I feel like I just stepped off the couture carousel and all I can see about me is the rushing swathes of fabrics and dashings of colour that ousted Paris in the magic stakes, if only for a week. Whilst I’m still galavanting around the internet for mere morsels and scraps of fashion press of the shows (alas, the world wide web is the closest I can get to sitting with the fashion pack), I have cherry picked three designers to spoon feed into your no doubt salivating gape – after all, with Chanel dresses the colour of sorbet, who isn’t left drooling?!
Christian Dior

To the cantering hooves of some fantastic fashion beast (I’m guessing, at the very least, a Dior unicorn), models fidgeted their way down the kind of staircase now only evident in old Audrey Hepburn films. Cinched at the waist and booted in black leather, they tottered around in outfits so lifted from a bygone era, it was shocking. One is used to a few influences here and there on the catwalk, but to truss models up in costumes so reminiscent of the decade which really made Dior was bold. These were nothing short of amazing; red dressage coats topped off with a bouffant hair-do to rival Winehouse made way for debutants with more than a hint of Antoinette about them. Later, crushed velvet and the disheveled remnants of a perm added an obscure dollop of the 1980s in the cataclysmic mix. And then came the frock; not just any frock, but THE frock. You know, the one your great granny only got to pull out of the dressing up box at a photoshoot not too far removed from an oil painting? Only a few fashion greats I’ve been witness to have really been brave enough to dabble with the old fashioned contortions of crinolines and corsetry. So the show was a bit schizophrenic, but the few consistents were ones I could give a firm thumbs up to; BIG statement teased backcombed hair, fabulous diamonds and an attitude to kill. Red is most definitely back, smeared across lips and painted on talons. Elbows out, hips back, Cartier on. My God, it was fabulous. And just when I thought I’d peaked and met couture perfection, Galliano came galloping out in an equestrian suit, spanking his fashion fillies with a riding crop. Brilliant. Just brilliant.





Chanel

If anything shows the decreasing circular gambit of the fashion seasons, it is the juxtaposition between this and the SS 10 Chanel show. Gone were the hay bales, the quirky clogs and the toe tappingly good Lily Allen; enter cyber Chanel, so cold and crisp and sterile I felt afraid to move out of place, despite being at a safe distance in my London flat. Everything was just so intimidatingly perfect as Lagerfeld wielded his Chanel clones about the catwalk with all the effortless maneuvers you’d expect from a couture God. Traditional tweed suits were hacked into metallic trimmed culottes, all available in a tantalizing array of ice cream pastels. To my delight, hosiery still held a dominant role, with a heavy sheen coating limbs with such gloss they looked bionic. Lagerfeld hailed the comeback of the bow, positioned coquettishly at the forefront of the girls hair in a much more stern and sensible manner than we’ve seen in the oversexed adverts directed by soft porn enthusiast, Tom Ford. Sequined collars and beaded hems gave austerity the much needed middle finger, as capes cocooned models in couture triumphs. But it wasn’t for me; the colours were too fay and sickly for my liking, and while I have pined to snuggle up to Lagerfeld in a moment of Chanel self pity, reassurance would have come with the steely rustle of tin foil and cellophane. Does this mean I’m falling out of love with Chanel? Heavens no, my affair with Chanel is a long and fantastical one, where I give give give all my money and Chanel takes takes takesall my money. By next week, I shall be sculpting my hair into a predictably squiffy heart in homage to the couture house. Oh, it’s far from over.





Givenchy

Now, I’m used to a fair bit of nudity in the fashion world; it thrives off sex, a commodity universally sold. But what was overtly cheeky about the Givenchy show was the use of fabrics, for those that successfully covered up the model’s modesty seemed to stop abruptly and deliberately at the navel. It seemed to say, “Why, of course you can cover flesh with beautiful fabric, but why not go sheer? Oh, LOOK… nipple!”. Like I said, this was not a message I was adverse to, I just found it rather amusing, but I’ll stop talking about nipples now before this post goes all lesbianic… Sculpture and texture really made the show, from feathers to spherical hats, and oversized sequins to frou frou frills. Whorish red lips and sooty eyes revived goth once more, with net overlaid dresses looking devilishly sexy. What can only be described as jade and purple disco suits stole the show, but midnight blue, black and cream provided an equally tempting palette. Pretty.






ALL PHOTOS COURTESY OF WWW.CATWALKING.COM

Paris Couture screams of beauty, elegance and dreams all in an endless flourish of expense, luxury and glamour.  Oh how I wish I was there, well I guess that’s why the Internet was invented… to bring couture to my Mac <3. The Chanel girls strolled onto the catwalk with bows and bouffants. Reminiscent of little girls playing dress-up in their Mother’s chic yet eccentric wardrobe. The classic tweed suit received another makeover this time in the form of a delicious pastel palette with exquisite metallic embellishments. The tailoring oozed the expertise of Chanel as did the volume, fluidity and effortless drama of the dresses. The metallic shoes and gloves added a gladiatorial element to counteract the gorgeous prettiness of the collection. I loved the lace details and my favourite pieces were the coat dresses. The evening dresses made my heart skip a beat and shows why Chanel is Couture or Couture is Chanel.

In the words of bouffant haired little Lily Allen, it’s not fair and I think you’re really mean. Lagerfeld, Lagerfeld, Lagerfeld. First I wanted the bag. Then the shoes. Then the pearls. Then more shoes. Then the glasses. Then, oh yes, more shoes. And now you’ve made me want, oh horror of horrors, temporary tattoos. I don’t think I’ve sponged one of those babies on since I was about twelve. I remember distinctly having a rather garish phoenix plastered upon my shoulder on a hot summers day at Primary school; the colours really were so gruesome that they remain seared into my head to this day. But I’d be more than happy to turn back time and forget all the faux pas that have gone before, and affix a few classy CCs onto my person. Nape? Shoulder? Wrist? The skinny little things on the catwalk had gorgeous garters of the tongue in chic tatts about the tops of their thighs (but with the weather as it is at the moment, I doubt anyone will be seeing more than my ankle in the near future. Too. Bloody. Cold) and wrapped around their forearms. Beautiful. I wasn’t so keen on the clogs, but Karl’s won me over with 55 cute individual designs featuring all the symbols that Chanel is known for. Available from March, I shall be onto Chanel immediately tomorrow to put my name on the waiting list, as I wouldn’t be surprised if everyone works themselves into a frenzy a la the great “Jade Nail Paint Incident” of 09.
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I had to leave the best til last… have a very merry Christmas and a wonderful day tomorrow!
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I think the novelty of the snow wore off quite sharply when I discovered the Christmas turkey wasn’t nestled snuggly in the freezer compartment in our garage, but laying anonymously along some supermarket shelf. Panic set in. To think, the staple of our Christmas day feast had not been secured! And any adversary reassurance that all would be fine was dashed by another blizzard of snowflakes, bringing the approximate depth of the snow outside my doorstep up to the dizzying heights of six or seven inches. The manic and dangerous outing to our local Waitrose to secure said turkey has not been my only outing of the last 5 days; I made a rather exciting dash home across the woodlands with some emergency sausage rations today, and yesterday travelled the length of the common and took two trains just to see one of my oldest and dearest friends, returning home with a much sought after panda hat. I don’t think I’ve ever been so excited to go to a crippled run down shopping mall full of pigeon droppings, or entered River Island with such vigor, but desperate times call for desperate measures. For anyone numerically challenged, I have left the house a grand total of THREE times in the last five days. To shy away from the kind of stir craziness that should be harnessed well and truly in the film stills of The Shining, I have decorated the Christmas trees, tidied the larder, read every magazine in the house, ordered a new hoover and I even stooped to such levels of boredom that I gave my nails a leopard print finish. Tacky.
But the snow hasn’t been all bad news. Money has been burning a hole in my pocket and without adequate shopping trips, I reverted to trusted eBay, and have managed to snaffle up not only a Louis Vuitton vernis wallet for the not too shabby price of £50, but I’ve unbelievably bought a pair of vintage Chanel shoes for £10. Typical of the classic design, the pumps are red suede with black leather toes. They are my size, but whether they will fit a treat or not is yet to be revealed! I’m sure I’ll take pictures of them when they arrive; Christmas has come early for me!
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I doubt I would ever be accomplished enough to make it down a ski slope with an ounce of elegance, but Chanel ski gear would certainly make me look the part.
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I got the ring! Yes, the beautiful sparkly gorgeousness that was featured in December Vogue. <3. After my older post on the ring, The fairy ChanelMother answered my wish. It is just beautiful, I never want it to leave my manicured finger. Manicured I wish, I don’t even remember the last time I had a manicure. That needs to be rectified as soon as possible. I’m thinking a x-mas inspired manicure, not red and green to cliched, I’m thinking mulled wine tones. Mmmh. So, the ring… I am so in love. Let’s just stop and look at it’s beauty.

Every now and again I manage to source a real find on eBay and it reignites the auction fire within me, that keeps me scouring the webpages regularly for the next online treasure. From 99p 1960s rabbit fur coats, to vintage Vogues and mod dresses, I’ve had a fair reap of second hand goodies, but today I got lucky with a brand spanking new item. All hail, the marvelous tongue in cheek Chanel graphics of this gorgeous tee! No need to say why it appealed to me, but I must admit I was torn between this item and another Chanel spoof design. It’s rival was the simplistic but powerful motto ‘Coco says imitation is the highest form of flattery’ below blocky intertwined CCs and a silhouette of the marvel herself. I love the irony behind it, but the jumbled up letters would encourage friends and foe to stare at my belly whilst trying to decipher the message. Not a good look. I’ve always regretted not being quick enough to grab an Alex and Chloe bleeding rendition of the locked CCs, so I was keen to buy this little item before the great corporate powers that be put a stop to it. Sadly I’m expecting the tee to be a bit on the large side, but I think a quick roll of the sleeves and paired with some nice leggings or skinnies and I could get away with it. Now all that’s left is for the postman to get a move on and deliver the tee pronto!!