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Daytime tote’n: 3.1 Phillip Lim Pashli satchel via Monnier Freres
… and a compressed version of that for the evening: DVF Carolina lip bag via Monnier Freres
Sometimes I forget that my ‘normal’ friends have no idea I’ve been blogging for the past four years, and by blogging I mean scrambling around in a hamster-wheel charging for the vague unknown, and generally being occupied full-ish time doing so. I didn’t plan on letting this define my life, and if I still have a say, I’d like it not to, but I’m slowly starting to realise that I’ve subscribed to a very particular brand of lifestyle brought on by this business of web logging. It all became clear, really, when Carrie and I went to Paris for a night (yes, girl-on-girl details if you come back after midnight, you know it) for a small project with YSL Beauté, and all throughout I had this odd sense of comfort. The type of comfort that comes with the fact that I can hand her my camera and then pose as if the camera isn’t there, or the fact that we’ve mentally agreed on meeting at my room in twenty minutes, fully dressed and ready for some outfit shots. She will know exactly why we’re going out on a five-mile walk in 4-inch heels with a pair of foldable flats in our bags, and why I insist on hovering over our rapidly-cooling crêpes that we waited half a frozen hour to get our hands on for the sake of a photo (which, as you can see, didn’t even make the cut). Is this all getting a bit weird? Are we perhaps editing ‘the moment’ and never enjoying it as is? With that said, I had a swell time with Carrie and the YSL Beauté team, and Paris is even more stunning in the autumn.
It’s no secret that I have a huge crush on Chloé, (hey, way to spice things up for the few non-fashiony folks – come back after midnight and I’ll share all the juicy girl-on-girl details) so I was massively chuffed to find out that I was one of the 26 bloggers picked for Chloé Alphabet, the digital arm of the 60-year anniversary celebration. Sixty years! That alone is worth applauding – I should know, I’ve been me for 25 years. If you’re anything like me and must sing the alphabet-song to find out what comes after F, then you too will find this amusing – every Chloé collection is named in alphabetical order, with every piece in it given a name beginning with the hero letter. (So basically impossible to determine seasons by order, unless you’re counting while singing. See? Impossible.) It was the founder, Gaby Aghion’s idea to give life to each design, and therefore collectively forming a mosaic of the brand’s iconic moments, inspirations and heritage. You see, Chloé was my Day One of Fashion (or shall we say, ABCs) – before I learnt Lagerfeld wasn’t a beer company, before I wore socks with sandals, and long before bloggers sat front row at fashion weeks – In 2007, I was fresh out from the nest but I hadn’t yet graduated from getting pleasure from twirling in my flowy ballerina skirts, at least not in spirit, which is how I fell for the world of Chloé. She was the girl next door, the window opposite mine that had the sheer pink curtains that floated in the wind, I wanted to be her. F is for Fluidity, for free-flowing long hair and billowing silk dresses.
OH. I’m still waiting for the triple-strap pumps from umpteen seasons ago to resurface. Although, if I did ever lay my hands on them they will share the sad fate of my books and just sit pretty on the wall.
I don’t know what’s worse, not having a TV or relying on Twitter/Google for current issues, because for a few weeks now I’ve been holed up in my flat eating peanuts out of party size bags (hubby is a compulsive hoarder) and collecting rainwater because apparently there’s a zombie mob out there choking the streets and running down innocent Londoners just trying to get on with life. At least that’s what I made out of all the ‘keep out of London’ tweets by the metropolitan police. Apparently the Olympics is on too. Yesterday I managed to sneak away to my happy place that is Columbia road flower market, one of the many bulletpoints on the Sunday to-do list that gets neglected, the other neglected task being ‘water the plants’ – not sure if this is ironic or logical. Peonies were still out so I happily bagged six bunches while Kit scored an armful of hydrangeas for £5, then we had donuts and coffee while observing an unfriendly pomeranian go nuts over crumbs. What a happy Sunday, and not a zombie in sight, Twitter you liar.
Yup, it’s that time of the month and I have here for you three dodgy ways to wear a picnic blanket (Uniqlo broadcloth check shirt). In fact it’s so perfectly gingham that if ever we play hide and seek in the park I promise you’ll never know where to find me while all that time I’ll have been right under your nose scrunched up next to the lemonade and sandwiches. What can I say, one of my many talents.