I’ve generally always prescribed to the adage “All dressed up with nowhere to go”.  Post Nico though, that phrase has become a “fun” game of sorts.  I say fun of course, taken with a huge pinch of Epsom salt, given the limitations of what one can do with a two month old baby in tow.  But when you snatch one or two hours from the day, whilst tethered to the house for fear of carting a screaming baby around town, putting together elaborate outfits at home is sadly about as good as it gets.

All of this fanciful dress-up that’s been confined to the home happens to fall in line with both current season Prada’s marabou frou frou fancies and Miu Miu’s well-tred territory of retro geometrics.  Miuccia Prada has long held fascinations with bygone notions of femininity, reflecting, reproducing and subverting them in a myriad of ways.  For S/S 17, Prada was quite literally dusted down with the help of a 1950s Stepford homemaker’s feather duster.  For Miu Miu, Miuccia imagined frolicking around on a beach in simpler and more innocent times.  So it stands to reason that my homebound state should be accompanied by the most ornate of idealised haus frau attire.  From these collections, specifically a Prada peach feathered geometric wrap skirt and a Miu Miu jacket rendered in a print fit for a mid-century chaise lounge become integral puzzle pieces to this love-in with retro-tinted domesticity.  Abigail’s Party esque entertaining, ridiculously over trimmed peignoirs and negligees (those very words invite cynical chortles) and Western-lensed chinoiserie best expressed in Vladimir Tretchikoff’s kitschy The Green Lady painting all come to mind.  These are the sort of clothes that are made for lounging artfully at home amidst pieces of Danish furniture and strategically placed plants. 

Alas, I’m only make-believing such antics in my N15 hovel.  You can’t see the brushed aside piles of Pampers 2, Water Wipes and milk-drenched muslin cloths.  Brow-raising feminists out there will be glad to know that this temporary fascination with  airbrushed visions of housewives of that mid-century era is fortunately only an aesthetic one.  I am slowly easing myself back into the land of the working, having snuck in a business Skype call and a casual writing deadline here and there.  Still, if I can’t get to ze fashions, ze fashions will come to me.  Even if they’re destined for breast milk stains and poop smears.

(Top: Vogue Mar 1969 photographed by David Bailey, Bottom: Vogue Jan 1968 photographed by Gianni Penati)

(Top: Vogue 1953 photographed by John Rawlings, Bottom L: Vogue Dec 1966 photographed by Henry Clarke, Bottom R: Twiggy in YSL tunic pyjamas)

Prada SS 17 skirt worn with vintage peach bed jacket from Fat Faced Cat, vintage quilted housecoat, Ayame tights and Prada SS17 flower sandals

Vogue Patterns 1967

Oriental Fashions 1960 photographed by Stan Wayman

Miu Miu SS17 geometric jacket worn with Jenny Fax smocked top and matching flares, Miu Miu slippers

Miu Miu SS17 geometric jacket worn with Miu Miu knit floral top, Jenny Fax smocked flares, Malone Souliers slippers and Prada plex ribbon bag

Raquel Welch in Geoffrey Beene’s ostrich-trimmed pyjamas Vogue Mar 1967

I’m just about emerging out of a hallucinatory haze, comprising the tail end of what seemed like a never ending pregnancy, a shockingly speedy labour that then segued into a shocking amount of blood loss and then two solid months (feeling like two years) of falling in love with this new being in my life and having my heart stabbed every time she cries.  And then all the while, the fashions have been going on in New York, London, Milan and Paris and I wasn’t there for the first time in about seven years.  Colleagues and cohorts have said I haven’t missed much but I think they’re just trying to make me feel better.

It’s not however necessarily the fashion that I have missed but the feeling of doing something with my brain, unclouded by feeding times, nap times, more feeding times and the occasional time when her eyes are awake, looking at you in that way that makes you feel like an awful human being for even thinking about wanting to do anything BUT look after her.  I’ve barely written a thing.  I’ve not read anything longer than a five hundred word online article (or more precisely a few panicked sentences in a baby forum that never seems to answer the question that I’m asking at 4am in the morning).  Venturing outside and breathing physical fresh air has mostly ended with my rushing back inside the house, clutching an Amazon Prime parcel or a bouquet of flowers (thanks friends, family and fashion peeps for filling our house with all that flora).

That haze is slowly clearing up though and with Nico Hiu Nei (pronounced Lei if you speak Cantonese) Salter-Lau registered and writ real into the world, I’m also beginning to think about integrating my daughter (I’m still trying that word on for size… ) into life, rather than making life revolve around her.  That could also be fighting talk that decrescendos into me staying in a nursing bra and bobbly overwashed leggings for the next week.

Still, the haze did produce something to kickstart the blog with, after the looooong hiatus.  Namely, a variety of shades of a colour that automatically accompanies and heralds the birth of a baby girl.  Thankfully, the range of pinks I’ve been receiving have been of the nuanced kind.  And they’re also things that don’t just revolve around saccharine baby gifts.  I’ve also been feeding my sleep addled brain  – online and in person – with images that are incidentally along that colour register.  On film Natalie Portman standing in the White House in a blood-splattered pink Chanel suit in Pablo Larrain’s Jackie, Naomie Harris staring down the camera with a menacing neon pink light behind her and Matty Bovan’s pink hued fashion film Girlness have been on my mind.  Wolfgang Tillmans’ skyscapes and crustacea and Ren Hang’s visceral poeticism and Maisie Cousins’ sexually charged fruits and flowers are also floating around in the noggin somewhere.  There’s little coherence below other than the shared colour palette but that’s par for course when you’re going through the postpartum pink haze.

Molly Goddard S/S 17 dress worn with Chanel t-shirt, Waven jeans and Shrimps x Converse hi-tops

Maisie Cousins

Lina Scheynius image from “09”

Sandy Liang dress with Yolke sleep mask and J.W. Anderson pink Pierce bag

Patty Carroll “Anonymous Women” series

Nico in Stella McCartney bunny knitted romper and bonnet, Soft Gallery onesie from Scandi Mini, La Coqueta booties, Studio Arhoj moneybanks and Loewe blanket

Wolfgang Tillmans, Astro Crusto, 2012 

Wolfgang Tillmans, From the Skies, 2015

Nico in Fendi Baby romper and pram blanket with Melanie Johnsson prints

Anna Barlow ceramic ice-cream tiles

Holly Hendry installation at “Wrot” Baltic Mill, 2017

Mold Magazine

Karen Walker “Transformers” sunglasses and Sophie Hulme S/S 17 Albion tote worn with Prada jumper

Ren Hang photography

Repetto “Anna” ballerinas  with Luncheon magazine issue 1

Naomie Harris in Moonlight

Natalie Portman in Jackie

Still from Matty Bovan’s film Girlness for Barbie’s 58th Birthday

Fiorucci bomber jacket 

India Mahdavi interior for Red Valentino store in London

Milo Baughman sofa from Coming Soon NY

Plys knitwear and Christopher Kane safety buckle Devine bag 

James Springall collage

Jo Brocklehurst drawing from Nobodies and Somebodies at House of Illustration

Fendi S/S 17 “Rokoko” trainer boots and Prada lace-up socks

Christian Lacroix homage editorial photographed by Roe Ethridge and styled by Katie Shillingford from AnOther Magazine S/S 17

>> How to alleviate the tiresome feeling of waddling around town with what feels like a 3 kilo bag of rice strapped to your belly?  By doing the conga with a human sized dinosaur mascot and Bryan Boy, which got the bump jiggling along too.  And as I hit my final days of being quite uncomfortably pregnant, I thought I’d look back to more jovial times when me, bump and Rexy were havin’ it large at the Coach House flagship store opening in London’s Regent Street back in November.

As this belatedly posted set of photographs attest, touring new stores – more often than not a solemn activity, peppered with facts about marble finishings and architecture waffle – can indeed be fun.  That is the key word of course that has underpinned Stuart Vevers’ turnaround of the brand, particularly in the runway Coach 1941 collections.  But even as T-rexes and stegosauruses waggle their leather puzzle piece tails about and kitschy Brit-themed badges that peppered a special capsule collection of accessories and varsity jackets (scoured from eBay by Vevers’ team apparently), there’s heft to back up the frivolity.  At the Craftsmanship Bar, there’s a wall of emojis to choose from to monogram Coach classics, in addition to the normal initial stamping.  Downstairs, there’s now a Made-to-Order service where a bespoke Rogue bag can be created in over one million possible colour combinations.  And throughout the store, Coach’s hometown of New York is evident in black steel fixtures, mahogany wood and a central mechanised conveyor belt that actually moves – a symbol of the chugging along of Coach’s upward trajectory.  Even Bryan and I play acting with a baseball glove and ball bears some significance, as they’re pertinent reminders of the glove-tanned leather that the founder of Coach was inspired to create because of the well-worn patina and buttery feel of a pitcher’s glove.

For Vevers, London is a chance to come home and officiate Regent Street with a proper retail incarnation of what he has achieved at Coach.  It’s a concept that has rolled out in New York and is likely to do so in the future in other cities.  The word “House” as opposed to “Maison” is fitting for a store that sits on what a street that straddles between contemporary, high street and designer.

A giant Rexy near the entrance is there to invite gawkers in for a gander and a feel of what are in essence, comparatively accessible products.  Incidentally, did you know Rexy’s a “she”?  According to Vevers, “she’s” not strictly speaking part of Coach’s 75 year history but has become an apt character and mascot, representing the sort of japes that now goes down in Coach design team.  Nope it’s not that dignified or necessarily “luxurious” to be hugging a lycra-clad female dressed up as a T-Rex.  But it is a laugh – and nestled in amongst all that leather and shearling – it’s providing a formula that’s working for Coach’s newfound customer base.

 

This post is part of an on-going social media partnership with Coach

>> I had been meaning to post this small collation of “unnatural flora” which I had partially picked up from some extraordinary sets during the SS17 shows.  The main culprits being Rodarte’s arrangement of neon light tubes, yellow-hued wild flowers trapped in steel frames, looking like industrial wreaths on the ground.  And then there was Dries van Noten ‘s twenty-three floral arrangements encased in rectangular blocks of ice, created by the Japanese flower artist Azuma Makoto.  Then I thought back to Simone Rocha‘s 2015 collaboration with photographer Jacob Lillis, culminating in a series of photographs “Flowers and Cars” where humble gatherings of English blooms sprout from the seats and bonnets of rusty old vehicles.

Two days after the US Elections, for some reason I mulled over these images of unnaturally trapped flora.  Their unexpected beauty took on a different meaning.  They’ve become flowers that mourn something of a heavy loss – the full consequences of which are yet to play out.  Whether embedded into steel, frozen into ice or crashing into chassis and engines, there’s a swell of meaning in these poignant bouquets, that go beyond surface-level prettiness.  Time to reflect and rethink.


Rodarte S/S 17 set of neon, steel and wild flowers created by Bureau Betak

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Dries van Noten x Azuma Makoto floral arrangements encased in ice at S/S 17 show

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“Flowers and Cars” photographed by Jacob Lillis for Simone Rocha 

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simone-rocha-amuseInstallation inspired by Lillis’ photographs in Simone Rocha’s Mount Street store at the beginning of this year (from Amuse)