Vitamin C for the sartorial soul.

Barely two weeks into flu season and I find myself at the mercy of a sandpaper throat and hacking cough. I haven’t even been blessed with the gift of a sultry, husky drawl- less Bardot and more a modern day Clint Eastwood.
 
Holed up at my parents’, too much of a baby to face the perils of illness alone, I have spent the last few days in an intolerably lazy fashion, playing up to my illness with exaggerated groans and sighs, moving only to reach for the cough syrup (decidedly less delicious than in my childhood memories), turn the pages in a battered copy of ‘Love in a Cold Climate’ (nothing like aristocratic intrigue for a bit of distraction) and take sips of the seemingly bottomless glass of Berocca that my lovely Mother is wont to provide (“All you need, Lillian, is a bit of Vitamin C.”).
 
Ahh, Berocca. That effervescent beacon of health and deliciousness. Just a glimpse of the bright orange liquid, fizzing away, is enough to jolt me into a moment of health and happiness, and I have been downing it like it is going out of fashion. I remember as a child sneaking small handfuls of chewable Vitamin C tablets from the little plastic jar in the medicine cabinet. Upon discovery, my mouth frothing with sugary orange saliva, my Mother was quick to assert that, although good in small doses, too many Vitamin C tablets would “turn your skin orange”.
 
I am what you would call a Vitamin C enthusiast. I go not a morning without a big, glistening glass of fresh orange juice, and I nearly threw-up with excitement the contents of a pint glass one night upon discovering that a good friend was the granddaughter of Vitamin C pioneer Linus Pauling (seminal life moment, anyone?). And so, having my mother ply me with glass upon glass of Berocca to whip me back to health is something of a dream come true. 

Miu Miu, Isabel Marant, Hermès

The Autumn runways have given me a good sartorial dose of Vitamin C to further ease my sickly ways- pops of bright, cheer inducing orange littered the collections, plastering my face with a cheery smile (when it wasn’t demented into the scowl that constant coughing fits demand).

 A good lick of bright orange lipstick- Morange by MAC- makes for some seriously juicy lips. Some almost-garish platforms by John Galliano will brighten your day every time you look down. And do I really need an excuse to put up this gloriously gaudy YSL Arty Ovale ring?

Some small doses of Vitamin C for the sartorial soul.

Ice ice, baby.

I write this from beneath three gloriously cosy layers of downy duvet, plush blanket and gaudy quilt. My tootsies are ensconced in some gloriously wooly bed socks and I don’t plan to emerge from my toasty cave unless it is to make a mug of milky Earl Grey. The March chill has finally started to make itself comfortable.

The colder seasons are my favourite. I love black-tighted liquorice legs and short skirts with long jackets. I love the warmth of bad takeaway coffee in a paper cup between my palms and the smell of cigarette smoke carried on chill winds. I love the way the city is reduced to a bleak grayscale, the way everything is frozen and sharp at its edges.

 Chanel

 Autumn’s offerings from Chanel, like Karl Lagerfeld’s idea of shipping in a (very real and presumably very, very cold) iceberg from Scandinavia, were an intriguing mix of icy and kooky. The tense frigidity of Wintery bite could be felt in thick layers of Arctic white adorned with strings of glassy accessories. There was something of the slightly unhinged ice maiden , too- the models bundled in swathes of luxurious fabrics, dressed to the nines despite sub-zero temperatures.

Above all else, this drop in temperature has occurred in perfect harmony with the release of Foals’ new single Spanish Sahara. The video clip, with its crystalline seas of fragmented ice floes and endless shades of gray, is a beautiful window to outside’s Winter when tucked up snug in bed.

Back to school.

 

Ruby 

Autumn Semester at university has only just begun, and with the onset of class, the stress of late night papers and early morning lectures (generally whilst nursing a bad hangover) has also begun.

"The feeling of innocence, play, magic, and love." is how New Zealand label Ruby is described on its website. With its soft, childlike aesthetic, Ruby's collection of delicate tunics, rough-and-tumble rompers and tomboy schoolgirl attire, is one that would be just as appropriate in the schoolyard as on the streets. I intend to take a step back into my schoolgirl past, to the days of learning times tables by wrote and playing kiss-and-catch in the playground, wearing denim overalls and knee-highs to my classes- injecting a bit of schoolday playfulness into a much too grown-up university life.

 

 Some ideas to make the return to uni that little bit less serious? This pencil pendant from Whistles is a sweet, wearable reminder of your academic pursuits (or lack thereof). Rhodia notebooks are a stylish way to jot down notes and doodle unflattering caricatures of your professors during lectures. A good, sturdy satchel from the Cambridge Satchel Company in a fire-engine red to make lugging around a tonne of books all day that little bit more cheery. Some super practical shoes by Topshop for traipsing around campus from dawn to dusk.

And, of course, an appropriately dreamy song in your ears to make education that bit more romantic.

Piece of cake.

I spent last year living in France, occupying most of my time with the copious consumption of delectable gateaux, tarts and pastries. I suppose that if my 2009 could be summed up in but one word, it would be gluttonous. And, as is usually the punishment for such carbohydrate-laden greed, I landed in Sydney with a very light wallet and an extremely hefty paunch. France, it seems, was very good to my voracious appetite for sugary treats, but not so good to my thighs. Or my waist. Or, indeed, my entire body from the ankles up.

And so, I have been in self-imposed sweet-toothed exile for the good part of two months. Much of my wardrobe has been rendered unusable, and my too-skinny jeans sit on their shelf, silently mocking me for such French gluttony. No more cakes for me!

Addison Gill as Blueberry Muffin in Cacharel, Kate Somers as Raspberry Tart in Sonia Rykiel, Kim Noorda as Strawberry Shortcake in Charles Anastase

With such an insatiable appetite for sweet treats, imagine my sugar-starved joy when I picked up the latest issue of Lula. The issue celebrates Lula’s fifth birthday with designers’ interpretations of the characters from Strawberry Shortcake. As a five year old, I remember playing with saccharine scented Strawberry Shortcake dolls. With their cute-as-pie frocks and freckled faces, the girls from the cartoon were my favourites, and it is quite a delight to see them all grown up, fitted out in designer frippery, all a bit more sassy than sweet.

Seeing such delectably dressed girls made me realise that perhaps my cake-based cravings could be satiated in a way much more friendly to my belly than a trip to the bakery. I was reminded of a beautiful silk scarf by Paul Smith I bought for my mother in Paris. Covered in scrumptious looking tarte aux fraises and rainbow cupcakes, it was a novel way to bring a bit of sweetness home without it spoiling in my suitcase.

Paul Smith

And so, I have been converted to Dessert Dressing. I can have my cake (I just can’t eat it, too). I’ll be sticking to clothes that make me look like they’ve been frosted on with the help of a piping bag, and dusted with a liberal amount of icing sugar.

Opening Ceremony, Topshop, Panasonic, Judith Leiber, Opening Cermony

Into the wardobe.

  

Ever since the age of seven, I have been thoroughly convinced that my life would be richer were I Lucy Pevensie, the heroine of C.S. Lewis’ ‘The Lion , the Witch and The Wardrobe’. How much more interesting things would be would be, how much more magical, if I could climb into my mother’s huge closet and, instead of playing hide and seek among the thick jungle of coats and dresses, tumble backwards into the icy wonderland of Narnia- all valiant adventure, Turkish delight and talking animals.

 

Of course, I suppose that even if your wardrobe is not a portal into the thrill of a frosty otherworld, adventure can still be sought and won from its depths. Playing dress-up as children taught us no less. I personally liked to prance around my bedroom, the contents of the costume box strewn all over the floor, dressed as a Turn Back Time era Cher or, in marked contrast, a sheep with a shearling coat draped artfully over my back.

 

  Unique, Burberry Prorsum, Boy by Band of Outsiders

Bringing magic and literary nostalgia back into the icy bleakness of Winter, many looks on the Fall runways have reminded me of the childish Englishness of C.S. Lewis’ Pevensie children, and the fantastical creatures that inhabit fabled Narnia- the bestial madness of Unique’s antlered ice maidens, oversized bear fur jackets at Burberry Prorsum that look to have been snatched from the back of Mummy’s wardrobe by a little girl eager to have snowy adventures (with her sleeves rolled up to her wrists, of course), and Boy by Band of Outsiders’ take on the prim Englishness of the Pevensie's, with a touch of fox fur for good measure.

I think it's time for us all to take a gallant leap into the depths of the wardrobe, fur collars, conversational wood creatures and all (if only for fashion's sake).