Dear Ms.Alexander,
Day Two of Operation Inertia.
Today I am wearing a vintage full skirted black chiffon dress, a string of pearls x2 and my "Audrey" flats. You haven't even noticed. Perhaps because you are not here today. Or perhaps because I have once again been bunged into this fashion cupbaord/office to live out my long eight hour day in isolation. Boredome has yet to set in. Laregly because I have taken to doing something, erm, "productive", perhaps- in reading your article backlog.
This was my favourite.
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/fashion/fashionnews/7572515/Ladies-Day-fashions-at-Aintree-Racecourse-2010.html
A veritable truth, you speak Hils. However, as Denis Harrison point out on April 10th 2010 at a quater to eleven in the morning:
"I noticed in your article you chose the most adventorous of fashion wearers and then basically made fun of them, all of the ladies at aintree put a huge amount of time and effort and enjoy their day, not everyone is overdressed and i have noticed that all the broadsheets tend to feature the most outrageous outfits and ridicule them but dont have any photos of the many beautifully dressed women. as for your comments i find interesting as i feel your own fashion sense is not the best judging by your own taste in clothes that do not suit you, your age, or your figure..."
Oops. A lesson learnt- never take on the North. Even if, oddly enough, you didn't take them on in the first place.
Yours, maybe one day,
L
Tuesday, 20 April 2010
Monday, 19 April 2010
Dear Ms.Alexander,
I am currently sitting somewhat dejected in your fashion cupboard (which is no more a cupboard than I am a saint) alone, hopelessly bored and witlessly unstigmatised. And have been for the best part of 6 hours, aka the entire day.
Please give me a chore. I am at that fustrating stage where I will shine your sartorially unchallenged shoes. In short, I am bored out of my mind. Today I am wearing vintage Dior- you haven't even noticed. I feel like a rejected lover, shunned to live out my days in dire solitude with only the air con and Youtube for company.
Left alone to my thoughts, I have begun to do the one thing no wannabe fashion journo should ever have to do- think. Think about politics.
My main wrangle of the day is with regards to the maddening way in which people are abandonning the Conservative party after months, nay years, of their hard campaigning. Says my beloved Boris in this morning's Daily Telegraph: Is there something in the water? And I for one am inclined to agree. The politically unsavvy are flirting with what they shouldn't be- Liberal Democrat(ism). And it's showing. Liberalists out there may have come a cropper with their whimsical half-wit policies but question is when will they come down from the fence and start producing something realistic and of substance. It is interesting that no-one has yet picked up on the fact that Clegg's own policies are nothing more than watered down variations of a Cameron theme.
O, how the heart breaks.
Do these fools not realise that a vote for Lib dem is a vote for Brown.
A majority for LD is impossible given the, ahem, seating arrangement in the HoC. Hung Parliament alludes to more in its nameasake than the unintiated realise.
Hung Parliament, hangs democracy.
Hung Parliament, hangs progress.
Hung Parliament, hangs the sort of resolution needed to get Britian back to where it belongs.
The idea of Hung Parliament ought be tied in sailors knots before May 6th. Vote Tory.
I am currently sitting somewhat dejected in your fashion cupboard (which is no more a cupboard than I am a saint) alone, hopelessly bored and witlessly unstigmatised. And have been for the best part of 6 hours, aka the entire day.
Please give me a chore. I am at that fustrating stage where I will shine your sartorially unchallenged shoes. In short, I am bored out of my mind. Today I am wearing vintage Dior- you haven't even noticed. I feel like a rejected lover, shunned to live out my days in dire solitude with only the air con and Youtube for company.
Left alone to my thoughts, I have begun to do the one thing no wannabe fashion journo should ever have to do- think. Think about politics.
My main wrangle of the day is with regards to the maddening way in which people are abandonning the Conservative party after months, nay years, of their hard campaigning. Says my beloved Boris in this morning's Daily Telegraph: Is there something in the water? And I for one am inclined to agree. The politically unsavvy are flirting with what they shouldn't be- Liberal Democrat(ism). And it's showing. Liberalists out there may have come a cropper with their whimsical half-wit policies but question is when will they come down from the fence and start producing something realistic and of substance. It is interesting that no-one has yet picked up on the fact that Clegg's own policies are nothing more than watered down variations of a Cameron theme.
O, how the heart breaks.
Do these fools not realise that a vote for Lib dem is a vote for Brown.
A majority for LD is impossible given the, ahem, seating arrangement in the HoC. Hung Parliament alludes to more in its nameasake than the unintiated realise.
Hung Parliament, hangs democracy.
Hung Parliament, hangs progress.
Hung Parliament, hangs the sort of resolution needed to get Britian back to where it belongs.
The idea of Hung Parliament ought be tied in sailors knots before May 6th. Vote Tory.
Sunday, 21 March 2010
Dear Mr.Brown,
Just a quick word of legislative advice. Start addressing the cause. Not the solution.
So you want to ban Methadrone? Sounds like the start of a lyric to a song, but do you really wanna? I mean, really really wanna? Or so the bridge would go. Once again, this is a sloppy solution to a problem that arose because you upgraded/banned one of Meph's forefather drugs. This is a dangerous move and also entirely pointless. Clever young minds have a way of outsmarting and outmanouvering existing governmental laws.
Sooner or later, "The New Meph" will be on the scene, which shall inevitably be responded to in the same tired, predictable way as ever: media flame-fanning; at least one death; parental pressure snipes Parliament et voila: BAN! RESTRICTED! UPGRADED! But PROBLEM SOLVED?
Word on the street is that the so-called New Meph is nothing more than some bi-product from the simple cactus. Is banning household plants feasible? Is it possilbe that the nanny state has gone too far? Banning fertiliser was one thing, but plant-life? Perhaps our earnest, yet out of touch government ought to spend less time mooning in their parliamentary safehouses and more time out in consituencies. I am sure the resulting information would be more than just refreshing but also highly informative.
So, why Mr. Brown, do kids do drugs in the first place, you wonder?
Boredom. Cinema tickets are too high. Train fares are too high. Culturally you seem to have outlawed alcohol in the home, hence why we have such high teen binge drinking rates in the UK once they hit 15. Resolves broken Britain (OO, I am such a Tory syco) and reap the rewards. I would also encourage a Youth Parlimant that wasn't filled with snotty middle class wanker kids. I am that very breed and know how disenchanting it is. More variety breeds greater understanding.
The more brushes we have with people, the more developped, sane and civilised we become.
Yours somewhat riled,
L
Just a quick word of legislative advice. Start addressing the cause. Not the solution.
So you want to ban Methadrone? Sounds like the start of a lyric to a song, but do you really wanna? I mean, really really wanna? Or so the bridge would go. Once again, this is a sloppy solution to a problem that arose because you upgraded/banned one of Meph's forefather drugs. This is a dangerous move and also entirely pointless. Clever young minds have a way of outsmarting and outmanouvering existing governmental laws.
Sooner or later, "The New Meph" will be on the scene, which shall inevitably be responded to in the same tired, predictable way as ever: media flame-fanning; at least one death; parental pressure snipes Parliament et voila: BAN! RESTRICTED! UPGRADED! But PROBLEM SOLVED?
Word on the street is that the so-called New Meph is nothing more than some bi-product from the simple cactus. Is banning household plants feasible? Is it possilbe that the nanny state has gone too far? Banning fertiliser was one thing, but plant-life? Perhaps our earnest, yet out of touch government ought to spend less time mooning in their parliamentary safehouses and more time out in consituencies. I am sure the resulting information would be more than just refreshing but also highly informative.
So, why Mr. Brown, do kids do drugs in the first place, you wonder?
Boredom. Cinema tickets are too high. Train fares are too high. Culturally you seem to have outlawed alcohol in the home, hence why we have such high teen binge drinking rates in the UK once they hit 15. Resolves broken Britain (OO, I am such a Tory syco) and reap the rewards. I would also encourage a Youth Parlimant that wasn't filled with snotty middle class wanker kids. I am that very breed and know how disenchanting it is. More variety breeds greater understanding.
The more brushes we have with people, the more developped, sane and civilised we become.
Yours somewhat riled,
L
Tuesday, 9 March 2010
Dear BFC,
Lock up Naomi for good. Bomb the high street. Send Vogue into liquidation. Because: FASHION IS DEAD.
Fashion, n. Satorial. Mutable. Cyclictic. Seasonable.
No longer. I blame Topshop. No surprises there. But I was irrate this morning in bed as I mused over the accessibility of fashion these days. I have previosuly posted in somewhat overprotective anger over how fashion has lost all credibility, having fallen into the irresponsible hands of the high street massses. Call me a snob, but I vote we bring back sartorial elitism.
It was only a couple of years ago that fashion was identifiable by season. But somwhere along the line, triggered by commercialism and the bouyant business mind of Phillip Green we were borne into a society that allowed one and all to buy into fashion that was otherwise inacessible and thus seasons were done away with entirely as we were left with 'styles'. Styles where everything is 'in'. And plurality is dull.
The catwalk was once an elevated plank where you either sunk and swam. There were a set fashion elite: the front row was happily home to Wintours and L'Wren Scotts as The Pack. Fashion weeks now pay homage to a different class of fashion thieves: the bloggers. These online fiends have kicked genuine writing talent from their front row thrones- all because their posts are supposedly read by millions and are instantaneous. O fashion, please. Since when did you become slave to the Tinternet? Besides, blogging is no longer the height of cool it was a year ago when Tavi exploded onto the scene in a clatter of heels that are all too large and high for her size 2s. I'll fill you in- teens are switching off, signing off and getting off on something else. So send your coolhunters out and get on board before you get left behind again.
The industry has become so contrived. A word I hideously overuse, but I for the life of me cannot find one more suitable to describe the current sit. Queuing for the Ribbed mag launch a few weeks ago, I was overwhelmed by fashion wannabes; dressed head to toe in Topshop or asos, off neck on mephadrone and with dubstep playing on their i-pods. How did London get so simplistic? Once a hub of expression, creativity and sartorial rebellion, we have been reduced to sipping from the same commercial cup under the impression we are 'being original'.
I blame:
1/ The OC
2/ The Hills
3/ Gossip Girl
4/ September Issue
These four culprits, watched and unwittingly (or maybe highly wittingly) inspired millions to 'do fashion' because it looks easy or fun and, well, I just love Lagerfeld.
Girls, just because you can name 3 high fashion models and understand what the name Alexander McQueen means when you read his obituary does not mean you are 'in fashion'. BFC, lock your doors asap.
Yours,
L
Lock up Naomi for good. Bomb the high street. Send Vogue into liquidation. Because: FASHION IS DEAD.
Fashion, n. Satorial. Mutable. Cyclictic. Seasonable.
No longer. I blame Topshop. No surprises there. But I was irrate this morning in bed as I mused over the accessibility of fashion these days. I have previosuly posted in somewhat overprotective anger over how fashion has lost all credibility, having fallen into the irresponsible hands of the high street massses. Call me a snob, but I vote we bring back sartorial elitism.
It was only a couple of years ago that fashion was identifiable by season. But somwhere along the line, triggered by commercialism and the bouyant business mind of Phillip Green we were borne into a society that allowed one and all to buy into fashion that was otherwise inacessible and thus seasons were done away with entirely as we were left with 'styles'. Styles where everything is 'in'. And plurality is dull.
The catwalk was once an elevated plank where you either sunk and swam. There were a set fashion elite: the front row was happily home to Wintours and L'Wren Scotts as The Pack. Fashion weeks now pay homage to a different class of fashion thieves: the bloggers. These online fiends have kicked genuine writing talent from their front row thrones- all because their posts are supposedly read by millions and are instantaneous. O fashion, please. Since when did you become slave to the Tinternet? Besides, blogging is no longer the height of cool it was a year ago when Tavi exploded onto the scene in a clatter of heels that are all too large and high for her size 2s. I'll fill you in- teens are switching off, signing off and getting off on something else. So send your coolhunters out and get on board before you get left behind again.
The industry has become so contrived. A word I hideously overuse, but I for the life of me cannot find one more suitable to describe the current sit. Queuing for the Ribbed mag launch a few weeks ago, I was overwhelmed by fashion wannabes; dressed head to toe in Topshop or asos, off neck on mephadrone and with dubstep playing on their i-pods. How did London get so simplistic? Once a hub of expression, creativity and sartorial rebellion, we have been reduced to sipping from the same commercial cup under the impression we are 'being original'.
I blame:
1/ The OC
2/ The Hills
3/ Gossip Girl
4/ September Issue
These four culprits, watched and unwittingly (or maybe highly wittingly) inspired millions to 'do fashion' because it looks easy or fun and, well, I just love Lagerfeld.
Girls, just because you can name 3 high fashion models and understand what the name Alexander McQueen means when you read his obituary does not mean you are 'in fashion'. BFC, lock your doors asap.
Yours,
L
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