A Single Man

You should never, never talk about a movie just after having seen it. You really should better sleep on it, and see what does it taste like the morning after. I'm just home from the cinema, and it appears like Tom isn't only the father every sunglasses wishes to have. A movie is always preety good if you walk out smiling, filled with life-resolution that you'll never follow, and firmly convinced of having learned some subtle secret truth the director whispered between the frames, which clearly has passed unnoticed by all the other spectators. Who also weren't so much, with everybody puncturing the neightbour's pneumatics hoping to gain some more chance to find a place for Avatar. I'm also persuaded that when you can show you liked a book because it's well written, even if the plot for itself is kind of dramatically slow and predictable, through a movie which is not, you deserve a big clapping. And, what I always find also in all these shortfilms to promote a collection that lately have been the last trend for bored brilliant fashion designers, especially those with snow-like hair and black sunglasses: the meticulous obstinate attention for every single object of the scenery, every shade of colour, every murmured word, every shooting angle and every single seam. It's so clear when you're interested in beautiful things. And, there was SO MUCH sexual tension, like, the audience was burning sitting on the edge of the stalls.

Sunglasses where still AMAZING, by the way. Especially I loved these worn by Nicholas while sensually "knocking on Colin's window". The tortoise on american tan, paired with turquoise eyes and Ken-nish hairstyle, yummi!:

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The team's look:

AND Tom's seems still not ready to let that pretty boy walk away easily. Nicholas is apparently going to be the new face everybody was waiting for for the summer campaign:

photo via the fashion spot.

Nicholas peacocoks about his galloping career while being shot by Tom himself ("step back Karl, I can do everything too.):

photos via image amplified.

All this has to teach you mainly something boys: side parting is back.


Natasha and Sølve do it oriental

photos via paper mode.

Just found again, I felt the need to share my favorite pieces. Black and white contrast and floating is Sølve Sundsbø, Natasha goes East and explains why we call her a SUPER. It was already so Chanel pre-fall 2010 inspired.

Rememer the brilliant way in which our I-can-do-whatever-better-than-everybody Karl promoted himself? How can we blame him for being so much vain when he keeps winning all the rights to be so?


Marchesa Luisa Casati

Tilda Swinton has always been astonishingly outstanding, and that's really not much news. She grows gorgeous while getting old, and keeps cleverness and success together in a silent implausible way. Who you're maybe not so much aware of is Marchesa Luisa Casati's genius, which I've been obsessed from a couple of months ago. She was one of those rich weirdos unbelievably pale and tense and snob (all features that always naturally follow one another), one of those that could only have born in the nineteenth century, because since 1900 rich people became boringly rational and falsely relaxed, and usually started owning a football team. She used to walk down there throw narrow Venetian lanes, understandably patronizing with her domestic crows, peacocks and ghepards. She was clearly an art collector, and she got so much into debts that at the end all her belongings had been sold by auctions. One of the buyers was nothing less that Coco. According to plan she died desperately poor and lonely. This little vain exposition of my knowledge and researches was just to show one properly Tilda personifies the girl, in that editorial by Paolo Roversi.
First the real one.

pictures via fashinating people and poor little rich girl.

Then our lady.

pictures via fashion copious.

Is it just me or is she wearing THESE miu miu bejewelled socks? With these I would have spent such an happy winter. Not too late if you feel the need to cheer up my mood, mum. Actually, I thought just Sasha could wear it. Seriously, I thought she had some kind of exclusive right. I didn't mind thought, 'cause she used to wear them particularly well. A couple of pages from two different editorials to stress my point.

Keep speaking on our subject, also Georgina Chapman tried to play the Marchesa, but personally I find her far too sexy and curvaceous, somehow too healthy to turn into the skinny nervous and compulsive character Luisa Casati had to be. Here the shoot by Peter Lindbergh.

photos via my fashion life.

I let you think I'm just envious of her breast. I let you.


Marloes Horst goes American.

Ok, so she manages to look sensual and elegant and graceful in American Apparel. Don't shame yourself by trying to reach the same target. You can look at ease, fit, casual, comfortable, just-out-of-bed, seventy-missing, eighty-nostalgic, ninety-loyal but no, you can never look elegant. Maybe, if you are really not much dressed you can even look "available". Not at all sensual. So please if you're going to make a speech in a conference, forget your tracksuit, just buy a Prada.

I SO SO love fake fuffled hair.
Just easier to blame Benny Horne.


Charlie Le Mindu

Did I ever tried to talk about hair without mentioning him? How could I ever have thought that that would have perhaps been possible? Ok, now I may seem I little bit obsessed with all that haired-stuff-thing, which I actually am. But when the little creatures of a talented odd hairdresser go back and forth on the catwalks of London fashion week, to stop on not less than Lady Gaga's head, I think very few firmly conservative people may avoid concerning about the topic. And eventually start desiring greedily eagerly and sort of aggressively one of these wigs.
My personal Charlie's fav for that summer (they make me wish to spend it somewhere enough cold):

photos via guardian.co.uk

Just to keep gossip about Gaga, now everybody seem to be eager to grab one of her barbies from the insane lovable accuracy and patience that only a real fan could have. And Mattel will certainly, soon.

pictures via pipeline.
Ok, the kermit-one is pretty cool, I must admit it. But you're almost no one if there's not a least one Barbie who looks like you, and all that enthusiasm seem a bit too flamboyant to me. I still want one them, anyway. But I want it queitly. What instead I still do want REALLY LOUD and nobody seem to have cared enough about is that Barbie:

Now, that's a doll with a fashion taste, wearing a Margiela must have.

Chadwick Tyler

I find these shoots of Ranya by the genius of Chadwick Tyler so extremely stunning and fascinating and astonishing I hardly can breath. In truth I'm in love with the whole "Demons" series, and there's not much really to chat about. The way he manages to unveil the girls' innermost and display it so clearly in black and white is unique and sincerely admirable. Apparently they are not just those stick insects of a rare exclusive beauty, void of mind of brain of food, who come and go on runways to let us envy and so critique them. Their inside world seem to be there, and even if Chadwick probably enrich it a bit, they kind of show them pretty well. Other innatural dephts in lovable cases:

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