Paris Past

Me, with Percy, the coat I purchased in Le Marais. The Eiffel Tower, Christmas night. 
Christmas dinner in the septieme arrondissement.
Roommate/best friend extraordinaire and myself in the dark of the top level of the Eiffel Tower. Christmas night.

After a solo jaunt to the Musee Cluny. Behind Notre Dame.

Almost a year ago now I was in Paris, and it has taken these many months to obtain these photos from my roommate. This is a glimpse at the time I had, which was so marvelous words cannot begin to describe it so I will be lazy and selfish and not even try. More, I presume, will be forthcoming, so watch yourselves, kids.

Let Me Go!



I recently saw Mark Romanek's "Never Let Me Go", an adaptation of Kazuo Ishiguro's eponymous novel. The film stars Carey Mulligan (of "An Education" excellence), Keira Knightley, and Andrew Garfield (a.k.a. the new Peter Parker), as three friends entwined in a love triangle in a world similar but not quite identical to our own. The story is one of the most beautiful and lyrical explorations of the meaning of mortality that I have ever seen.

I would not want to spoil the magically poetic mystery of the film by further detailing its plot, so I will comment on what may be appreciated to some extent without seeing the film at all. The aesthetics are exquisite. The subdued pastoral richness of the English countryside makes this a perfect fall (or somber spring) film. The look of the film from the trailer alone (see video below) inspired me to see it as soon as it became available to me. I was not disappointed by any aspect of "Never Let Me Go" when I did see it, in terms of story or production design.

Speaking of such, I must divulge the real purpose of bringing it up at all on this blog. Since my ideal discussion of the film would reveal to my mother (who may or may not read this blog) what the story is all about, I cannot go down that path. However, I will say in the interests of this blog that I adored (read: positively adored) the fashions in the film. While the story occurs in a time span that reaches from the 1970's til more or less the present day, the costume design is timeless and hard to place. Are they dressing in the 1930's? The 1960's? It is hard to say, and hardly matters, as the cut and colours and styling are all blissfully exquisite.

The colours are spot-on autumnal: greens, browns, and burgundies. The fabrics are quiet, rich wools and tweeds. There are pleats and tights and dainty leather footwear fully appropriate for a melancholic jaunt to the misty green grounds of the English countryside. The hair is vintage and matter-of-fact but mussed in a disgruntled romantic style, wholly charming. There is a particular trench-coat Mulligan's character wears in the latter half of the film that may be Burberry or may just be evocative of the essence of Burberry. Either way, it is a dream.

The world of "Never Let Me Go" has the potential to be bleak and sterile, but the fabrics and colours of the costumes alone, let alone their aristocratically bucolic setting, set this film apart from others of its genre. It is a film removed from our own world, and yet it fully elicits appreciation and understanding of our own reality.

Follicle Folly

I am getting my hair cut in the near future. I do not know what I want precisely, but I am deeply touched by many looks of the sixties, though they tragically all involve bangs. I, to my own detriment, do not want bangs. How to follow my dreams when I am unwilling to compromise? Life is full of difficulties.



Curiously, Kate Moss just adopted basically my current ideal style. At least my aspirations are in good company, n'est-ce pas?

I will admit that I am a fan of something along these lines, only less irritating.


Zeitgeist

What's in the air? Ah, Modigliani... in my apartment and at John Galliano's show in Paris this week. By jove!

Sylvie Vartan

Just discovered (how did I miss them???) Syvlie Vartan and Francoise Hardy. Quel bon chance, elles sont trop chic!



Autumnal Splendor


It was cold today. It was finally cold. It felt like fall-- cool, crisp, magical and a little dangerous. It's my favourite time of year. I even wore a jacket today. The fact this is notable goes to show how abysmal the weather has been lately. I took a walk to the harbour-- another blessing of this time of year is that the beach is vacant. Perfect, especially since the cool grey glow of the sea is best experienced under a cloudy sky. I also stopped by Peet's today for my favourite tea: Jasmine Downey Pearls, iced. If I were Athena it would be my ambrosia. The courtyard at Peet's is also divinely relaxing, given there are no small children or cell-phoned business men around.

The sidewalk sign and glow of the windows at Mohawk General Store.
In other news, I was L.A. yesterday to see Phantom of the Opera at the Pantages. It was a lot of fun, though I am generally ambivalent about musical theater and eighties-tinged music. At the end of the evening I stopped by Intelligentsia in Silver Lake. It shares Sunset Junction with a store I had just read about yesterday morning-- Mohawk General Store. It was closed at the time (I ordered Clover coffee by the way), but the view from the windows was charming. I hear tell they are quite pricey, but I am going to go just to be surrounded by the indie brand clothes and vintage (especially mid-century modern) furniture placed aesthetically about the shoppe. Plus, the name is kind of cool.

Finally, I walked around State Street last week and found these things especially exciting:
Funny painting in a ramshackle antique. Too expensive or he would have been mine.
A wall at Restoration Hardware.
Please note, those skulls (fake in this case) are very reminscent of some my favourite things: The Dead Weather's aesthetic, and the decor and styling of British clothier Allsaints Spitalfields. Even Restoration Hardware (another personal favourite) is getting in on this. Good thing my mom has offered to loan me those spare antlers lying around back home...

Finally, this coat. Looks just like the vintage coat I bought in Covent Garden last year, only Mortimer (as I dubbed mine), is better. He's real, he's longer, his fur trim is authentic and as soft as an infant's head fuzz. He was also much cheaper. Still, good to see Anthropologie and I are on a similar page.

My closet? No, Anthropologie.



Woody Allen

Photobucket

My favourite purveyor of modern anxiety. I love his writing... it's so witty, self-indulgent, painfully neurotic and obnoxiously real. I enjoy his early stuff (1970's) most, but Match Point and Vicky Christina Barcelona are also brilliantly directed in their own vein. I would love to work with him one day, so let's hope he keeps kicking until my career does.

Followers