I read yesterday with my daughter that there are 950 species of sea urchins, and that puffer fish make huge, beautiful nests in the sand that look like mandalas, and that certain bees build cacoons out of petals and mud prettier than any springtime bouquet. Nature is flipping amazing. Each one of these seeds has a slightly different form and pattern. Purple, acid yellow and milky white. I can’t imagine how many seed species there are on earth, and like the urchins, how much variety exists in each one’s appearance, both subtle and dramatic. It blows my mind. Nature truly is the greatest artist –– resourceful, innovative, disciplined and fiercely imaginative. No wonder we all look to her for inspiration.
It was 1988, and I wore an emerald green satin puff ball skirt and black patent shoes with clip on grosgrain bows. My hair was crimped, as was everybody else’s. I was eleven, and this was my first disco party, in the sitting room of Dominque Westaway’s west London home. Her parents had created a makeshift dance floor complete with strobe lights and a shiny disco ball and the DJ (no doubt, her Dad) played one dance hit after another as we all spun out on sugar and Belinda Carlisle. In between songs, we ate sausage rolls and sipped fizzy drinks like they were cocktails. There were no boys for us to slow dance with, so the DJ kept the tunes light and bouncy with our idol du jour, Kylie Minogue dominating the dance floor. Dominique’s party was the first and last of its kind. This was the moment, just before things got awkward, where we could sing into our juice boxes, dance like no one was watching, and feel free and footloose. After that, boys did enter the mix –– we were at an all-girls school, so it was often an older brother and his mates –– and the dynamic shifted. We traded in our puff balls for tube skirts, straightened our hair and bought wonderbras. Cue Nothing Compares To You and that swallow-me-whole feeling when the boy asked you to dance. It’s all so wonderful and heart-wrenching to look back on. Even more wonderful and heart wrenching is watching your girl preparing for her own first ‘disco’ party next month. Okay, less disco and more Doja Cat, but you know what I mean. Coincidentally, Iole tried on a simple black t-shirt and a silk shift in emerald green at Zara the other day that reminded me of that outfit. What goes around comes around, in fashion, and in life.
I’ve never owned a trench coat, and chances are, I never will. I’m not an insouciant dresser, and I think one has to be to pull of the trench. Enter, Catherine Deneuve. The trench coat earned its name on the battlefields of World War I. Decades later, girls at elite English private schools started nabbing their older brother’s trenches and wearing them out. Today, there’s nary a celebrity who hasn’t attempted to rock the trench, some more successfully than others. Yes, Kate Moss, we’re looking at you. Right here, is the chicest way to wear one, with your no-fuss Asics, and your favourite pair of jeans. The more creases the better. It’s a rain coat, after all.
The heavier the world feels, the lighter this blog gets. Springs salads, Hyacinths in handmade vases, flamingo pink guest loos. My best writing comes when I have room to think, when I have to room to reflect. And in order to do that, I need to release air from the balloon, so to speak. The key for me is that I keep writing, even if what I have to say is as frothy as a cappuccino. Because when the urge does come for me to express something weightier, I’m more likely to have the words.
This lamp, designed by emerging talent, Oscar Piccolo is so beautiful I want to carry it around like a little parasol. Affectionately called the, ‘lampada cappello’, –– cappello means hat in Italian –– the pleated lampshade sits on a squiggly base that makes it easy to twist around. Inspired by vintage hats Piccolo found at a local charity shop, the lamp is available in a range of chic colours. “I wanted to make a subtle lamp that’s not too imposing,” Piccolo says. “One that’s beautiful, even when it’s off.” Have a look at Piccolo’s London flat; white washed walls and a minimal aesthetic are an ideal canvas for this designer’s creative mind.
Richard Sweeney‘s sculptures look like birds in flight. “People see different things –– animal skulls and a spinal column being a few of my favorites mentioned so far.” It’s hard to imagine that they’re constructed from paper. Monochromatic, fluid and ethereal, I mostly see Doric columns and exquisite Madame Grès pleating. And that’s the beauty of them. That everyone sees what they see.
I very nearly bought a housecoat yesterday. It was a full length cable knit cardigan, fashioned from a lovely violet-grey alpaca. The only reason why I didn’t snap it up on the spot is because I knew I would never leave the house again. It’s rare to find something that’s as cozy as a blanket, and chic enough to entertain Elsa Maxwell in. But after close to two years of comfort dressing, any new purchases have to get me out the house not keep me in it. My Mum sent me two “fancy” blouses for Christmas that I can’t quite muster the brio to wear yet, but a baby step might be this striped sweater with matching velvet bib collar. It’s very Sonia Rykiel, and looks demure and cozy, with a suggestion of play. For now, that feels about right.
