Reporting on fashion is like being on perpetual jet-lag

Tue, 13 Dec 2005 05:39:50 +0100

In the thick of winter I am already contemplating on what I am going to wear next season. I guess this is what happens when you work for a magazine where fashion is the most important order of the day and also, working two months in advance kind of screws my sense of time and place. Reporting on fashion is like being on perpetual jet-lag.

I should be pre-occupied with Christmas presents and how to keep myself warm as the beautiful Vivienne Westwood scarf I bought last Sunday is just that – beautiful – previous illusions of it keeping me stylishly warm are in the rubbish bin together with the delicate wrapping it was in. I should be busy putting up a Christmas tree and decorating it with Gucci balls and fairy lights, instead I am going over the spring/summer lines - sticking Post-Its on floral printed skirts, pastel-hued gowns and shirts that are just the right shade of white – not too bleach and not creamy – just white. White will be big next season. You can quote me on that.

Tomorrow I am going to the Bottega Veneta showroom to preview their next season’s bags and ready to wear. I’ve already done Fendi, Dolce and Tod’s. I’ve shot Loewe’s clothes for spring and I’ve scheduled to shoot Vuitton’s rack in the next week. And though I appreciate the merits of next season’s It-bag (go get yourself a Spy bag quick! They will still rule!) and the refreshing greens and yellows of the season to come (thanks to Mr. Costa at Calvin Klein), and while I am ready with my arguments about how unflattering Bermuda shorts are on non-models, HOW CAN I ACTUALLY GET INTO THE SPRING OF THINGS WHEN ALL AROUND ME IS CHINCHILLA AND TIRED, OLD PASHMINAS?

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Candles are the Fruitcakes of the New Millenium and other Snippets from an Almost Perfect First Date

Mon, 12 Dec 2005 07:23:52 +0100

Me: I’ve never been with a banker
Him: Bankers have big cocks
Me: You sure are cocky

*
Him: What if I decide to have you for dessert?
Me: Can you handle the extra calories?
Him: Stop being a bitch
Me: You’re my role model
Him: Honey, you’d have to try harder

*
Him: You’re strutting
Me: Stop staring at my ass
Him: I’d like to bum around the house with your bum
Me: Uh-huh
Him: That didn’t seem to throw you off. You hate dirty words.
Me: Bum isn’t dirty
Him: Bums can be dirty
Me: Eeew… We’re eating flan

*
Him: What do you think of candles as Christmas gifts?
Me: Candles are the fruitcakes of the new millennium
Him: Hahaha… Must you always talk in magazine copy?
Me: I can’t help it. It’s my job

******

And on and on it went. The witty repartee, the puns and the occasional brush of flesh. It was a very promising first date. We even went shoe shopping together. My most favourite activity. It was great until:

Him: Can I be honest with you?
Me: Shoot
Him: I have boyfriend and we’ve been together seven years and it’s going to be us for life.
Me: Ok. (Choking on my macaroon)
Him: But doesn’t mean I am not allowed to have fun with other people
Me: Ok

It was when I turned monosyllabic that I resigned to what could have been a lovely relationship. I am not one to get in the way of things much as I want to be with him. I have too much self-respect to allow myself to become a convenient booty call.

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adventures and misadventures of a fashion journali

Reporting on fashion is like being on perpetual jet-lag

Candles are the Fruitcakes of the New Millenium and other Snippets from an Almost Perfect First Date