Yves.

So much buzz about Yves Saint Laurent recently, and so many different people talking about the maison and the designer's heritage... So I thought it would be nice to do a little post in which to see and hear Monsieur Saint Laurent, with his own voice. He no doubt was one of the greatest, not only thanks of his designs, but also because of his ideas on life and women (plus you can't help but to adore the young Yves, so shy and handsome). What do you love the most about his work?

 

 

Guillaume Henry mesmerizes Italy

If you've been following my Italian adventures through Twitter and Instagram, you'll know just how fabulous thursday's Carven performance in Florence was. For further details, I have written a little article on the soirée for L'Express Styles which I am translating here to English for your reading pleasure. Also, for those of you who would like to read the original article in French, you can do so by CLICKING HERE. Oh, and all these pictures were taken by Jean-Etienne Portail.

It was the surpise of the week: in a place kept in the utmost secret until the very last minute (and which turned out to be the Velodromo delle Cascine), Guillaume Henry had carte blanche to present his spring/summer 2013 collection. At 7:30 pm the intrigued guests arrived to the velodrome's entrance and were amazed to discover an inmense green race track filled with about 30 set tables. Tablecloths of cotton and lace, sets of deliciously odd china and Chianti bottles announced an Italian dinner. Among cherry tomatoes and mozzarella, the conversation inevitably turned towards simple pleasures. It was at this moment that, announced by a loudspeaker, waiters appeared scurrying about, carrying their filled trays with one hand in miraculous balance. Male models walked alongside them in this extraordinary race, some of them in bikes, followed by a military brass band.

Inspired by the courses des garçons de café, popular in Paris during the early XXth century, Carven's art director Guillaume Henry wanted to spark some old-fashioned French charm over his Italian presentation. His idea succeeded: guests promptly got up to photograph the runners and, once the race was finished, there was even a little award ceremony. The collection was then at its most visible: multicolor madras checks and masculine floral prints stood next to turtlenecks, shirts and écolier pea coats in khaki,green and yellow tones, but also (of course) in blues, whites and reds. The shapes were minimal and constructed, the styling simple. "We had to eliminate a lot of the clothes from the show at the last minute", Guillaume later told me, "it was far too hot for models to wear them". Temperatures, in fact, reached more than 40 degrees in Florence this week.

Some minutes later the models joined the party, sipping on champagne glasses; conversation was lively. The French designer walked among the tables, chatting with the guests. "If I chose to organize a dinner party instead of a regular fashion show, it's because I wanted people to have the chance to meet up and really talk. Simply because fashion is so much more than just clothes. It should be, above everything else, fun". By the end of the evening, nibbling on cherries and strawberries, Style Bubble's Susie Lau smiled: "I'm just taking in this instant. I'm completely content right now". Guillaume Henry no doubt found a complete success.

Mambo Italiano

As you probably know if you follow me on Facebook (and if you don't, you should! It's as easy as CLICKING HERE), I'm in Florence for a couple of days, covering the Pitti Uomo fair, and I'm having a ball. Italy is pretty much the perfect country: the food (I'll admit I'm even more enthusiastic about it than about the fashion), the architecture, the sun... and the Italian men! How do they do it? I mean it, how on earth do they do it? The amount of obnoxiously attractive men per square meter here exceeds the craziest expectations.

Here's the thing: I'm starting to suspect Italians are made differenty to all of us poor humans. Just observe the way chino trousers fit on the ragazzi in these pictures and compare it to the rest of the mortals. The trousers are the same, but the legs look longer, the thighs look sculptural and the buttocks... well, exactly. Many Spanish boys wear chinos: at best, they look like total yawnfest squares, at worst like short-legged chimps. As for the French who wear chinos... they all look the same: imagine Serge Gainsbourg in a pair of those trousers. That's it. 

We are actually so fascinated with the whole thing that it has become one of our favourite conversation subjects since we got here. I say they are simply superior creatures, but most of my friends have pointed out that it's not only about the trouser's fit, but about the whole styling. And it's true.

 

Think about it: who else tucks a silk handkerchief into their breast pockets and wears shirts with ties and cufflinks nowadays? Well, English gentlemen dressed by Savile Row, yes. But the Italians have taken it to the next level, by playing with modernity and baroque clins d'oeil to create a perfectly sleek, modern-day dandy look.

After careful consideration (and very keen observation field work), I have come to think their secret really lies in something as Italian as a Dolce Vita state of mind. These men are not only dressing smartly, they are actually enjoying dressing smartly, as much as they might enjoy a glass of Chianti or the view of a young olive-skin ragazza. It's probably just as simple as that. What do you think? In any case, Viva Italia!

All the pictures here are by Tommy Ton, I think he has the most fantastic take on menswear detail!

Rock will save the day: Elvis Presley vs. The Carter Family

Ready for a new week? Me neither. Last night at 4 am a huge storm broke and not only it woke me for several hours, I also had to get up and put saucepans and towels under several leaks. It was raining that much. Anyway, let's brighten the day with this absolute masterpiece I bring you in collaboration with my rockstar dad. You just have to ADORE Elvis, Vegas styling and all, don't you? Well, you might be really surprised to listen to the original version of that song...

I didn't even know this version existed until my dad introduced me to it. What do you think? I know it's a stupid question, but... which one will save your day?

I want Tom Waits to narrate my life story

 Here's something to start your weekend the swell way: a brief history of Californian conceptual artist John Baldessari, narrated by my absolute idol Tom Waits. I mean man, listen to his voice. It carries just as much art as Baldessari's work. Have a fab weekend, whatever you do! (I'm mainly going to be sleeping).

Hair

Brooke Shields in The Blue Lagoon is my summer's idol (without all the "why did you have a baby" "I don't know" shenanigans).

Rock will save the day: Blondie vs. Buddy Holly

I'm always shocked on monday mornings when I wake up and see what people write on Twitter. "Good morning!", "A new week, let's face it with lots of energy and happiness!" or "Monday! :)" are some of the typical monday-at-7am tweets. I really don't understand it. Actually, I think people who talk like that are bluffing. Kind of like people who repeat "I love my job!" as a mantra 50 times a week. I mean come on. I do enjoy my job. I get to do what I'm passionate about in a cool surrounding, I learn lots and meet new people... but that obviously doesn't make me jump for joy when the alarm clock goes off at 7 am on a monday. I'm the kind of person who throws the clock out the window, who sleeps for 30 more minutes and who, when finally getting up, swears throughout the whole process. There's only one thing that changes my mood in the morning: rock & roll. 

So assuming all of the twitter monday lovers are bluffs and suspecting there are many people who have the same views as me on starting a new week, I thought I'd bring you a new blog section to truly energize your mondays. I'm doing so in collaboration with my father, Pepe Represa, scientific genius during the daytime and rock star at night. There's nothing my dad doesn't know about rock, so from now on, the 2 of us are bringing you different versions of rock classics to brighten up your (goddamned) monday mornings. So here you have Blondie's version of I'm gonna love you too, as well as Buddy Holly's original. Which one of them will save your day?

Ps: Also, you're welcome to comment here and tell me what your real feelings are towards monday mornings. Don't worry, you can do so anonimously!

They got it

Move over Kanye West: these girls can be just as bad ass as you and they do it with way more style. 

Advanced Style Cocktail Party

 

 This is a really busy week at work for me, but I just feel all excited and chirpy! L'Express Styles (aka the best fashion magazine in France) is organizing a cocktail party and book launch for Ari Seth Cohen's Advanced Style after I suggested it! The party will be next week at Didier Ludot's iconic boutique in Palais Royal and it will be all about excentricity, style and old ladies. Because I was the one who proposed the idea, I got a whole lot of invites, and I thought maybe some of my Parisian readers would like to come so I'm giving away 2 invites (for 2 people each). If you want them, all you have to do (apart from being in Paris next wednesday, obviously) is post a comment with an e-mail address on this post between today and saturday (on saturday I will draw the winners). So if you would like to spend an evening drinking champagne in the gardens of Palais Royal among the most fashionable Parisians, looking at Ludot's amazing 60's couture dresses, getting to know the Advanced Style ladies and getting a book signed by Ari himself, Go ahead and comment here! 

Ps: Also, remember you can still pledge for the Advanced Style documentary on Kickstarter by CLICKING HERE! There's still time!

Power Dressing

Something really weird and embarrassing happened to me last week: a fashion editor contacted me via LinkedIn, telling me he had read some of my articles and was impressed by my writing, and could we meet and discuss that further. I obviously assumed that we was going to offer me a job, so I agreed to meet him at a café. During the meeting, however, as he started driving the conversation towards the fact that he really liked younger girls (he was about 20 years older than me), I started to realize he had set me up on a sort of date. Whatever, I thought. I got rid of him and went home.That evening he sent me a text message, to which I didn't respond (I have no idea where he got my number from). Visibly that didn't discourage the dude: a couple of days later, upon opening my mail at my office, I found out he had sent me a letter... a love letter.
# Total creep alert, seriously. 
Now I'm not gonna talk about how incredibly out of place I thought that was, or about the infinite cheap cheesiness that dripped out of the infamous letter. In a nutshell, for two pages he rambled on about my "incredibly feminine nails", my "beautiful tied up hair" (which I had tied up because it was filthy and I was too much of  lazy slob to wash it, not with the objective of seducing men with my dainty neck), and my overall delicateness and frailty. And that's what got me most enraged: what on sodding earth do women have to do to stop being viewed and treated by men as fragile objects who need to be protected (by them, obviously)?

Of all the words that could define me, "delicate" is the last one I would think about (along with "good mathematician"). I've never thought of myself as "girly", as a member of "the fair sex" or as a "princess". I love The Godfather and Rambo and I can't stand Sex &The City and romantic comedies. I never diet or talk about dieting and I can do push ups. I know how to use a screwdriver and how to change halogen lamps. I listen to punk rock and read crime stories all the time. I spend my summers barefoot and wearing a cowboy hat. And I don't think any of those things are unfeminine. I never notice it because luckily I'm surrounded by amazing people who see things differently, but the problem is that, still today, femininity is seen as a synonym with weakness, dependence and helplessness.

The most depressing thing about all this is the men who think women are little pretty naïve things who need to be fostered and adviced and shielded all the time will never, ever acknowledge their deeply rooted chauvinism. Far from it, they will deny being chauvinistic whilst asserting, in a know-all tone (and at their loudest voice so you can't be heard) that women, while not being exactly dim-witted, often have their thoughts fogged up (mainly by their maternal instincts) and that, on top of that, they are at constant danger in a world full of men who act in ways only comparable to those of the creature of the Black Lagoon. Thus we obviously need men's protection.

When me and my girl cousins were about 10, we used to fight our next door all-boys neighbours. They would always start it when we girls were playing cowboys and indians in the garden, by basically laughing at the fact that we were girls (aka feeble, shameful creatures). They had tomato plants and they tried to throw the tomatoes at us, but we always caught and threw them back at the boys, kicking their asses and making them cry (and driving their mother crazy with anger at the sight of her smashed tomatoes). With time, we took a liking to this activity and started brawls with all the kids in the neighbourhood. We were not petites filles modèle, we were blood-thirsty amazons.Years went by. We stopped smashing tomatoes on the faces of people and took ourselves through college, travelled and managed to get jobs during the recession, all by ourselves. No array of ever-so-protective men driving us through life was necessary (obviously our fathers are fantastic and extra supportive, but always let us run free and make our own choices).

And yet, here I stand today, still having to make it clear that I am a strong individual, and having to read a stupid unrequested love letter containing, between flattery and flattery, career advice from a complete stranger (yes, the dude did allow himself to give me career advice).

So how can we make ourselves understood once and for all? My first thought was through fashion. But then I remembered what I was wearing on my work meeting/set up date: masculine carrott trousers and a large t-shirt. Hardly a corset-cum-crinoline combo covered in virginal lace. The next day, traumatized and trying to feel more empowered, I dressed all in black leather and denim. It didn't scare anyone off and some men still eyed me on the street as if I was some cute bauble put out there solely for their viewing pleasure. I've tried extremely dark lipstick. Same reaction. Leather harnesses. Nothing. A Ramones T-shirt. Even less. Leopard print seems to make Parisian pervs stay away, but I am 100% sure that if some moron out there wanted to, he could fool himself into thinking the leopard print is some feminine gimmick destined to make men notice the woman wearing it, therefore she is actively begging for him to seduce her, protect her and take care of her forever after. You see, nothing we do will work with these losers (except maybe sitting there blatantly chewing gum and grooming your nails with a Swiss army knife), simply because they have their minds set on feeling bigger and more masculine (take that as you wish), and, for that, they need to make women appear and feel as poor darling powerless things. To some men, equality is still threatening.

Thinking about it, that fact is, in itself, surprisingly empowering. After all, it's not us who are delicate and frail, it's them who have serious self-esteem and self-assurance issues! Thank God not all men are like that. But for those who are, I have a little advice that will help them connect with women instead of making them puke: you are not more of a man for making women feel bad about themselves; on the contrary, you are more of a man if your masculinity is in no way threatened by women's power. Also, for Heaven's sake, never ever try to seduce a woman by writing an unrequested love letter like this was the XVIII century and mailing it to her workplace. Thank you ever so.