Giorgio Armani

At the Giorgio Armani press day the clothes and accessories evidenced why the design house is so iconic and longstanding. Nothing was outré or unconventional. All the pieces were beautifully crafted, classic and wearable.  Structured tailoring was a key theme, with several jackets each with a distinctive twist- satin lapels, detailed stitching or enhanced shoulder seams. The gowns were simple in form and fitted to a slim, streamlined silhouette which was timeless and elegant. The shoes were surprisingly modern with transparent perspex heels and even some satin pointed flats. 

Everything was kept crisp and clean by the simplicity of the blue colour scheme- from darkest navy to rich royal blue and indigo.

The men's collection continued the timeless tailoring of the women's but with some fresh and fun modern details. Jackets and trousers were made 'of the moment' by the use of unusual fabrics and colours- checked trousers in a metallic oyster, slate grey blazers in a thick knit and fine cardigans in dip dyed teal. The footwear collection even included some hi-tops with patent navy detailing! Definitely a wardrobe for the modern gentleman.

When did face to face become wall to wall?

A new tool on facebook allows you to view a page specifically dedicated to your social interactions with any one of your friends, like 'You and Sam '. You can see comments you have written on each others walls, events you have both attended and photos you are both tagged in. This page is basically a history of your friendship.

But the truth is this isn't always a real friendship is it?

Social networking sites allow us to mingle with others in an online community much like we would at a party. Except all of this is carried out through words typed into the keyboard of a computer. No handshakes. No eye contact. No real physical interaction at all.

After watching 'The Social Network' I really started to think about how we, as a generation, are extraordinarily reliant on technology and the internet to carry out our lives. The number of 'friends' we have on facebook is more often than not taken as a genuine indicator of how popular we may be; regardless of the fact that a high proportion of those friends are casual acquaintances or people added after a chance encounter on a night out. If you are brutally honest, how many of these so called 'friends' do you actually speak to or meet up with on a regular basis?

When I left university in July I had around 450 'friends'.

I probably speak to about 30 at most. 10 of whom are best friends. 5 of whom also live in London. 2 of whom I live with.

The remaining 400 or so 'friends' are really just there to make me look like I'm a social person.

A card I saw in Scribbler summed up this strange phenomenon perfectly:

'HAPPY BIRTHDAY (FACEBOOK) FRIEND'

As more of our relationships continue to be formed, fostered and ended online we run the risk of losing the personal touch completely. In the last few weeks I have made the, now seemingly redundant, attempt to conduct business over the telephone.

Almost every one of these conversations has ended abruptly with the recipient asking me to just email them the details of my request instead.

Apparently the phone call is now as extinct as the Nokia 5110 it was once made on. No-one wants to talk face to face (or voice to voice) anymore. I can have arguments with someone via Twitter. I can gossip with friends on ichat. I can joke with mates on skype. I can flirt with men via match.com (not that I've actually done this, but I could).

Despite the fact that I write an internet blog and have both Facebook and Twitter (and unashamedly check both accounts at least five times a day) I still sometimes feel like staging a revolution. It's nice to revert back to the days before everything was conducted through an electronic device. It's comforting and nostalgic.

After using some amazing samples on a recent shoot I hand wrote 'Thank You' notes.
I got a shocked but heartfelt thank you back.

Via email.

Inspiration on the Tube

I saw this on the tube earlier today and thought it was beautiful. Short, sharp, emotive and magical.

If a boy must wonder
-Leon Yuchin Lau (1993)


If a boy must wonder,
let him recall
not the lightning grace of falcons,
the dizzying aeronautics, Darwin's finch,
the voyage of ancients
who saw farther, whose charts and sails
and bubbly telescopic minds
brought ashore hope
to lift
a charioting god to the moon
but how
even a rogue dream of stars
once birthed the possibility of flight.


Beautiful.
My rogue dream of stars right now is to live in an apartment over looking Central Park in New York. I dream of being able to go for a run in Autumn as the leaves are slowly falling from the trees and the sun is rising or setting. I dream of walking down the streets of New York and arriving to work with a smile on my face and a diary packed full of things to do. I dream to achieve.

Is bigger really better?

As I dressed this morning I was more conscious than usual of looking good. I don't have a date with a guy or a school reunion for which I want to look impressively successful. Instead I have my first real foray into the world of fashion-the press day.

Having never attended such an event I am completely clueless as to the requisite dress code, manner of social interaction and appropriate entrance time. I have tried to dress like me, but better. In this case the transformation involves a pair of near 5 inch stiletto heeled black suede ankle boots from Zara.

As a tall girl without heels (approximately measuring somewhere just under the 6 foot mark) I feel remarkably self conscious with a little added height once I am firmly within the 6 foot range of official giants. But I felt that at such a fashionable function I should make the effort to look confident and ladylike.

Despite the best intentions of wearing such footwear I am more worried about the possibility of a reputation ruining (or making seeing as I am a total unknown) fall, slip or slide. When catwalk models stumble and crash to the floor (as in the finale of the latest Burberry show) it is deemed a likely outcome of the hazards of outrageously high heels. Some such moments are career defining-like Naomi Campbell's tumble at Vivienne Westwood in 1993. But again, the cause was a pair of ridiculously impractical 10 inch platform boots. Women in the current age are expected to be proficient in high heel strutting as if it were just a further addition to traditional feminine etiquette like place setting and flower arranging. I, however, am far more comfortable and at ease in flats.

Be they the converse trainers or patent Doc Martins of youth, or the brogues, loafers and worker boots of my current wardrobe flats have always been my staple footwear. I can speed walk easily, leap up stairs on the rush to the tube and often do a little jig as I listen to my music too loudly on the way to work.

As soon as I slip on some heels I feel one of two things. Either that I must maintain some aura of respectability and 'appropriate' behavior, like saying please, thank you and 'yes, darling'. Or I become some sort of Samantha Jones-esque 80s power woman- strutting like a stuck-up bitch and elevating my nose, 6 feet from the ground. The choice between the two largely depends on the type of heel. A little sandal or glittery number results in outcome A, whilst a boot or strong wedge results in personality B.

I guess you could say that both options are facets of my personality-the ever continuing struggle between 'pretty' femininity and 'fierce' independent fearlessness-but to be honest I'm not sure that I feel particularly comfortable with either. More than anything, putting on heels is synonymous for me with putting on an act. And not necessarily in a good way. I like to express different parts of my personality with varying styles of clothing but big heels make me feel like a little girl in a costume that doesn't quite fit.

I see it as a crisis of confidence.

Living in the city has made me feel more at home and more happily settled on the right path in life than I ever have done in the twenty two years which have led me up to this point. But ultimately I'm still at the start of the journey; not really sure where it's going and not sure what shoes to wear to walk to the end. Maybe today it's these ankle boots. Maybe tomorrow it's back to brogues. Maybe in a few years time it's 6 inch Nicholas Kirkwood for Rodarte sculpted dream sandals. Let's wait and see.

I'm Back.

After a small hiatus and failed attempts to start a new blog I have returned to my old faithful 'A Handful of Dust'.

I's me. My diary. My mind. No apologies.

Although, along those lines, this blog will furthermore be a more calculated attempt to express my views on all things fashion, art, film etc in a less haphazard and more regimented manner. This may mean less posts as I don't want to put out meaningless or carelessly judgmental pieces but hopefully this means that the content of this blog will be of a higher quality.

Do you have to run away to find yourself?

Elizabeth Gilbert’s memoir of her year of self discovery is primed to be the feel good tale of the Autumn/Winter season. The book has already sold over ten million copies and the film adaptation, starring rom-com queen Julia Roberts, looks set to be a major hit with women worldwide, despite lackluster early reviews. As the skies darken early, and grey clouds and soggy drizzle become daily occurrences of the colder months, everyone is increasingly melancholy and despondent.  My friends and I have already noted the decline in office morale and the onset of SAD as tans fade away and winter warmers are brought out from storage. 

In the context of the grey British winter Gilbert’s tale is a shot of UV light, most concentrated and startlingly bright. If you’ve read the book it is easy to see how criticism of cheesiness and silly femininity will plague reviews of the film. After all, this is the story of a woman who (as well as searching for spiritual enlightenment) indulges in carefree carb eating (shock horror!), lusts after an Italian stallion, and falls in love with a romantic (and apparently incredibly attentive....) Brazilian. Despite the depression suffered after a messy divorce and a passionately destructive rebound relationship Gilbert does get her happy ending-and a heart warming, smile inducing almost cringe-worthily perfect one at that.

The romantic thread of the storyline is not, however, what interests or provokes me. The crux of the story’s moral is what grabs my attention. Gilbert’s journey of self discovery is as much physical as spiritual. The self awareness of worldly understanding she achieves gradually arises along the course of an astonishing twelve month travel expedition across Italy, India and Indonesia. Not only does Gilbert become totally immersed in the culture of three separate countries, but she has some of the most renowned and skillful spiritual leaders of these areas direct her studies. Surely if we were all able to spend three months in an ashram (or three months tasting the delights of Italian cuisine whilst learning a new language from a handsome native) we would all be relaxed, stress-free and at ease.

Instead, most of us are stuck in crowded Western cities, living hectic lives and juggling work, play, friends and family. We don't have the luxury of extended periods of solitude and self reflection. 

However, I don't want you to get the impression that I believe Eat.Pray.Love to be endorsing a journey of spiritual discovery which can ONLY be found a million miles away from home. I have watched and read several interviews with the author in which she acknowledges that an experience such as hers is an extremely special and uncommon one. Irrespective of the fact that Gilbert's journey is essentially unachievable for most, due to restraints of time and/or money, the basic tenets of her spiritual or inner journey (yes, I know it sounds corny) are easily replicable. 

You don't have to live abroad to learn a new language. You don't have to spend three months stuffing yourself with the best Italian cuisine to learn that when you stop counting calories and scrutinising nutritional values your food becomes more enjoyable. (I read an article recently which argued that when you stop regimenting your eating habits and start listening to yourself-eating when you are hungry, stopping when you are full, satisfying certain cravings-you are happier and healthier.)You don't have to move away from home to find new friends. You don't have to be in an isolated religious building to speak to God or find inner peace. You don't have to befriend an old wise man to feel needed or helpful. You most certainly do not have to holiday in a tropical paradise to meet a foreign man and/or fall in love.

At any place and at any time you are capable of bettering yourself and improving your quality of life.

I plan on taking classes to learn French so that when (yes, WHEN) I go to the couture shows in Paris later in life I can speak the language.

I plan on joining a local running/aerobics/dance club to get fit and meet new people.

I plan on finding a nearby library so that I can read the classics to my heart's content without breaking the bank buying books.

I plan on learning more about Buddhism because it seems like a nurturing, loving and beautiful religion.

I plan on hosting my first proper dinner party to entertain old friends and new.

What are you going to do?

Knob-head

I usually only tie my hair right back in a top knot when I'm washing my face or haven't had time to do something more interesting.  But it appears that the slightly messy, dishevelled top knot/knob look has become a hair styling trend in Shoreditch. As I walk to work I  pass countless girls rocking this look with panache. Admittedly a lot of them have model-esque chiselled jawlines and jutting cheek bones so they can carry off such a bare-faced look with ease whereas I look like an unkempt tramp or an overly polished sloane ranger. For a lot of these girls I'm assuming that this seemingly casual style took a lot of careful grooming to achieve-especially as it's become the look du jour on the night-club scene. 

So, as you can tell from the MK Olsen image above, the hobo-chic look shows no sign of fading out. 90s grunge is in and remains a key trend for A/W alongside its counterpart of Mad Men inspired femininity. Sadly for me, with my newly cut off hairstyle (which I'm HATING by the way), I can't join in. I'll live vicariously through you long haired ladies.