No dress that has taken that many (wo)man hours of hand work should ever be covered.
Tuesday, 19 May 2009
Tuesday, 14 April 2009
Lessons in life.
Be brave, have confidence and determination.
Know and always remember your own worth.
Don't fear.
Don't take offence. Only small people take offence.
Don't expect so much from others and forgive. No one is perfect.
Have your own space to be your own.
Aim to be happy. Keep a sunny disposition.
Know and always remember your own worth.
Don't fear.
Don't take offence. Only small people take offence.
Don't expect so much from others and forgive. No one is perfect.
Have your own space to be your own.
Aim to be happy. Keep a sunny disposition.
Wednesday, 9 July 2008
A short story.
There once was a girl. The most beautiful girl of them all, she had long flowing hair made of daffodales that blossomed so beautifully after the warm summer rain, while the mist still hung loose and wet in the still damp air. A girl by no name in particular, but was the embodiment of a langourous humid summer eve, when the people, affected by the temperate climate, were blissfully lazy, and the grass, softly swaying in the gentle breeze, so slight that it could easily elude one's notice. To call her by Summer would be a cliche, but with a quiet utter of Raindrops, she would be hastily summoned to within your presence. The fact was that no one knew her real name. It was as much a mystery as that which shrouded the legends of Shangri-La. It was said that once the hazy summer mist lift, her identity would be revealed.
Summer left almost as hastily as it had arrived. Before anyone unravelled the stupefying location of Shangri-La, or even discovered the origin of the tale, summer had left. Its presence merely remembered as nothing more than a grazing imprint, like the soft memory of the touch of a gentle kiss, or the slightest brush of hands that were once held. And with summer had disappeared the girl. True to her given name, she vaporised like raindrops upon the touch of a warm, sun-kissed stone. If summer had left nothing but a faint comforting touch upon the skin of the people, she swept away leaving only enigma in her wake. Then it was discovered that she was not a girl. Or a girl who was the pure embodiment of warm content. She was summer. And like a fleeting mid-summer night's dream, she was wonderful, the most fantastical while the dream lasted, but when it came to a cessation, she was only vague vast memories, that were different with every recollection.
Summer left almost as hastily as it had arrived. Before anyone unravelled the stupefying location of Shangri-La, or even discovered the origin of the tale, summer had left. Its presence merely remembered as nothing more than a grazing imprint, like the soft memory of the touch of a gentle kiss, or the slightest brush of hands that were once held. And with summer had disappeared the girl. True to her given name, she vaporised like raindrops upon the touch of a warm, sun-kissed stone. If summer had left nothing but a faint comforting touch upon the skin of the people, she swept away leaving only enigma in her wake. Then it was discovered that she was not a girl. Or a girl who was the pure embodiment of warm content. She was summer. And like a fleeting mid-summer night's dream, she was wonderful, the most fantastical while the dream lasted, but when it came to a cessation, she was only vague vast memories, that were different with every recollection.
Sunday, 1 June 2008
YSL is dead. Long live YSL.
Is it the summer heat, or there a lack of, that is causing some of the great creators of our decade to drop off like lethargic flies?
Yves Saint Laurent passed away tonight in Paris, aged 71, after a battle with long-term illnesses since 2002.
Mr. Saint Laurent may have been of the "live fast, die young" crowd. But if any lesson is to be learnt from his trajectory, it is this: smoking sure hates your health. A hundred-twenty a day, Mr. Saint Laurent honourably puffed away to the end. In both the literal and the chronical sense.
It will be an almighty shame if his triumphs in conquering, what were back then, new territories in design aesthetics, become shrouded by his perennial taste for the drink, drugs and smokes, when his death is publicised.
"The audience was on its feet, screaming, shouting, weeping, a deluge of hysteria... Tears at a fashion show - Perhaps this is the crux of Yves Saint Laurent's genius. He has an ability to touch people and arouse emotion through cothes. This is what makes his clothes memorable: not their newness or innovation, not their femininity or colour, but their power to stir and evoke emotion." - The beautiful fall by Alicia Drake, on his renowned "Opera" collection of 1976.
His recreational preferences should not be by which he is remember. Instead, the man who single-handedly concocted "le smoking" suit and resurrected couture in the post war 50's whilst bringing into popularity pret-a-porter truely deserves our reverence.
Mr. Saint Laurent, We adulate you!
Yves Saint Laurent passed away tonight in Paris, aged 71, after a battle with long-term illnesses since 2002.
Mr. Saint Laurent may have been of the "live fast, die young" crowd. But if any lesson is to be learnt from his trajectory, it is this: smoking sure hates your health. A hundred-twenty a day, Mr. Saint Laurent honourably puffed away to the end. In both the literal and the chronical sense.
It will be an almighty shame if his triumphs in conquering, what were back then, new territories in design aesthetics, become shrouded by his perennial taste for the drink, drugs and smokes, when his death is publicised.
"The audience was on its feet, screaming, shouting, weeping, a deluge of hysteria... Tears at a fashion show - Perhaps this is the crux of Yves Saint Laurent's genius. He has an ability to touch people and arouse emotion through cothes. This is what makes his clothes memorable: not their newness or innovation, not their femininity or colour, but their power to stir and evoke emotion." - The beautiful fall by Alicia Drake, on his renowned "Opera" collection of 1976.
His recreational preferences should not be by which he is remember. Instead, the man who single-handedly concocted "le smoking" suit and resurrected couture in the post war 50's whilst bringing into popularity pret-a-porter truely deserves our reverence.
Mr. Saint Laurent, We adulate you!
Tuesday, 13 May 2008
A farewell to Robert Rauschenberg
Let's all take a moment, ladies and gentlemen, to commemorate the pop art giant who was Robert Rauschenberg, who passed away yesterday aged 82.
Long live Mr. Robert Rauschenberg. May the heavens smile upon him and his magical brush strokes.
Long live Mr. Robert Rauschenberg. May the heavens smile upon him and his magical brush strokes.
Sunday, 6 April 2008
It's my burrfday (tomorrow)
So let's all join me now in wishing myself a grand day, and in return, you can all have a lightly smiling sara.
(ooo, chapped lips close up!)
Thursday, 27 March 2008
Oh Topshop, what a wonderful pair of dark shewd eyes you have!
It is humorous (albeit strategically clever) that Topshop have been reduced to knocking off even their own designs. You may have noticed that since Kate Moss' pansy dress last year, Topshop have been churning out endless lines of "tea dresses". Kate Moss' one-shoulder frill dress has also popped up in Topshop's own collections in its various forms, all doubtlessly "inspired" but looking suspiciously similar. I've noticed too that a sun dress which looked identical to that in Kate Moss' current collection which is retailing for 40+, but in cream was sold on the Topshop website 2 weeks before and demanded a much less challenging price of 25 pounds.
There have been many of these little ironic incidents, and at first I too chuckled with ridicule. But this isn't surprising if you think that Topshop are a giant fashion power which survive on the sole appeal that it copies trends and designs off the catwalk at affordable prices, before the catwalk hits the shops. So here they've demonstrated what they are best at, which is basically copying. It was ironic that high street chains even dared to approach designers to do collaborations in the beginning, because the designers basically copy, or what they call "translate", their own catwalk designs for these stores, something that these stores were already brilliant at, without the need for these designers. It is a cunning commercial plan that saw using a designer's name on a label automatically warranted a mark-up of 50%, more money for Phillip Green's cash-hungry appetite (let's not even mention what they are doing to children in third world countries).
I digress, these collaborations which pull in an incredibly high mark-up have materialised through no fault of the designers or their will to participate. In the end, it looks like an ultimatum: collaborate with us and we will give you 20% of the inflated prices, or we will knock you off anyway and give you nothing.
There have been many of these little ironic incidents, and at first I too chuckled with ridicule. But this isn't surprising if you think that Topshop are a giant fashion power which survive on the sole appeal that it copies trends and designs off the catwalk at affordable prices, before the catwalk hits the shops. So here they've demonstrated what they are best at, which is basically copying. It was ironic that high street chains even dared to approach designers to do collaborations in the beginning, because the designers basically copy, or what they call "translate", their own catwalk designs for these stores, something that these stores were already brilliant at, without the need for these designers. It is a cunning commercial plan that saw using a designer's name on a label automatically warranted a mark-up of 50%, more money for Phillip Green's cash-hungry appetite (let's not even mention what they are doing to children in third world countries).
I digress, these collaborations which pull in an incredibly high mark-up have materialised through no fault of the designers or their will to participate. In the end, it looks like an ultimatum: collaborate with us and we will give you 20% of the inflated prices, or we will knock you off anyway and give you nothing.
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