Vintage Versace

Inspired by my recent purchase of a Versace-alike printed retro 80s dress, I have delved deeper into my own massive archives and resurrected a genuine Versace purple Lycra mini dress from approx 1989. An original from when the Genius was in his heyday and I am wearing it as I write. I am amazed how "right" it feels, the colour is vibrant, the fit amazing and the simplicity obviously timeless.

The joy of resurrecting old clothes is a delight, it evokes the time it was bought and that period of my life, the fun Mafia Mistress and I had when we had small children and no work stress, life was so much less complicated and we had time to giggle, gossip, table-hop and shop together ; we often bought similar/ identical outfits, she also had/still has this dress, it was a signature iconic style for that time of our lives. You have to go with your first instincts, if it grabs you then buy, buy, buy..........Avoid the horrors of "occasion shopping" as described in my previous blog for MM's wedding outfit.

The ecstasy of still being able to get it on and the art of giving it a slightly different edge with a bit of imaginative styling and fabulous accessories. One of the only advantages of age is the accumulation of "stuff" one acquires, all of it indispensable and frequently ravaged by PFB to add a quirky look to occasions from a fashion awards ceremony to a romp on the common. Today I am rocking the look with a full length faux fur belted gilet and biker boots........

The "Recessionister-fix" that self satisfied reward of aiding our domestic economy by re-cycling; The personal cash benefit and smug private smile when complimented and knowledge that no one will ever be able to go out and replicate this look. Plus the reinforcement of knowing that if it looks OK now it can't have looked that bad then...........

'Enders

I am in shock, in the run up to the "who killed Archie" special they just showed an aerial view of Albert Square...........PURLEEESE.....it's round, yep a perfect Georgian circle. The MD said I had to Google Earth it just to confirm, but my i-phone couldnt locate it............

It has been gentrified beyond all necessity, no wonder the're literally killing for the "Vic", they will soon be discussing real estate values in the Kaf. Hardly surprising all these long lost Mum's are resurfacing .......

My wedding outfit

Just a week away from our departure to Mafia Mistress and the Champs wedding on a Caribbean shore, panic has set in regarding my outfit, There are only six of us but we like to be noticed even though this is probably going to be the most laid back marriage ceremony ever, Mystic Meg, has acquired an emerald green Frank Usher vintage gown which sounds very grand and she will carry it off with style and panache. The bride and groom went shopping and her dress gave her change out of twenty five notes but I cannot negate any opportunity to dress to impress; however, my directive has now changed.

She promised I could wear anything I wanted………..and a promise is a promise……SHE LIED.......now I have been told I cannot wear black. I have simple taste in clothes, my entire wardrobe is monochrome, I like it, it suits me, it is slimming and appropriate for any and every occasion….. Except apparently this union. I have worn black to the past three weddings I have attended, one in Cap Ferat, so very chic, and all Italians wear black to weddings so I thought Mafia Mistress would be cool about it. She wore black to her brother’s wedding, it is the staple of our wardrobes, how can she do this to me?

Ok, so I do vary it in the summer and have a fair few white outfits too, but I do know that is so not appropriate especially as the bride isn’t wearing white, God forbid, the marriage is in Spanish, the cast could get confused and I may end up married to the Champ instead…… horrors

I do have a lemon yellow parachute dress which hides a multitude of sins, but that’s a bit Little Miss Muffet. A purple bodycon mini may be a bit sticky in that humidity especially as it necessitates the wearing of Spanx and I doubt I could get them on in tropical temperatures. I moved my silk colour block shifts on via Ebay, at the end of last summer; so it’s off to the shops I have trotted to purchase the regulation outfit. I felt a bit like a schoolgirl buying a uniform; I had to suddenly tear myself away from all my instinctive styles and attempt to place myself in another category. I failed dismally, I couldn’t even bring myself to go into Coast, LK Bennet or Hobbs, and I am not married to footballer, who sends texts of his willy to topless models so Karen Millen is way out of the question. Cos frocks look too comfortable and Escada is a nada; I require sunglasses to even go into their showroom. Hennes is downright dull…………hyperventilation sets in and so off to Carluccio’s for an extra caffeine fix.

All Saints pulls me with a magnet-like attraction but that’s their signature monochrome raison d’etre and like the bag of Haribos I would die for, it is forbidden, I flirted with TopShop, French Connection and Zara, even though I am becoming more accustomed to the “nude” look, and after two weeks of Tropical sun I will have tan, I still have this mental image of looking like I am encrusted in Eczema, plussing as which it’s a bit bridal. I purchased a silver distressed satin deconstructed cowl neck dress but don’t have the confidence to remove the labels yet even thought the MD said I should keep it despite it being far too dull and formal for beach bar nuptials. I fear he thinks it may be the sort of thing he thinks I should think I should wear, well he is SO wrong.

So now it’s no nudes, frills, black or white, what is there left on the High Street, am I really expected to buck every current trend and resort to, horror of horrors, John Lewis!!!!!!

I do have to confess to a couple of little extras that have found their way into my wardrobe en route so to speak, so the exercise hasn’t been entirely without success and it did actually force me to look at colour, I am loving my pink chain printed Versace-alike lycra dress, and a tropical jungle printed skin tight vest dress will be great for breakfast but hardly wedding attire. She popped round to advise further and a ditsy printed top with bead embellishment and dipped hem has been sanctioned, over leggings, black of course, hurrah I have won!!!

Now which shoes do I wear?

Moss vs. Posh

This week sees the New York fashion Week launch of Victoria Beckhams latest couture collection which will undoubtedly be publicised globally; not because of its extraordinary originality but because of who she is. Posh’s frocks are affordable by the few and will therefore sell minimally, whereas Moss’s togs are worn by one and all at affordable prices, the collections are diverse and quirky. Everyone wanting to buy into her style.

Our two biggest style icons; they could not be more different, Posh the mistress of self promotion will be all over the glossies and tabloids pontificating, preening and posing, she will walk the walk (bunions permitting) and attempt to talk the talk trying to disguise her estuary vowels, she would be better advised to just shut up and show her frocks, we rarely hear the likes of Jil Sander banging on about her collection, the garments speak for themselves, but no, Posh wont be able to help herself in her vain attempt to be taken seriously, she luckily has her husband to bankroll her, unlike all the hugely talented young fashion designers who graduate every year and struggle to get any recognition despite their innate originality, training and sense of style.

Kate also fell into this role, similarly uneducated in the art of pattern cutting, textiles and costume history but she has an instinctive feel for style, she grabs the Zeitgeist before it hits the High Street and runs with her instincts, she is honest about her role as a collaborative designer to the Svenghali like “Uncle Phil”, similarly minted enough to bankrole her fantasies, he is also a business man with a strong commercial ethos and no fool. Her collections are based on an eclectic mix of vintage and vamp, punk to pop; some sell out and some stick but is she bothered? She’s already moved onto the next season, and, as anyone who has ever worked in the rag trade knows, we are already indifferent to current stock, we are anticipating S/S ‘11.

Fashion moves fast nowadays, technology allows catwalk to cut-price to happen virtually overnight, the success of ASOS is a testament to this. It’s not difficult to rustle up a couple of designs for Oscar Frocks with the click of a mouse and basic working knowledge of Photoshop, not that I imagine either Posh or Moss have these skills, but I am sure their people have. Their “Macs” come from Burberry………

When the Adams family venture out en-masse it is regimentally organised to the Nth degree, I know from first hand experience, their demands are not excessive but control is tantamount. The Paps are primed and every outing is a photo opportunity, the boys are small accessories by her side, the perfect family package, Photoshopped to perfection prior to publication. She has never seemed a popular girl, from her early days in the Spice Girls she was allegedly told not to smile, it was not an expression that suited her face, instead the pout became her forte and this has probably perpetuated the gawky image, whereas Kate cannot take a bad photo, even papped at an unearthly hour post clubbing and decidedly worse for wear she still has that ability to seduce the camera without even trying. Cocaine Kate can smile, scowl or ignore but she never looks bad. Decadence and debauchery suit her, the original “Heroin Chick” knows when to shut up, her flat Croydon vowels do not broadcast well either and the rare times we hear her it could dispel the myth. A few words in the Rimmel advert to epitomise the “London Look” could have blown her cover but she knows her literary limitations, she doesn’t interview well so she keeps her council. She is a popular, demonstrative and a loyal friend to a group of feisty females and there is no such thing as bad publicity for Kate. She seems a very caring mother and never prostitutes her daughter for her own ends.

Posh with her small housing estate’s worth of Birkin bags and Louboutins, earnestly needs these props to validate her WAG position, even when she “does casual”, it is orchestrated to the last eyelash and God forbid she should totter off her heels or lick her lip-gloss off, that is the behaviour of commoners, mere mortals and unthinkable. Moss on the other hand didn’t bat an eyelid when she tore her vintage Dior ball gown, she didn't let the rip spoil her fun. Instead, she simply rolled up the hem, disguised the hole as best she could and partied on till the early hours, Now that is the epitome of style, money can’t buy it, Posh puts clothes on and walks about in them, Moss wears them, there is a huge difference and if you don’t get it then sorry but you just haven’t got it either…………..

My type of bike

I can’t blame you for having drawn the conclusion that I am anti-cyclists, but I can reassure you that assumption is way off the mark, I love cycling but it has to be on my terms, OMG not for me that daily back and fro to work come hail or high weather, way too ageing on the skin and downright dangerous, all those motorists to negotiate, unpredictability of climate and limited space for shopping; I wouldn’t even get my basic handbag into my bike basket, and panniers; No No No, they hardly rock the high street look……and, as the M11 is motorway, I have an undisputable excuse. Plussing as which, I really don’t do helmet hair which would mean finding extra space for my hair straightners or alternatively wearing huge curlers under my cycle hat…..mmmmmmmm

No, I am a fair weather “Sunday cyclist”, high up on my ancient sit up and beg bike, I stick fairly and squarely to the cycle routes and cross country paths, it is purely recreational which means it has to be mild (preferably sunny but not too hot because then I will be sunbathing) definitely NOT raining, windy or cold. The MD and I venture out as much as possible on suitable evenings and weekends to exercise, chat and exorcise the treadmill from our brains.

We have almost immediate access to a cross-country lane which in turn leads to a part circumnavigation of the city by way of the river. This is a pleasant route but has to be avoided during boat race training time due to the velocity of the coaches as they tear up and down the riverside shouting at the eights; any collision and I would be the one to end up in the drink! Mosquitoes and dog walkers have to be taken into consideration too but it does have the advantage of fresh air but fairly dull scenery (these flat fenlands are quite frankly not my bag) and can be a little boring until we hit the city centre where there is plenty of people watching to be done in the quayside cafes and bars.

Route number two cuts across the city boundary and golden corn fields, and, is about to be developed on a massive scale, yes the city council deem it fair and reasonable to develop a huge tract of green belt but would never ever let us cut a tree down in our garden. This narrow track is bumpy and lumpy and has a literal knock on effect on my bum, I cycle in fear of toppling off into the brook on the right and the “stingers” on the left, so it has to be avoided when wet, the sunsets in this direction are spectacular and uninterrupted which is probably about the only good thing it has going for it……..

The third path of choice deviates across farmland and meanders through various villages to the West, it is more energetic, variable and probably my best favourite. I am sorry but I cannot even drive down the A10 in and easterly direction without hyperventilating and having a major panic attack. I actually hate the fens with a passion, not for me the twee North Norfolk weekend Clapham by the sea cottage, I would really rather be up to my neck in sinking sand sticking hot needles in my eyes. I suppose I could write another blog about the “types” who frequent this particular neck of the woods, but as I refuse to go, I don’t have the personal experience to draw on, suffice it to say I don’t have a dog, drive a Range Rover, wear a waxed jacket, have the remotest interest in hunting shooting or fishing and no matter how many times anyone tells me about the charming bijoux little boutiques in Burnham market, and gourmet food at the Hoste Arms……. I AM NOT GOING…… Christ, in half the time I could be in Kensington High Street having fun. I actually love concrete in any from and shape, but green leaves me cold….. My old school uniform, football pitches, cabbage, Escada, wheelie bins, need I elaborate?

Types on bikes III

Japanese students, yes we do seem to get a lot of them, principally here short term to improve their English but many of the academic variety too. Generally their first time out of Tokyo, the Harajuku gene kicks in as soon as they disembark, can anyone please explain to me why all Japanese teenage boys dye their hair blond on arrival, but our bleach only serves to transform their hardy Oriental pigment to a garish yellow tone, not a good look but a constant one nonetheless!!! The girls delight in the Gothic Lolita image, charming on home territory, but those frilly little frocks can easily get caught in the chain and lap dancing heels are much more suited to limousines. They are young and here to have fun.

They love hiring bikes, probably their first real taste of mobile independence, considered safe and condoned by parents, after all this is a small city compared to Tokyo and we do drive on the same side of the road …………..this means nothing, a cycle lane seems to be a single white line never to be traversed in case they cycle over a drain or hit the kerb, the middle of the road is order of the day and speed is kept to the bare minimum, just enough to remain at wobbling velocity, oh, and I nearly forgot, they cycle in packs, never less than 10 lined up side by side across both carriageways.

I-pods are permanent fixtures, over which volume they converse, always in Japanese, with hand gestures which would do an Apsara dancer proud. They wend their slow and precarious way through the city from one shopping mall to another. Natural born style icons this variety never fail to impress, not the types to sacrifice style for comfort or warmth, sensible and shoes do not belong in the same sentence, a lifestyle after my own heart; their dress is always totally inappropriate but eternally interesting and original, I actually really like type number III…………..

Types on bikes II

The second type tends to be more of a National or even Global phenomenon, but all the same are much more prevalent in our city. They have literally “graduated” from type number one by virtue of their own self perceived elevated status within the city’s academic hierarchy. En-route to his fledgling high tech company on one of our many science parks, he is a “man with a plan” to develop and exploit his chosen dissertation into a huge money making concern so he can sell up, ditch his dependable Claude Butler and sweep out of the city to an early retirement preferably driving a Lamborghini. He is in inevitably a man and most likely married to “type number one”.

However, in the meanwhile he has to demonstrate how Eco friendly he is, his invisible carbon footprint will promote his eminence as a “genuine and jolly good egg" caring, parsimonious and reliable. The fact that he risks life and limb to all and sundry on a daily basis, is irrelevant, he is right and the motorist is the evil demon to be taunted, tortured and tried to the limit. Luckily locals are alerted to their random approach on the inside, arbitrary appearance traversing our route and other erratic and unpredictable antics, we have to be, any mishap would be bound to be our fault

The Lycra lout, considers himself superior to anyone else on the road, be it motorists, other cyclists, pedestrians and especially “the Law”, red lights are targets to jump, congestion is a slalom competition, traffic free precincts are considered a chicane of Olympian proportions, all negotiated at record speeds, head down, back arched, peripheral vision obliterated; they are literally hell bent on the vicarious thrill of reaching their destination as the crow flies. They traverse, parks, playgrounds, gardens and even cycle through shops with not a second thought to the sanity of their actions.

Their attire is invariably uniform, regulation black cycling leggings (padded bum all the easier to tolerate those vile slither thin saddles), reminiscent of the Max Wall look (style icons they are NOT), navy nylon wind jammer with fluorescent diagonal band, attached to which is a blinding strobe torch light illuminated at all times of the day and night, unicorn-like streamlined cycling helmet, goggles and state of the art racing bike. His rucksack will contain his work attire, probably bought on-line from Black’s or Millet's sale, packed lunch of the thick brown bread variety (made by Ms/Dr type 1) and his unfortunate colleagues will have to put up with the skanky sweaty aroma, wafting from his rancid rucksack, week in and week out……..…mmmmmmmmm…………..nice!!!