Berlin style snapped in Kreuzberg and at The Berlin Festival at Tempelhof. Some edgy, urbane, seriously street looks from the city September 2012.
My girlfriends and I did the Time warp at the weekend. I mean both figuratively and literally. The venue was The Reflex Club at St Paul’s London. Average age nnnnn nineteen provided you took us out of the equation . On arrival I had a sneaking but rather cloudy suspicion that I was there before circa 1993. I fared a whole lot better this time. The theme park eighties night clubbing experience ages well it seems.
It was a nostalgia spectacular. Cheese, kitsch and frankly some very poor taste did nothing to take from the overwhelming fun feeling. It brought me smack back to a time when the future was filled with exciting promise and bra tops. Twenty years vanished once we hit the illuminated tiles which I might add were mopped with extraordinary dexterity and perplexing regularity.
All the usual suspects were spotted and some surprisingly obscure ones too. We saw Top Gun Tom Cruise, Bianca Jagger, an army of Cyndis, Madonna’s plus A Flock of Seagull’s lead singer, My eyes have never seen so much neon. Clearly one store is making a killing by flogging the decade on a single trend.
It is so amusing and curious to see the next generation take on the era that formed me and my aspirations. According to this lot it was all underpants and cheap fluorescent lycra. And of course comedy shades. The mood was captured but the finer essences and nuances were somewhat missing. Chutzpah triumphed where accuracy failed and some truly hilarious results had me smiling all night. More to some people is definitely more.The rule being if in doubt remove an outer garment then furnish the deficit with more more pink and lime bangles.
Us lot having lived it opted for a somewhat more pared down approach. We preferred to use accents and little flourishes in our tribute. Affectionately nodding towards the decade with careful accessorising. Personally I think we excelled.
The evening’s hilarious shenanigans were interrupted by the bizarrely surreal dance floor announcement of Whiteny Houston’s untimely death. We did the only decent thing and gave it socks to three of her biggest hits thus fermenting the memory forever.
Highlight of the evening had to be Annette’s spectacular rock out to Run Dmc. She thrashed to the beat, blonde hair a flaying like a regular hormone charger teenager. The excitement of It tipped me over the edge resulting in a wardrobe malfunction. Thankfully it was good and dark.
These are photos from a shoot I did back in early October when we received a much appreciated blast of last minute summer. The dress is in a very fine navy blue wool crepe and is the work of talented vintage designer Irma Romero. The model is
Rebecka Mustajarv who maintained regal poise and grace while I was busy snapping. I chose Waterloo Park in Highgate for the location as it is suitably grand for such an elegant dress. Lighting was a challenge due to the unexpected sunshine but nevertheless it was a productive day and another hugely satisfying collaboration in the name of creativity and style.
These are my favourites…
It is with great sadness and lingering denial that I write this post. I want to push past the denial and into acceptance which is why I have chosen to write this post sensing it might help that awkward and difficult transition. “Harvey” as he has been named will not be with me this winter. Harvey is my beloved silver fox fur jacket which I purchased on a glorious April afternoon in Blackrock Market, Dublin back in 2005. I had toyed with getting a fur for some time so on finding an exquisite 1960’s model in a fetching fashionable short length I unquestionably had to give it a try. The price was a no brainer. For a meagre €20 and I’d pulled a lasting and treasured love.
I thought it might be a tad audacious and so gingerly we appeared out together Harvey and I. It was a chilly winter in Dublin so we became rather attached to each other quite quickly. A chorus of approval greeted us on our every outing and any qualms I had were quelled by how marvelously glamourous it felt not to mention the exquisite warmth and comfort that it provided. I was rocking the Tundra look that first winter.
I liked the sense of excess that it provided. The luxury of a bygone era. I remember once throwing it over some casual ensemble with a pair of flip-flops and being asked
“Who do you think you are, Jennifer Anniston?”
It brought out the exhibitionist in me which is one of the reasons I enjoy clothing so much. Minimalism with precision details was never my thing. I like a statement piece or two or three and my fur coat always made me feel like a million Euro. That was the beauty of him. Harvey went with everything and naturally he was never to be worn without undergarments.
More than anything though it felt like me.
Sadly I was very hard on the poor thing. Tough love I guess you’d call it. Some people are hard on shoes or handbags but I am hard on fur coats. I have had him repaired at least a couple of times and with great apprehension. He is now best fit to keep the bed warm on the coldest of nights. The sleeves are worn through and the collar is well frazzled and so the hunt( pardon the pun) is on for a replacement but as I feel take may take a while I have this beautiful french knit to fill the gap.