Licentiate Column 18/11/10

Fur is a tricky subject. It’s hard to be objective about animal fur, because so many emotions are involved. One one end of the spectrum there are vegans who would let only the best Stella MacCartney faux-leather boots touch their feet and shudder with extravagant horror at the though of Mittens the mink becoming Mittens the, er, mittens.

Then on the other end, there are animal fanciers, who love nothing more than buttery soft steaks and even buttery-er Loewe leathers. Fox-fur collars? Yes, please! Ermine-trimmed mukluks? Don’t mind if I do!

One of the more oddly beautiful things about free speech and conscious thought is that it gives us the right to wear the skins of dead animals that you wouldn’t pet at the zoo around our necks and somehow transform the act into a status symbol. Somewhere out there, a higher power is looking down at us and laughing his head off.

If you want my opinion (and you’re reading this, so you’re going to get it anyway), I don’t think that either of these people are inherently right or wrong. It’s a stony theoretical terrain, strewn with more emotional landmines than the average Celine Dion song. Everyone is entitled to their opinion and not one is better than the other.

What I cannot stand is the proselytising of some animal rights activists. If you pair the stance of ‘fur is wrong’ with an act of peaceful protest, then you have a coupling as perfect as strawberries and ice cream (perhaps not as harmonious and definitely not as tasty, but ultimately effective). Throwing paint on people - that’s just not on. Technically, it’s an assault and anyone who hurts a human being to defend a dead animal needs a fine tuning of the button in their brain marked ‘priorities’.

This week, I watched a slightly disturbing cartoon on Channel Four. Entitled The Tannery, it showed the death of two woodland creatures, a rabbit and a fox. The fox is killed by a hunter for it’s fur and so the spirit of the doomed fox is condemned to hang around with it’s own pelt for eternity, while the rabbit gets eaten by a wolf and ascends to Fuzzy Bunny Heaven.

This makes about as much sense as the worldwide success and dubious acclaim of Jersey Shore. The circumstances of death, which are completely arbitrary, somehow determine what happens to an animal’s spirit after it dies. This might be an obvious question, but who exactly is the maker of this film to make such an odd assertion? Did he have a one-on-one chat with the Maker Of The Animals? Did Doctor Doolittle stand in as a UN approved interpreter? Because this makes zero sense whatsoever.

Whatever your stance on animals and fur, it’s important not to get swayed too much by the opinions of other people. It’s a standpoint as individual to you as your fingerprint and it’s important not to feel guilty or inadequate over such a loaded topic. And always remember; if in doubt, go faux.

Royal Wedding Bonanza!

I have a secret shame.  I love royal weddings.

My gran used to collect magazines devoted to Royal couples and when I was a young 'un and staying over at her house I would pore over them and look at all the pretty dresses.  It's an incredibly girly impulse that has never gone away, even though I am now the kind of person who asks for boob t-shirts for Christmas.

My mother was born in England, so even though I'm Irish I was brough up with the idea of celebrating royal weddings (or at least watching them on the TV).  So, in honour of Kate Middleton and Prince William's nuptials, here are a few of my favourite royal weddings dresses.

Queen Victoria

Fact fans: Wedding dresses were traditionally pale blue in England up to that point. Victoria was evidently not amused at this because she wore a white wedding dress, which ruined any chance of future brides being able to eat chocolate cake or drink red wine at their weddings without having a nervous breakdown.  Queen Victoria's gown was of satin and lace trimmed with orange blossoms and the lace manufacturer was so keen to make sure that it wasn't copied that she ended up destroying the designs.  EDIT:  This is actually a court dress. Many thanks go to the anonymous commenter who pointed my mistake out.

Mystery Royals

I know nothing about this photo, other than the year (1927) and that the bride and groom were both royals (French and Italian). The train is amazing.  It must have been very heavy.  Presumably, it doubled as a marquee if the weather suddenly got very bad.

Princess Margaret

I was lucky enough to see her wedding dress at the Enchanted Palace Exhibition at Kensington Palace .  It was a beautiful and sad experience, especially when you consider how unlucky she was in love (she was not allowed to marry the man she was in love with, married Antony Armstrong-Jones in 1960 and got divorced in 1978).  Her dress was designed by Norman Hartnell and is simple but seriously high-impact.

Princess Grace of Monaco

Photo by Howard Conant

Grace Kelly's dress was designed by Helen Rose, the head of wardrobe at MGM.  In order to release her from her contract, the wedding was filmed and distributed by MGM.  Another fun fact - it's illegal to show Grace Kelly films in Monaco.  Don't they know what they're missing out on?

Priscilla Presley

Well, she DID marry The King.  And is that a snakeskin tux on Mr Presley?  A huh-huh.

A Christmas Wishlist

I'm so sorry,  I couldn't help it.  The spirit moved me and I said the C word on the blog.  That C word is Christmas, mind you, not what Charlotte for Sex and the City would primly call 'see-you-next-Tuesday'. Now that I've drawn attention to that, I have to warn you that there is ONE pic that might possibly be NSFW, but it's of an item of clothing, so it would depend on how easily offended you are.  Here's the list.  Check it twice if you must.

Clothes and Stuff

Siouxsie Sioux lookin' fierce

This epic t-shirt (to wear to job interviews and family christenings, obviously). Click here to read a totally interesting and absorbing series of posts about the evolution of the Tits t-shirt, brought to the masses by Vivienne Westwood and Malcolm MacLaren.

 - Black yarn

 - White yarn

 - Big ol' knitting needles

 - Loose rhinestones

 - Lengths of chain

Ingredients for a top secret craft project - and by 'top secret' I mean glaringly obvious (it's a jumper).  The closest approximation I can find is on this stylish lady on Chictopia .  And it's handmade too.  It must be fate.  I'd like to make something a little bit like this, but sparkly.

On a side note for fellow Irish bloggers; were you forced to learn knitting in primary school?  I learned (and I say that in the loosest sense possible) knitting, sewing and crochet at the Presentation Primary and conveniently forgot my knitting needles and crochet hooks for about three years running.

It might just be me, but making things is so much better than just buying the finished article.  A mountain of studs to gussy up my biker jacket a la Burberry would be mighty useful too.

Books, books and more books...

Allure by Diana Vreeland - The out-of-print masterpiece has been reissued with an introduction by Marc Jacobs.  Possibly the funniest, wittiest writer of fashion ever.  Vreeland, that is, not Marc Jacobs.
The Mode in Furs by R. Turner Wilcox - So I can understand a bit more about fur and where the hell the idea of wearing an animal comes from.
Self Portrait in a Velvet Dress by Denise Rosenzweig - A peek into the wardrobe of amazing, flamboyant artist Frida Kahlo, who took up a big part of my Halloween post with her scarves, braids and traditional Mexican clothing.

Film Flickers

Totally unattainable

I've got a Mac G4, I've had it for five years and it still works great.  But it's a little bit knackered now and I need something that has more memory and runs a little bit quicker.  It also weighs a ton.  A new Mac Air would do the trick nicely.  So light, you can barely see it.  Just like Kate Moss.  Anonymous donors, start queueing here.

And...

World peace.  Not too much to ask, is it?

Licentiate Column 11/11/10

If you’re up to date on what’s happening on the high street, you will know all about the new collaboration between high street behemoths H&M and the impossibly chic Lanvin, a designer label whose elaborate hand-painted t-shirts often run in excess of five hundred euros. To many people, this sounds like a dream come true, so the story of this collaboration will be written in a fairytale fashion that Charles Perrault (much more stylish and parfait than those uncouth Grimm Brothers) should be proud of.

Once upon a time there was a very lonely shop. This shop should not have been lonely, for it had all the customers that it could dream of, clogging up it’s dressing rooms and buying inexpensive snoods en masse. This shop was also magical, for it somehow managed to manufacture massive amounts of on-trend stock and sell at bottom dollar prices without any major human rights violations on the part of it’s factory workers in third-world countries.

What this store needed was a partner. Oh, it had had flings before, with all the right people. Stella MacCartney, Karl Lagerfeld, Victor and Rolf, Sonia Rykiel... the list went on. This store blazed a trail in sartorial lovers, all different, all special, all extremely productive. The fruits of these labours were gobbled up greedily by the customers, but such delights were not enough. Now, with such affairs concluded, the shop was not only forlorn, but faced with greedy, happy faces all in anticipation of the next scandalous partnership, like a woman who has just picked up a copy of Hello with Cheryl Cole on the cover.

What this shop needed was a fairy godmother. And, thus, Alber Elbaz, head of H&M, appeared in a flash of tulle and couture. “Worry not!” Alber exclaimed. Together we shall make a partnership the like of which no customer has ever seen. We shall have exaggerated florals, acid brights, designer tailoring, distinctive silhouettes and more cocktail dresses than you could shake a Christmas party at!” And together, the lonely shop and Lanvin joined hands and lived happily ever after. All the customers got their designer dresses at high street prices and they lived happily ever after too...

And if you believe that, you’ll believe anything.

What’s interesting about fairy tales isn’t what you are told, but what the storytellers choose to omit. The lonely shop (that’s H&M for those who haven’t quite cottoned on) wants to push up profits while Lanvin probably wants to introduce young customers to the heady thrill of designer buying, making them more likely to pick Lanvin in the future. Not all the customers will get their cheap designer dresses and many will go home unhappy.
There are three reasons for this (three being the best number for any fairytale gone wrong).

1) The collaboration is only coming to 200 selected stores, one of which is in Ireland.
2) If you manage to get past the queue and elaborate wristband system H&M have devised, you will only be allowed to buy one piece of clothing.
3) Having found the dress of your dreams, you peer at the pricetag. It will probably cost two hundred euros, one hundred and fifty if you’re lucky.
Designer at high street prices? I think not. The fairytale has well and truly ended.

Disney Roller Girl revealed! Well, sort of...

If you're in a public place and have inadvertantly blasted everyone's ears out with Richard Nicoll's ruminations on blogging for Vogue, then I'm sorry. Good ol' autoplay. EDIT - the autoplay was starting to deeply annoy people (including me) so I've linked to it instead.

The above video is a collaboration between Vice Style and Blackberry that brings bloggers together in a cornucopia of social media. Most interesting (I think) is the video of Disney Roller Girl, which offers an insight into what must be the most elusive and mysterious figure in the blogging world. Stiff competition, I know.

On another note, I once saw Disney Roller Girl in real life. One of the eleventy million bloggers I met that week (I shall never reveal who) pointed her out to me and I was greeted by a vision of... the back of her head as she headed into the press tent. Oh well. Maybe next time.






Pics: Vice Style

Wild For Kicks; The Beat Girl

I want to be this girl - The Beat Girl.




Beat Girl (released as Wild For Kicks) is a 1960 film about a disaffected teenager who hates her stepmother and gets involved with morally suspect beats and a shady striptease bar owner (played by horror maaestro Christopher Lee of all people).  Half cautionary tale and half voyeuristic fable, the striptease scenes meant that this film was given an X rating.  Things start to go downhill when Beat Girl find out about her stepmother's sordid past...

I'd like to be like this - effortless hepcat cool, dishevelled beehive, spasmodic dancing.  Oh well, one out of three ain't bad.

Licentiate Column 04/11/09

You'll be hard pressed to find a word-heavy article about minimalism.  There isn't any clear cut reason for such a linguistic drought, but it might have something to do with the fact that the trend is just so, er, minimal that there's really not much to say about it.  It could have something to do with the fact that it's just so devoid of detail and, ironically, fuzzy around the edges that no-one really seems to know what it is.

Minimalism has it's roots in art and architecture, which is appropriate for such a simple, but complicated, idea.  Predictably, it means stripping down something (in this case, clothing) to it's most fundamental elements.  Minimalist clothing isn't fussy.  Imagine minimalist clothing and you'll think of Audrey Hepburn's iconic LBD and cocoon coat in Breakfast at Tiffany's or Ali McGraw clomping morosely through a snow-filled quad of some non-distinct Ivy League university.

A minimalist coat, a coat devoid of fripperies, is not a coat with vital bits missing - the sleeve ripped out or a collar carelessly forgotten.  Instead, the minimalist is obsessed with clean lines.  That means no ruffles, no pleats and no exposed zips or buttons.  Everything should be as straight and up-and-down as possible.  This is unfortunate for women, because as we well know, women are not 'straight, up-and-down' kinds of creatures.  We have curves and folds.  We loop, we undulate. We are inconveniently complicated.  We are squiggly shapes mercilessly hammered into a square, sharp cornered hole.
>
> Fashion designers seem to have forgotten, while drawing inspiration from art and architecture, that people are not inert objects.  A blank canvas doesn't have breasts or hips to ruin the perfect, minimalist straight line.  A building doesn't have to run for the bus only to discover that, after two minutes of movement, the hem of the chic Hepburn-ish cocoon coat is now around it's armpits.
>
> Minimalism, in it's original incarnations, called for the lithe-rail thin physique of a fourteen year-old boy who has recently completed a growth spurt.  Simple sixties boxy suit jackets teamed with matching minis hung best on narrow, less well endowed physiques.  Thin, vertically ribbed knit jumpers grew unnecessary and ungainly ripples when pulled across any chest larger than an A cup.  If anything, minimalism was the trend that taught women to be ashamed of their cleavage.
>
> The nineties revival was no different.  Only this time around, 'minimalism' also meant 'wear even less clothes'.  Most people will remember the stir that Kate Moss caused modelling sheer, wire-thin strapped, mons veneris short sheath dresses for Calvin Klein.  This started an offshoot trend for barely-there frocks, which in turn resulted in the simultaneous cricking of necks in males every time there was a stiff breeze.

This years Autumn/Winter trend is slightly different.  Designers have realised the economic power of creating a look that actually suits real women.  Minimalism still retains it's pared-down aesthetic, but is slightly softer around the edges and nipped in at the waist, made lovingly with luxe fabrics and in rich neutral tones, like the clothing equivalent of a Marks and Spencers dessert ad.

Ironically though, in order to properly subscribe to minimalism, you'll have to buy a whole new wardrobe.  Unfortunately, there's a catch.  When it was affordable, minimalism didn't suit us.  Now that it miraculously suits the average woman, its almost totally inaccessible.  

We have two options. 1) Marry a Russian ogliarch.  2) Recognise that you're stressing unnecessarily about yet another inaccessible trend for no good reason and carry on living your life as normal, no damage done.  Until minimalism become fashionable again in 2030, that is.

Licentiate Column 28/10/10

I have a problem with Hallowe'en dressing.  Actually no, I don't have a problem with the dressing up itself.  Thinking up a character is fun.  Sewing, constructing and arranging a costume is also fun.  Even just wandering into a costume shop and having a pervy window shop is fun.  Getting out into the crisp, chilly Hallowe'en night to discover that you are the only female Einstein in a horde of Playboy bunnies - that is not fun.  That I have a problem with.

If you've seen Tina Fey-scripted comedy Mean Girls (and if you're under thirty-five and dress up every Hallowe'en than you almost definitely have) you'll feel a twang of recognition when Lindsay Lohan says, blissfully oblivious to the fact that her life would turn into some sort of eternal Ghost Train, that "Hallowe'en is the one night a year when girls can dress like total sluts and no other girls can say anything about it".

There's no point in deriding girls who want to dress up in their underwear because that's their prerogative.  It's Hallowe'en, so it's a-ok. Some sexy costumes (like 60's era Catwoman, for example) look, well, they look hot.  Very hot.  And very cool - it's near impossible to pull off hot and cool at the same time. Some women feel liberated by slipping on something alluring that they would never normally dream of wearing, even inside the bedroom.  Deliverance from the shackles of sexual oppression and added shock factor?  Why, that may just be the perfect costume, in my humble opinion.

The problem is the sheer lack of imagination that is displayed by wandering into a costume shop and buying a costume in a squeaky plastic bag.  Surely that sucks all the fun out of the one day a year where adults are fully justified in acting like children, albeit children who get to drink alcohol, stay out all night and then shriek loudly outside my apartment window on their way home (come to think of it, that's probably an accurate description of the children who haunt my neighbourhood).  Why buy a mass-produced costume when Hallowe'en is such a personal event?  You could dress like anyone in the world, alive or dead, real or imaginary.  Why waste that on being one of fifty sexy policewoman, like a page in a Where's Wally book gone dreadfully, dreadfully wrong?

The options for women who want to buy and not make costumes are thin on the ground for those who have the singular criteria of not baring their arse.  These costumes often bear the moniker 'sexy' but in truth it's not - you'll never see a sexy leprechaun in FHM or Playboy.  Polyester cut-out jumpsuits aren't really that sexy for anyone but hormonal pubescents.  Costume distributors seem to think that anything can be sexy across the spectrum from animal to vegetable - literally. 

While online I found a sexy straightjacket (sans trousers), a sexy Smurfette (with a jaunty-looking silly hat), a sexy Martini (with olives as bra cups, but of course), a sexy coral fish (ok...), sexy Ms Potato Head (slightly disturbing) and a sexy Elmo, which, if anything looked like a tiny fur jacket made from a freshly-skinned Muppet.

Maybe we're all missing the point here.  The spirit of Christmas isn't in the presents, just as the spirit of Hallowe'en isn't in the costumes.  The true essence of Hallowe'en is the food, the tremendous glops of candied popcorn, jellies, chocolate coins and hallmarks of general overindulgence - yet another good reason to forgo the sexiness and just be another version of yourself at Hallowe'en.

A handful of perfect Halloween costumes*

*that can be sexy, not slutty.
*that can be made with items right out of your own wardrobe
*that no-one else at the party will be wearing (though I make NO guarantees)
*that are of super-cool women
*that will make for better small talk than, "So you're a sexy policeman/traffic cop/firewoman/Elmo, when's my stripsearch?  Bwahahahaha!" and other terrible come-on lines.

That being said, there's nothing bad about sexy Halloween costumes bought from the shop - they're just so damn boring. Life is too short to be a member of the armed forces for Halloween when you could be almost anything else.

Here's my list, in no particular order, of costumes that are easy, quick and won't result in pictures of your bum being circulated on Facebook (hopefully). This post is damn long and took ages to put together (hence there only being two posts this week) so there's much, much more after the jump.

1. Frida Kahlo

Frida Kahlo was a Mexican artist of Hungarian extraction who lived a very modern life when it was unacceptable to do so. She was married to muralist Diego Rivera, but had many affairs, including with Leon Trotsky, Josephine Baker and Nickolas Muray, who would spend years taking iconic photographs of her. She posed for American Vogue and other magazines in her uniform of traditional Mexican clothing; full skirts, embroidered blouses and ostentatious colours, almost always with fresh flowers in her hair.

Both pictures by Nickolas Muray

Frida in your wardrobe - maxi skirts, florals, short sleeved blouses, shawls, hairbands DIYed with fake flowers.

Further reading - Self Portrait in a Velvet Dress: Frida's Wardrobe.

Alternates - Tamara De Lempicka, Artemisia Gentileschi, Yoko Ono, Hannah Hoch.

More after the jump!

Licentiate Column 21/10/10

A woman's experiences with camel in all it's permutations are usually interesting. It's close enough to beige to be neither exhilaratingly good or mood-shrivellingly bad, but it's far enough away from that perennially tedious shade to be just the right side of interesting. Yes, 'interesting' is definitely the word.

Like many girls of my generation, the first time that I saw a camel coat was a particularly sharp Jil Sander number on my mother as a toddler (I was the toddler, not my mother. Camel may be interesting but it isn't powerful enough to implicate time travel). I remember thinking even then just how impossibly grown-up the long, double-breasted overcoat was - how the shape precisely delineated just how much of an adult my mother was, and still is, in my eyes. It was a world away from the one that I inhabited. I wondered when I would be the grown-up lady with the grown-up coat. I'm still waiting.

The second experience with camels was riding one by the ancient pyramids in Giza last year. As the slurping behemoth bobbed and juddered around unfenced tombs of the pyramid's foremen and architects, little more than holes in the ground, I got the same feeling that I did when looking upon my mother's camel coat for the first time. I was just not ready for the experience.

Even though the style reports tell you otherwise, a camel coat is not just for this season; it's for life. The moment you become an adult is not when you turn 18 and legally ged drunk on lager shandies, it's when you buy on of these babies. Unlike an actual camel though, a camel coat will not cost you money in food and stable fees. A camel coat will not earn you extra pocket money charging passing tourists for joy rides and it will definitely not spit on you when the going gets tough (but I promise nothing).

In fact, most camel coats aren't actually made of camel hair but synthetic fibres that are dyed a uniformly dromedary hue. "Oh good", I hear you sigh, "No animal has been harmed in the making of my new car coat from Oasis". Bless you, for you are incredibly misinformed (but fair dues for worrying about whether your clothes are ethically sourced or not). Besides wool, camel hair has to be the kindest of all animal fibres, collected from the two humped Bactrian camel and not my stinky Egyptian friend. The best to be had is casually collected of the animals neck and flanks as it falls off during moulting, thus making camel hair harvesting the easiest job since the Arctic got it's first weatherman.

Many people accuse camel of being nothing but a another word for the dreaded beige. For future reference, real camel is actually a shade of brown. It's darker than beige, with a golden, honeyed tone. Camel hair also has thermobaric properties that NASA would be proud to develop, enabling the wearer to stay warm in Peruvian mountain snow and cool in desert climes (or just on a windy December day waliking down Patrick Street, if that's what you prefer). See what I mean about camel being interesting? You can accuse it of being scarily grown-up or a bastardised beige, but it'll never be boring.