Short Hair, Attachment Theory And Finding The Right Stylist.


In my second year at college I had my first real boyfriend. It was a a hugely satisfying and fun-filled relationship that lasted an entire 12 months. I learned about trust and intimacy from this person. I also learned that our bond of intimacy and attraction was a fine and delicate thing and that a mere chopping of my locks could threaten the union to its foundation.

My Transport Management studies (don’t ask!) was a shoddy provider for my vast and rapidly changing interests so I turned to Vogue. Within the pages of its glossy lovlieness, circa Feb 1992 I spotted the most exquisite and edgy short hair do. The quest began for a creator worthy and capable of its execution. There in the mirrored halls of Lunatic Fringe he appeared. A mythical beast brandishing a salon cape. The intoxicating blend of his insouciant manner, his quiet confidence and laid back professionalism put me at great ease. Inside of ten minutes he had achieved the seemingly impossible. With no muss and sadly little chat, his skillful hands had adorned me with the exact look I had requested.

It really, really suited me.

I returned to the same salon about four months later and there was no trace of him. Thus was born my overreaching some might say Freudian longing for a stylist that I could both admire and trust.

The following lunchtime I showed up in the college canteen alive with the excitement and confidence that the new cut bestowed on me. Admiring glances and smiles of approval greeted me as I passaged through to our corner in the back. I did that thing: you know the rom-com move where  someone clasps their hands over their beloved’s eyes and then reveals themselves to heightened surprise. The initial look on his face said he didn’t recognise me, then came the the blunt truth that he delivered with Hemingwayesque  succinctness

“I don’t think I fancy you any more”

It was a surprise alright.

We managed to work through it with the employment of many a tight jumper and short skirt. Evidently these made up a little for the loss of my flowing feminine tresses. We broke up 6 months later when my commitment started to flag. Time and experience proved he was not the one.

On numerous occasions since I have cut my hair short  but the awareness has remained. The path of the short haired woman is a great but occasionally daunting one.



Great Minds Think Alike.

One of the reasons I decided to do a style blog was to counter the numerous empty and disappointing occasions when I saw my style ideas appear in shop windows and magazine editorials long after making rudimentary notes about them in my little lime Moleskin notepad. At least now these notes to self and inspirational sketches no longer linger beneath the bushel of my procrastinating, undisciplined self. Today for example I opened up last weeks Observer Magazine and what do I see there?

“Anna Dello Russo- Japanese Vogue’s editor at large, blogger extraordinaire international style sensation, internet iconoclast -stands virtually naked in a hotel room in central London, contemplating a raucous fruit-embellished fascinator.”

I may not yet be considered an internet iconoclast or blogger extraordinaire but posted on these here humble pages not along was this pretty prescient baby.

So In Your Face Anna Dello Russo and Devoted Followers!  Deemed by retailers to be too outrageous and flamboyant  for Muswell Hill, behold once again my apples and cherries!

Cue a quick tongue in cheek victory hustle.

In a similar  vein I happened to spot the imperious Black Queen of Individual style Diane  Pernet  in London. To my quiet delight I observed  her hair and gloved hands gilded with silver birds. I’m glad I am in good company is all I’m saying.

Backstage at The Oxfam Bridal Fashion Show Dublin, 2009.
Lovebird Hair Fascinator by Suzieperon

Sartorially sound and weather proof:A success story

My new love.

What with the unprecedented cold spell we are witnessing it is increasingly challenging to manage anything approximating style but today I think I achieved it. I have been experimenting with winter layering for the past two months due to my bronchial weak spot and subsequent pathological fear of getting ill.At first it was a case of me bundling out the door in a spherical mass of jackets and jumpers. Then I became a somewhat more streamlined entity in multiple hats and scarves. Today Dear Readers, to my own astonishment and delight I managed warmth and cute Suzie winter chic. I picked up a woollen jumper worthy of a Wham video on Wednesday. It is of the Christmas variety in a grey, black and white simple daisy and criss/cross pattern. It sits right on my hips and is tight fitting. This is the key to this look – bulky or chunky garments need to be worn snug. Personally I seem to be feeling the cold on my legs and knees most. My artillery to combat this involved; woolly tights, soccer knee-high socks under black skinny jeans and with some heavy-duty puffing and panting I was in and zipped up. I accessorized with knee-high mulberry boots, my rabbit collar and my brand new black bowler hat. I received it last week am a little in love with it. I remember pleading with my Mother back in 1988 to please fetch me one over in London. Kim Bassinger wore one in 9 and a Half  Weeks . The beautiful but love-drugged Elizabeth is on my movie style heroine hit list which is coming shortly…Although at the time  I still embodied a pre-pubescent boy I very much knew fashion gold when I saw it. Alas all I received from Mom’s trip was Simply Red’s album Stars on cassette. Say no more.