My First Show.

Thanks to the very kind A and S over at DiscoNap, I was lucky enough to attend the Erdem Fashion in Motion show at the V&A last month. And, oh, it was such a treat. I even had a front row pew from which to worship the designer’s divine creations.

The queue for the show stretched through a corridor lined with Indian sculpture, so the twenty minute wait passed in a haze of gold, entwined couples, jewel tones and animal Gods. The perfect amuse bouche. Once inside the Raphael Gallery, I took up my prized seat and indulged in a spot of voyeurism. My fellow show-goers were a delight to behold. A tiny boy sat opposite me, flanked with a parent on either side, sporting a long sleeved breton top and the smartest black trousers you ever did see. Throughout the show, his huge, doleful eyes were fixed upon Erdem’s floral spectacles but his arms remained firmly folded, lending him a critical demeanor. I spotted many a top-knot amongst the expectant rows; a look that is more than worth adopting, despite the inevitable headaches. My eyes were especially drawn to a one girl’s firm leather brogues which she had laced with cream chiffon ribbons. A well turned out crowd.

But what of Erdem’s models? Oh. My. The silhoutette, for the most part, was long and flowing. Graceful columns of fabric stalked the floor at a measured pace. The collection’s multiple influences melded together seamlessly; a hint of high-collared Victorian seaside attire here, a Miss Haversham-esque lace gown there. A print recalling an exotic forest seeped up from the hem of a sunshine-hued number, whilst a full-skirted haltner-neck became a Provencal still life, depicting a curious assortment of robust vegetables.

The show also proved aurally intriguing. Rich jewel-tones were accompanied by the rattle of beads as the models passed my seat and floor-sweeping bridal lengths rustled. I always fall for the soundtracks to Erdem shows; pared-back, electronic, oriental-seeming tracks abound. The same was true at the Fashion in Motion show but Moralioglu also opted for an orchestral version of Nirvana’s ‘Come As You Are’ for his finale. It was beautiful.

Images: V&A

How the tiger got her stripes.

I haven’t blogged for many moons. Needy and dependent, university coursework demanded all my attention over October, November and December. It is exciting to once again be free from the clutches of discursive and performative virginity in medieval religious writing and to have time for pants and tea.

Just came across the new Missoni campaign. It has illuminated the greyest January afternoon. Family fun chez Missoni…

Too satisfying. I am determined to one day own an expansive multi-coloured rag rug, Missoni-style. I found one in the charity shop for a fiver the other day but there was a little too much red in it for my liking. My future rag rug is to be populated solely with grainy, 70s inspired, muted tones.

Image credit: TrendLand Online Magazine

Facehunter.

I love this girl’s jeans, as shot by Facehunter. I used to be a keen reader of the blog but then became bored of the endless look-at-me-wearing-ugly-vintage-clothes-and-attitude-in-Boom-Box photographs. I recently revisited the site and fell back in love with it. His subjects, their outfits and the general look of the blog appear more intriguing and refined now. The simple yet curious dip die/denim ombre of this striking girl’s jeans seem to sum it all up.

Omega.

A few weeks ago, I stumbled across a pair of wooden giraffes. They were small giraffes, designed for serving salad. I bought them from British Heart Foundation for fifty pence. I’d like to collect the whole set, so to speak, and visit these large cabinet-bound giraffes at the Manchester Art Gallery. Very much taken with the Omega Workshops pieces just now.

Oranges are not the only fruit.

Last weekend I enjoyed a restful weekend staying with my grandmother. Mostly I ate, slept and read magazines for the older woman. I am not ashamed to say that I enjoy such magazines. There are few things that thrill me more than the prospect of reading an article about the health benefits of tea. Really. Following my weekend with Good Housekeeping, Prima, Easy Living etc., I confess that I am now obsessed with the concept of ‘wellbeing’. I am aware that superfoods are just all the foods that aren’t chips and chocolate but they excite me none the less. My new holy grail is energy at 3pm. I’m probably going to start doing more Pilates.

It happened that I returned home on Sunday evening to a house infected with swine flu. My poor boyfriend has been suffering terribly and has been hibernating in bed for the past few days, looking like a sick-yet-lovely anthropomorphic woodland creature from  Narnia or suchlike. As of yet, I have escaped The Ill.

I have been medicating him with vegetarian sushi, miso soup with spinach and infusions of hot water with lemon and ginger. I too have been ingesting these concoctions; preventatively, you understand. If I manage to escape the flu completely, I will of course believe resolutely that it was the superfoods wot did it. I will have faith.

Hilariously, my Wordpress spellchecker was really not happy with the words ‘Pilates’, ’superfoods’ and ‘miso’.

Errrdem.

Perhaps Erdem is my current most favourite. I love the short skirt, long sleeves ensemble here. It is backwards-looking, peculiar and intriguing whilst at once being subtle and simple.

I am so drawn to full length dresses and skirts at the moment. I don’t think there is any item of clothing that has such an effect on the mood. They feel so feminine and dramatic, whilst also being demure. The feeling of wearing one can transport you back to childhood, drowning in too-big hand me downs. They are almost paradoxical; deemed too conservative by many, they are worn by few and are thus rendered noteworthy, different and a touch defiant. Oh, and they are comfier than pyjamas.

What a lovely face…

Despite all the gushing, I do still prefer the Fall ‘09 pieces. This blue frock will always be the dress of my dreams. 

Luella love.

I utterly heart (geddit?) this dress from the Luella Spring 2010 collection.

I love how all the pieces in the show felt like just that; pieces. The bright, graphic colours stood out against the flesh of the models. Shapes were strong. The whole thing had a mood-enhancing Pick ‘n’ Mix feel to it. Here’s the heart dress in a different flavour…

I also love how all the models wore a cross, go-away-I-don’t-even-like-you-and-I’m-not-sharing-my-sweets-with-you-on-principle frown. Just the ticket.

Makeova.

Currently in love with these American Apparel bloomers. However, no offense* to AA stylists, but I’m not sure that I’d pair them with bare legs, a hideous belt and a window to nakedness that masquerades as a black lace top. I think it would be highly necessary to purchase these one or two sizes up and to give them a pair of thick wooly tights to play with. And innumerable layers on top.

*”No offense” always equals longhand for offense. No offense.

P.S. It seems I’ve been unblogging for so long that, for a moment, I forgot how to insert images. Must try harder.

www.coastersandspoons.com

Josh and I took a trip to Edinburgh a couple of weeks ago and immersed ourselves in all things fringe. Plentiful comedy, that is what we saw. Richard Herring’s ‘Hitler Moustache’ was a highlight, as was Alexis Dubus’s ‘A R*ddy Brief History of Swearing’. Both had interesting things to say about language and people, all sprinkled with a delicious coating of lol.

My friend Edd was 200% kind and lent us his Edinburgh flat for the week; beautiful building in the Stockbridge Colonies. The bedroom windows were graced with shutters which meant sleep of the highest quality was enjoyed. Perhaps this is why so many retire to France. The Stockbridge area itself was more than fun. One particular street seemed to be The Charity Shop Hub of The World. I bought a peculiar set of coasters, each bearing a different illustration of a Parisian scene and left the shop just fifty pence poorer. Also called in at an exquisitely old fashioned antique shop, complete with strict signs and grouchy old lady in even older cardigan. There, I bought a collection of ‘fucked up spoons’. There are little men dressed in cloth sitting on the handles, Vikings I think. One pound well spent.

As well as giving us his home for the week, Edd also gifted Josh and I tickets to see the play ‘East 10th Street: Self Portrait With Empty House’. (Thank you Edd!) Actor and playwright Edgar Oliver took centre stage and told us all about his experiences living in a New York boarding house. Attempted murder, infatuation, mental illness and alcoholism but all served up with humour. His American accent, only gently discernible, was quite enchanting and animated his tales. It transpired that an Oliver fangirl was sitting beside Josh, very drunk and very enthusiastic. As the actor left the stage, she swooped forwards in an attempt to touch his hand. Good times.