Harry Goes Shopping In Paris

The Thoughtful Dresser had suggested I check out Bon Marche ( her favourite store in Paris).
It turned out to be another case of women being far better served than men. Not that I necessarily begrudge this, because, after all, they account for far more significant business.
But the menswear section had all the charm of a 70’s department store, ie none.That time before the retail ‘revolution’, before space and light were introduced to the shop floor. It was dull. Some decent stuff , and some good names ( Etro, Cerrutti, Paul Smith) but a very edited selection. I wasn’t sure who they were supposed to be appealing to. It wasn’t me.

I also paid a visit to Printemps sale. I searched for a tab collar shirt, thinking I might have more luck than in London. But to no avail. So I bought a summer scarf by Agnes B. Not that we have had much of a summer in which to wear it.

I did make one discovery though. On my walk from St Germain ( where I visited the Diptyque store for a present for my cousin) to Bastille, ( no, I wasn't wearing hiking shoes) I had the good fortune to come across a shoe store previously unknown to me. Bexley is a French label producing shoes in what I would call classic English designs, and some with a modern/Italian inflection. Properly made….with Goodyear soles for instance. And they were very reasonably priced. I made off with a pair of suede loafers ( with a bit of a nod to Tod’s).
Now, I know that men’s footwear is , by and large, deeply boring . But the reason I mention this is because you really do have to hunt out decent designs and well made shoes.
They have a web site, so they may well be getting some more custom from me when the season turns.

Win free stuff!

You can enter yourself to win a free copy of The Clothes On Their Backs at the books blog Dove Grey Reader, to be shipped anywhere in the world. Just add yourself to the comments box. And there's a very nice review of the book, too. She's working her way through the Booker longlist

Helen Mirren - The Nazis got me off coke

From the Guardian (and everywhere else)

There are many reasons to give up cocaine: the price, the health risks, the illegality. But for Dame Helen Mirren the decision to turn her back on the drug was more specific: Klaus Barbie.

Mirren, who won an Oscar last year for her portrayal of the Queen, says she took the decision after discovering the Nazi war criminal had been making money from selling cocaine while he was in hiding in South America in the early 1980s.

"I loved coke. I never did a lot, just a little bit at parties," said Mirren. "But what ended it for me was when they caught Klaus Barbie, the Butcher of Lyon, in the early 80s. He was hiding in South America and living off the proceeds of being a cocaine baron. And I read that in the paper, and all the cards fell into place and I saw how my little sniff of cocaine at a party had an absolute direct route to this fucking horrible man in South America."

The Colour Purple

The people have spoken. The Thoughtful Dresser will not address the US election. Well, until the actual day of the election when I observe the right to say my piece.

In the meantime, let us consider Michelle Obama and the colour purple:

Kate Moss is over; Sienna who? The UK high street has decreed that this season's fashion icon is none other than ... Michelle Obama. Sort of.

It's not so much Obama who has prompted such adulation, but a very specific dress of hers: the purple shift she wore in Minnesota in June when her husband clinched the Democratic nomination and she, famously, did the fist-bump with him.

Now, it is no exaggeration to say that this dress caused near hysteria among the fash pack: it prompted the New York Times to write an adoring piece about her wardrobe under the headline "She Dresses to Win". The paper ruminated that the colour was "symbolically rich, even if its message may have been so subtle as to be subliminal".

Symbolism, schmymbolism; that colour looked hot on her, something the high street noted, too. Purple has long been neglected and Obama reminded the world just how flattering it can be. Now everyone's suddenly got a bit of regal Michelle purple (which is very different from Ribena purple). Reiss, for example, has tricked out a gorgeous strapless evening dress in the shade.

I am huge fan of purple, it's THE colour for brunettes and redheads (I used to be the former and am now the latter). If Michelle Obama is the agent by which there is more purple in the shops then it's Go, Democrats, Go!

Conventional dressing

From The New Republic - I like this because it doesn't just deal with how the women are dressed:

Like his niece, Ted Kennedy, who delivered the most moving (at moments heartbreaking, given the circumstances) speech of the evening, was dressed in navy blue. If, as Diana Vreeland once quipped, "pink is the navy blue of India," then navy blue is the navy blue of politics. All the prominent politicians of the evening--Joe Biden, Jim Leach, John Kerry, Kennedy--wore navy blue jackets, white or blue shirts, and white-and-blue patterned ties. Their ensembles were so similar one began to suspect they had, like a clique of junior-high girls, called each other the night before to coordinate outfits. (Kerry's take, however, was rather more patrician: cornflower blue tie; matte where others' fabrics were meretriciously shiny.) The reasons for all the blue are obvious. It's patriotic, and it's also the party's color. Perhaps more relevantly, navy seems safe and stalwart in this aforementioned time of war and economic insecurity: the color is free from the suspicious slickness of black, and the dowdy, Beta-male connotations of brown. A real man throws on a navy blue sport coat when he cleans up and goes out. Navy blue is a color that will--to quote another commentator from CNN's very deep bench, who was himself quoting Groucho Marx --"play well in Peoria."

Politics or not? YOU decide

I had this idea that with the US election coming up I'd have a post a week where everyone can talk Obama/McCain, but there's a feeling that you want this to be a politics-free zone.

I'm a great believer in democracy so I'll go with the popular vote. Punch your hanging chad in the comments below. One comment, one vote.

But if you're in New Orleans, just get in the car and go NOW.

Ain't she sweet

The strange world of me

I have a deadline. The deadline is actually tomorrow but I managed to get an extension to the end of next week. The deadline is for the book of The Thoughtful Dresser and I have been stuck in London all summer finishing it, and a cold, wet and windy summer. It's not been good or memorable.

But I have done something I have never done before, I have now almost completed buying my Autumn/Winter wardrobe. I broke with the habits of a lifetime and instead of going into a shop and saying, 'Ooh! I like that', I sat down and thought about what I needed, looked to see what was coming in to the shops and then went and got it. Yesterday I bought knee length boots, the day before, ankle boots, the previous week, winter coat. I bought scarves on eBay, a coat-dress at Jaeger and I've ordered a bag which will be in mid-September. One more item and I'll be done. I bought stuff when it had just arrived in the shops, and the sales were still on. They had not sold out of my size.

The clothes are all hanging in the wardrobe, unworn, under protective anti-moth covers, so it makes them feel old before I ever wore them. A little of the joie de vivre of life has gone, the impulsive purchase. I have far greater confidence in the capsule collection of clothes I've chosen. I have some marvelous investments in there. But it feels old. I feel old.

I realise that what I really want is to be rich enough always to wear new things. Change keeps the heart light.

US elections

Two months to go. Since there seems to be a lot of interest in discussing the issues arising from the election, I'm proposing to have an open thread every Friday where you can discuss the past week's campaign.

If any American voters would like to write a guest post, drop me a line at lindagrantblog(at)googlemail.com

Fat or unfashionable?

Jess Cartner-Morley in the Guardian asks, I assume rhetorically of the new peg leg trousers:

In my ignorance, I initially dismissed the look as an unflattering trouser shape that would never catch on. The second time I saw it, I suspected it was a ruse to quieten the size-zero debate by making models look twice as broad as they are. But the third time I saw it, I had to accept it was a trend.

Ever since, I have been dreading the day I would have to write about peg-leg trousers. For photographic purposes I have wimped out of the cutting-edge version of the look, in which the trousers are the same shape but lopped off above the ankle, in favour of a more forgiving, ankle-length pair, but still. The brutal truth is that unless you are blessed with long legs and a tiny waist, they do you no favours. Yet the peg leg is indisputably the on-trend trouser shape of the season. So we are faced with a stark choice: to look fat or unfashionable?

Family drama

I have a piece in the Guardian today about how to make family films about the Nazi Death Camps. Or perhaps not.

This is a Hollywood version of the Holocaust, and The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas is literally a Disneyfication (you wonder whether The Gas Chamber ride is being installed outside Paris). When you make films about the Final Solution for children there's not much you can say other than to introduce the historical events in a palatable way, and to make a general lesson about being nice to other people. When The Diary of Anne Frank was adapted for the stage in the 1950s, it was with the intention of suppressing the specifically Jewish element of the story to make it "universal".

Harry Peers Through The Looking Glass

There has been something of a debate recently on these pages about unwearable designs and the fashion writers role in promoting them.

The problem , it seems to me, lies with the fashion pundits
or style arbiters and what they say about these clothes, rather than with the designers.
It’s not only ok for the designers to produce clothes that are impractical and perhaps even unwearable: we want them to. We want to have glimpses of a fantastic world where fabulous people wear fabulous creations. It plays to our innate child like sense of wonder. We like to imaginatively believe that there is a wonder land somewhere out there . And, just as we did as children, we get to this land by reading about it , and, very importantly, by looking at pictures. The higher reaches of fashion and style have become , for many, the enchanted land that is populated by princesses , and princes, where real life is suspended and all sorts of things may , or may not , happen, just by dreaming of them. For many, of course, the door to this land can be found in the metaphorical wardrobe.

Most of us would maintain that we left fairy tales behind us years ago. We’re wrong . The fables that nurture us have just taken on a different guise. Hollywood once understood better the adult appetite for enchantment. Fred and Ginger didn’t just live in a world where people danced at the drop of a top hat. They lived in a world where people wore immaculate clothes, in houses with drawing rooms as big as a hangar, and rooms furnished in sleek cream leather. It may have been monochrome , but we were transported to a world of otherwise unimagined glamour.
Hollywood doesn’t seem to deliver this anymore ( perhaps it is Bollywood that has taken up the fabulist role)

So what are we left with? Fashion and style. And celebrity and gossip. And these volumes of fairy tales are published monthly, or weekly, and the newsstands are like carnival kiosks forever hawking new instalments.

Of course, some readers have a more refined taste . But for many a quick cheap fix will often do. I am referring to the acres of photographs devoted to second rate celebrities, and the spreads of the tacky lifestyles and bad taste mansions inhabited by the rich and famous. These celebrities don’t really pass muster as the princesses and prince charmings that we are looking for.
But in the more rarified reaches of fantasy inhabited by the likes of Vogue we do see a fabulous world. And it’s been designed by Prada or Galliano. And it’s been art-directed. And beautifully lit. And dramatically photographed. And populated by exotic and beautiful creatures. And they are wearing fabulous clothes. That we have never seen before. Or imagined.

That’s when the fashion writers step in and ruin it all. There is no point in telling people that this is what they must buy and wear. That’s actually got nothing to do with it. It should be about feeding the imagination , not laying down rules.

Not all fables appeal to all people. My advice is simply to devour and cherish the fables that you like. And ignore the commentator.

Occasionally the real world has palpitations when it seems that someone has managed to inhabit both the real and the fabulous world. Step forward Ms Paltrow, recently to be seen in just about every newspaper in the UK. The allure of Gwynneth in the highest of heels is surely because she plays to a sense of this fabulousness. She doesn’t need to run for a bus. Heavens, she doesn’t actually need to walk if she doesn’t want to. She has untold riches. Almost like living in a movie . And this is her way of communicating it. And we lap it up.

Bye bye posh girls

The media has been rife with rumours that ITV are going to cancel Trinny and Susannah's contract. Now it so happens that I go to the same hairdresser as these two goddesses, and that hairdresser also does the make-overs for the show, when they actually still did makeovers.

A long time ago, these two posh birds used to tell badly-dressed women the truth about how they look. It wasn't nice, it wasn't kind but they did manage to shoehorn them out of their beige sacks. And in my view, it was the conjunction of fast fashion and T&S which really jacked up British style in the past few years.

Now we have this guy Gok Wan, who gets a fat woman to look at an ID parade of other fat women and force them to say that they look fabulous naked. Often I'm sitting there thinking, no, you don't look fabulous. Cover yourselves up! (This is equally a criticism of myself.)

Where it went wrong for T&S was when they turned themselves into agony aunts, to 'refresh the formula', delving into people's personal lives. For godsake, it's just the frocks we're interested in.

The point of What Not To Wear was contained in its title. It told you how to dress for your figure, age, colouring. It's not rocket science yet many of us still aren't very good at it. The pleasure for me was watching someone look and the mirror and realise that, whoa, I've got a waist. Their choices might have been eccentric at times, they were obsessed with bosoms, but they were like two bracing St Trinian's prefects. They took you for a walk on the wild side. I loved them.

Sir Salman and me

There's a Q&A interview with me on the Man Booker website (and the other longlisted authors, too)

Democratic National Convention: Reprise

And here's a lesson on how to beat the credit crunch (is that really the National Rifle Association backing the New Deal?)

Trousers: The Truth

The Telegraph has gone through all the trouser trends and tells you which ones to wear for your height/shape.

You can read this in full, if you like, but what you are about to find out is: There are no trousers that suit pear shaped women of average height.

"Cropped trousers only suit those with long legs,"

"Wide-legged trousers are ideal for tall women,"

"High-waisted trousers are wonderful on tall or petite women with hourglass figures," says Pinnot, "but they should be avoided by pear shapes as they accentuate the hips and the waist."

"Skinny jeans look fantastic on petites," says Pinnot. "But curvy women should steer clear, because skinnies accentuate curves."

"Peg legs are an interesting, edgy cut," says Pinnot. "They flatter taller women, and drown small frames."

What we're left with is the boot cut:
"Boot cuts suit women of all shapes," says Pinnot. "They flatter the leg and bottom and create subtle curves." (Because pear shaped women need more curves?)

My problem with bootcut jeans is that if they fit on the waist they're tight on the thighs and I cannot stand the sausage thigh, I like trousers to skim, that is right, skim over the thighs. But then they're too big on the waist.

I am 5' 5". I have one pair of trousers, they are wide legs and they skim over the thighs. If only we could lower the hem of the dresses to below the knee I could stop worrying and forget about trousers altogether.

In which Margaret Atwood and I speak of many things

In all the various excitements, I neglected to mention that I had dinner with Margaret Atwood and her husband (and several 19-year-olds) on Saturday night. Despite the noise in the restaurant we managed to talk at some length about Margaret Laurence, Janet Frame, and even for a minute or two about the importance of clothes.

Cashmeres died so I might live

Lagerfeld: I am not an intellectual

He glides in looking relaxed, wearing a black suit jacket by Tom Ford, black jeans by Christian Dior, a 4in-high Edwardian collar, and fingerless biker gloves adorned with rings. He offers a gloved hand and a well-practised apology, and takes a seat at a large wooden table in a room attached to the main studio, surrounded by sleek filing cabinets, yet more books and stacks of hip fashion and design magazines.

“I’m mad for books,” he says, sitting motionless behind his black Dior shades. “It is a disease I won’t recover from. They are the tragedy of my life. I want to learn about everything. I want to know everything, but I’m not an intellectual, and I don’t like their company. I’m the most superficial man on Earth.”

Lagerfeld relishes such contradictory language – or should I say, he relishes talking rubbish, probably because it makes understanding him more difficult and shields his private life. “There are many Karls,” says the publicist Caroline Lebar, who has known him for 22 years. “He is like – how do you say in English – the animal that changes its skin?” A snake? “No, a snake changes only once in life.” A chameleon? “Oui, oui. Karl is like a chameleon. Always changing.”

. . .

Discussion about “the hidden depths”, as he calls them, should be avoided. “The quest to find yourself is an overrated thing concerning not very interesting people very often. Psychoanalysis – I don’t want to hear about it. Before Freud, people weren’t tortured by these things that have undermined the territory of perception. You have to live with your shortcomings.”

I’m just trying to get behind the many faces of Karl, I suggest. He laughs.

“This reminds me of when Annie Leibovitz photographed me for Vanity Fair. I didn’t know her very well then, and she said, ‘I have to spend three days with you to see what’s behind.’ And I said, ‘Annie, you’re wasting your time. Look at what you see.’ ” He casts his hand theatrically over his face. “There is nothing else.” Why do you want to be known as superficial? “I like that image. I don’t want to look like an old teacher.

from the Times

Baby come home

Today, I am going to pick up this.

When I have brought it home, I will show it to you