Keeping Both Feet On The Ground

Has anyone else noticed singers performing bare footed?

It recently came to my attention when X factor songbird Diana, sang shoeless for her Saturday night performance. The quirky songstress felt her shoes served as a complication on stage and decided to go for the stress-free barefoot alternative.

Chilly perhaps, but this free-thinking behaviour has also been a performance favourite for Joss Stone and more recently for Alison Goldfrapp when I saw her latest London concert. Her stage entourage wore an array of white floaty garments with loose wavy hair and glitter dusted cheeks. Perhaps a little more hippyness than happiness but again we see the distinct lack of shoes present in musical performances.

Interestingly in May this year, Lily Allen celebrated her 23rd birthday at London’s Claridges hotel and arrived in a white flowing dress and bare feet. Could this act of liberation be a reflection of the current economic crisis? It certainly feels reminiscent of the 60’s open-minded thinking.

Time and time again we see fashion being inspired by music, but perhaps this time it has gone one step too far.


Picture: www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz/article-563721/...

OPI Obsessed

I seemed to have developed an unhealthy relationship with nail varnish, and not just any one, the American brand OPI. Most people have an item of clothing or an accessory that acts as a personal safety blanket. Mine comes in the form of nail lacquer.

The clear robust bottle has a long matte black lid that secures the brush inside. The packaging may not be inspired, but for me the simplicity of the bottle highlights the excitable colour it holds inside. The brush is perfectly designed to sweep across the nail in one stroke creating a seamless shine finish.

For summer, my personal favourite is the luminous coral colour ‘Nicole Alert’. But for winter, I enjoy the dark and menacing burgundy shade of ‘Got the Blues for Red’.
But don’t take my word for it, enjoy finding individual colours that suit you– there are plenty to choose from!



Picture: http://greatnotleyhairandbeauty.co.uk/Images/nail1.JPG

Fashion Feet Creep

Unfortunately working for a fashion designer does not always imply non-stop fashion shows and parties. Instead, I have to rely on friends and contacts in the industry and, if that doesn’t work, a dynamic personality can go a long way – okay, okay a pushy one. On day 2 of London fashion week, my colleague and I arrived half an hour early for the Qasimi show without a ticket. While we anxiously queued, surrounded by masses of beautifully branded oversized invitations each with their categorized coloured dots, it became largely apparent to our fellow queuers we did not possess one of these special passes. As we got to the entrance, I awkwardly blagged our way in by quietly stating that Elliott said it was fine to come in and stand. Okay not as embarrassing as actually saying “I know the designer”, but it was equally as uncomfortable. Anyway mission accomplished, we were in. Thankfully I tackled the polished marble stairs in my vintage heels with ease, even avoiding a collision with Anna Popplewell having her photo taken half way up. It was certainly a grand affair. The venue was in Westminster’s central hall and the crowd were certainly dressed for the occasion including Bianca Jagger in the front row. As the enigmatic violinists played on the main catwalk the PR agency called each dotted section at a time. Knowingly we hung our heads in shame and skulked to the back taking advantage of the seated area outside in preparation for the long stand. My feet are really starting to hurt but you can’t wear practical shoes on occasions like these, can you?

It’s day 3 and not only do I have a ticket with a dotted sticker I am also seated! Good job too as I’m wearing my new Camilla Staerk suede platforms and I have a feeling they may start to pinch. As the organisers open the doors to the Eley Kishimoto show there is a familiar feeling of that all important coloured dot that allows you to be seated first. I eventually settle in my place and begin people watching. With the likes of Colin McDowell, Suzy Menkes and Diane Pernet in the front row, the crowd are buzzing. However, you begin to realise it is not only the crowd noise that is filling your ears. Irritatingly, sounds of children playing are filling the BFC tent signifying the collection’s theme of Little Devils. If I wasn’t sitting, I may have run out. After the show, I try and find a convenient spot to change shoes to avoid anymore anguish. I realise there is no point in being subtle after viewing the fashion elite openly downsizing to flats in the tube carriage. Thank goodness for oversized bags.

Day 4 and I’m back to standing. This time we have to meet my friend outside the venue to get our tickets. As I anxiously wait for my friend to call me I hope that my decision to wear my half heeled ankle boots, or more lovingly known as Chelsea wellies, was a wise decision after all. Thankfully we make contact and arrange to meet at the black iron gates where my friend passes our Jenny Packham tickets through the bars. With little time before the show starts, or so we think, we run to our designated line as the seated people are being let in. However too little avail. Yet another beyond fashionably late start, we stand in our line-up for 45 minutes. Feet creep has set in as my muscles tense up in agony. As we finally pile in, we spy two seated places. Heaven, and the dresses weren’t half bad either.



Photo taken of Jade Parfitt modelling in the Qasimi show

Distinguished, hardly

It is said that blondes have more fun then brunettes; I never believed this until now. Wiry, brittle and lifeless, the grey hair is something of an expected burden. Unfortunately, misery is inflicted on darker haired people by this natural ageing of the hair. That is not to say that blondes do not suffer from the periodic sprouting of a grey. But as they well know, this death-like streaking is somewhat less apparent against their golden locks. I am sorry to say that temptation to remove the unwanted affliction is short-lived when you discover that three will appear in its place. An old wives tale maybe, but I’m not sure I’m ready to chance it. Nevertheless this death-like structure hasn’t got the better of me yet. For now, I have invested in a new best friend, hair dye. This timely process is an unforeseen expense however it has come to that time in life where in order to appear youthful, beauty upkeep is a necessity. I just hope that Garnier will continue to take care of me.

Laundrette Limit

Whilst working for a fashion brand over the past two years, it is hardly surprising that I have accumulated a large amount of designer pieces. However my choice to live alone in London has left me without the exclusive rights to a washing machine. Instead, every few weeks I undergo the menial task of filling a suitcase, carrying it down three flights of stairs and then traipsing fifteen minutes to my local laundrette. These expensive pieces are then emptied into two medium sized machines where I have the limited choice of selecting hot, warm or cold as a wash option. For this so-called privilege, four of my hard earned pounds are deposited into each contraption. Anxiety overcomes me as these worn out appliances thrash the garments fiercely against its cheese grater metal innards.

During the half an hour agonising wait, hoping that my clothes are still intact, I also have the unpleasant task of enduring the laundrette locals. It is certainly a long way away from the scenes of 40 Days and 40 Nights where a handsome Josh Hartnett meets his leading lady. Instead, I am surrounded by miserable unhelpful people who watch your every move as you enter their washing environment. There is one woman in particular I often see on a Sunday morning who seems to get an adverse pleasure of dragging out this tedious task by using all the different equipment provided. She even monopolises the plastic baskets prohibiting other washers from using them.

Finally yesterday I reached my laundrette limit. After my clothes had finished their wash cycle, I was left without a dryer. Knowing full well that many of the users were in fact hogging two machines each, filled me with rage. I confronted the offenders but to no avail, shifty eye movement between the culprits and inaudible grumbles forced me to leave the premises wheeling my wet heavy clothing behind me. For me, this is not within the laws of laundrette etiquette and in order to avoid this monotonous task for another few weeks I have decided to shell out twelve pounds on a pack of M&S knickers to escape my washing needs. This act of desperation will prove more costly but I know it will keep me sane for at least one more week.

War Paint

Visible, unwarranted and painful, blemishes are unwelcome pests. Nevertheless, these superfluous skin irritations do inspire ingenious prevention cures. As a rule, the toothpaste trick has become a convenient and favourite household treatment for those untimely red marks. Well, until recently.

A friend kindly let me in on her secret miracle method, Sudocrem. Yes you heard me correctly. Most commonly associated with nappy rashes, this thick and opaque wonder can diminish an angry red outbreak whilst you sleep. Mind you, you will need to cover the so-called areas in dollops of cream before bed, which is perhaps not advisable for new-found night-time interests. However, for those long time enduring partners, I’m sure you can advise them to look the other way whilst you submerge your face in an uninviting covering of ointment and get into bed.

Let’s face it, these imperfections need to be dealt with but in my opinion in the comfort of your own home and not whilst in full view of strangers. Unfortunately for me, I have now witnessed two occasions on my tube journey home where women have covered a blemish with a substantial amount of thick white cream. This bespattering of lotion undoubtedly screams Look At Me, which is perhaps bizarre when you think that their initial intention was to cure the affected area so as not to be seen.

Now, I understand the tube is not a place of normality. Only the other day, I endured, admittedly with some amusement, a woman listening to her headphones and singing sporadically whilst flailing her arms in the air and pelvis thrusting towards poor unsuspecting older gentlemen on their journey home from work.

Ok, I digress but we have all experienced some form of oddity on this method of public transport. However, I feel you wouldn’t parade your dirty laundry in public places, so please keep your pimple war paint treatment for the privacy of your own home, it is somewhat unsightly.

I Am Not A Terrorist

Most people wear a handbag, a pair of shoes or a piece of jewellery to set an outfit alight. For me, it is headwear. For some time now, I have seemingly developed an interest in covering my hair in some way, shape or form. That is not to say that my hair just hangs there limp, lifeless, devoid of any particular style so that my every effort goes into concealing it. Instead, I have to confess, I do submit to the extravagance of maintaining my cropped hairdo every eight weeks. But there are some mornings when your hair won’t behave, or it begins to outgrow its style, or simply you fancy a change, so on comes the headgear. In particular, tie hair scarves have become my head’s accessory of choice. Unfortunately, wearing headpieces in airports can make you a primary target for the customs staff who lets face it, enjoy the sound of the machine signalling people out with its moronic beeps in order to pull you aside. A terrorist, I am not. If it was a hat, I could maybe understand but a thin piece of fabric that follows the silhouette of my head shape, seriously what could I be hiding under there? All the same, I will endure this indecent patting down in public in order to adorn my head in any style I choose to.

My Recommendation: Oversize Bag

My oversized Camilla Staerk bag has been my secondary support system for the past two years. Adopting the role of a mobile office, it can fit everything into it, from my personal computer to my make-up bag. People often joke that my big bag is large enough to keep a small child inside. They may laugh initially but on a night out I will suddenly discover that my bag is being filled with coats to avoid the cloakroom penalty charge of a pound an item. The inspiration for Staerk’s oversized carrier came from her father. Working as a furniture designer in Denmark, Peter Staerk needed to transport Verner Panton glass dishes back and forth. His solution was to create a large spacious leather duffel bag. Measuring 90cm by 90cm, it is simply a large square. It is, perhaps, considered excessive to carry such an enormous shoulder bag but without it and all the items inside, I feel socially misplaced.In homage to Mary Poppin’s bottomless carpetbag, my bag can cater for every eventuality. As a Londoner, England’s unpredictable weather requires the use of an umbrella on a daily basis and then, rather unusually, the advantage of owning a hand held fan for the unbearable underground temperatures on the tube. I can even carry an extra pair of shoes that will transform a day outfit into an evening one. These are my everyday essential items that live in their oversized container until called upon. Clearly carrying so many items on one shoulder is, perhaps, awkward at first. I am continually surprised at how much excess weight my back is prepared to put up with. Truth be told, I have tried to down size to give my body a rest but to sacrifice my live in bag would mean lugging a great number of mismatching smaller carriers as a replacement. And honestly, who wants to be seen as a bag lady? The hustle and bustle of London life has taught me to be prepared for anything. Thank goodness I have my portable home to lend a hand at a moment’s notice.

My Cult Beauty Item

GHD ceramic hair straighteners have taken the world by storm. Millions of women, and even some men, have been seduced by the art of transforming frizzy fly away hair into a sleek and stylish look. The process of drying, curling and straightening your hair is a time consuming task, one where the quality of your tools and styling products are fundamental. Ceramic plated hair straighteners have become a popular choice. But why do most people opt for the GHD brand? Unfamiliar to most hair straighteners, the GHD design has an on and off switch option allowing the user to leave them plugged in and just flicking the switch when required. Their red light flashes and then bleeps to tell you when the optimal styling temperature has been achieved. More cleverly, GHD have introduced a sleep mode, so after 30 minutes the straighteners will turn themselves off. In addition to this, the electric cable lead is twice as long as its leading competitors, permitting the user to move more freely in search of their most favourable mirror. Their compact slick design and ability to heat up quickly have made them a desirable beauty companion. At 16, I was completely fed-up with my unruly wavy hair so I decided to invest in my first pair of GHD’s. Finally I was able to recreate the same hairstyle that had only ever been achieved by a professional hair dresser. I was completely hooked. My GHD’s travelled everywhere with me. So much so, that I decided to have a spare pair at the office in case of hair fuzz from wet weather, gyming activities in my lunch break or simply to re-style before an evening out. However, this ultimate grooming companion has a shelf life. My first pair sparked, flickered for a few moments and then died – much to my horror and disbelief. Thankfully, I was lucky enough to get them replaced by the hair salon however, this is not the case for everyone. Unfortunately, like all good things in life, GHD hair straighteners come at a price. For most first time buyers, the GHD hair iron is expensive. However, although initially pricey, most hair straighteners are used repeatedly. Their exceptional design and robustness for daily activity are in fact, great value for money. This cult beauty item is a unique hair tool and one that I fortunately do not have to live without.

Interview With Gemma Caldwell

Camera assistant Gemma Caldwell has just completed filming a behind the scenes documentary for a low budget horror film entitled Within the Woods. A close friend of 13 years, she invites me to her second floor flat in Earls Court after her weekly acupuncture appointment in West London. A career that requires a high level of motivation and long hours sitting in front of a 32 inch computer screen, it is hardly surprising she needs help relaxing. As the voice recorder is switched on, her posture has immediately become rigid and tense. True to form she lights up a slim lined cigarette, a ‘Vogue’ that naturally becomes an extension of herself. “Because of my job”, she explains rubbing her tired eyes “I don’t really have a typical day”. Working extensive hours is something Gemma has become accustomed to. During her time shooting on the Zombie film the crew were required to work, “long nights in freezing cold weather”, and warm practical clothes were a necessity including thick jumpers, a zip up gilet and her ever faithful and slightly battered Ugg boots. As her blond wavy hair falls past her shoulders and dark brown eyes start to flash brightly, she talks about her future ambition of making documentaries in Africa. Her desk is littered with papers, highlighters and notes of reminders but amongst this disarray sit two wooden figurines of a rhino and an elephant, inspirational tools that spur her on to achieving her life-long dream. Her disorganised approach to life is also something she feels is translated through to her wardrobe. She declares that her fashion is, “a bit haphazard … sometimes things match, sometimes they don’t!”, she exclaims laughing. For someone who is always behind the camera instead of in front of it, no-nonsense clothes have become her safety blanket. Fashion is merely an afterthought. However, you cannot help but feel she longs to be rid of her Ugg boots in exchange for, “some really nice shoes”.