It’s that time of year again. Glamazonian models stare down from countless magazine stands, every article contains the word ‘golden’ and the faint smell of fake tan is in the air. Yes, magazine summer is here and apparently tan is the only colour that will do. Me and my Scottish skin have been dreading this.
With the first rays of real sunlight creeping in my dusty window comes the faint but enchanting prospect that summer might be just around the corner. Whilst sandals and bikinis might not be quite on the cards, I will settle for the temperature creeping up just enough to cast off my winter coat and begin gallavanting about in a little summer jacket.
With every trip across the Channel to Paris, comes a trip to Sephora on the fashionable Champs Elysees!
I don’t know what it is about this beauty brand that draws me in and makes my heart beat a little faster. I mean, living in London I should be more than satisfied with my choice of make-up brands.
I have Mac, Bobbi Brown and high street favourite, Barry M on my doorstep, but would rather buy in bulk on my yearly trips to Sephora than pop to Selfridges for a bright Mac lippy.
Not usually one to partake in any item of clothing that might come under the banner of “androgynous”, I tend to ignore any call to arms for “sharp masculine tailoring” or “boyish style”. There is one exception, however, one item that lives very happily alongside my floral skirts and countless jewels. Why, men’s checked shirts of course.
I go through phases with them, but I always return and now seems as good a time as any to sing their praises. Their boyish charm is the perfect companion to this season’s overriding femininity, especially when worn over a pretty dress or baggy over a sleek silhouette. Plus, they are currently being touted all over town on the likes of ‘it girls’ Alexa Chung and Lou Doillon.
In an attempt to temporarily escape the stress and reponsibilities of adult life, I am turning to a most beloved childhood toy. Not for some kind of twisted juvenile comfort, but for style inspiration, of course. Yes, I intend to drift through the monotony of grown-up life this spring in a colour palette derived entirely from My Little Pony.
I pride myself on being quite open-minded when it comes to fashion, trying any look and trend at least once. So, when I had my first trip to London’s infamous Dover Street Market (the home of all things avant-garde), I was more than a little taken aback. Instead of being greeted by your usual department store clone, I was approached by someone who appeared to be wearing a purple padded pregnant suit with matching horn-rimmed glasses. Interesting, or just plain weird - is this what fashion has come to?
Getting dressed the other morning, as I twirled in my flippy little skirt and enjoyed that brief moment of bare legged joy before pulling on the black opaques and enjoying my daily dose of fashion escapism and make believe, I was reminded of “Wendybird”, the lovely film made by Ellen Von Unwerth for Erin Featherston’s A/W 06 collection.
With the impending onset of summer (ha!) comes the inevitable announcement of those annual summer trends that will never go away (nautical stripes or ethnic prints anyone?). Lets take the ever-present ’safari’ trend - predictable and a little bit tired if you go down the old khaki jacket route; far more exciting if you take a walk on the wild side with all those beauties of the animal kingdom.
Apparently, Spring has sprung! Although the wild blizzard I had to navigate through this morning would beg to differ…..And so we launch into the difficult fashion territory that is the slow changing of the seasons.
Whilst I may long with all my heart to fling off my black opaques and frolick in bare legs and sunshine, my poor circulation and sub-zero body temperature is putting up rather a strong resistance to such whimsy.
Everywhere from magazine editorials to TV shows seem to be pointing towards the answer to all of our cross-seasonal/ saratorical problems - why, ankle socks of course.
If the cover of May’s British Vogue is anything to go by, my much ridiculed but determined quest to grow out my eyebrows has been totally and absolutely validated. Ha! There is Natalia Vodianova, poster girl for the beauty of a bushy brow, peering out from florals and frills as if to say, “LOOK AT MY OVERGROWN EYEBROWS DON’T THEY ADD TO MY INTOXICATING CHARM?” Why yes, Natalia, they do.
And while her extraordinary beauty might have something to do with the allure, I reserve the right to add her to my list of arguments to support my cause. Other, less persuasive, issues include my spectacularly low pain threshhold and inherent British scruffiness when it comes to personal grooming.
copyright © My Life Media Ltd 2003-2008. All rights reserved
created by Sycamore Solutions
