Ireland’s Orla Kiely has firmly established her eponymous London label over the seasons with 1960s silhouettes, playful prints and rich fabrics. While the look book each season is never going to shock or win any awards for pushing the boundaries of fashion, style fans head to Orla for staple vintage pieces that are playful and pretty. But to judge Orla against the likes of Azzedine Alaïa or Hussein Chalayan would be missing the point. Always a nod to decades past, previous presentations have included film screenings directed by Gia Coppola and Mercedes Helnwein.
This season’s presentation took place in the intriguing Elms Lesters Painting Rooms, a gallery off Denmark Street that often hosts fashion press days; its labyrinth of rooms lend themselves well to presentations of this nature. A long arm of the upper floor had been transformed into a retro working-girl’s space that could have been lifted straight from a scene from Mad Men or working-class hero flick Made in Dagenham.
Numerous models appeared at the entrance to the elongated space wearing this season’s take on Orla’s signature looks, as an unobtrusive soundtrack made up mostly of the clatter of a typewriter played. Beehive barnets piled high atop models’ heads. Orla’s girls were superbly cast, more as actresses than runway models: loading typewriters, filing paperwork, nattering quietly and changing ‘shifts’ regularly to allow other models to enter the showcase.
Attention to detail was key, with design perverts like me eyeing up mid-century Scandinavian furniture, Smiths‘ clocks and old graphic signage as much as the outfits themselves.
Statement features this season include high-waisted dresses with girly a-line hems, flocked coats with swirling patterns, pleated and pointed collars, embroidered squirrels and a-line overcoats using Orla Kiely‘s signature shape.
This kind of thoughtful, preciously executed presentation is the way forward. With never-ending developments in technology and record numbers at catwalk shows, presentations allow you to fully gage the nuances of collections and document them effectively, rather than the scramble to photograph, tweet, Facebook, Vine, MySpace, tumblr, Foursquare and Grindr your way through a catwalk show.
Butterflies doing cartwheels in my tummy and the feeling that my consciousness has surreptitiously tiptoed away, adiposity wanting to take in everything… right now; it can only be the start of London Fashion Week.
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Paul Costelloe S/S 2012 by Amber Cassidy
It’s the first show of the day and there’s a rush of excitement bustling through Somerset House. I wait impatiently in the queue for the Paul Costelloe show, surrounded by familiar press talk and the occasional exclamation of ‘Darling!‘ kiss kiss – a scene which will be re-enacted many times during the this week.
Once inside, I find my seat at the front, secure my goody bag, retrieve my camera from my exhausted looking satchel and decide that taking notes and photographs at the same time is not achievable (for me, that is), so do away with my notebook. There’s a flurry of photographers suddenly surrounding guests further down the row and I want to see what all the fuss is about; It’s Jimmy Choo and Autumn Philips. A quick ‘snap snap’ with my decrepit camera and back to my seat before the show starts.
Out glides the first model, her hair in large messy but firm pin curls and knots pinned close to the head with eye-make up in pea green (one of my favourite colours) that jumps out at you. She wears a tailored suit in café au lait, with the jacket in a 1940’s inspired style; slightly puffed sleeves, tapered collar and a slim belt accentuating the waist. The skirt however conforms more to the style of the mini-skirt and with loose pleats the outfit looks effortlessly chic.
Hues of cream, grey and monochrome forge ahead; structured suits with pleated detail and baby doll dresses with flouncy sleeves and cap sleeves, high collars and ruff collars, and high waists, distinctive of the 1960s mod fashion. The 60’s influence continues through most of the collection, with sailor collars, high waists and short hemlines. Billowing sleeves meanwhile, and wide neck collars hint of the medieval.
The muted colours bloom into a concoction of pastels that remind me of a box of Parisian macaroons, in candy floss pink, bittersweet peach and mint ice-cream green. The rich brocade fabrics in these delectable colours ooze femininity and an inhibited playfulness, a characteristic synonymous with the 1960’s. The tailored jackets and shift dresses , evocative of Jackie Kennedy and Mad Men, too celebrate femininity.
The menswear collection harks to an era much further away with, Edwardian austerity pleasantly combined with the coquettishness of the New Romantics and a becoming bow to the seventies. Like the womenswear, the tailoring is excellent but never restrictive and is softened by rhythmic pleats, ruffles and capacious gauze and linen shirts. The colours adhere the relaxed and almost playful demeanour of the collection, from soft neautrals and intense indigo to colours of candy.
I especially love the way each outfit moves, simply and fluently and functionally! The pleats which seem to feature in many of the outfits are mesmerising to watch and sit beautifully on each piece. Paul Costelloe asserts his view on sandals and socks; a resounding yes to sandals with socks.
Paul Costelloe set out to produce a collection that combines the signature Costelloe style together with elements of vintage Parisian chic – I do believe he has succeeded.
If the consistent creativity and quality of Paul Costelloe’s collections are signs of things to come, I cannot wait to see his take on Autumn Winter 2012.
Play the video and watch the show.
Written by Akeela Bhattay on Sunday September 18th, 2011 11:47 am
Twiggy at Bora Aksu. Photography by Amelia Gregory.
It was only after I’d planted myself down in the front row that I realised I was in the thick of a celebrity pap fest. Twiggy was busy giving vox pops to my left and Marina of Marina and the Diamonds fame came stomping past inches from my nose in a bid to find a spare patch of front row action. I kept my head down, information pills so it was only after the show that I realised I’d been sitting only a few bodies down from ex Sugababes’ star Keisha Buchanan, as she stood for an awkward and heavily photographed air kiss reunion with Girls Aloud’s current fashion darling Nicola Roberts, whose incredible thinness was enhanced by the halo of flashes going off behind her. I could hardly leave the venue for the ensuing scrum. Memo to self: try to avoid sitting in the thick of celeb land next time.
Marina by Andrea Peterson.
Last season Bora took a step away from the Somerset House action to show at the considerably smaller venue at Victoria House, and in reflection of this step down his collection seemed slightly lacking in confidence. But for A/W 2011 he was back in the big tent, and proving once more that he is at the height of his powers.
Gun metal grey is a favourite Bora colour, and the collection flew off the starting blocks as it meant to continue, with a gorgeous bustle-backed party frock in metallic fabric and wool, highlighted by a slash of emerald green at the waist and in the underskirt – a colour that was to take second place only to his beloved grey this season. Bora staples: lace, sheer chiffon, cable knit and corsetry lacing were all present and correct, bound and wound around the models in cunning arrangements. Playful inspiration was found in the form of tuxedos and bow ties, Bora playing with proportion, placement and tromp l’oeil effects. As usual some of the dresses called to mind a suit of armour, contouring the female form. As the collection progressed the models heads became evermore bound in black gauze, encasing their delicate features. At the end the models grouped in an army to take their final turn on the catwalk – a trend that was to be repeated throughout the week at various shows.
Bora Aksu has an extraordinarily clear vision that keeps getting stronger and stronger: feminine without being too girly, clever without being unwearable, recognisable without being samey and just damn innovative every time. He is without doubt one of the most individual and idiosyncratic designers working in the UK today. Roll on S/S 2012.
You can read Georgia Takacs’ review here and Jemma Crow’s review here. Or you can check in with my intimate interview, posted last September. We’re big fans, what can I say?
Twiggy at Bora Aksu. Photography by Amelia Gregory.
It was only after I’d planted myself down in the front row that I realised I was in the thick of a celebrity pap fest. Twiggy was busy giving vox pops to my left and Marina of Marina and the Diamonds fame came stomping past inches from my nose in a bid to find a spare patch of front row action. I kept my head down, discount so it was only after the show that I realised I’d been sitting only a few bodies down from ex Sugababes’ star Keisha Buchanan, as she stood for an awkward and heavily photographed air kiss reunion with Girls Aloud’s current fashion darling Nicola Roberts, whose incredible thinness was enhanced by the halo of flashes going off behind her. I could hardly leave the venue for the ensuing scrum. Memo to self: try to avoid sitting in the thick of celeb land next time.
Last season Bora took a step away from the Somerset House action to show at the considerably smaller venue at Victoria House, and in reflection of this step down his collection seemed slightly lacking in confidence. But for A/W 2011 he was back in the big tent, and proving once more that he is at the height of his powers.
Gun metal grey is a favourite Bora colour, and the collection flew off the starting blocks as it meant to continue, with a gorgeous bustle-backed party frock in metallic fabric and wool, highlighted by a slash of emerald green at the waist and in the underskirt – a colour that was to take second place only to his beloved grey this season.
Bora staples: lace, sheer chiffon, cable knit and corsetry lacing were all present and correct, bound and wound around the models in cunning arrangements. Playful inspiration was found in the form of tuxedos and bow ties, Bora playing with proportion, placement and tromp l’oeil effects.
Bora Aksu A/W 2011. Photography by Amelia Gregory.
As usual some of the dresses called to mind a suit of armour, contouring the female form. As the collection progressed the models heads became evermore bound in black gauze, encasing their delicate features. At the end the models grouped in an army to take their final turn on the catwalk – a trend that was to be repeated throughout the week at various shows.
Bora Aksu A/W 2011. Photography by Amelia Gregory.
Bora Aksu has an extraordinarily clear vision that keeps getting stronger and stronger: feminine without being too girly, clever without being unwearable, recognisable without being samey and just damn innovative every time. He is without doubt one of the most individual and idiosyncratic designers working in the UK today. Roll on S/S 2012.
Bora Aksu A/W 2011. Photography by Amelia Gregory.
You can read Georgia Takacs’ review here and Jemma Crow’s review here. Or you can check in with my intimate interview, posted last September. We’re big fans, what can I say?
Bora Aksu A/W 2011. Photography by Amelia Gregory.
LFW A/W 2011 James Hillman Collection. Illustration by Ankolie
Whilst in the press lounge I had a natter with a benefits investigator and a lady who runs an art gallery. The benefits investigator did the media bits as a relief from fraud and because ‘the people are always so friendly.’ This is true, buy information pills somewhat surprisingly. I have met some super and interesting people at LFW, order and this man was no exception. A delight to chat to. All three of us were heading for the Fashion Mode show, ed but I was faffing about with Toni and Guy etc. so didn’t walk with the investigator or art lady. But I saw them opposite me in the audience and it was obvious, although we had talked mostly about high class fraud, investigator man, liked his threads. And why not? I love it that Charlie, my boyfriend, loves his clothes, and he’d be all over watching a male fashion show, like the one at Fashion Mode: James Hillman.
LFW A/W 2011 James Hillman Collection. Illustration by Ankolie
Most men, I want to say ALL MEN, look great in a well cut suit. Boys turn to men, and previously bland chaps, turn to hotness. Is it the shoulders? Is it the old school charm? Or is it because it’s almost rare to see everyday, thus special and alluring? It’s a shame, because men look fantastic when they’re wearing something cut correctly. Why not embrace the suit more? Have you not seen Mad Men, with Don and err Don? In real life Jon Hamm looks like Bon Iver in the middle of his woods escapade. In Mad Men, he is all that millions of women desire. I don’t think it’s the 50s ideologies of man protecting woman, whilst woman looks perfect and alert. It’s just a suit looks NICE.
LFW A/W 2011 James Hillman Collection. Photography by Amelia Gregory
So, James Hillman shows that men look good dressed in black clothes, cut well, particularly suits. The collection is all black because James used crude oil as his inspiration for his designs. Embracing the concept wholeheartedly, he studied the distillation of crude oil, learning that different temperatures produce different iterations of oil. Each fabric thus, represents a different tier in the crude oil process. The heavyweight oils are represented with heavyweight woollen cashmere mixes and reindeer leather. Whilst the lightweight oils are represented in rip stock and lightweight wax cottons.
LFW A/W 2011 James Hillman Collection. Photography by Amelia Gregory
The deigns are sleek and sharp. Whilst the pockets and necklines are detailed, with for example; reflective fabric; pock and crepe pocket panelling; high neck or collarless necklines, all the pieces retain luxurious simplicity. I still have issues with man bags, but the rest of the show was hot to trot. This was confirmed by a man, by the investigator. I saw him at the end of the show. Statement on James Hillman follows: “I don’t normally go in for men’s fashion, but I loved that. I would wear all of that. Hmmm…may need to investigate this James Hillman further.” Indeed. And spread the word.
Written by Helen Martin on Thursday February 24th, 2011 7:37 pm
I know that folk music isn’t all organic, storeillness whole foods, order and love – or indeed deep lust – buried in a haystack. Happy all day, ed before campfires and passions at night. No, folk musicians don’t spend their days wearing slightly grubby lumberjacks or floaty, ethereal frocks. See evidence: Grizzly Bear aren’t happy all the time and Bon Iver is a delightfully melancholy chap. And then just listen to Nick Drake and young Laura Marling. To be honest I’m not really sure where I got the skippy, clappy, dancing in the hazy afternoon sunshine vision from. Perhaps it’s because folk artists tend to sing about the earth, nature and love in one breath. There is no chat of ‘honeys’ or ‘bling’. Gah, And of course, folkers may be generally creative and appreciative of the natural world, but it in no means leaves them exempt of sadness, hurt and darkness. I wonder, does it in actual fact make them more open and adept to describing their feelings than the blingers? Regardless, folk is often as rhythmic and warming as the grandfather clock that my 40s’ Grandpa chopped the bottom of, to fit in his house. Tick, tock. Folk is cosy and true, which is why it feels so pure – which is why it makes me want to reside in a yurt.
Let me introduce you to Emily Jane White. The PR sheet in-front of me says that her album is: ‘a collection of ten opulent, uncluttered and captivating ballads.’ A friend asked me other day, “If you had to only use one adjective for the rest of your life, what would it be?” If I was a news writer, I would say: “Peh, what even are adjectives?”. As a PR I would pass out. Whilst as a writer of my own devices, I would say – ‘blissful’. Then I could put ‘anti’ in-front of a word perhaps. Awkward. Anyway, off on a tangent again: Emily Jane White’s music is BLISSFUL.
See:
She is melancholy. But in the way that makes you feel perhaps strangely, very contented. Maybe it is because in a sense Emily is making peace with herself and her thoughts through the act of writing her music. She said that she found writing her latest album, Ode To Sentience, out now on Talitres Records, cathartic to write: “They speak to the emotional simplicity and complexity of human relationship. I chose to call the record Ode To Sentience because it is the capacity to feel that creates a share human experience of music. We all share the potency of music by having the capacity to feel, and I found the simplicity of this fact very beautiful.”
‘Tis true.
Her album is about leaving home, her’s was California – I Lay To Rest (California) – the drawn out strings longing to leave. The sharper notes; the sadness of leaving it. Clipped Wings is ghostly and full of yearning, reflections of love’s passed. The Cliff holds classic American twangs, whilst Oh Katherine, is a string filled heaven of a song. Her voice is as soft and delicate as a peach, whilst her fearless approach to singing from the darker depths of her consciousness matches the strings perfectly.
She is much like a Californian Kate Bush, but less obviously ethereal and screaming. Or she could be a gentler Alela Diane or singular Mountain Man. Black Silk has to be my personal favourite. The Law is guitar based, slow and… actually quite a lot like my Grandpa’s Grandfather clock. It wraps you up. Says it’s all ok. And here we have ‘The Law’, for you to download for free: here : http://audio.talitres.com/thelaw. Download now.
On arrival at the Topshop space in Billingsgate for Mary Katrantzou I pulled up my Pashley beneath a phalanx of official LFW cars and blacked out big name magazine people carriers. I usually find it takes me approximately the same amount of time to race between venues on my bike alongside said official cars, dosage no doubt being looked down upon by wealthy magazines’ fashion editors from behind those blacked out panes. In fact, treatment maybe I should post an ode to my preferred transport, order in much the same vein that Susie Bubble has been posting about her sponsored Orla Kiely car?
My Pashley locked up outside Somerset House.
I love cycling but it was a struggle – as usual – to lock my bike against a post without it, me and my cycling pannier capsizing in an (un)attractive pile. At times like these I very much hope I’m not being watched by those who are able to elegantly descend from their car in vertiginous heels.
We were only granted one ticket to Mary Katrantzou, beautifully pearlised and colourfully printed on heavy card. Clearly then, there was no chance that anyone else was going to lay their hands on it. Having scoped the layout during Michael Van Der Ham the day before I headed straight for what I considered the best position in the cavernous hall and discovered that I was sitting next to the proud mother of Mary’s right hand man, one Alexander Giantsis, also of Greek extraction… she quickly voiced her motherly worries about her son’s lack of sleep. None, the night before.
My spot proved the perfect place to capture the models as they swung around to face the bank of cameras right at the end of the looong catwalk. Mum Stephanie kept up a running commentary as I tried to concentrate on capturing the clothes whirring past me at the hyper fast pace that has characterised the catwalk shows this season.
Despite her own concerns that she’s pushing the parameters of what people will wear Mary Katrantzou has quickly built up a glowing reputation for her clashing prints and clever architectural constructions. Last season she took architecture as her starting point but this time she looked to interiors, quoting the Marchesa Luisa Casati in her press release: “I want to be a living work of art.”
Clever hooping was attached at waist level to create a kind of riser inspired by the shape of vases, Faberge eggs and porcelain bowls – beautiful, but the kind of thing that only the thinnest of girls can get away with wearing. More successful for bigger girls would be the wide hipped dresses, curved shoulders and over skirts that stood proud from the figure. Clashing prints inspired by “priceless objets d’art” were cut and merged to create a profusion of pattern and colour in both print, embroidery and intarsia knits.
One dress featured an extraordinary skirt covered in three dimensional roses in a diagonal pattern – certainly not for the faint hearted… or those who would like to be comfortable when sitting down. Towards the end a series of chiffon skirts swept onto the catwalk, billowing dramatically around the figure.
This A/W show was everything I had hoped for: Mary Katrantzou, a fashion designer after my own maximalist heart. I’m so glad that someone out there is confident enough to translate this type of vision onto clothing.
Mary Katrantzou A/W 2011. All photography by Amelia Gregory.
I know that folk music isn’t all organic, information pills whole foods, clinic and love – or indeed deep lust – buried in a haystack. Happy all day, before campfires and passions at night. No, folk musicians don’t spend their days wearing slightly grubby lumberjacks or floaty, ethereal frocks. See evidence: Grizzly Bear aren’t happy all the time and Bon Iver is a delightfully melancholy chap. And then just listen to Nick Drake and young Laura Marling. To be honest I’m not really sure where I got the skippy, clappy, dancing in the hazy afternoon sunshine vision from. Perhaps it’s because folk artists tend to sing about the earth, nature and love in one breath. There is no chat of ‘honeys’ or ‘bling’. Gah, And of course, folkers may be generally creative and appreciative of the natural world, but it in no means leaves them exempt of sadness, hurt and darkness. I wonder, does it in actual fact make them more open and adept to describing their feelings than the blingers? Regardless, folk is often as rhythmic and warming as the grandfather clock that my 40s’ Grandpa chopped the bottom of, to fit in his house. Tick, tock. Folk is cosy and true, which is why it feels so pure – which is why it makes me want to reside in a yurt.
Let me introduce you to Emily Jane White. The PR sheet in-front of me says that her album is: ‘a collection of ten opulent, uncluttered and captivating ballads.’ A friend asked me other day, “If you had to only use one adjective for the rest of your life, what would it be?” If I was a news writer, I would say: “Peh, what even are adjectives?”. As a PR I would pass out. Whilst as a writer of my own devices, I would say – ‘blissful’. Then I could put ‘anti’ in-front of a word perhaps. Awkward. Anyway, off on a tangent again: Emily Jane White’s music is BLISSFUL.
See:
She is melancholy. But in the way that makes you feel perhaps strangely, very contented. Maybe it is because in a sense Emily is making peace with herself and her thoughts through the act of writing her music. She said that she found writing her latest album, Ode To Sentience, out now on Talitres Records, cathartic to write: “They speak to the emotional simplicity and complexity of human relationship. I chose to call the record Ode To Sentience because it is the capacity to feel that creates a share human experience of music. We all share the potency of music by having the capacity to feel, and I found the simplicity of this fact very beautiful.”
‘Tis true.
Her album is about leaving home, her’s was California – I Lay To Rest (California) – the drawn out strings longing to leave. The sharper notes; the sadness of leaving it. Clipped Wings is ghostly and full of yearning, reflections of love’s passed. The Cliff holds classic American twangs, whilst Oh Katherine, is a string filled heaven of a song. Her voice is as soft and delicate as a peach, whilst her fearless approach to singing from the darker depths of her consciousness matches the strings perfectly.
She is much like a Californian Kate Bush, but less obviously ethereal and screaming. Or she could be a gentler Alela Diane or singular Mountain Man. Black Silk has to be my personal favourite. The Law is guitar based, slow and… actually quite a lot like my Grandpa’s Grandfather clock. It wraps you up. Says it’s all ok. And here we have ‘The Law’, for you to download for free: here : http://audio.talitres.com/thelaw. Download now.
I know that folk music isn’t all organic, store whole foods, and love – or indeed deep lust – buried in a haystack. Happy all day, before campfires and passions at night. No, folk musicians don’t spend their days wearing slightly grubby lumberjacks or floaty, ethereal frocks. See evidence: Grizzly Bear aren’t happy all the time and Bon Iver is a delightfully melancholy chap. And then just listen to Nick Drake and young Laura Marling. To be honest I’m not really sure where I got the skippy, clappy, dancing in the hazy afternoon sunshine vision from. Perhaps it’s because folk artists tend to sing about the earth, nature and love in one breath. There is no chat of ‘honeys’ or ‘bling’. Gah, And of course, folkers may be generally creative and appreciative of the natural world, but it in no means leaves them exempt of sadness, hurt and darkness. I wonder, does it in actual fact make them more open and adept to describing their feelings than the blingers? Regardless, folk is often as rhythmic and warming as the grandfather clock that my 40s’ Grandpa chopped the bottom of, to fit in his house. Tick, tock. Folk is cosy and true, which is why it feels so pure – which is why it makes me want to reside in a yurt.
Let me introduce you to Emily Jane White. The PR sheet in-front of me says that her album is: ‘a collection of ten opulent, uncluttered and captivating ballads.’ A friend asked me other day, “If you had to only use one adjective for the rest of your life, what would it be?” If I was a news writer, I would say: “Peh, what even are adjectives?”. As a PR I would pass out. Whilst as a writer of my own devices, I would say – ‘blissful’. Then I could put ‘anti’ in-front of a word perhaps. Awkward. Anyway, off on a tangent again: Emily Jane White’s music is BLISSFUL.
See:
She is melancholy. But in the way that makes you feel perhaps strangely, very contented. Maybe it is because in a sense Emily is making peace with herself and her thoughts through the act of writing her music. She said that she found writing her latest album, Ode To Sentience, out now on Talitres Records, cathartic to write: “They speak to the emotional simplicity and complexity of human relationship. I chose to call the record Ode To Sentience because it is the capacity to feel that creates a share human experience of music. We all share the potency of music by having the capacity to feel, and I found the simplicity of this fact very beautiful.”
Her album is about leaving home, her’s was California – I Lay To Rest (California) – the drawn out strings longing to leave. The sharper notes; the sadness of leaving it. Clipped Wings is ghostly and full of yearning, reflections of love’s passed. The Cliff holds classic American twangs, whilst Oh Katherine, is a string filled heaven of a song. Her voice is as soft and delicate as a peach, whilst her fearless approach to singing from the darker depths of her consciousness matches the strings perfectly.
She is much like a Californian Kate Bush, but less obviously ethereal and screaming. Or she could be a gentler Alela Diane or singular Mountain Man. Black Silk has to be my personal favourite. The Law is guitar based, slow and… actually quite a lot like my Grandpa’s Grandfather clock. It wraps you up. Says it’s all ok. And here we have ‘The Law’, for you to download for free: here : http://audio.talitres.com/thelaw. Download now.
On arrival at the Topshop space in Billingsgate for Mary Katrantzou I pulled up my Pashley beneath a phalanx of official LFW cars and blacked out big name magazine people carriers. I usually find it takes me approximately the same amount of time to race between venues on my bike alongside said official cars, approved no doubt being looked down upon by wealthy magazines’ fashion editors from behind those blacked out panes. In fact, maybe I should post an ode to my preferred transport, in much the same vein that Susie Bubble has been posting about her sponsored Orla Kiely car?
My Pashley locked up outside Somerset House.
I love cycling but it was a struggle – as usual – to lock my bike against a post without it, me and my cycling pannier capsizing in an (un)attractive pile. At times like these I very much hope I’m not being watched by those who are able to elegantly descend from their car in vertiginous heels.
We were only granted one ticket to Mary Katrantzou, beautifully pearlised and colourfully printed on heavy card. Clearly then, there was no chance that anyone else was going to lay their hands on it. Having scoped the layout during Michael Van Der Ham the day before I headed straight for what I considered the best position in the cavernous hall and discovered that I was sitting next to the proud mother of Mary’s right hand man, one Alexander Giantsis, also of Greek extraction… she quickly voiced her motherly worries about her son’s lack of sleep. None, the night before.
My spot proved the perfect place to capture the models as they swung around to face the bank of cameras right at the end of the looong catwalk. Mum Stephanie kept up a running commentary as I tried to concentrate on capturing the clothes whirring past me at the hyper fast pace that has characterised the catwalk shows this season.
Despite her own concerns that she’s pushing the parameters of what people will wear Mary Katrantzou has quickly built up a glowing reputation for her clashing prints and clever architectural constructions. Last season she took architecture as her starting point but this time she looked to interiors, quoting the Marchesa Luisa Casati in her press release: “I want to be a living work of art.”
Clever hooping was attached at waist level to create a kind of riser inspired by the shape of vases, Fabergé eggs and porcelain bowls – beautiful, but the kind of thing that only the thinnest of girls can get away with wearing. More successful for bigger girls would be the wide hipped dresses, curved shoulders and over skirts that stood proud from the figure. Clashing prints inspired by “priceless objets d’art” were cut and merged to create a profusion of pattern and colour in both print, embroidery and intarsia knits.
One dress featured an extraordinary skirt covered in three dimensional roses in a diagonal pattern – certainly not for the faint hearted… or those who would like to be comfortable when sitting down. Towards the end a series of chiffon skirts swept onto the catwalk, billowing dramatically around the figure.
This A/W show was everything I had hoped for: Mary Katrantzou, a fashion designer after my own maximalist heart. I’m so glad that someone out there is confident enough to translate this type of vision onto clothing.
Mary Katrantzou A/W 2011. All photography by Amelia Gregory.
On arrival at the Topshop space in Billingsgate for Mary Katrantzou I pulled up my Pashley beneath a phalanx of official LFW cars and blacked out big name magazine people carriers. I usually find it takes me approximately the same amount of time to race between venues on my bike alongside said official cars, illness no doubt being looked down upon by wealthy magazines’ fashion editors from behind those blacked out panes, order but maybe I should post an ode to my preferred transport, link in much the same vein that Susie Bubble has been posting about her sponsored Orla Kiely car?
My Pashley locked up outside Somerset House.
I love cycling but it was a struggle – as usual – to lock my bike against a post without it, me and my cycling pannier capsizing in an (un)attractive pile. At times like these I very much hope I’m not being watched by those who are able to elegantly descend from their car in vertiginous heels.
We were only granted one ticket to Mary Katrantzou, beautifully pearlised and colourfully printed on heavy card. Clearly then, there was no chance that anyone else was going to lay their hands on it. Having scoped the layout during Michael Van Der Ham the day before I headed straight for what I considered the best position in the cavernous hall and discovered that I was sitting next to the proud mother of Mary’s right hand man, one Alexander Giantsis, also of Greek extraction… she quickly voiced her motherly worries about her son’s lack of sleep. That would be none then, the night before.
My spot proved the perfect place to capture the models as they swung around to face the bank of cameras right at the end of the looong catwalk. Mum Stephanie kept up a running commentary as I tried to concentrate on capturing the clothes whirring past me at the hyper fast pace that has characterised the catwalk shows this season.
Despite her own concerns that she’s pushing the parameters of what people will wear Mary Katrantzou has quickly built up a glowing reputation for her clashing prints and clever architectural constructions. Last season she took architecture as her starting point but this time she looked to interiors, quoting the Marchesa Luisa Casati in her press release: “I want to be a living work of art.”
Clever hooping was attached at waist level to create a kind of riser inspired by the shape of vases, Fabergé eggs and porcelain bowls – beautiful, but the kind of thing that only the thinnest of girls can get away with wearing. More successful for bigger girls would be the wide hipped dresses, curved shoulders and over skirts that stood proud from the figure. Clashing prints inspired by “priceless objets d’art” were cut and merged to create a profusion of pattern and colour in print, embroidery and intarsia knits.
One dress featured an extraordinary skirt covered in three dimensional roses in a diagonal pattern – certainly not for the faint hearted… or those who would like to be comfortable when sitting down. Towards the end a series of chiffon skirts swept onto the catwalk, billowing dramatically around the figure.
This A/W show was everything I had hoped for: Mary Katrantzou, a fashion designer after my own maximalist heart. I’m so glad that someone out there is confident enough to translate my type of design onto clothing.
Mary Katrantzou A/W 2011. All photography by Amelia Gregory.
I know that folk music isn’t all organic, stomach whole foods, and love – or indeed deep lust – buried in a haystack. Happy all day, before campfires and passions at night. No, folk musicians don’t spend their days wearing slightly grubby lumberjacks or floaty, ethereal frocks. See evidence: Grizzly Bear aren’t happy all the time and Bon Iver is a delightfully melancholy chap. And then just listen to Nick Drake and young Laura Marling. To be honest I’m not really sure where I got the skippy, clappy, dancing in the hazy afternoon sunshine vision from. Perhaps it’s because folk artists tend to sing about the earth, nature and love in one breath. There is no chat of ‘honeys’ or ‘bling’. Gah, And of course, folkers may be generally creative and appreciative of the natural world, but it in no means leaves them exempt of sadness, hurt and darkness. I wonder, does it in actual fact make them more open and adept to describing their feelings than the blingers? Regardless, folk is often as rhythmic and warming as the grandfather clock that my 40s’ Grandpa chopped the bottom of, to fit in his house. Tick, tock. Folk is cosy and true, which is why it feels so pure – which is why it makes me want to reside in a yurt.
Let me introduce you to Emily Jane White. The PR sheet in-front of me says that her album is: ‘a collection of ten opulent, uncluttered and captivating ballads.’ A friend asked me other day, “If you had to only use one adjective for the rest of your life, what would it be?” If I was a news writer, I would say: “Peh, what even are adjectives?”. As a PR I would pass out. Whilst as a writer of my own devices, I would say – ‘blissful’. Then I could put ‘anti’ in-front of a word perhaps. Awkward. Anyway, off on a tangent again: Emily Jane White’s music is BLISSFUL.
See:
She is melancholy. But in the way that makes you feel perhaps strangely, very contented. Maybe it is because in a sense Emily is making peace with herself and her thoughts through the act of writing her music. She said that she found writing her latest album, Ode To Sentience, out now on Talitres Records, cathartic to write: “They speak to the emotional simplicity and complexity of human relationship. I chose to call the record Ode To Sentience because it is the capacity to feel that creates a share human experience of music. We all share the potency of music by having the capacity to feel, and I found the simplicity of this fact very beautiful.”
Her album is about leaving home, her’s was California – I Lay To Rest (California) – the drawn out strings longing to leave. The sharper notes; the sadness of leaving it. Clipped Wings is ghostly and full of yearning, reflections of love’s passed. The Cliff holds classic American twangs, whilst Oh Katherine, is a string filled heaven of a song. Her voice is as soft and delicate as a peach, whilst her fearless approach to singing from the darker depths of her consciousness matches the strings perfectly.
She is much like a Californian Kate Bush, but less obviously ethereal and screaming. Or she could be a gentler Alela Diane or singular Mountain Man. Black Silk has to be my personal favourite. The Law is guitar based, slow and… actually quite a lot like my Grandpa’s Grandfather clock. It wraps you up. Says it’s all ok. And here we have ‘The Law’, for you to download for free: here. Download it now.
I know that folk music isn’t all organic, whole foods, and love – or indeed deep lust – buried in a haystack. Happy all day, before campfires and passions at night. No, folk musicians don’t spend their days wearing slightly grubby lumberjacks or floaty, ethereal frocks. See evidence: Grizzly Bear aren’t happy all the time and Bon Iver is a delightfully melancholy chap. And then just listen to Nick Drake and young Laura Marling. To be honest I’m not really sure where I got the skippy, clappy, dancing in the hazy afternoon sunshine vision from. Perhaps it’s because folk artists tend to sing about the earth, nature and love in one breath. There is no chat of ‘honeys’ or ‘bling’. Gah, And of course, folkers may be generally creative and appreciative of the natural world, but it in no means leaves them exempt of sadness, hurt and darkness. I wonder, does it in actual fact make them more open and adept to describing their feelings than the blingers? Regardless, folk is often as rhythmic and warming as the grandfather clock that my 40s’ Grandpa chopped the bottom of, to fit in his house. Tick, tock. Folk is cosy and true, which is why it feels so pure – which is why it makes me want to reside in a yurt.
Let me introduce you to Emily Jane White. The PR sheet in-front of me says that her album is: ‘a collection of ten opulent, uncluttered and captivating ballads.’ A friend asked me other day, “If you had to only use one adjective for the rest of your life, what would it be?” If I was a news writer, I would say: “Peh, what even are adjectives?”. As a PR I would pass out. Whilst as a writer of my own devices, I would say – ‘blissful’. Then I could put ‘anti’ in-front of a word perhaps. Awkward. Anyway, off on a tangent again: Emily Jane White’s music is BLISSFUL.
See:
She is melancholy. But in the way that makes you feel perhaps strangely, very contented. Maybe it is because in a sense Emily is making peace with herself and her thoughts through the act of writing her music. She said that she found writing her latest album, Ode To Sentience, out now on Talitres Records, cathartic to write: “They speak to the emotional simplicity and complexity of human relationship. I chose to call the record Ode To Sentience because it is the capacity to feel that creates a share human experience of music. We all share the potency of music by having the capacity to feel, and I found the simplicity of this fact very beautiful.”
Her album is about leaving home, her’s was California – I Lay To Rest (California) – the drawn out strings longing to leave. The sharper notes; the sadness of leaving it. Clipped Wings is ghostly and full of yearning, reflections of love’s passed. The Cliff holds classic American twangs, whilst Oh Katherine, is a string filled heaven of a song. Her voice is as soft and delicate as a peach, whilst her fearless approach to singing from the darker depths of her consciousness matches the strings perfectly.
She is much like a Californian Kate Bush, but less obviously ethereal and screaming. Or she could be a gentler Alela Diane or singular Mountain Man. Black Silk has to be my personal favourite. The Law is guitar based, slow and… actually quite a lot like my Grandpa’s Grandfather clock. It wraps you up. Says it’s all ok. And here we have ‘The Law’, for you to download for free: here. Download it now.
I know that folk music isn’t all organic, information pills whole foods, and love – or indeed deep lust – buried in a haystack. Happy all day, before campfires and passions at night. No, folk musicians don’t spend their days wearing slightly grubby lumberjacks or floaty, ethereal frocks. See evidence: Grizzly Bear aren’t happy all the time and Bon Iver is a delightfully melancholy chap. And then just listen to Nick Drake and young Laura Marling. To be honest I’m not really sure where I got the skippy, clappy, dancing in the hazy afternoon sunshine vision from. Perhaps it’s because folk artists tend to sing about the earth, nature and love in one breath. There is no chat of ‘honeys’ or ‘bling’. Gah, And of course, folkers may be generally creative and appreciative of the natural world, but it in no means leaves them exempt of sadness, hurt and darkness. I wonder, does it in actual fact make them more open and adept to describing their feelings than the blingers? Regardless, folk is often as rhythmic and warming as the grandfather clock that my 40s’ Grandpa chopped the bottom of, to fit in his house. Tick, tock. Folk is cosy and true, which is why it feels so pure – which is why it makes me want to reside in a yurt.
Let me introduce you to Emily Jane White. The PR sheet in-front of me says that her album is: ‘a collection of ten opulent, uncluttered and captivating ballads.’ A friend asked me other day, “If you had to only use one adjective for the rest of your life, what would it be?” If I was a news writer, I would say: “Peh, what even are adjectives?”. As a PR I would pass out. Whilst as a writer of my own devices, I would say – ‘blissful’. Then I could put ‘anti’ in-front of a word perhaps. Awkward. Anyway, off on a tangent again: Emily Jane White’s music is BLISSFUL.
See:
She is melancholy. But in the way that makes you feel perhaps strangely, very contented. Maybe it is because in a sense Emily is making peace with herself and her thoughts through the act of writing her music. She said that she found writing her latest album, Ode To Sentience, out now on Talitres Records, cathartic to write: “They speak to the emotional simplicity and complexity of human relationship. I chose to call the record Ode To Sentience because it is the capacity to feel that creates a share human experience of music. We all share the potency of music by having the capacity to feel, and I found the simplicity of this fact very beautiful.”
Her album is about leaving home, her’s was California – I Lay To Rest (California) – the drawn out strings longing to leave. The sharper notes; the sadness of leaving it. Clipped Wings is ghostly and full of yearning, reflections of love’s passed. The Cliff holds classic American twangs, whilst Oh Katherine, is a string filled heaven of a song. Her voice is as soft and delicate as a peach, whilst her fearless approach to singing from the darker depths of her consciousness matches the strings perfectly.
She is much like a Californian Kate Bush, but less obviously ethereal and screaming. Or she could be a gentler Alela Diane or singular Mountain Man. Black Silk has to be my personal favourite. The Law is guitar based, slow and… actually quite a lot like my Grandpa’s Grandfather clock. It wraps you up. Says it’s all ok. And here we have ‘The Law’, for you to download for free: here. Download it now.
I know that folk music isn’t all organic, salve whole foods, and love – or indeed deep lust – buried in a haystack. Happy all day, before campfires and passions at night. No, folk musicians don’t spend their days wearing slightly grubby lumberjacks or floaty, ethereal frocks. See evidence: Grizzly Bear aren’t happy all the time and Bon Iver is a delightfully melancholy chap. And then just listen to Nick Drake and young Laura Marling. To be honest I’m not really sure where I got the skippy, clappy, dancing in the hazy afternoon sunshine vision from. Perhaps it’s because folk artists tend to sing about the earth, nature and love in one breath. There is no chat of ‘honeys’ or ‘bling’. Gah, And of course, folkers may be generally creative and appreciative of the natural world, but it in no means leaves them exempt of sadness, hurt and darkness. I wonder, does it in actual fact make them more open and adept to describing their feelings than the blingers? Regardless, folk is often as rhythmic and warming as the grandfather clock that my 40s’ Grandpa chopped the bottom of, to fit in his house. Tick, tock. Folk is cosy and true, which is why it feels so pure – which is why it makes me want to reside in a yurt.
Let me introduce you to Emily Jane White. The PR sheet in-front of me says that her album is: ‘a collection of ten opulent, uncluttered and captivating ballads.’ A friend asked me other day, “If you had to only use one adjective for the rest of your life, what would it be?” If I was a news writer, I would say: “Peh, what even are adjectives?”. As a PR I would pass out. Whilst as a writer of my own devices, I would say – ‘blissful’. Then I could put ‘anti’ in-front of a word perhaps. Awkward. Anyway, off on a tangent again: Emily Jane White’s music is BLISSFUL.
See:
She is melancholy. But in the way that makes you feel perhaps strangely, very contented. Maybe it is because in a sense Emily is making peace with herself and her thoughts through the act of writing her music. She said that she found writing her latest album, Ode To Sentience, out now on Talitres Records, cathartic to write: “They speak to the emotional simplicity and complexity of human relationship. I chose to call the record Ode To Sentience because it is the capacity to feel that creates a share human experience of music. We all share the potency of music by having the capacity to feel, and I found the simplicity of this fact very beautiful.”
Her album is about leaving home, her’s was California – I Lay To Rest (California) – the drawn out strings longing to leave. The sharper notes; the sadness of leaving it. Clipped Wings is ghostly and full of yearning, reflections of love’s passed. The Cliff holds classic American twangs, whilst Oh Katherine, is a string filled heaven of a song. Her voice is as soft and delicate as a peach, whilst her fearless approach to singing from the darker depths of her consciousness matches the strings perfectly.
She is much like a Californian Kate Bush, but less obviously ethereal and screaming. Or she could be a gentler Alela Diane or singular Mountain Man. Black Silk has to be my personal favourite. The Law is guitar based, slow and… actually quite a lot like my Grandpa’s Grandfather clock. It wraps you up. Says it’s all ok. For a little bit of this, here we have ‘The Law’, for you to download for free: here. Download it now.
I know that folk music isn’t all organic, ampoule whole foods, see and love – or indeed deep lust – buried in a haystack. Happy all day, before campfires and passions at night. No, folk musicians don’t spend their days wearing slightly grubby lumberjacks or floaty, ethereal frocks. See evidence: Grizzly Bear aren’t happy all the time and Bon Iver is a delightfully melancholy chap. And then just listen to Nick Drake and young Laura Marling. To be honest I’m not really sure where I got the skippy, clappy, dancing in the hazy afternoon sunshine vision from. Perhaps it’s because folk artists tend to sing about the earth, nature and love in one breath. There is no chat of ‘honeys’ or ‘bling’. Gah, And of course, folkers may be generally creative and appreciative of the natural world, but it in no means leaves them exempt of sadness, hurt and darkness. I wonder, does it in actual fact make them more open and adept to describing their feelings than the blingers? Regardless, folk is often as rhythmic and warming as the grandfather clock that my 40s’ Grandpa chopped the bottom of, to fit in his house. Tick, tock. Folk is cosy and true, which is why it feels so pure – which is why it makes me want to reside in a yurt.
Let me introduce you to Emily Jane White. The PR sheet in-front of me says that her album is: ‘a collection of ten opulent, uncluttered and captivating ballads.’ A friend asked me other day, “If you had to only use one adjective for the rest of your life, what would it be?” If I was a news writer, I would say: “Peh, what even are adjectives?”. As a PR I would pass out. Whilst as a writer of my own devices, I would say – ‘blissful’. Then I could put ‘anti’ in-front of a word perhaps. Awkward. Anyway, off on a tangent again: Emily Jane White’s music is BLISSFUL.
See:
She is melancholy. But in the way that makes you feel perhaps strangely, very contented. Maybe it is because in a sense Emily is making peace with herself and her thoughts through the act of writing her music. She said that she found writing her latest album, Ode To Sentience, out now on Talitres Records, cathartic to write: “They speak to the emotional simplicity and complexity of human relationship. I chose to call the record Ode To Sentience because it is the capacity to feel that creates a share human experience of music. We all share the potency of music by having the capacity to feel, and I found the simplicity of this fact very beautiful.”
Her album is about leaving home, her’s was California – I Lay To Rest (California) – the drawn out strings longing to leave. The sharper notes; the sadness of leaving it. Clipped Wings is ghostly and full of yearning, reflections of love’s passed. The Cliff holds classic American twangs, whilst Oh Katherine, is a string filled heaven of a song. Her voice is as soft and delicate as a peach, whilst her fearless approach to singing from the darker depths of her consciousness matches the strings perfectly.
She is much like a Californian Kate Bush, but less obviously ethereal and screaming. Or she could be a gentler Alela Diane or singular Mountain Man. Black Silk has to be my personal favourite. The Law is guitar based, slow and… actually quite a lot like my Grandpa’s Grandfather clock. It wraps you up. Says it’s all ok. For a little bit of this, here we have ‘The Law’, for you to download for free: here. Download it now.
Apparently Emilio de la Morena has lengthened his silhouette. His pieces are now touching, viagra sale or over the knee, nurse ‘signalling a new direction that is stricter and more refined.’ The body con is still there of course, thumb remaining tighter than a wetsuit, and both wigglier and feistier than Mad Men’s, Joan. That’s exactly what the collection made me think of: Joan and Jessica Rabbit. This translates to: HOT… but sophisticated.
Red Charlotte Olympia shoes featured throughout the show. Now, I’ve always been a fan of red shoes. From ballet to sky scraping, red shoes are sweet vixens, minxes, all playful and naughty. But less; “stop it Roger” and more; “Roger I want champagne, oysters and Chanel. Get them!” She needs a man, not a wimp. She will wear her shoes in the bath, and probably won’t speak to Roger much before or after – whatever happens between them. She’s an old school dressed WOMAN, not a girl, and she expects to be treated with respect. Like the stroppier ones in James Bond films, this woman can kick some ass. And answer back with cutting looks and witty, snappy words.
Other Charlotte Olympia shoes included a suede ankle boot and platform sandals in three colours, black, red, powder pink and ivory. All utterly lust-worthy. Heaven. The colour palette mirrors Emilio de la Morena Autumn/Winter collection, which focuses on black, dark purple and RED. The sombre tones of this show, inspired by the work of the American photographer Francesca Woodman and the circumstances surrounding her suicide in New York, in 1981, aged just 22. Her photographs are hauntingly beautiful and predominantly black and white. Emilio de la Morena wanted to reflect these sad circumstances, with his use of passionate, bruised and mourning colours. These give way however, to ivory and powder pink, making for delicate prettiness, next to the block melancholy. Together, the designs look classy, serious and fantastic. I see these beautiful women by the graves of Italian gangsters, weeping. They are hard, stunning and controlled, but what they love – they adore with all their hearts.
Victoriana also featured within Emilio de la Morena’s collection, but with a modern, sheer twist. Bib decoration and high necklines created from sheer, frayed and tufted organza, make it lighter, sexier and contemporary. The longer length, wool pencil skirts also featured sheer organza. With panels, embroidered in swirling, zig zagging ribbon, created in the material, as well as silk inserts. The additions allowing for fluidity of movement.
The collection felt serious and respectfully attractive. Not flirty, terribly young, overly romantic or precocious. Instead very sensual and confident. The red stole the show. However, like red lipstick on a make up less face, it looked the most alluring, when it was paired with the other other colours. The eyes and lips are too much – alone they are beautiful. Such a bright red needed the other colours to avoid being lost, and to stand out as a solitary statement. And you know, if the three women were sobbing by the grave, each with an accent of red, just imagine… scandalous, stylish, powerful and mysterious RED.
Written by Helen Martin on Monday February 28th, 2011 7:33 pm
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