Heart to Heart with Lou Doillon

 

A couple of months ago I interviewed the very lovely Lou Doillon (aka we met at a café and talked for two hours, mostly of our love of Leonard Cohen). The interview is featured in this summer's issue of Wonderland Magazine. I thought you might like to read it...

Sipping a café crème in her camel hair coat, maroon fedora and unruly bangs, Lou Doillon looks like the epitome of contemporary French chic. But as soon as she starts talking - in perfect English, “bien sûr” - it becomes clear that the singer is hardly the typical Gallic girl. “I feel very English whenever I’m in France, and vice-versa. At home in Paris I constantly bake pies and we only eat British food; I think that comes as a bit of a shock to my mother, who took up French nationality in the sixties and knows the Marseillaise by heart.”

The 30 year-old daughter of Jane Birkin and filmmaker Jacques Doillon was born in Paris, yet grew up listening almost exclusively to American music: “I used to sit at the back of the car on trips and listen to the tapes my father played. That’s how I discovered Nina Simone, Patti Smith and, of course, Bob Dylan. I remember the day I first heard him, I was amazed at the wittiness of his lyrics.” All of these artists have unconsciously influenced the eleven melancholy ballads that compose Places - Doillon’s first album. However, the singer/ actress/ model had only one inspiration in mind while writing her songs. “Unlike Bob Dylan, Leonard Cohen had a real influence on my album. Dylan might be the best songwriter, but he is never kind. Cohen on the other hand is, as the French would say, 'bienveillant'. His lyrics are rather raw, but there is never any viciousness or reproach in them. As I was writing, I tried to remain as graceful as him… Although my songs speak about heartbreak, I ended up taking all the anger away from them, and thanking past lovers for the pain and the lessons they taught me.” 

A rather unusual point of view, considering today’s musical landscape. But then again, Doillon's upbringing and family are hardly conventional. Her parents separated when she was nine years old, and she spent most of the time with her mother. Doillon's close family also included Serge Gainsbourg and Charlotte, Jane Birkin's daughter by the legendary French singer. “My family had different and sometimes difficult relationships, but they had a rare kind of honesty about them. I had my father of course, but Serge was also very present in my life; none of them were ever scared of using their relationships to make their art. They didn’t believe in a simplistic interpretation of love where if you are in a couple you are happy and if you are loveless you are sad. Things are so much more complicated than that and feelings shift constantly.I think the French are able to understand and accept that better than other people.” Has that shaped her music? “A sense of vulnerability in love did, yes.” 

Uncertainty, frustration and longing fill her lyrics, which are perfectly complemented in the blue notes of an accompanying piano and the hints of a western guitar. Her low-pitched voice, far removed from Jane Birkin’s fragile soprano tones, vibrates with despair. “I’m not a 20 year-old girl anymore. I’ve screamed, cried, laughed, smoked and drank a lot in my life. I guess my voice reveals those extremes. Etienne Daho, my producer, once told me it reminded him of Karen Dalton, the American folk singer. I have been listening to her a lot since.” 

Daho - one of France’s most respected singers and music producers, who has worked with the likes of Françoise Hardy, Air and Vanessa Paradis - was the first person to hear Doillon’s songs. Under his wing, Places received critical acclaim upon its release. It was also an unexpected commercial success, selling more than 200.000 copies. But the singer remains somewhat puzzled: “I’m a newcomer. So far I’ve only sang 10 gigs, and when I listen to the album I still can’t believe those are my songs. Maybe that’s because I work very fast. The writing process takes over me when I’m in a dark place. I never really look for writing because as soon as I do I can be sure nothing will come out.” 

Music is simply the latest of Doillon's creative outlets (she's also worked as an artist, designer, model and actress), but it's definitely her favourite. “It allows me not only to reveal myself in all my vulnerability and brokenness, but also to understand myself better. Songwriting is a very unconscious process, sometimes I don’t know where what I’m writing is coming from. Etienne says it takes three or four years to understand your own songs; it is probably true. We’ll see!” However, her plans still involve all kinds of different projects. “The need of expression is so powerful... Why explore it in just one way? I think more than caring about getting really perfect at one thing we should aim at being curious and exceptional and simply enjoy ourselves. After all... we only live once.” 

Unconventional Style Icons: Glenn Gould

 

About two years ago I wrote a post titled "Unknown Style Icons: Natacha Rambova", about the eccentric 1920's costume designer and wife of Rudolph Valentino. I really intended to do a whole series of posts on some of my personal style icons who are generally not identified as so by the mainstream media. However, a random reader wrote me an appalled e-mail telling me sarcastically that "he was very glad I had at long last discovered Rambova but that she was by no means unknown and I should research more before talking without having a clue". That made me feel like such a loser I stopped altogether the unknown style icons series. But, hang it, after two years I've finally gotten over it (sensitive, me?) and decided to start it again, only this time I'll call it "Unconventional Style Icons" so as to not attract more hate mail calling me an ignorant idiot. 

Anyway, after Natacha Rambova I give you Glenn Gould.

Admittedly, Mr. Gould's style is the least important thing about him. You are looking at one of the biggest musical geniuses of last century. I know the word "genius" is thrown around way too frivolously these days, but in this case it applies. Glenn, who was born in Toronto in 1932, could read music before he could read words. As a baby he would play with the family piano, not by randomly hitting the keys but rather by pressing one key at a time and carefully listening to each sound and its evolution. By the time he was 13 he gave his first concert and at 25 he embarked on a tour of the Soviet Union. He had his very own views on music and believed a performer should be - rather than just a machine playing someone else's compositions - a true interpreter, bringing a new sound to an already known score. Also, besides a genius, he was a hopeless eccentric. 

Before he sat down to play the piano (on his very low wooden chair, a present from his father which he carried to all his performances), Glenn had to make sure the temperature in the room was extremely warm (he was constantly cold).While playing, he invariably hummed to the music, which gave sound technicians many a headache during recording sessions. He disliked being touched; in fact, he didn't much enjoy human company in general and felt better around animals.All these quirks obviously shaped his "nutty genius" style, which to be honest attains levels of cool otherwise only reached by the Japanese.

I must also mention Mr. Gould had the good looks of a young Ethan Hawke, which also helped (why hasn't anyone made a movie about his life starring Ethan yet by the way?)

I guess he didn't give much importance to the way he looked, and that's exactly what made Glenn so irresistibly cool: his hair was seldom combed and always too long, his suits were mismatched, his trousers were too wide, his shirt rarely tucked in and more often than not unpressed.

Because he always felt cold, he used to wear heavy woolen fabrics, big coats, thick sweaters, scarves, knitted mittens and leather gloves (sometimes one on top of the other. Has Junya Watanabe drawn inspiration from the photo above yet?). All these details added up to create a unique style which in my opinion is truly unique and inspirational.What do you think?

Having steadily studied classical music from the age of 2 to 18, I was familiar with Glenn Gould before I was familiar with Michael Jackson. I know both his music and his persona are not everyone's cup of tea and some people think he is just "too much"; but I'm a fan. Besides admiring his brilliantly creative intrpretations, I've always been partial to him partly tanks to his ambivalent feelings towards people and the fact that he had even more aversion to cold than I do. Over the years he has become one of my icons, and I'm not just talking about style. Even though he had tons of it.

PS: If you would like to know more about this genius, here is a really interesting documentary featuring lots of original footage of Glenn and his inimitable "allure".

Punk: from Chaos to Conformism

On monday I got depressed upon witnessing that travesty of a punk celebration that was the Met Ball. Seeing that gang of self-important celebrities parading around in six-figure outfits and smiling through their flawlessly whitened teeth made me feel, as Leonard Cohen would put it, like the war was over and the good guy lost. Welcome to 2013, where doublethink is as current as in Orwell's 1984 and we honor punk by placing a bunch of clothes in an official building and then letting one of the most powerful women in the world host an expensive party and invite a bunch of mainstream idols for a lovely politically correct black tie ball. The irony is endless.

I've heard all kinds of anecdotes about that evening. From Madonna stating that punk is not caring what anybody thinks while sporting a Givenchy look that surely took several weeks to put together, to Vivienne Westwood being cut off in an interview because the journalist wanted to speak to Hilary Rhoda instead, to Kate Upton saying in a Zoolanderish tone "I don't think I fully understood the theme". It all seemed like a colossal joke. Kristen McMenamy was one of the few guests who got it right, laughing "this is the antithesis of punk. Punk is not putting it on. Punk is angry. Punk is not pretending. Punk is real. This is like a costume party for punk". After which she proceeded to spit on the red carpet - subsequently becoming an absolute goddess to my eyes. 

Fashion advice for red-carpeters from Siouxsie Sioux and her friends.

And what about the exhibition itself? "I had a little look and I liked some of my stuff..." said Dame Viv, "and we'll leave it there". Curated by Andrew Bolton with the help of photographer Nick Knight and filmmaker Ruth Hogben, it had everything to be fantastic; but in a 21st century where political correctness, advertisers and antibacterial gels rule the world, it turned into a toned-down, antiseptic version of punk. Apparently all references to drugs (except for the Ramones song Now I Wanna Sniff Some Glue) and swastikas were wiped out. And that's where the fashion industry - generally so obsessed with aesthetic perfection - fails to understand that punk is not about being fabulous; on the contrary, it's about filth and trouble and ugliness. And that's the beauty of it (and no reconstruction of Seditionaries or CBGB's bathroom can entirely make up for it, although those were definitely cool ideas).

The Swastika was decontextualized and widely used by punks for obvious shock value but also as a reflection on the boundaries of freedom of expression. And for the zillionth time, this doesn't mean punks were nazis.

Dame Viv & friends showing their stuff. I hoped something like this would happen at the Met Ball. How could I be so deluded.

Punk was all about trouble, see? Here's Malcolm McLaren (my least favourite punk- read John Lydon's autobiography to know why) all thrilled at being arrested after the Jubilee boat trip incident.

Sid Vicious injecting himself with heroin in 1978. Punk is sometimes also about drugs. Why act like it never happened?

This is punk too, but I guess Anna Wintour and her sponsors wouldn't approve.

Sid said it: "I'm not chic. I could never be chic". And that's the problem with this whole Punk: From Chaos to Couture thing. It aims to be a high fashion exhibition, therefore a chic affair, yet when Vivienne Westwood established Sex in King's Road with Malcolm McLaren she was hardly considered a high-end designer.Of course I understand the importance of punk in the history of fashion and its enduring influence (and actually studied it quite a bit at Central Saint Martins with the amazing Peter Towse, who witnessed the punk years firsthand), but I think studded Burberry trench coats or Versace dresses decorated with gold safety pins are purely anecdotic. Also, as someone very cleverly pointed out to me, original punk clothes were meant to be worn. The rest of the clothes in the exhibition (all the numbers by Galliano or Margiela or Slimane) were conceived for the catwalk and for editorial purposes. They were not lived in. And what is fascinating about punk (at least for me) is that it's all about stories, about how people lived and about the spontaneous narrative of their styles.

 

 

Joey Ramone and Debbie Harry, king and queen of cool. 

Dee Dee Ramone being cute. Also, check out Joey in the background being a total style god.

I definitely understand how challenging it must have been for Andrew Bolton to conceive and put together the exhibit from a 100% fashion point of view. Maybe it should have been about more than just fashion (but would it have its place in the Met then?). It is doubtessly a privilege to be able to see original Vivienne Westwood and Katharine Hamnett T-shirts (some of them had not been seen in years), but from what I've seen the exhibition feels kind of lifeless.And punk was all about energy! Someone (I don't remember who) was defending the retrospective on Twitter stating in an outraged way that "of course it is about the clothes! What other outlet did the punks have to express themselves? Just music". "Just music"? For a start, I don't think music was secondary to style for most punks. And I do think they had other outlets: they spat, they provoked, they hung out together. Okay, they did not focus on creating beautiful sculptures or brainy avant-garde films. And why? Because punk was not about those things! If it is called "punk" it's because it's all about being a punk. 

CBGB's was an art form in itself.

DOA had the right attitude.

One of the anecdotes that depressed me most about the Met Ball was the one about the punkish-looking boys and girls who were "hired" to stand on the stairs and give the grandiose Met a bit of a subversive feeling to counteract all the (hideous) satin ball gowns. Anna Wintour told one of the boys "you look very handsome", to which he politely responded "uh... thank you. You look beautiful too". I'm pretty sure I'm not the only person in the planet (designers of the world, I'm looking at you) who would have loved to see a real punk adress Ms Wintour in a typically punk manner. But as the great Grace Coddington said, "I don't think real punks have been invited". 

This is what I mean by punk behaviour. You have to adore Johnny Rotten being all impretinent yet repentant like a school kid when he says the word "shit".

So was the whole thing a complete failure? Actually I don't think so. It was openly commercial and shamelessly anti-punk, and it has gotten me and countless others exceedingly upset upon noticing how full of utter crap our society is. But it also got many people thinking about the true essence of punk, and discussing it - in a very 21st century way - through social networks. As a matter of fact, ever since monday night all I see on my Facebook and Twitter feeds are really interesting discussions about the importance of the punk movement, what it stood for and why we have to still be punks at heart. You gotta hand it to the Met Ball's glamourous clique: by making us violently react to them, they have brought true punk back in fashion. 

The Demoiselles de Rochefort will save the day

Summer holidays are almost here and, as usual, I'm starting to get entirely obsessed with them. All I can think of lately is the sea, surfboards and summer fun. So I thought I'd energize this monday morning not with rock, but with a scene from one of my favourite French movies, Les Demoiselles de Rochefort. It's a rare gem featuring Catherine Deneuve, Françoise Dorléac, West Side Story's George Chakiris and none other than Mister Gene Kelly and set in a little French fishing town. It has great songs, it's fun, uplifting, has cute costumes and a cheeky sense of humour. What else can you ask from a movie, right? So if you have never seen it, I suggest you make some lame excuse to sneak out of your office right now and get to watch is asap. It will brighten your day (and your week), guaranteed!

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?

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. 

Chelsea Girls (and Boys)

"Everybody passing through here is somebody, if not in the outside world": Patti Smith's memories of the Hotel Chelsea (which she called "her home") are filled with excitement and the rare energy of a place that has witnessed the everyday lives of many icons of the XXth century. Actually before: Mark Twain was said to have stayed at the Chelsea, as well as some of the Titanic's survivors, which were brought there after the catastrophe. But the Chelsea is really synonym with New York's art avant-garde as well as sex, drugs and rock & roll. And the fact that the hotel is closing its doors today for the first time ever is somewhat heartbreaking. It might open again in some time, but right now it feels like the bleak confirmation that a whole era has ended. One thing is certain, though: the guests and the stories at the Chelsea, which gave the hotel its extraordinary spirit, will live on.

Patti Smith and her once roommate Robert Mapplethorpe were snapped at the hotel's fire stairs.

Bob Dylan wrote many of his most successful songs during his stay at the Chelsea. Here he is photographed in his room.

Then of course there were the Factory people. Andy Warhol was the one who started the mitification of the place with his film Chelsea Girls. Not all of the girls in the movie lived there, but they did spend a great deal of time. Edie Sedgwick did take a room, in which she once started a big fire (here she is snapped afterwards, with a hand in bondage). She used to start little fires with the candles she liked to light everywhere around the room. I once heard that Leonard Cohen, when coming into her room and seeing the candle arrangement, warned her it would bring her very bad energy. She didn't believe it.

Here's a picture of Mr. Cohen. He wrote Chelsea Hotel #2, a crude and beautiful song to Janis Joplin.

Janis also lived there, obviously. Here she is in front of the main door, on West 23rd Street.

Also, here is Dennis Hopper with Terry Southern.

The Chelsea was big during the punk era and the CBGB days. Dee Dee Ramone stayed there; the place inspired him to write Chelsea Horror Hotel: A Novel.

Around the same time took place the most famous incident of the hotel's story: the violent death of Nancy Spungen, Sid Vicious's girlfriend. I wonder what their life was like at the Chelsea.

Steven Meisel shot many of the photos in Sex in room 822, with Madonna, who had lived there years before.
Of course, there were many more stories and people who passed by the hotel, some notorious, some private. The place was never really very touristy, and it was unchanged, so it kept its authenticity. I just think it's a shame to cut short a story so long and meaningful.

Last Day of Summer

I bet most of you thought I had abandoned this blog. I don't blame you, I've been rather blog-lazy for the past month and a half. But I never had the intention of closing the blog or let spider webbs start growing on it. Why did I stop writing for a while? No particular reason. Not even writer's block. So let's just call it "my unexplainably lazy summer hiatus".

The thing is I was really enjoying my summer routine of swimming, sunbathing, picking fruits and vegetables from my garden and playing badmington (and even that I did in a lazy fashion), so I didn't really feel like writing too much. Sometimes it may seem like I'm relentlessly blabbering, but the truth is I do think a lot about what I say and how I say it, so blogging takes rather a lot of my time and energy when I do it well. And I like to do it well, it's funnier for everyone.

Anyway, summer was lovely, wasn't it? But tomorrow the seasons change and, accordingly, I have changed the Spanish countryside for Parisian asphalt and the endless hours of lying down entertaining myself with the birds' twitter for equally endless hours of writing in front of my computer. In short, since circumstances no longer allow me to go on perfecting the Mediterranean art of being lazy, I'll go back to blogging.

So this season you can expect long hours of blogging, wintery fun. For now, I'll leave you with my latest musical crush, Karen Elson. Isn't she fantastic? I love the mysterious, witch-like style of her album The Ghost Who Walks. It almost makes me feel happy with the imminent arrival of the autumn.

Almost.

Erotica

This is one of the songs I get regularly obsessed with. It is when seeing this kind of work by Madonna that I wonder what actually is the big thrill about Lady GaGa. I mean, as much as I love GaGa, her overtly sexual style doesn't seem more groundbreaking than this video, which was shot almost twenty years ago; her oxygenated hair seems a 2010 version of Madonna's, her sub-gun bra seems a (less practical) extension of Jean-Paul Gaultier's cone bras... and, so far, no one except Madonna has managed to include Naomi Campbell and Isabella Rossellini in a video with such explicit sexual content.
I know GaGa gets very often compared to Madonna. I wonder why... have we actually regressed where it concerns female empowerment and true sexual freedom? Maybe we do need a new version of that first creative, shameless and fresh Madonna (before she got obsessed with the Cabbala and yoga) to remind us what things should be like. And, on behalf of Lady Gaga, her career has only just begun; we don't yet know where she'll take it to, but I think it will be to a very exciting place in any case. Meanwhile, let us enjoy powerful women and their creative freedom.

I want you to find happiness and stop having fun

This is one of my favourite scenes ever in film history. Never before had we seen a group of chorus boys instead of chorus girls showing (not only) their legs and, what's more, wearing nude mini swimsuits! Everything in it exudes female empowerment: Jane Russell's total black look, the song's lyrics, the boys' dance, the tongue-in-cheek feel to the whole scene. Gentlemen Prefer Blondes is one of those films I have to watch several times a year, because, as Woody Allen said, "it keeps me from feeling depressed".

Like music to my ears

Today is the glorious day I've been praying for during the last 8 months. It's summer! I am definitely not a cold weather person. As a proud Spaniard, I enjoy toasting in the sun with a fan and some gazpacho next to me. Incredibly clichéd, I know, but true nonetheless.
But the big celebration in France today is the "Fête de la Musique". As I write this, I am listening to the loud noisy mess provoked by three different bands playing simultaneously in my street. The sound of their music reminds me rather of the traditional parties that were held in August in a village in deep Spain where my grandfather used to have a house (the kind of place surrounded by desert with wolves and scorpions and so on). But if I look out the window, I see boys wearing Vespa helmets and girls wearing Chanel bags. It's incredible how literally anything can get glamoured-up in Paris.
So I'd rather celebrate music in the intimacy of just my friends. Here are a couple of videos by some of my all-time favourite artists. Happy summer!

It's Oh So Quiet

Lately I've been mysteriously drawn towards Icelandic music. No, seriously. Well, there is no escape: having to hear the word Eyjafjallajökull five thousand times a day it's better to put some Sugarcubes in it! I have realized I hadn't listened to Björk in such a long time... and I actually used to be a huge fan of her for a long time, since her techno years until her Alexander McQueen- Nick Knight- Juelie Verhoeven- Vinoodh Matadin collaboration period; then I started listening to other Icelandic bands, like Sigur Rós, Múm or GusGus and for some reason I stopped listening to her. But now I come to think about it, if you forget all the controversy and the newspapermen-spanking, Björk is really quite something: you just have to take a look at some of her pictures to notice it.

Yeah, she is a bit loony; and yeah, she is really cool. And, mind you, she already was cool in her pre-hype years. The proof? Big Time Sensuality, for instance. I still think Debut is my favourite album by her...

Get into a taxi and go to Tiffany's

I was sunbathing in my balcony when I remembered this scene. I love Truman Capote's Breakfast at Tiffany's... But I must confess I don't like the movie at all! (except for Hubert de Givenchy's wardrobe of course). I think Blake Edwards's film completely misses the point and turns the mysterious beauty of the book into something obvious and naïve. And as much as I adore Audrey Hepburn, I think the same as Capote himself: she was wrong for the part. Holly Golightly is meant to be wilder and less aristocratic (I mean who could believe Audrey comes from a family of hobos in the deep South?). I simply can't stand George Peppard, who is supposed to play Capote except he's not gay at all. He is even pictured as a gigolo! Oh well. Luckily in the middle of all that there is Moon River; I love that song. It's kind of kitsch but it's Henry Mancini kitsch... And I love Audrey's way of singing it.
Did everyone have a nice weekend?

No feelings

So much has been said about Malcolm McLaren since he died 6 days ago I couldn't possibly say anything new (although I will probably end up doing an article about him for 160grams). For now, I will only say with his death punk becomes yet a bit more part of the past, which is sad (even though luckily punk spirit still exists)... However, when it comes to punk icons, I must confess I've always prefered Johnny Rotten. In any case, here they are, complete with controversy, Sid and Seditionaries (that's early Vivienne Westwood) clothes. What do you think of the Sex Pistols?

Uh huh hunny bee

Punk heritage

+

Shameless makeup excess

+

Thelma & Louise spirit

+

American pop culture

+

Fred Butler's amazing designs

+

Lots of Quentin Tarantino inspiration

+

Passion for (impossible) fashion

...

=

Are we driving towards a new era of kitsch aesthetics and female empowerment? I do hope so.

P.S: I'm seriously considering getting one of my makeup artist friends to do that absurdly excessive GaGa makeup on me...

Let's forget about fashion for just a bit.

After all these Fashion Weeks I think I might need a break. Paris Fashion Week started only yesterday and already so many lovely and not so lovely things have happened! As I write I'm looking at a monstruous pile of invitations, which is kind of cool but kind of scary as well. On the plus side: I've been having drinks with my friends between show and show which is lovely and relaxing; I've had my picture taken by streetstyle photographers, which is always loads of fun, because you are treated like a star when you are absolutely not one! I've already seen some cool shows (Anthony Vaccarello and Tim Van Steenbergen among others, I'll talk about them in the next few days). On the not-so-cool side, I've spent the last few days running from here to there like a show-viewing machine, and I'm aching so much already from the absurdly high shoes I'm wearing!

I've had this Ramones song in my head in the last few days. I wonder why. Anyway, it's cool to forget about fashion from time to time, because it can be such a consuming subject. I'll be running from show to show for the rest of the week, but every time I get a minute I'll post something, so keep checking the blog!

Sunday Girl

I've had Blondie on my mind today...
I wanna be at CBGB with Joey Ramone, Johnny Thunders and Debbie Harry. There never was, is or will be someone like her!
Did you have a nice weekend?

During long winter nights

I know I've said this a gazillion times before, but...Will someone get me back to the 60's in a time machine?

For some reason we've been singing loads of Beatles songs during the last few days at YSL... It keeps us relaxed during stressful moments. I hadn't listened to this song for so long!

J.D. Salinger died yesterday aged 91. Many people didn't know who he was, I was really shocked at that. Models at work did know who he was though and had read "The Catcher in the Rye" ( whatever you do keep this in mind: female models are far from being stupid. Male models are a whole different thing. I mean you've all watched "Zoolander", right?). Anyway, I read "The Catcher in the Rye" almost two years ago. My boyfriend told me I absolutely had to read it, and to be honest I started it reluctantly, thinking it would be kind of Jack Kerouac-ish (I'm not the biggest fan of beatniks you'll ever meet...) I simply loved it in the end. It's one of the most unique books I've ever read. If you haven't read it, please do! It will change your life.

Poupou pidou

Don't you just love the way Marilyn's dress here is completely transparent, except for the sequins covering her nipples? I always wonder how on earth Billy Wilder could so brilliantly avoid censorship during the most puritan decade of the XXth century...

Have a lovely weekend ♥