Klass is Classy

Oh do forgive the awful wordplay, but it simply had to be done.  

Upon receiving my daily dosage of my guiltiest of pleasures (the inscrutable* Mail Online), I couldn't help aaawing and aahing at Myleene Klass.  Both her figure and fashion sense bring me close to tears (green with envy etc.) and I'll never forget the iconic image of her in a skimpy white bikini taking a shower in I'm A Celebrity Get Me Out of Here.  Appreciative, not perverse, I'd like to point out.  It may not be quite as iconic as Elizabeth Hurley's safety pin dress or Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany's shrouded with jewels and seductively holding an overly long cigarette, but it's definitely high up in my books.  

Take a look at this dress.  The fur collar totally gets my seal of approval.  I'm not usually fanatical about fur, but ever since I purchased a jacket with a fur rimmed collar and received many compliments, I agreed that fur can be fabulous, if fashioned fittingly.  A little touch of our furry friend turns an LBD into a FLBD - a furry little black dress.  Granted, it doesn't have quite the same ring as LBD, but hear me out.  No-one, and I mean no-one can deny that the lady is owning this dress down to the ground.  She struts the figure hugging ensemble with a fierce sensuality while still keeping it casual.  And I would too, if I had a waist like that.  Carved by Rodin himself.  A definite winner.

So I thought I'd take it upon myself to delve into the archives and pull out some of Klass's classiest moments:

Green is a favourite of mine, and I often have to stop myself from vigorously peeling green dresses off hangers when I hit the shops.  It's more exciting than blue, and I believe many more people suit the shade than is commonly thought.  I never usually endorse shiny materials either, but I think I'll have to say au revoir to my out-of-date stereotype and bite the bullet on this one.  I mean, the woman's practically glowing.  In a good way.  And it does a great job of highlighting her sun-kissed skin.  And bravo to match it with orange nails.

There are few people that can pull off yellow, and I'm certainly not one of them.  But if you've got the skin-tone of Miss Klass, matched with locks which could give chocolate a run for its money, then a bit of yellow is definitely worth investing in.  Even if you end up blinding half the people in the room when you make your entrance.  But when you're a celebrity, you are called to stand-out.  When you're competing with the red carpet, there really is limited space for holding back.  Apart from the firecracker shoes, what I love about Myleene's look here is the sheer elegance.  And you know what makes it even better?  She wore it in Heathrow Airport.  Talking about flying high on the fashion radar.

And now heading back to 2012, in October at the Brit awards she opted for a strapless purple peplum dress which she even designed herself.  Is there any colour this woman doesn't suit?  And according to Vogue (a fashionista's beacon of knowledge), purple is the IT colour of Autumn/Winter 2012/2013, which probably explains why on a recent shopping exhibition to H&M and New Look, I was spoilt for choice with the regal colour.  Must.  Hold.  Back.

I'm also loving the black lace bag which makes an appearance in two of these photos.  Vintage! 


Watch this space.

Montana

* spelling errors/missing captions/misleading titles to name a few reasons...

The Sparkle Effect

After going to the exhibition Paris Seen By Hollywood a couple weeks ago, I unknowingly took quite a tumultuous liking to sparkly things.  Maybe because I'm already in tune with the festive season, or maybe because Paris has started putting up its Christmas lights.  Either way, the ball gown from the hit musical Lovely to Look at (1952) was showcasing on centre stage, adorned with a flurry of golden sequins and it was magical.  Just like Dorothy's sparkly red slippers, this dress was in every way iconic.

A few days ago, during a much-anticipated shopping trip in the commercial centre Les Quatre Temps near where I work, I managed to pick up what seemed like every sparkly object in sight before hoarding them in a dressing room, just like a magpie.  I attempted to squeeze my baguette-induced love handles into glittery dresses, tops and coats, in all the wrong styles, shapes and sizes just to get that inch closer to the Hollywood sparkle I so deeply wanted to achieve.   

Sequins are tricky.  If worn correctly, they can be classy, eye-catching, show-stopping etc.  If not, it's very easy to look like you're trying too hard, and they can look tacky.  Plus, cheap sequins have a tendency to a) fall off  in a Mexican wave effect by which a whole row seemingly dismantles itself, or b) lose their colour.  The last thing you want is for that gorgeous gold sequined sparkly dress of yours to turn copper brown. 

Ella Henderson - 2012 X Factor hopeful

But I'm not the only one feeling sparkle savvy.  I must admit that I have long said au revoir to The X Factor.  The show seems (how shall I put it?) so last year, and I'm fed up with seeing desperate wannabees who seem to spend more time crying their hearts out than singing them.  I think they'd be able to flood England with all the tears shed.   The sad reality is that these misinformed hopefuls actually believe that they could be the niche in the already niched-out market.  Singing in an annoying airy fairy, wispy voice is no longer ''unique talent'' - it's totally 2008 Diana Vickers copycat.  Each contestant strives to get closer and closer to fame when the reality is that all they're worth is a misspelt headline in the Daily Mail or a three-month Wikipedia column.  I don't regard that as a particularly mean feat.  And no, this isn't jealousy talking.  

Above is a photograph from last Saturday's show.  As much as I've come to love sequins over recent weeks, this is what I'd called a sparkle overload - the silver, black and purple mesh from online boutique Lipsy I frankly found to be a little too overwhelming.  (Sadly those in favour of this fashion flop won't be able to purchase the dress as it was customised and thus not available in their catalogue!)  I personally think she (or more likely the show's dressers) should have taken note from former X factor judge Dannii Minogue who back in September rocked a gorgeous sequin gown which I would do anything to get my hands on right now! Despite her apparent lack of balance, the gown shows just the right amount of cleavage and curve in a gorgeous midnight blue hue which thankfully doesn't scream Disco diva, unlike the aforementioned Miss. Henderson.  Of course if you're invited to a party and ''Disco Diva'' is the theme then I urge you to go ahead and dress yourself in as many multicoloured sequined items as you can get your paws on.  Charity shops would be your best bet for searching for 80s style regalia.  When you're rocking out to Gloria Gaynor on the Karaoke, there's really no room for holding back on the attire front.

Back to the 21^st century.  During said shopping travels I tried on a frock in H&M which I was in two minds about.  The main thing stopping me was the fact that I felt like I'd just jumped back to my  flat-chested days at the turn of the millennium, dressed like a school girl for her first ever disco.  The blue and green sequin shimmer was exquisite however, hence the two minds.  Yet I also found the black netting made it feel like I was wearing a tutu, forcing me to reminisce about the old days when I'd go to ballet every Wednesday evening.  The only time acceptable for a girl aged almost 21 to wear a tutu is when she's going as a vampire slut for Halloween.  Which, I'm happy to say, I didn't do this year.  The forever memorable quote from Mean Girls comes to mind: "In Girl World, Halloween is the one night a year when a girl can dress like a total slut and no other girls can say anything about it''.  Well, that's what we tell ourselves anyway.

I never usually shop in Zara as I find the clothing seems more geared towards working women rather than fun-loving students with vibrant taste, but I was nicely surprised by what was on offer during my shopping travels.  To satiate my love of sparkles, I decided to slyly wander over to a rail which had my name written all over it.  You know when you see a dress which just seems so stunningly beautiful and expensive and you’re fully aware you can’t afford it, know you probably won’t look good in it (because that’s what the models are for), yet you still can’t help taking it off the rail and holding it to your chest to pretend that it’s yours for five sweet minutes?  And then you rush off with it to the fitting room; the lick of the zip going up the side of your back is just too nice a noise, and you know it must be done.  Half of you is hoping that the dress looks terrible on you, just so that you’re not tempted to part ways with your ever-burdened wallet, while your vanity is just hoping you look like the bees knees because there’s nothing quite like staring at yourself in the mirror and repeating to yourself “corr, you look good!’  I bought the dress. 

Watch this space.

Montana

Fashion Fever

I may not have the greatest fashion sense in the world, but I do pride myself slightly on having a good "eye" for fashion.  Of course this eye of mine may be slightly different from the Hubert de Givenchy's of this world, but I'm willing to give myself credit for appreciating nice clothing.  And no, that doesn't include Bubble coats.  I have seen far too many of them surfacing in recent weeks and I want to tell you, I'm not a fan. 

H&M models.  I will never look as good as them: FACT.

I decided to go on what one might call a "shopping spree" this Saturday, starting off in the very familiar H&M.  Saturday, it seems, is the worst possible day to go shopping in France.  Frankly, I will never do it again.  I'd already endured the wrath of supermarket shopping on a Saturday and I believe this topped it.  There were so many people raiding the clothing rails, hogging the mirrors (which were 1) slimming, 2) dark).  It was like staring at a significantly altered representation of yourself through a pair of sunglasses.  As much as losing a few pounds and gaining a suntan in a mirror can make your shopping experience more endurable, I was not fooled.

To add to this, the winter collection was pants (as in rubbish, not the American equivalent to trousers!)  Truly unimpressive.   The shop was about 80% coats.  I already have a coat.  Who needs more than one coat anyway?  Unless you're Kate Middleton of course, who is technically not allowed to wear the same coat more than once without the headlines reading "Kate hit badly by recession too".  Never mind wearing the same coat two days on the trot.

And don't even get me started on the queue for the fitting room.  I was tempted to just go al fresco and create a makeshift dressing room in a corner of the shop and use one of the many coat rails to protect my dignity.  Yet despite the infuriatingly long queue which appeared to snake round the shop, I decided I was going to try my patience and wade it out for the long haul.  As I got closer to the entrance, the person manning the dressing room came up to me and pretty much man-handled me.  After counting how many items of clothing I had as if I were a coat stand, he proceeded to pick up my coat which was draped on my other arm and shake it about a bit before he ruffled my hair with his eyes to check that I wasn't obscuring a pair of pumps in my voluminous hair.  I mean, seriously.  You'd have thought I were a terrorist or something with the amount of frisking that went one.

My complaints about the clothing?  1) The sizes are different from the UK.  A UK size 10 is a European size 38.  But still, the clothes were too big.  In H&M in the UK all the clothes come up really small (either to make me feel fat, or because 12 year old girls are increasingly frequenting the store), so I was completely surprised when trying on an equivalent size 10 in Europe to see that all the clothes were hanging off me.  As much as I'd love to say I've lost weight, I think all the bread and cheese I've been consuming over recent months would make that nay impossible.  I just put that down to a lack of consistency with sizing.

2) All the dresses were so long.  Like mid-calf bashers.  I don't think any of the dresses I tried on were above the knee.  As an Essex girl, I don't quite understand the concept of anything which doesn't cut at least 5 inches above the knee.  Not because I've got killers pins or anything (I wish), but because Essex girls live by the motto "less is more".  Especially when it's covered in fake tan and cellulite.  I'd just like to point out that I'm not a real Essex girl and none of these gross representations apply to yours truly.  At least, I try to cover up any offending cellulite with a dress that actually covers my booty.  But why all the long dresses?   Either I'm incredibly small at 5'4" or the French live by the motto "more is more".  Or perhaps it's because everyone here wears high-heels, whether it's for work, shopping or going out.  Although I should clarify that these "high" heels are more like kitten-heels rather than great white stomping stillettos which Essex girls use to cripple their boyfriends when they get out the wrong side of bed in the morning.

I've also noticed this annoying obsession with purchasing clothing which is obviously about 3 sizes too small.  As much as ill-fitting, skin-clawing tops are so hot right now, don't flatter yourself with thinking you're a size 6, just because the seam doesn't split.  Was it really all that necessary to sew yourself into that dress, Olivia Newton John style?  Don't forget that the poor woman couldn't pee for 48 hours during filming for Grease.  Is it really worth all the strain on your poor bladder?  No, just accept you're not as tiny as you were when you were 13 years old, and choose clothing which doesn't cut off your blood circulation.  *Rant over*

So, that was the completion of unsuccessful day no.1 shopping in Paris.  Oh, I just wish I could afford Armani right now.

Watch this space.

Montana

Hollywood's Paris

This weekend I went to a fabulous exhibition at Hotel de Ville called "Paris vu par Hollywood" (i.e. Paris seen by Hollywood).  Since Hollywood's conception in the early 20th century, Paris has captured a multitude of film directors who have been drawn to the city's romantic allure and celebrated scenery.  The portrayal of Paris in these films dates back to the iconic performances of Charlie Chaplin and later Gene Kelly, who appeared in films such as A Woman of Paris (1923) and An American in Paris (1951) respectively.  Paris has consequently been depicted in over 800 American films, one of the most recent being Woody Allen's 2011 production of Midnight in Paris starring French leading lady Marion Cotillard, as well as Martin Scorsese's coming of age adventure Hugo, shot entirely in 3D.  Two monumental statues created by Dante Ferreti for Scorsese’s film were commissioned for the exhibit.  I wondered for a moment if they weren’t indeed part of the hall’s aesthetic, standing ominously like carved pillars.

The exhibition spoke as much about Paris as the American public.  For the average American, Paris is touted as a place representing desire, pleasure and sophistication. McDonald's transforms into Tinseltown French Brasserie.  They discover before long French fashion like Givenchy and Jean Paul Gaultier which appear alien to their Wal-Mart bargains.  The exhibit itself showcased a variety of gowns and outfits, in particular some stunning creations from Hubert de Givenchy who designed many of Audrey Hepburn's iconic looks.  One of the exhibition’s highlights was a gold-sequined ball gown from the musical Lovely to Look At (1952) which was displayed behind glass in the centre of the grand hall.

What was beautifully evasive however was the word “fantasy” which sparkled on the walls in the form of posters and blown up movie clips of scenes involving vintage cars, baguettes and lots of French kissing.  Here we see the Paris of German-American filmmaker Ernst Lubitsch.  Lubitsch created dozens of films in the 20s and 30s using replicas of Paris, admitting “I’ve been to Paris, France, and I’ve been to Paris Paramount.  Paris Paramount is better.”

The exposition walks the voyeur through the history of Paris' illustration in silent films, towards the stylish Paris of romantic comedies, the Cancan with all the spirit of Moulin Rouge (1952), and lastly Paris as seen in Hollywood action films.  The exhibition showcases a variety of film clips featured on the 42-foot-long projection screen, including a scene from Funny Face (1957) starring Hepburn and Fred Estaire singing at the Eiffel Tower summit, creating none other than a romantic illusion.  Dozens of smaller screens scatter the aisles, exhibiting excerpts from films and interviews with the likes of Alfred Hitchcock.  Photographs and set models from Hollywood films are part of the 100 strong collection, paired with colourful mood boards and fabric trimmings.  Original sketches of Paris drawn in coloured chalks steal the show with their fine detailing and impressive clarity.  It is one of the few instances when a spectator outside the world of film can truly experience the aptitude of the artists involved in creating both sets and costumes first-hand.

My immediate impression was that of wanting to fall head-first into one of these blissfully charismatic models of Paris, until I realised that the Paris I’m in right now is so much more authentic than the one depicted on the Hollywood golden screen.  Rather, they are reconstitutions of the Paris effect in Hollywood studios, not only of an aesthetic existence, but also a Paris identifiable by American sensibilities.

Like the exhibition’s curator Antoine de Baecque says, “Paris in Hollywood is not the real city, it’s a cliché. It’s an American projection.”

Bamboo-zled

I had no idea until a few months ago that people actually wore bamboo.  Bamboo to me = Pandas; not handbags, clothes or accessories.  But in the good ‘ol days, strips of bamboo were commonly used for structuring clothing such as the ribs of corsets and bustles.  FYI, bustles were used around the mid to late 19^th century when the fashion of the time was to have a derriere akin to J-Lo (or as the Victorians protested, to keep the backs of their dresses from going “flat”).  These bustles needed a sturdy framework – hence the bamboo.  The Chinese and Japanese on the other hand would use bamboo to weave hats and shoes; a tradition of rural life for the farmers and fishermen.  Now however, bustles (which were known for accentuating the important female curves) are not à la mode because it seems we all got Kate Moss fever and, I will quote: “nothing tastes as good as skinny feels”.  However, technology transformed and suddenly people realised that bamboo could be used for more than just Panda food and underwiring.  They realised that bamboo could be their new comfort equivalent to cashmere and silk.

And then, 65 years ago, bamboo met Gucci.  And from this introduction came a girl’s paradise: lots and lots and lots of beautiful handbags.  It was 1947 and with the war-time rationing of materials, the design directors at Gucci came up with an innovative idea.  By importing the bamboo cane from Japan, they were able to heat and bend it into a semi-circle to create the unique handle for the A-list bag; a design which continues to clock up thousands of pounds in high-end fashion.  The original Gucci Bamboo bag was a modest handbag crafted in pigskin but in 2010 Gucci’s creative director Frida Giannini unveiled a revitalised collection called “New Bamboo”, recapturing the classic Gucci style but with a new twist.  Made in Italy, the bags continue to rule the fashion world and the arms of fashion-conscious celebs.

But 2012 brings another year, and another successful Gucci line-up.  The haute-couture designer has recently announced its new plan for this Autumn: the unveiling of its India-exclusive collection.  Yes, Gucci has hit Bollywood, joining leading fashion houses in a global drive to celebrate India’s cultural influences.  “I wanted this collection of handbags and accessories to celebrate India’s time-honoured tradition of gifting, especially for weddings and trousseau” Gianni commented.  Gucci follows the likes of French designer brand Hermes who last year brought out their chic and elegant India-exclusive saris.

Prices for the bags range from the oh-so-affordable $1750 for the original GG canvas model to $15800 (who knew crocs could be so darn expensive?).  The bags come in a variety of exceptional leathers and hues, each with the neatly embossed ‘India Exclusive’ metal plaque inside.  Plus, each handbag has been beautifully crafted with bamboo fringe tassels, a bamboo turn-lock closure and an elegant handle.

And what’s more, earlier this year the Indian city of Tripura announced plans to create India’s first ever bamboo park with a price-tag of 7 million US dollars.  The city which is host to 25 different varieties of bamboo (also known as “green gold”), will be relying on the park’s revenue to help expand bamboo-based industries.  The park which is set to cover 70 acres will facilitate India’s export of the produce, taking advantage of the country’s natural wealth.  Now seems like a more poignant time than ever to bring India’s vast expanse of Bamboo to the fashion stakes.

But that’s only one side of it!  If million dollar handbags aren’t within your price-range but you’re still keen to try out the eco-friendly produce, why not try bamboo clothing?  As I’ve already mentioned, bamboo fibre is super soft.  It’s also better for the environment so it’s hard to see why we aren’t seeing more bamboo-based clothing on the high-street periphery.  Bamboo is a dry material which means it absorbs and evaporates sweat in a matter of seconds.  So you can forget about developing unpleasant yellow rings while sunbathing in your favourite white tee.  Believe it or not, bamboo also has UV protection, cutting out 98% of harmful UV rays (great for red heads – aka me).  Plus, the fabric is highly breathable in hot weather as well as keeping you nice and toasty in the cold.  It’s also antibacterial – keeping you smelling fresh for longer (sorry, this is starting to sound a bit like a commercial for deodorant).  It’s also anti-static which means it sits well on your skin but doesn’t cling = bumps and bulges are less visible.  For the sensitive-skinned among you, bamboo is a great choice and the fabric works well for those prone to skin allergies.  I’m really starting to think that bamboo is the fashion equivalent to acai berries.  

Cotton: you have been warned.

Watch this space.

Lingerie low-down

There’s something knowingly sexy about a nice set of undies.  Admit it – that tiny lacy thong which slides between your bum cheeks isn’t exactly the comfiest of things, but you keep it at the back of your drawer because when you finally succumb to it, it makes you feel sexy.  You catch yourself staring at the pert bottom you’ve spent all those months defining in the gym as that little inch of frill firmly tucks its way into your derriere.

I hope you feel suitably humoured.

Watch this space.

Montana

"Living the Dream"

So I’ve landed myself a summer job! Hooray.  While it may not be quite as lucrative as a job working at this summer’s Olympics (whilst, I might add, reaping the tax-payers’ money), I’m quite chuffed with my fairly acceptable £6.25 hourly rate.  I will, as many a British student is accustomed to do, be serving Britain’s finest as they wine and dine on Champagne and smoked salmon crudités in some of London’s most exquisite settings.

While ideally the plan would be to turn my room into a jungle of clothes with all this new-found argent, I’ve decided to curb unnecessary materialism in favour of my impending YA in Paris.  I’ve decided when I’m out there - besides learning how to cook snails and frogs legs - I’ll have to buy myself a couple silk scarves to wrap around my head as I ride on the moped of my Parisian beau Jean-Pierre, just so I don’t stick out like a sore thumb amongst the locals.  And I’ll have to stop using such typically British idioms.  So essentially this money will be my survival tool when it comes to embracing the French way of life.

Plus, travel expenses don’t pay for themselves and if I’m going to be in France for a grand total of 12 months, it’s important that I go beyond the capital.  I’m thinking the “sunny south”, working as a tour guide on the Dordogne, or perhaps serving cocktails on a beach along the French Riviera as I whip up an enviable tan, meet charming Frenchman numero 2 (adieu Jean-Pierre) who will whisk me away to his chateau, perfect my accent and teach me the hottest slang.  And Bob’s your uncle - I’ve got a 100.00 average on my French Oral come September 2013.  Oh, I do love this imaginary life.

Watch this space.

Montana

Taxi, please!!

Sometimes I sit and wonder how Carrie Bradshaw can afford to take the bright yellow New York cabs every day.  It even keeps me awake at night.  The way she can afford Prada and Gucci, Jimmy Choo and Givenchy, as if it were normality.  The look on her face as she wonders past a shop on 5^th avenue and waltzes right in, clutching the $400 stilettos to her bosom as if they were her very own baby.  And here’s me, a student whose limited income comes from a few shifts at a Devon pub and the occasional ironing job.  Trust me, I’d like,love to be writing for Vogue.  $2 a word.  The phrase sounds delectable.  I swear all my articles would be five pages long filled with three letter words.  With an airbrushed photo of me in my $1,095 Kurt Geiger’s and D&G jersey.  If only…

But there’s something quite nice about saving pennies and finding bargains.  Carrie doesn’t know New Look and their £19.99 heels.  She could never possess that smug feeling of wearing a Primark dress when everyone thinks it’s Topshop.  I don’t like feeling guilty.  I like telling people I spent £3.99 on a T-shirt from Asda; not £85 just because someone sewed a (wonky) Abercrombie label onto the bottom left hand corner.

  

But are you defined by the clothes you wear on your back?  By your shopping bags?  I like to think not.  But there’s something almost obsessively indulging about carrying your groceries in Dior, or walking down Oxford Street laden with bags which scream wealth.  Is it about the actual gift, or the wrapping?  Deception can be clever.  But when it comes down to it, you’ll never be worth more than the person you are inside.  Don’t let shiny wrapping paper tint you.  Stay true to yourself.

Watch this space.

Montana