From A To Biba (almost as snappy as the title of this post) which chronicles her journey from growing up in Jerusalem to founding her first boutique in Kensington, London then watching the brand being taken over in the 1970s. She writes beautifully with passion in abundance and emotion where appropriate (her opening paragraph reads: 'My childhood was so secure that I remember wishing one of my parents would die so I could feel some emotion, even misery. I was twelve years old when my wish came true.')


I remember interviewing Twiggy a couple of years ago for something TV related and (naturally) we got onto the Biba subject and she painted the most enviable picture of running down Abingdon Road in her lunch hour (when she used to wash people's hair on a Saturday morning) to buy a dress.


She told me: 'I think Barbara changed high street shopping forever. There were no boutiques before Barbara did Biba. There was no teenage clothing at a cost that kids could afford. She started that. And we wouldn’t have Topshop now probably if she hadn’t done that.'

Twiggy didn't keep many of the clothes that are so synonymous with her image, (and I suppose brand) in the 1960s, but she kept her Biba. Course she did. It feels like such a shame that someone of Barbara's skill lost the rights to what started out as her own baby. Of course her talent lives on (I loved her Biba-esque line for Topshop last year). But it will be interesting to see what House of Fraser and 'muse' Daisy Lowe do with the ethos Barbara put her heart and soul into. And if it worked for Halston...