shopgirl

armani mania

gucci for men

the Christian, in Christian Dior

missoni me

coco was here

miuccia for miu miu

alberto biani

oh osklen

TAD concept store

h&m

levis

gisele for stefanel

my vice, my downfall, my zara

my marriage is a fake FENDI

TODS

dolce dolce dolce

diesel

intervention required

It's that age old adage that gets me every time..."time sure flies when you're having fun". And so it has; three months of it to be precise. Twas my last night in Rome tonight. So what do I do? Exactly what I promised myself I wouldn't do...enter the doors of Zara. An hour later I emerged, four items in hand. Two of which, are from their new fall collection. Wasn't that wise of me? Especially given the fact that I am heading back to the other side of the world in a few weeks, where we shall be approaching summer (cry me a river she says as she skips another winter & enters her ninth month of a delightful spring/summer combination). FYI it was the exact moment that I stepped out of Zara at 10pm tonight into the ever-present humidity, that I prayed for an intervention on my shopping habits.

However my adventures at Zara aside and my final gelati consumed to within an inch of the very last shave of ice, I decided to explore the streets surrounding Via Del Corso. What I found was designer store after designer store each vying for the attention of the thousands of meandering tourists that fall onto the streets each day. The displays on Via Condotti are a Roman attraction within themselves and it would almost be plausible to issue tickets to the tourists lining up and peering over one another to get a glimpse of each window. You do however get the odd wealthy soul who actually enters the store and emerges toting large designer bags in hand as they are escorted into their waiting limo *sigh*. But for you regular folk like me may I suggest that the next time you visit the holy city do pay these shop windows a visit, if not for anything else but to see clothing that money almost can't buy.

P.s. Three hours later I wandered back home, with a sizeable dent on my camera card, another lemon gelati and memories of a last night in Rome, very well played.

all points in any direction but south

The subject is music festivals. We say it’s all about the music but you and I both know that it is just as easily about what those around you are sporting rather than listening to.

For us mere mortals festivals usually mean footwear that is comfortable, carefully torn Levis made into shorts, accompanied by oversized tees and whatever eyewear the fashion gods have deemed us to wear that season. We have learnt to hold on all things fluro and we pray there are fewer males with tees on than off. And while we usually struggle in blistering summer sun as beads of sweat trickle down our legs and the minimal makeup we have applied melts deeper into the dust marks that now line our face, it appears that this isn’t so for those model folk. Case in point at last weekends ‘All Points West Festival', where their appearance was anything less than south of the border of fabulosity.

Yes that means you Agnes Deyne in your to-die-for-tie-dyed cape, and you Alexa Chung in your polka dot dress and even you Catherine McNeil in your slouchy tee and harem pants and to the reveller in the camel hued platform heels, how is it that you were able to navigate the grassy terrain all the while moving to the beats of Vampire Weekend, Fleet Foxes, Yeah Yeah Yeah’s, Q-Tip, La Roux and Lykke Li, just to name a few? I envy thee so…and look forward to my next festival in which I will focus solely on the music and perhaps sneak a few glances at those around me from underneath my Karen Walker’s.