It looks spiky, but it’s not, because it’s like a leaf, see – it just looks jaggedy – but it’s probably really soft, because it’s expensive and quite pretty. And it’s called Eve, because she was the first woman and she lived in a garden (leaves! trees!) and she ate a bad apple. We get it. It won’t hurt you. It’s a shoe. Not a snake.
Wedges are for cool people.
Wedges with a bit of wedge missing are for cool people who know how to Mega Balance.
“Dennis you hot MOTHER!!
Put me on your face and WEAR ME!!!”
If I can’t take a young Dane for a lover, I’ll take Celine for a mistress instead
You should probably know that we only wear jewellery that reflects our state of mind.
Today, for example, you should be wary of our unpredictable edges and extreme highs and lows.
Monday: Lunch with Karl – I can’t finish all my lemon soup so we share, and talk about the best way to kill an Eskimo. I don’t need carbs when I’m with Karl.
Tuesday: Madame Bruni calls – always got trouble with the garçon that one. I tell her what I tell all my girls – get some Dior, write some folk songs and chill the eff out.
Wednesday: I call in to Le Marais, and drink Remy Martin at La Perle and smoke at least neuf Gauloises before I realise I have to rush off for a fitting on Avenue Montaigne. Monsieur Galliano hates me to be late.
Thursday: Life is fabulous and exhausting today. I wear three new dresses and change my shoes twice. I smoke cigarettes on the terrace of the George V and drink aperitifs with Pierre and Jean-Luc. I dance at Le Baron, kiss pretty garçons and all before midnight. Jean-Luc wants to take me home…it’s so soon…and then I ask myself, what would Karl do in this situation?
Friday: Jean-Luc leaves before dawn and a day of pleasantness and relaxation ensues. I drink eau mineral and think only nice thoughts; Sonia Rykiel stripes, Le Tour Eiffel, new shoes and pain aux raisins. Later, I skip through the flea market at Vanves, cigarette in-hand, buying pretty embroideries and swathes of toile de jouy.
Saturday: I wake early and take petit dejeuner on the bank of the river – trois Gauloises, and a café noir. I wear a beret and a book and my black dress with the black bow and I channel Chanel.
Sunday: A morning spent brushing the cat is a morning well spent. Afternoon tea is spent at Laduree where Karl and I eat only lilac food. Jean-Luc calls, twice, but I decline to answer. This girl is busy.
A bag for the return of the simple days; when all you need is a biro in your pocket, the sun on your back and a spring in your step. And £1,250 in the bank.
Ingredients for an Old Fashioned Whisky Cocktail
* 2oz Bourbon any bourbon will do. Jim Beam works well
* 1oz sugar syrup
* A dash of Angostura bitters
* Ice
1. Fill an old fashioned glass (a basic tumbler) with ice.
2. Add 2 oz of bourbon
3. Add 1 oz of sugar syrup
4. Stir for 30 seconds
5. Add dash of Angostura bitters
6. Stir for 30 seconds
7. Serve
It was true, the hairband had changed things for her; she’d never known what to do with all that fringe before.
It also made for a fine pipe shelf.
Where did it all go wrong? We were having such fun. It was all so fun
You must remember the parties? Oh, the parties Everyone was there.
I let you flirt with all those other girls; I was happy to share you with Alexa, for a while at least, and OK yes it did really fucking hurt when I saw you with Peaches but I could get over it, because I always knew youd come back to me eventually.
We had our good times. Remember that autumn of 2008? Those crazy days where we dressed like Pagans and hung out at the witch museum? You taught me it was socially acceptable to crimp my hair; you said it was OK if I wanted to wear a party dress even though I was only staying in to brush the cat.
Sure, there was that difficult patch this spring; but I thought we were coming through the other side of it? I should have known then things would never be the same again. When you started to say it was OK for grown-ups to wear bows in their hair I should have taken that as a sign.
I should have known it couldnt last forever.
For many years now people have been embroiled in the act of combing their hair sometimes even on a twice daily basis – in the belief that tangle-free locks lead to a stress-free, more illuminated existence. In the pursuit of enlightenment the only true obstacle be split-ends.
What is less-well known is that this ritualistic act of combing in order to reach a higher plane of consciousness and emotional well-being is futile in the face of the daily chemical onslaught which comes from the sky and slowly corrodes the hairs on your head – a process that is literally invisible to the naked eye. The only way to fight back is with more expensive combs.
It wont nourish your follicles, or make you a better person, but it is, like, really pretty.
Those extra long ears (certainly longer than I had ever seen before), that cute-as-a-button nose and the colour as pink as the underbelly of a newborn piglet. I knew I had to own it.
The French call it lapin.
I call it mine.
Shoes with heels are worn by female people, for the purpose of doing the Man Trap Dance. When you wear these shoes, you are The Greatest Dancer.
This Art Deco relic has a high arch, like the back of a stretching kitten. The elegant, geometric cut-outs are both Feminine and Strong. It has a steeped platform toe and a sculpted heel, which enable the short female wearer to appear taller.
This is a shoe that says: Success.
Before you were born, precious papers containing Secrets were stored and carried in clandestine cast iron vaults protected by mystery, mirth and tiny, evil, monkey-people. The only way to access these precious documents was to dance The Magic Dance.
Over time, such security measures became unnecessary; the Secrets were no longer at risk. So something much more practical was born; something smaller, something portable, something like a small, rectangular, leather box that could be opened, and closed: The Elkington.
The Elkington comes with a fully functioning buckle fastening that allows you to buckle it – fast; with detachable straps that you can take off, and put back on again, and with an inside and an outside.
You’ll see this bag being carried in Tokyo, New York, Forks and Milan .
If we knew how to fight, we’d find the 14 year old daughter of a Russian oil tycoon and arm wrestle her for this bag.
