Ahead Of The Curve

(Image: French Elle/guardian.co.uk)

Beth Ditto. Crystal Renn. Sophie Dahl (before she drank some Alice in Wonderland potion and turned into a skinny rake.) All women of generous curves, style leaders and apparently, the future of fashion.

A major breakthrough has been made in the campaign against seemingly anorexic models. Style bible French Elle has put plus sized models on this month's cover, as reported by the Guardian this week;

http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/2010/mar/28/elle-models-france-plus-size

This is, without putting too fine a point on it, a MASSIVE DEAL. It may not change the skinny-obsessed world of fashion forever, but it is a statement, a message sent from one of the industry's leading publications to the rest of the world. I am not naive enough to imagine that this will be a permenant fixture - and am sure that next month the magazine will revert to tres petite models again. However, just by being brave enough to go with this cover shot, Elle has moved the goal posts.

There is definitely a positive movement within the fashion industry towards promoting real bodies, real women with real curves. This is a realistic idea - fashion in general is becoming far more open to to the general public, with blogs, fast moving high streets and magazine websites, so it makes sense to represent real women. As part of the industry myself, I can understand why designers prefer thinner models. They are easier to create clothing for, because there are none of the restrictions and worries that normal women have about curvy bits busting out all over the place! Dressing a size six model is the closest a designer will get to showing their clothes on hangers - almost as two dimensional as the sketches in their workroom.

I am happy to see slim, healthy models on the catwalk, because ultimately a slender body will generally be healthier than an obsese one, and it makes sense for designers to create smaller samples to save on fabric. As long as a large range of sizes are represented once the lines hit the boutiques, fashion lovers will be a lot happier. But the practice of using adolescent, anorexic girls in fashion shows has to stop.

Having sat in the front row at LFW a few years ago, I was shocked that the models were even skinnier in the flesh - what little there was of it - than in their Style.com photos. Their hip bones virtually entered the room before them. It was scary. Now, I hugely respect and admire Karl Lagerfeld, but he would probably group me into the category of 'fat mummies' (as he labelled all women who criticise thin models) because I don't fit the size zero model ideal.

However, I am in a position to criticise, because I have been that thin - possibly even thinner - due to that ever popular teenage trend, anorexia. Yep, I couldn't escape the dreaded A-word and I was a very, very sick little girl. Health wise, my body was shutting down, and my personality was warped by a parasitic illness that made me a stranger to my family. Don't worry, this is not one of those pity stories that gets dragged up in self help books and This Morning - I am simply saying, that the mental illness that takes over your brain and makes you want to stop eating until you die, is just not really 'chic'. It is horrible - and what is more, it screws you up for life, if not mentally than definitely physically. There are serious repurcussions to this illness, and anything that can be done to prevent another generation suffering in it's evil clutches is a good thing.

I am not saying that all models are anorexic. I am sure that is not the case, especially for the youngest ones - they have not even hit puberty yet, so of course their bodies are still tiny and unformed. But the older girls, whose collarbones could pick up Channel 5 and skin is grey from malnutrition are obviously in trouble. They are either being forced to starve themselves by their agents, or have already fallen prey to anorexia - the illness that only needs the smallest of triggers to take up residence in a young person's mind and body.

So I applaud French Elle, and their small step towards regaining a sense of reality in fashion. Fashion will still be glamourous, gorgeous, and fantastical, and we won't need to be size 6 to appreciate it.

GL

MoneyMoneyMoney

(Image copyright Getty)

Journalists of the world unite, join hands and do a victory jig, because on Friday a small lifeline was thrown to our floundering industry. It was announced that The Times will now charge for public access to its website, either £1 a day or £2 for the whole week, with print subscribers getting free access. £2 is the cost of one weekend broadsheet if you were actually to go to the newsagent and buy one (remember newsagents? those strange, Tardis-like shops on street corners? They sell actual newspapers and magazines, 'off of the olden days' as well as sweets and cigarettes, in case you hadn't noticed)

Holding a real newspaper in my hand is a long forgotten pleasure. The last time I actually bought a paper was when Obama was elected, and previous to that, as a destitute student in London I trooped over to my local newsagent with a fistful of coppers and counted out the £2 necessary for a Sunday Times. Much to the shopkeeper's exasperation. Value for money though, because I read every sentence, and it kept me occupied for the whole day. Now I am one of those scary people who leaps on a discarded newspaper like a rabid cat, whether it is in Costa (the only good thing about those soulless coffee shops is the free papers) or on trains. One embarassing moment came about when I snatched up a discarded Independent when the man reading it left the carriage, only for him to ask for it back when he returned from the toilet. Cringe...

Not that the Times is my particular paper of choice, I am more of a Guardian girl, and read their website in its entirety every day. I probably won't be paying to access the Times online, because I don't read it that often, but as soon as the Guardian start charging, I will happily cough up for my Charlie Brooker/Hadley Freeman/Jess Cartner Morley fix. It would still be cheaper than buying a real paper, and the cost is fully justified in maintaining the consistantly brilliant journalism on offer - perhaps even improving it, by giving journalists the resources they need to produce even better work.

It makes perfect sense, especially to a journalism graduate facing a lifetime of unpaid work, to start charging people to read newspapers again. What other industry gives out its content for free? In comparison, illegal downloading of music is literally crippling record labels, and boy, are they kicking up a stink about it. There is now the threat of a huge fine and even prison sentences for people who download mp3s illegally. But newspaper companies actively give out content for free! James Harding, Editor of The Times, agrees. Speaking to his own paper's website on Friday (the irony!) he said:

“Paid content is the only way that we are going to see a sustainable economic model for quality journalism. Saying that our journalism is worthless and dumping it free online is not a viable economic model.” Advertising revenue simply isn't enough, and it is no wonder that writers are being laid off left right and centre - on work experience at the Guardian last summer, I was astounded by the number of empty desks.

Maybe this is the moment of ressurection for the journalism industry. Change has been needed for a long time and this is a huge step in the right direction. Somewhat overshadowed by the news that another British institution, The Independent, has been bought for a measly quid, this was still a good weekend for the Press.

I appreciate that the rest of the non-journalist poplulation will be up in arms about having to fork for their daily read, but those who actually care about what they are reading will be happy to pay. Ultimately, stick with the free papers and free websites if you like, but have you ever stopped to think what duff information, made-up stories and perhaps even propoganda we are being fed? In theory, a whole generation of commuters could be brainwashed by The Metro! Ok, I am letting my imagination run away with me, but when you stop to think about it...

Guest Appearance By Rudolph Et Al

I moan and groan about living in the country. Literally - I hardly shut up about it. All the fields and trees and ab-so-bloody-lutely Nothing To Do. I can still remember the first time I came down to the country, when my parents decided to transplant us from the concrete climes of Watford to Headley Down in Hampshire (even the name sounded quaint).

All I could see were trees, cows and a worrying lack of bus stops - how was I going to get anywhere??? If you are questioning how bad being a teenager in the sticks is, can you imagine what it feels like to be desperate for bright lights, nightclubs, and shops - and what you get is this:

(This is is Sussex, just down the road from where I live now)

Looking at the land around me through 23 year old eyes, I can now appreciate how beautiful and peaceful it is - inspiring even. I know that this area will always be one of my favourite places in the world, but I would just like the option to visit, as opposed to being stuck here. I know that even if I eventually move to a city, I will always come back, to get my fresh air fix.

As it starts to get sunnier, everywhere around me looks more amazing, so it feels less like a hardship to have fields rather than shopping centres on my doorstep. As long as you have good company and most importantly a car, the country doesn't seem such a bad place to be. Especially when this lot turn up...

The Day Every Dad Dreads

I have previously made it clear to anyone who will listen that I am not a fan of Peaches Geldof. The complete opposite, it fact - I resent all that she stands for and am bitterly jealous of the opportunities that are handed to her, only for Little Miss Grunge to get bored of them and wander off (Disappear Now, anyone?)

BUT today, when private, naked pictures of her were released online, I cringed for her. Call it sisterly sympathy, but I genuinely felt for her today. Because I know if those were photos of me that some good-for-nothing had posted online, I would literally have been screaming at the computer trying to claw them off the Internet with my bare hands. That is such a ridiculous invasion of privacy - and what is worse, is that the damage is already done. No matter how swiftly Peaches' lawyer manages to get them taken down, how many millions of people will have seen them already? (and they are not easy to forget!)

I might be being naive - for all I know, Miss Geldof could be sat up in NYLON towers rubbing her hands in glee at the heaps and heaps of publicity. Most tabloids have the images, or the story at least, on the front page of their websites. She is an underwear model, so it is not as though she is adverse to getting her body out, but this was a totally different ballgame, and just painful to see.

The absolute __ (insert scathing obscentity here)_____that has done this deserves everything that is coming to him. Just because Peaches is an arrogant, lazy celebrity does not mean she deserves to be exposed in this way, it is humiliating, embarassing and worst of all, completely unnecessary. I love some celeb gossip as much as the next person, but I can not see the benefit to the public in seeing the private sex pictures of a 20 year old girl.

And no, I am not going to post the pictures or link to the articles - sadly, they are not hard to find if you are morbidly curious.

GL

PS Can someone just ground her and stop her writing any more 'columns', please??

What Would Coco Do?

When my friends and I are going through times of struggle and frustration in our personal and professional lives, sometimes it is hard to get perspective on things. I find it easy to get trapped in a little bubble of doom and gloom, and imagine that this is what life is going to be like forever and ever, ad infinitum. That is precisely the time that I turn to the Biography section of the library for some feminine inspiration.

In actual truth I was given this Coco Chanel biography for Christmas, but have been slack about getting down to read it. I am already fairly well aquainted with the life of the most iconic woman in fashion, having completed a 4000 word study/sketchbook project about her for A-Level textiles (I remember doing a lot of embroidery through the paper pages of my book. Weird. Those were the days though, floating around in the sunny art room, listening to the radio with Lucy) We are bombarded with Chanel quotes on a daily basis, and her influence is still the heartbeat of modern fashion. Her genius is evident enough in the fact that her design ideas and business practises are still the cornerstones of the industry. So having read every publication available about Coco 5 years ago, I wasn't expecting to learn anything new from Axel Madsen's book - how very wrong I was.

This book is an incredibly detailed account of Chanel's life, and is richly laden with first hand accounts of events and quotes from the woman herself. Madsen also explaisn what was happening around the world at the same time as Chanel was building her empire. I have not even reached the end yet but I feel like I have listened to a brilliant history lecture, and now know more about who the real Chanel was. Whereas most biographies or reference books about the designer are written with a tone of reverential awe, this book gives a much more complete impression of Chanel's personality, without bias. The fiery temper and steely, selfish determination, her uncompromising design talent and vunerable propensity to fall in love (even if she would never admit that it was the real thing)

Coco Chanel never fails to inspire me. Out of the long list of outstanding women that I look up to and have read about, her life is one of the most unbelievable and brilliant accomplishments. Having literally worked her way out of a destitute life, she created a fashion house that to this day is without comparison. Her unwavering dedication and ambition is admirable and something I definitely aspire to live up to. Even if I could achieve a slice of her success, I would be a very happy lady!

When I look around at my friends and colleagues I do start to wonder how our lives are going to pan out - what differences we are going to make to the world, and who out of us will one day have a biography written about them!

Summer Trend Report - Schoolgirl Chic (And Not A Short Skirt In Sight)

Does anyone actually like trilbys? Those mannish, gangster-chic hats that Sienna Miller persists on wearing on a regular basis, prompting Elle, Glamour et al to promote them as female headwear perfection.

Hello!? Has everybody forgotten the universal truth that if you wear a trilby, you will look like a Justin Timberlake wannabe. Or Michael Jackson, depending on how old/stuck in the early 90s you are. I want women of the world to take a stand! We will no longer wear these decidely masculine hats, neither in straw or that revolting pinstripe felt fabric for winter.

There is another way. Girls, I present to you...the boater. Those of us who went to private junior school would have probably owned one of these complete with a ribbon co-ordinating with our summer dress and elastic under the chin. I loved wearing mine! There are the family videos to prove that I actually liked my first school uniform, parading up and down my back garden doing a fashion show for my Nan. (don't act surprised, I have never pretended to be normal when it comes to clothes.) I liked how you could push the boater to the back of your head, providing a nice 'halo' effect, or use it to shade your eyes at a rakish angle.

So you can understand the joy that lit up my heart when the new St Trinian's films hit cinemas. Again, maybe it was a throwback to having been to an all-girls school, but I really enjoyed them (and I know they were rrrrrrrrrubbish, before you doubt my sanity) My enjoyment was mainly due to the inspired costumes - a million different variations on classic schoolgirl-slut-chic, done in a very British way. And the boater hats! Sported by both Head Girls, and looking especially cute on Tallulah Riley in the second film, these hats looked eccentric, feminine, and pretty adorable.

This classic English accoutrement is the perfect summer hat, in my opinion. I have tried floppy 70s numbers, but they never look quite right (see Samantha in her gargantuan white one, SATC movie). Fascinators are pretty but flipping annoying. Cowboy hats are cheesy and make you look like a Shipwrecked wannabe. But the boater is small enough that it doesn't scream

"I'M WEARING A HAT!!!!!" which, let's be honest, the British public generally can't cope with. If you wear a hat outside of a festival situation, people will stare at you. It takes confidence to wear a fashionable, elegant hat instead of just sticking with a safe, un-threatening 'swoosh' of Jack Wills-branded blondish highlights (please, please let that hairstyle die soon before my eyes leave my head out of boredom)

If you are worried about the school girl connotations of wearing a boater - don't, it is all about what you mix it up with. Take the original boater-promoter Coco Chanel, who teamed hers with sporty jersey dresses, long skirt suits and evening her riding gear. In fact it was a boater that started her fashion career, when friends demanded copies of her own chapeau. Nylon magazine has long been a fan of the cute little hats, which have just the right amount of geekiness and sweetness.

So this is my own boater, picked up at the Angels Vintage Sale earlier this year (one of the only good things I found, if you are not going to be there before 8am don't bother, it's bedlam) I will be wearing it with pride this summer, to many a festival, picnic and walks in the park (if it stays sunny long enough) Have a raid in your local charity/vintage shops, Ebay, and if all else fails, head to the schoolwear section of any good department store.

TIP: Just avoid stripey blazers, unless you want to look like an Oxford 'punter!'

GL

Hell Hath No Fury...Like Two Fashionistas Fighting Over Fur

Well, perhaps that is a tad overdramatic, but it seems there will never, ever be an end to the Great Fur Debate, and quite rightly so, because it is a complex, difficult issue.

It seems that Melanie Rickey is reasonable, after all, and I was pleased to receive a personal email from her debating our respective opinions on the matter. I cannot publish her email without her consent, but in summary, she thought my reasoning was more of an excuse than a justification, and that it was impossible for me to justify being vegetarian and wear fur. She did seem to believe that I was promoting all fur as fashion, rather than just vintage, which is a slight misconstruct of the truth. On one point we both agreed, however, was that the fashion industry is extremely hypocritical when it comes to fur, and this sends very mixed messages to the readers of magazines.

Ultimately I have to respect her as a more experienced journalist also expressing her opinion. That doesn't mean I am going to back down from my own argument. I may give some more thought to my stance on fur, but I still believe that I have valid reasons for the wearing of vintage fur.

Oh - and I was wrong about 'wrong-headed'. It is a phrase. I will go and stand in the corner of the classroom whilst you, dear reader, peruse my final reply to Melanie;

Hi Melanie

I really appreciate you getting back to me on this - I understand that you are busy, but had somewhat cynically decided that perhaps replying to a fashion 'newbie' such as myself was very low on your list of priorities! So it is good to know that there are some genuine people in the industry.

This is such a sensitive debate, and one that I know will never be resolved. This is my final feedback to the points you raised, after which I think we should agree to differ before we tie ourselves in rhetorical knots. The reason why I care about vintage furs is that they were often created before I was born, and are now left to clutter up vintage/charity shops. If they are not worn, then they are going to waste - but they are a small fraction of the animal byproducts, unlike 'brains and bones' which are generated on a daily basis by carnivores guzzling Nandos and McDs. These byproducts are one-offs, unique garments created a long time ago that have endured the test of time. I have clearly stated several times that I would never by a modern fur - I do not belive any more furs should be created, because I completely understand the issues with the fur industry.

You must not misconstrue my message in order to support your own argument - I am not promoting fur as fashion, simply explaining my own choice to wear vintage. I also hardly think that by walking around my provincial home town in a fur jacket is somehow going to revive the contemporary fur market - I am hardly Alexa Chung!

Lastly, I disagree with your own justification of wearing the byproducts of the meat that you eat. That argument is flawed - do you genuinely believe that the duck that gave its feathers for your parka ended up on a plate in the local Chinese? Probably not. As I see it, I have not contibuted to the death of a single animal in my vegetarian lifetime (age 13 onwards) by not eating meat, and wearing the coat of an animal who died before I was born.

Please understand that I do agree with you on some of the points - the fashion industry is full of fur hypocrites, and I wish people would make a choice and stand by it, but they are afraid of being controversial and so hide behind fake opinions in order to be PC. Or they stand up for what they believe in, but contradict their own morals in private. Either way, it is far from a black and white issue and I know you understand that.

I know you will completely disagree with my opinions and I respect that - I appreciated your email feedback, and this debate has been interesting. It was far more pleasant to receive a personal message in contrast to how a felt when I stumbled across your blog.

I am respectful (and very envious) of your 13 years in industry, but perhaps you are unaware of quite how hard it is for young writers like myself to get a break into the fashion business in 2010? When the Evening Standard approached me for the vintage fur piece, I leapt on the opportunity to have my voice heard in a national publication, instead of either submitting features to online publications without getting paid, or slaving away as a fashion intern for the zillionth time. You are in a wonderful position of working for both a successful publication (the 3D issue is a brilliant idea, by the way) and having loyal followers on your personal blog. I hope that one day I too will be able to investigate important issues for features, and maybe sit in the third row of the Givenchy show. This recession is crushing the creativity out of graduates like myself, and we are fighting to even get the smallest recognition for our work (let alone any money!)

Anyway, I will get off my soapbox and let you get on with your day. Sorry that this email was so long, but I had a lot to cover! If ever you would like a debating partner or maybe even an assistant, it would be great to work with the real life Fashion Editor at Large. Perhaps I could meet you for a coffee when I am next in London, to discuss how I could be a worthwhile addition to the Grazia fashion team? I promise to leave my fur coat at home.

Kindest regards, George

PS I don't mind if you want to post your email on your blog, as long as you post my reply/comment as well - two sides to every story etc...

Thanks for reading (if you got all the way to the end!) I am intrigued, where do my blog readers stand on the fur issue? Get in touch!

GL

(Image courtesy http://www.defamer.com.au)

CrushCrushCrush

I have a confession to make. I am a serial crusher. Since the age of 12, there has always been a male fantasy figure in my head, usually of the Hollywood variety, sometimes of the 'real' kind, but always painful, soul destroying, and somewhat embarassing to look back on!

However I don't believe crushes are necessarily a bad thing. Yes, you feel like your eyes are going to fall out of your head as a consequence of relentless heartbroken weeping, but sometimes an unhealthy obsession can sneakily lead you into a world of cultural exploration, as you blindly follow the object of your affection.
Take this man, for example. The one who started it all - for me, at least.


Leo. Leonardo. The one and only man I could ever imagine marrying between the ages of 12 and 16 (and I did imagine, a lot. My diary was signed GDicaprio for many years.) I fractionally late getting into Leo-mania, because I first set eyes on him as I sat with my parents to watch Titanic. During the 'First Class Captain's Dinner' scene, when Jack turns up in a very fetching tuxedo, my Mum leant over to me and whispered 'I won't mind if you bring someone like that home.' And so the seeds were sown, and my obsession began.

I sobbed for about two days straight after the movie, along with a million other girls, not only for the unbearable nature of an unhappy ending, but also because I was completely overwhelmed by the man himself. 'Normal' boys would never, ever live up to the expectations I had now, and my conception of romance and love would be forever slightly skewed by James Cameron's vision. (Darn him and his overblown dramatics! He has a lot to answer for!)
And so, my bedroom walls gradually disappeared under a swarm of newspaper clippings, posters, and a giant, laminated press shot of Dicaprio in a blue velvet suit (girls aged 22-25, you know the one I am talking about.) At school, my classmates and I had a war over who could cram the most pictures under the flap of our fold-up desks. We had every fanzine (this was before the days of the internet, we only had one computer in our classroom and were allowed to use the Encarta encyclopaedia program on our lunch breaks - old school!)

However, although this one-way romance was very, very frustrating, it created in me a fascination with the world of cinema and theatre. Having previously been oblivious to Baz Luhrmann's Romeo and Juliet, I bought my VHS copy (yes, ok, I am old now) and watched it until the ribbon broke. it is still in my top 5 films of all time, and sometimes, as a treat, I turn the movie off after Tybalt dies (the crypt scene is too much for a romantic heart like mine to take!) From there, my love of Shakespeare blossomed, setting me in good stead for when GCSEs came around - I had been reading the plays when my friends were reading Sugar magazine, long before they were our set texts.

My love of Leo led me straight to the Odeon or Blockbuster to watch movies like The Beach, Catch Me If You Can and Gangs of New York - productions that may have passed me by if they starred any other actor. I rented his past work, like The Basketball Diaries and What's Eating Gilbert Grape, and they showed me that there was more on offer than the teen films of my era.

Dicaprio has now grown into a phenomenal actor and inspirational public figure. He managed to ride out his heartthrob status and force the viewing public to consider him a serious actor, capable of complex roles such as Howard Hughes in The Aviator and Teddy Daniels in last week's Shutter Island, both troubled men with difficult pasts that Dicaprio plays perfectly. Shutter Island is a fantastic, mind-troubling psychological thriller, that shows the Scorsese/Dicaprio partnership is unstoppable - go and see it.

My teen crush has long since faded, and the posters are stored somewhere under my bed, but I am glad that I was such a little superfan. Now I look back at Dicaprio's career with a sense of pride and admiration, and I am grateful for all the amazing movies that have enriched my cinematic experience!

Schoolgirl crushes are an inevitable, unavoidable part of adolescence, but I believe they can be important in shaping a girl's character. It is almost safer for us to have our hearts broken by a picture on a wall or a voice from a record player, because at least the poster can be taken down, or the record stopped. If it was a real boy, we might actually have to face the reality of rejection. Crushes are a rite of passage, and no matter what they tell you, every woman has had one at some point. My Mum, dancing around to her 'David Essex, Greatest Hits' CD at Christmas like at 17 year old is all the proof you need!



Now, where did I put that New Moon DVD? (that's a whole other post, don't worry!)

(Images courtesy IMDB)

GL

Late Night Bohemian Wonderings (Literally)

Does anyone still believe in the Belle Epoque bohemian motto? It struck a chord with me when I was 16 and to this day, I do not feel there is a more perfect combination of ideals. I may be hideously over-romantic, but I prize love above all material or practical aspects of life. Real beauty is encompassing of both visible and invisible characteristics. Living without freedom of behaviour and expression is, in my opinion, not living at all. And truth underpins all that we do, say and see, and it is impossible to recognise the other elements without it.

I am sometimes frightened, because I wonder how many others of my generation actually think about what they believe anymore. It is no wonder there is so little room for creativity to grow when modern life crushes us into processed, robotic worker bees who are constricted, if not solely motivated by, money.

I would not dare to roam into the territory of discussing what the good and evil qualities of money, and whether the love of it is the driving force behind the world. Too many wiser, more experienced theorists have expressed their views on the subject, and it is really not my subject area! However, I can observe my peers, friends and colleagues, their modus operandi, and their gameplans.

I am starting to fear that nobody around me has any passion or enthusiasm left for life, their own goals, and the reason why they wake up everyday. I still have a palpable memory of what it feels like to really, really, really want to do something, not for fame, glory or monetary reward, but because it is something I want to achieve. Something for me to look back on and think, 'Yes, that was my purpose, my aim, and I did not rest or back down until I achieved it.' Although external factors (that darn recession drag again!) are doing their best to physically crush the life out of my dreams, I am not going to allow them to succeed. I am going to hold on to my hopes for my life for ever, ignoring people that intefere or criticize or call me naive. I am digging my claws in and not letting go.

I understand that there is 'the real world' to be dealt with on a daily basis, but what I also know is this; without enthusiasm, without ambition, and without creativity, nothing great will ever happen again. There will be no inspiration, no art, no music, and definitely no fashion. If we give in to the relentless erosion of everything that is unusual, brave, and true, then we will be living a pointless existence. I am so thankful for the greatest human possession of all - my imagination.


If anyone would like to join me in a mini bohemian revolution, do please get in touch. It gets a little lonely sometimes on the fringes of society!

GL

Image from http://alittlesuri.blogspot.com/2009/10/ugghhlove-love.html

Behind The Scenes

Yesterday I was assisting at the publicity shoot for Lisa Mitchell, an up and coming folk singer from Australia, who is about to make it big in the UK (well, Radio 1 have started playing her single, so it is only a matter of time.)

The clothes were beautiful, especially one so-adorable-it-is-hurting-my-eyes-with-jealousy Moschino summer dress. I am literally finding it hard to imagine a more perfect frock. Although, it was virtually bum-skimming on Lisa and being a few inches taller than the Bambi-like 19 year old, it would probably be indecent on me. Oh well, it made for pretty pictures!

The shoot was in the photographer's flat which we completely messed up with all our clothes, make up and general fashion clutter. I was seriously envious of the photographer's booksheves, laden down with every amazing art and photography book you can imagine. Quite the collection. Does anyone else become a book snooper when they visit someone's home? Or am I just nosy? You can tell a lot about a man by his books, I think.

We shot four looks, the third of which Lisa did in her own massive 80s jumper. It could have fitted everyone on the shoot inside it! She was a lot happier posing in her own clothes, which important to note. I adore fashion, live, sleep, eat and breathe it, but I cannot afford to buy designer clothes. That doesn't make me any less of a 'fashionista', it just means that I have to be a little bit more creative. When we stare at our favourite magazines or celebrity gossip websites, it is very easy to get duped into thinking that if we have those clothes we would be better people. Of course, if I won the lottery do not think I would not be straight down to Chanel stocking up, but I would still be the same person, no matter how much my jacket cost.

So, I will still drop everything (literally) when VOGUE drops onto my doormat, but I will stop beating myself up that I cannot afford so much as a sock by my favourite designers. I can still admire them for their aesthetic qualities, but will be happy in my favourite vintage dresses and silly shoes, just like Lisa in her jumper.

If you want to find out more about the Australian lady and to hear her latest single 'O Hark' then have a little peep at her website, link below. And if Nick Grimshaw and Annie Mac think she's alright, then she must be, no?


http://www.lisamitchellmusic.com/

Image courtesy PR

Honalulu Hula Girl - Summer Trends Ahoy!

It's nearly Summertime! As soon as the A/W fashion shows are done, I consider winter officially done, and start planning my summer wardrobe. Anything to break through the doom and gloom of dull grey days - now is the time to come up for air and feel the sun on your face.

Jack in your jumpers! Chuck out your cardies! are what the first rays of sun say to me. It can still be freezing cold, but as long as the sun is out, I am squinting away, excitable as a new born ferret. But even if I am bursting to wear the summer dresses that have been stashed since last year, and to tear off my tights (can you even remember what bare legs feel like?) I know, in my heart of hearts, I must be a sweater slave for a few more months.

However...there is nothing to stop me thinking about my summer 'look' and to consider the trends I can see emerging. Around this time of year, fashion magazines traditionally start to dictate what we will all be wearing in the warmer season, but I am a little tired of seeing the same nautical, bohemian and sports luxe editorials being churned out. The high street is already turning into a sea of stripey top clones, and need I mention last year's headband 'mushroom hair' fiasco? (I blame Peaches Geldof, but then I generally blame her for everything anyway - did you hear she is going out with Eli Roth, director of Hostel? Maybe she and her headband should star in Hostel 5 or whatever number it is up to, because that is a horror movie I would actually pay to see!)

ANYway...back on track to my trend report, or rather, my alternative trend report. Now what I am about to say may disgust you, but don't resist it, just go with the flow.

Hawaiian shirts. Don't freak out, I did warn you. But my first trend prediction for the summer is that the formerly fashion faux pas garments are back, and this time it's the fashion forward ladies that will be wearing them. In line with the rockabilly resurgence that has been bubbling away underneath the mainstream, the hawaiian shirt is the perfect summer cover up for retro glamour girls (tied up Grease style) but is also a key element of the 90s revival. It is all about picking your perfect print, so that your look is girly and quirky as opposed to Dad's Quiksilver hand-me-down. I have been keeping my beady eye out for my perfect shirt for about a month, and finally found this lilac, pink and green lily print number in Brighton. The pattern is soft enough to be feminine, but without losing the vintage, clashing brightness that makes these shirts fun. I will be wearing it pin-up style with hotpants and heart shaped sunnies just as soon as the weather permits (probably never then!)

Before you question my sanity I call to the witness stand Topshop Unique, who of course got there first with this little number:

http://www.topshop.com/webapp/wcs/stores/servlet/ProductDisplay?beginIndex=0&viewAllFlag=&catalogId=19551&storeId=12556&productId=1595877&langId=-1&categoryId=&parent_category_rn=

Alexa Chung has already been seen wearing it, which guarantees its sell out status. But at £70, it is a tad pricey, especially as you know so many other Topshop-ites will have the same thing. So do it the Glitterbird way and traverse the vintage rails until you find the one for you. It will save you a pretty penny (mine was a fiver!) and will ensure you look truly unique.

Hula on Hawaii girls!

The Lost Boys (And Girls)

Last Sunday I got lost on a hill. In the dark. With fire and birds and cracking twigs, and a strange travelling man called Tom.

My usual Sunday afternoon would not consist of hiking up a near vertically steep hill, but somehow, I found myself scrabbling up it with an elegant walking stick twig in hand and completely inappropriate footwear. We were gasping for breath at just halfway up, but as soon as we stopped to take in the awe-inspiring dusky view, the daunting ascent began again.

The lights of Winchester were sparkling unnecessarily in the pinkish glow of sunset, and the air held the remnants of a sunny day's warmth. The sky darkened as we climbed, and as we reached a small copse on the brow of the hill, the sun vanished. Natural light was replaced by the streaky, snaking glare of motorway traffic beams, which from our bird's perspective, could almost pass as beautiful.

A smoking bonfire had been constructed and a collection of students gathered round it for warmth. Watered down alcohol and chocolate were offered to ill-equipped explorers such as oursleves. I felt guilty for taking two M&Ms from a friendly stranger. Jim took four.

Glittering juggling balls and a flourescent diablo hypnotised the assembled cast. Jokes abounded, feelings were discussed, and an other-worldly atmosphere settled over the group.

Time to go home, I said.

Half an hour later and we were very, very lost. The dark prevented us from finding a single hint of civilisation. There were many run-ins with bramble bushes and head-on collisions with face whipping branches.

For a short while, a genuine survival feeling began to pervade my small party, as sleeping on a dark hill became an unnerving possibility.

Help arrived, in the form of hill companions with a distinctly sharper sense of direction.

All was not lost, and more was gained by a few hours away from 'real life'.

Try it, I dare you. If you're brave enough.

GL

Image:
© Copyright Jim Champion and licensed for reuse under this Creative Commons Licence.

The 'F' Word

Cross my heart and take me to the taxidermist, this will be the last time I mention it for a while, but I thought a conclusion to the vintage fur debate was called for.

There has been some interesting progress, and some predictable non-starters.


1. Melanie Rickey has not been bold enough to post my comment on her blog, although she has chosen to mention my 'wrong-headed' (gotta love Grazia's made up phrases) opinions several more times in different posts.


2. She has also not replied to my very politely and friendly worded comment via email, because just in case she missed it, I thought I'd send it to her directly.

3. It has caused, in the words of my course leader, a veritable 'storm in a teacup' amongst my friends and acquaintances, many of whom have got in touch to express their support for my oh-so-ignorant views.


Yesterday I met a girl on a very tall, very dark hill on the outskirts of Winchester (to be explained later, don't worry) who was wearing a vintage rabbit coat she had just bought, and was very proud of. To her, it was a special, treasured item of clothing that looked beautiful on her and she was keen to show off, even amongst her bohemian, free thinking art student friends. She is a prime example of someone who is clearly a vintage fan, and wants to preserve these lovely garments for more years of use, rather than let them fester in moth balled wardrobes or charity shops.



Meeting a fellow vintage fur lover reminded me to have a cursory glance over the delightful Fashion Editor at Large's blog, to check whether she had, indeed 'chickened out' and denied my comment post (she can dish it out...but can she stand up for her views?)


However, Whilst wading through, I stumbled across a tiny little caption which really cannot be ignored. Under this lovely Tommy Ton image of a fashionista riding a bike in a fur jacket...


...Melanie Rickey put this caption ( and no, I am not making this up)
"I am anti-fur by trade, but even I have to admit that coat with those shoes on that bike with those glasses and the turban looks amazing."

You can put it in teensy weensy letters, but it doesn't make it any less hypocritical. Fact.

The link, if you want to see this with your own eyes:
http://fashioneditoratlarge.blogspot.com/2010/02/my-new-crown-prince-of-street-style.html

My final thought on the matter is this; if it's good enough for Anna, it's good enough for me.


Join us next time on Jeremy Kyle, when we will be discussing lizard skin handbags....


GL


(Image courtesy of Tommy Ton)

Not to Harp On About It Or Anything....(But this Stinks)

http://www.guardian.co.uk/education/2010/mar/14/university-heads-vice-chancellor-salaries

With reference to my 'A Heart Warming Thought' post last week, about the pointless waste of time that is an arts degree, I thought my graduate readers would be positively thrilled to hear this snippet of news. According the Guardian this morning, university presidents (vice chancellors) have enjoyed a three-fold increase in their salary over the last ten years (the same ten years in which fees were also increased three-fold - suspiciously coincidental, don't you think?)

VCs at the top 80 instutions now earn more than the Prime Minister, often enjoying salaries above £300k per annum. As much as I have the utmost respect for academic brilliance and the responsibility on these professors to shape the minds of the next generation, those figures are just a tad sickening. Especially considering that people were doing the same job twenty years ago, when graduates left university better educated, with better prospects.

Something very fishy is going on around here. All is definitely not right with the world.

The Most Beautiful Shoes In The World (Or Topshop, At Least)

What creatures of beauty! What a vision of footwear fantasy!

I know there are far more important things going on in the world that are more worthy of a blog post, but indulge me, just this once. For I am Female, And When It Comes To Shoes I Know Not What I Do. I see a pair like these Topshop Boutique numbers and I virtually have a sensibility meltdown, all logic, knowledge of my painfully poor bank balance and practically fly away faster than you can say 'overdraft'.

I spied these beautiful babies on Topshop.com before Christmas, and at the time I was a little bit paranoid - how did the shoe designer sneak into my head, discover everything I liked and create my ultimate pair of shoes? Really quite frightening. Let me break down just how smashing these shoes are, in that favourite of all the blogging tools, a list;

1 . The deceptive heel height - half wedge, half platform, these shoes will elevate you to new heights but are clumpy enough to be cute and comfortable
2. The quilting on the base and chain ankle strap make for the shoe version of a Chanel handbag - classic and covetable (and at a fraction of the price of a real 2.11!)
3. The brooch/bow combination makes for an arresting, unusual detail. These shoes, in my opinion, are Paris in footwear form.

Quirky, fun, special and unique - I can't think of any better qualities to justify a shoe splurge. Unfortunately, the £139 price tag prevented me from splashing out before Christmas (I did 'accidentally' send them to my boy but he opted to buy me Vivienne Westwood for Melissa shoes instead, so I can't complain.) When I stumbled across this pair in Brighton yesterday, my heart lit up and I got the adrenalin rush that comes with an essential addition to my shoe collection. Alas, my dreams were dashed when I grabbed them from the shelf to try them on. My size 6 feet were never going to squeeze into a size 3.

A Fur Fuelled Feud with A Fashion Editor At Large

Ah, the great fur debate. This ever-unresolved issue is always cropping up in fashion publications, websites and, er, The Daily Mail.

Earlier in the year I was asked to contribute my views on vintage fur to the Evening Standard, which I was more than happy to, because it has always been something of a passion of mine. The letter was duly published (see photo) and caused something of a scandal amongst commuters everywhere. Most notably, it seems, it really got the goat of Grazia's Fashion Editor at Large, Melanie Rickey. She took to her blog to launch an unreserved attack on my pro-vintage fur views, and my level of stupidity (quite high, apparently.) I will treat you to a teensy excerpt below:

"I have never read such a load of ill-informed, wrong-headedness in my life. How can someone wear fur and be a vegetarian at the same time? I just do not understand it. Stella McCartney needs to have a word with this girl. And because the animal died before she was born, that makes it OK does it? I fear this girl has been bitten by the "fashion dunce" bug, in which a normally bright girl becomes an airhead in the name of being fashionable. Even the caption written by an Evening Standard sub-editor suggesting Ms Langford "epitomise[s] winter glamour" caused my hackles to rise."

Lovely! And just in case that isn't enough mud-slinging for you, be sure to read the full entry by clicking this link:

http://fashioneditoratlarge.blogspot.com/2010/01/fashion-1animal-rights-protesters-nil.html

So...I took it upon myself to reply to Miss Rickey, and to defend my point of view. Just in case she chooses not to publish my answer to her somewhat defamatory depiction of my character, I thought I'd let you read that too:

Hi Melanie

My name is Georgina Langford, and I believe I am the subject of your rather strongly worded blog above. I am glad that my comment to the Evening Standard provoked such a vehement reaction from you - it is nice when Fashion Editors take notice of lowly minions such as myself - however, I somewhat object to having my views referred to as 'ignorant' and 'wrong-headed' (is that a real phrase?)

I am also just about as far away from an 'airhead' as you can get and most definitely do not alter my views in order to be fashionable. I adore fashion, but have been wearing, and saying what I like for enough years to know what I believe in, and why I believe in it.

With regards to the fur issue, I stand by my opinion that vintage fur is acceptable, because I wonder what you propose we do with the antique and inherited furs in the wardrobes of Britain? I formed my opinion of fur when given a jacket bought for my Mum when she was 18, which she no longer wore and that had deep sentimental value. I think you missed my point that I would never, ever by a new fur, because I do not want to contribute to the modern fur industry, but instead we should wear the furs that already exist until they fall apart, then consign the garments to history. If we were to create a funeral pyre of every fur still available, what would be the point of those animal's deaths?

Instead of exchanging faceless email communication, I wonder if you would be prepared to debate your soap box issue in person? We could even make it into a feature for Grazia, if you thought it appropriate for the readership. Then perhaps you would be able to make an informed judgement of my level of intelligence.

FYI I am not the girl photographed, or the Anonymous comment poster, I would hate for either of them to come enter the crossfire of a Fashion Editor's fury. The caption is also grammatically correct. My views do not represent those of Glass magazine, and I was truly proud of the opportunity given to me by the Evening Standard to express my views unreservedly, which was refreshing. After all, if we journalists are not allowed to write our opinions occasionally, what is our purpose as communicators of the truth?

Please do not hesitate to get in touch, I believe a heartfelt, informed debate could prove highly interesting, especially given the understanding that neither of us is likely to back down. Thank you for your feedback.

Yours,

Georgina
www.glitterbird.blogspot.com

So the debate rages on. I wonder if I will get a reply from the esteemed Fashion Editor. I think it would be brilliant to have a debate in Grazia, and would definately be a break in the norm from whatever '100 best wedges' or 'Cheryl's Coldsore Crisis' story they are going to run next week. Who knew Grazia had such strong opinions? Melanie Rickey, I salute you - but only if you have the courage of your convictions.

GL

Man Walks Into An Ad Agency...

(Image courtesy of Mattel Inc)

'Hold my calls, secretary, I'm in a meeting with Barbie." Yesterday toy giant Mattel announced they would be producing collector's edition Barbie and Ken dolls in the likeness of the Mad Men characters.

This pairing is so inspired, it makes other collaborations pale into insignificance (Amy Winehouse and Fred Perry? Obvious and inevitable, so why has it taken so long?) I can barely contain my excitement about the combination of my favourite childhood and adult obsessions. Playing with my treasured Barbie, and more importantly her infinite outfits, was probably a shaping factor for my love of fashion today (and could explain my exploding wardrobe.) As a deprived, un loved child of stingey parents I was not allowed a Barbie car, or Barbie beauty salon, or any of the other plastic fantastic accoutrements available, but if I was good, my Mum or Nan would buy me a new Barbie outfit from Woolworths. *Moment of silence observed* Hence I had one beautiful doll, and an overflowing shoebox of tutus, evening gowns and odd shoes, that would keep me entertained for hours. I think I may have had a Barbie horse, but it was completely pointless because Barbie's Hips just weren't designed for horse riding. You could sort of scissor her over it, or make her stand on it like a trick rider, but it just wasn't quite right.

Anyway, back to Don Draper et al and their Silkstone alter egos. The limited run will go sale in July, only in US stores and online at www.barbiecollector.com. At $74.95 a piece I wouldn't advise letting any evil little girls near them (imagine Joan Holloway with her flame locks sheared off, oh the horror!) but that is a small price to pay to have Betty Draper in your life. The ladies and gents come with miniture Mad Men essentials like hats, briefcases and umbrellas, but no whisky tumbers unfortunately. I would kill for a real-size version of Joan's pen necklace, the ultimate secretary/office control freak accessory. For now, these wonderful items will be the closest most girls get to having a Don Draper to come home to - or more likely, be waiting at home for, with dinner on the table!

So chic. So fun. Barbies that are ok for grown up girls to play with - it doesn't get much better than that!

PS Mum I was only kidding about the stingey part. But I would have loved a Barbie Salon.

GL

A Heart Warming Thought

So, Mr Simon Culhane reckons degrees, especially in creative and arts subjects, are 'a waste of time'. Thanks for your input, Mr 'obviously-wealthy-but-with-horrible-taste-in-ties' Culhane, but has it really taken you this long to work out what arts graduates have known since last summer? His study has proven that the earnings premium graduates would receive over non graduates was now £130,000 over a lifetime of working, and unless your degree is a 2:1 or above from one of the illustrious Top 20, basically, you shouldn't bother.

I think all these City big wigs and employment experts are missing the point - by a very long way. What many graduates are concerned about is not the fact that the monetary worth of a degree is depreciating faster than students can pay off their enormous debt, but the fact that for some reason, employers are holding degrees in lower esteem. Just because more people have obtained degrees, does not mean that they are easier, or worth less than a degree earned in 1973. When our parents were studying, often they were doing so with the cushion of a student grant, cheap housing and the freedom to expand their minds at university.

Nowadays, we are crippled with debt, often working part time to afford the extortionate rent charged by student landlords for sub standard housing, whilst completing degree projects that are restricted at every corner by educational red tape. My own universities had no societies, and a student union that was open once a year - I was most definitely not the layabout, boozy student of the social stereotype. Instead, I was bogged down with meeting Assessment Objectives that left no room for freedom of expression or time for supplementary learning.

Although my course leaders prepared us for entry into an already competitive job market, I don't think any student graduating in 2009 was prepared for the employment drought that we were faced with. My uncle, graduating in 1990 with a 2:1, after weeks of partying and slacking off, was headhunted before he even threw his mortor board skywards. After receiving my certificate (still in it's cardboard wrapper) for a BA Hons Fashion Journalism, 1st class, I spent the summer working in a lingerie boutique in East London, earning less than £25 a day after my commute.

An elephantine sized re-evaluation of the Higher Education process is needed, before an entire generation gets left on the scrapheap. When I speak to younger people, and they tell me they are going to university 'just because' it is the norm, a chance to have fun and work out what to do with their lives, I want to tear my hair out with frustration. On this point I agree with Mr Culhane, that a degree is definitely only worthwhile if it is in a subject that you are passionate about, or vocational, like my own. However, the crux of this entire situation is this; if employers would start recognising that a degree is still a worthy academic accolade, then perhaps recent graduates may get a glimmer of hope. Similarly, someone needs to regulate the ridiculous salaries, expense claims and £4m spent on artworks for the BBC headquarters! How many graduate trainees could have been employed on a basic salary with that money?

The days of self-involved excess are OVER. Before this country implodes, companies need to wake up, get off their dated power trips and start opening their doors to a workforce of talented graduates. This recession has been caused by the selfish attitude of those at the top, enjoying riches for themselves and encouraging others into festering debt. It is time for change.

Rantus finitus!

GL

Freaky Streaks...In A Good Way

Trust Chanel to make streaky hair look cool. Circa Summer of 2007, I wasn't seen without fushia stripes in my hair (to the point of sleeping in my clip in extensions...ouch!) but gave it up for a more 'mature' plain ol'platinum blonde. I thought it looked a teensy bit more elegant, plus no-one in my snooty home town would give me a job.



So just when I finally chucked out my two lonely looking pink wefts, Style.com do a slideshow/interview with Peter Philips, the man in charge of beauty at Chanel (http://www.style.com/beauty/beautifullives/020810_Peter_Philips/) including this image of a gorgeously bouffant, modern 60's chick, complete with coral pink lipstick and delicate pale blue stripes in her beehive. I have been seeing that look in several shoots recently, starting in the Toni and Guy magazine, right through to this month's Vogue.



My advice would be steer clear of the full on, rave girl flourescent stripes, and just spruce up your locks with a delicate frosting of pastels. I have always envied women like Caryn Franklin who have that perfect white stripe in their hair, which is a little bit Cruella, but brilliantly elegant. So this is the next best thing!

GL

The Glamour of LaLa Land

I am not ashamed to admit it - I love the Oscars, and get stupidly excited about them every year. After watching Titanic, in my school uniform, aged 12, I was convinced that being an actress was my destiny - just so that I could walk down the red carpet in a glittery frock.

I remember scribbling away in my sketchbook designing my Oscar winning gown - most likely a cloud of midnight blue tulle with sparkling silver suns and moons all over it (my obsession at that time, don't ask me why!) Of course, I wouldn't touch it with a barge pole now, being more suited to a Barbie doll than a real human being, but the magic has never quite faded from my heart.

I was blown away by this year's red carpet offerings, initially picking the crazily elegant Sandra Bullock as my no.1, but supersonically changing that poll position to my favourite girl, Katy Perry. She rocked up with a disheveled fiance on her arm, and one hell of a Jessica Rabbit meets mermaid meets French fancy confection. It appeared that red sequins had literally been draped over the contours of her body - like a sexy version of an Ordanance Survey map. Outrageous? Yes. Different? Yes. But that's Hollywood, and I love it.

GL

Long Live McQueen - Lee, we salute you

As the final Alexander McQueen collection went on show yesterday, the sense of loss that had been a faint murmur all throughout the AW10 shows erupted into a triumphant yet mournful fanfare for the late designer.

Exceeding all expectations, the sixteen exquisite creations were a fitting reminder of the attention to detail and boundless imagination that set McQueen in a league of his own. The regal gowns were simultaneously steeped in ceremonial glamour and other worldly futurism, all fashioned from luxurious fabrics.

The angel wing and Byzantine motifs added to the opulent and strangely spiritual atmosphere of the presentation, in a gilded Paris salon. Every piece instantly became a collectors item, from the thigh high leather boots with angel wing heels, to the spectacular golden feather coat, which is almost too beautiful to be worn. It was as if McQueen intended to leave an iconic, unforgettable memento mori.

I cannot think of anyone who would be appropriate to showcase these clothes - they transcend the red carpet, the fashion ball, the throwaway glitz and glamour of mundane celebrity. These are pieces to be treasured and marvelled at, just like the man himself. This collection put a very fine point on the magnitude of the loss to the British fashion industry, as in fifteen short minutes, the supernova that was Lee McQueen finally went out.
GL

To view the full collection and Jess Cartner Morley's review, please see
http://www.guardian.co.uk/lifeandstyle/gallery/2010/mar/09/alexander-mcqueen-last-collection?picture=360215964