Dear Ethers,

I’m shocked it’s another Friday.  It felt like yesterday I was slipping on my little pleated dress and writing my post.  The weeks are flying by……it’s kind of scary actually.  But none of this deep talk!  No sireee!  This is fashion baby, and a Friday to boot and we want to have fun, right?

As you know I root for anything with an elastic waist.  So, I am donning the most fashionable item of clothing that allows me to wear something without a zipper or buttons.  Yep—leggings.  I’ve sung their praises on this blog a zillion times so I won’t tell you how versatile, easy and how they have become the new jean—but I will say that I will be living in them until Vogue or Glamour or whoever the fuck the arbiter of fashion these days is says they must be binned. And you know what?  Even THEN I will wear them to small Eastern European countries who think they are still hip.  In fact, I will ONLY travel to such places because they will think I am on the cutting edge of the catwalk and will envy my stretchy leg coverlets.

I’m wearing a really fun camisole that I think would look as cool with leggings as they would with jeans.  The top  sort of has a 70’s/80’s “I’m a babe” disco attitude which I like—and the back has—guess what—elastic banding!  Could this top be better suite for me?

The shoes—you either love them or hate them.  I’ll tell you what will make you decide.  You hate moccasin fringe-like shoes or you totally dig them.  I am all about the latter.  I always wanted some fringed shoes but thought they had been overdone by now.  But when I saw them in this cool sandal form in a sleek black, and they were comfy as hell, I said, yep, slip those on my tootsies and call them my own.

I like this outfit because this is just a normal, everyday get-up.  This is something I would run out and get the groceries in or would meet a mate for brunch and a coffee wearing.  Is it jaw-dropping?  No.  But it is young, fun and has a bit more pizzaz than a crappy track-suit and trainers and I feel as comfortable.  I also think it has a beat of its own and unlike all the pastel wearing, glittery girls that can be so L.A., I like to bring a bit of dark casual to the streets here

So happy weekend, and I’ll catch up with you tomorrow.  I am seriously overwhelmed with writing—both my deadlines for pieces are due Monday.  I’m writing a fun shoe piece and a really fab style piece about a very famous dress.  More details to come.  One will be a main feature in a major newspaper.  I’m pretty psyched.  But—I wanna impress because if it goes well, this is the direction I want my career to be going in.  I would love red carpets to be simply a dyed rug in my past.

And speaking of red carpets…let’s roll out one for Fashion Fridays!

Dedicatedly yours,

—One of 365

Casual, easy, fun, youthful and just a really easy way to be laid-back and look put together without having to dawn that horrible tracksuit. It's as convenient but has a little more pizzaz and is a bit more "now." I think the tracksuit, although will always be on the market, has sadly seen its day

I don't know why, but I feel like I'm conjuring Drew Barrymore when I'm wearing this top. It's really fun, 80's, whimsical and somewhat child-like but cut for an adult. I don't know if you can see the little ribbons on either side of the bodice, but they are a cute add on to the camisole. I like the tight top half and the loose bottom ruffle drape. I suppose you could dress this up, but the material is not very fancy and I think it's a cool "throw on and run out of the house" piece. Stars Camisole, 10 pounds, Topshop, London

Yes! Viva La Elastic Waist! C'mon girls....you know if you could make couture and hip clothes with an elastic waist you would vote yay. But, sadly, elastic waist= super Wal-Mart style. Leggings are one of the only items we can get away with these days with a whole lot of stretch unless we're pregnant, so LOVE IT! I have these in brown as well and I wear them everywhere. I look better in them when I'm not shoveling cookies down my gob and going to the gym, but they are a happy piece of cloth for me. And a bargain too. Black Leggings, $6.99, Target, Los Angeles

So, as I said before, you either love em' or you hate em'! I love em'....they are really boho fun and easy to walk in for hours. They are a great alternative then just throwing on a pair of crappy black flip-flops. The only negative is that the laces become unravelled sometimes, but besides that, the sole is comfy and they have great ankle support. I like them with the fun and youthful top and I'm glad I got them in black so I can wear them a little more dressy than I would be able to do with a more rugged brown. Black Moccasin Sandals, Dolce Vita, $98, Diavolina, Los Angeles

Welcome to the Vintage Valentino catwalk in L.A.! I promised you if I could take pics I would and so I'm here to deliver. I'm usually under a tight-lipped contract so I can't share anything glam with you guys, but because I went as a civilian and not a reporter, I could spill all. Enjoy the show

Dear Ethers,

When I go to any ritzy event it always has a catch—I have to work.  I hope one day to be able to attend a glam party or a wonderful opening based on the generosity of creative friends or because I have the money to afford to buy a ticket.  But as it stands, the only way I get into things is by covering them as a journalist.  It was much better in London when I was a beauty writer.  I didn’t have to deal with celebs at parties ever and when there was an actual party, not just a small tea, it was really contained and lovely. In L.A. it’s not like that.  The events I go to are like mad, “Girls Gone Wild” parties.  Often there can be sweaty, drunk dancing involved and celeb groupies.

On Thursday evening I was given a VIP front row seat to the Vintage Valentino show that was being held at Downtown Los Angeles Fashion Week.  Here in the States, L.A. Fashion Week is considered a joke (sad).  So I wasn’t asked to cover anything anyway.  But this lovely person had bought this ticket and at the last minute couldn’t go and I was the lucky tush that got her seat.  I love Valentino.  I own “The Last Emperor” on DVD and haven’t watched it yet.  But I think his clothes are spectacular and I felt honored to attend.  It was also going to be great seeing the red carpet from afar and lovely not to have to rush home and be up until 5am transcribing my interviews.

I didn’t have anything even close to couture, let alone Valentino couture, and I was sitting in the front row!  But, I had a hunch that this being L.A. and not the hottest of fashion meccas, that if I looked snazzy enough, I’d be okay.  So, I put on a really fab All Saints top that is very Westwood, did my eyes up in fab colors going with my Russian Revolution trend (Read Russian Revolution post for the hottest beauty trend this fall!) and did my hair so I could put in a peacock feather headband that went with my trend alert for hair adornments (Read “Tress-Chic” post for the hottest trends for hair this fall!).  This old set of digits didn’t look half bad

I’m not in the best state at the moment due to work anxiety and was really nervous about showing up to a party without anyone.  A lot of these folks knew each other or were in the biz and so I sort of wandered around aimlessly (though some people were very kind and stopped to chat with me about my top!).  L.A. is such a weird place when it comes to getting dressed.  I arrived looking very London I suppose, and they came looking like—I dunno—I hate to say it—but very…errrmmm…seductive.  The girls were either really blinged out or wearing skin-tight, short dresses with their business hanging out.  And the make-up—oh my god!  Talk about caked on!  It’s just a different beast out here.

Anyway, I was led to my seat which was in a prime location, and it had a goodie bag sitting on it (always fun).  There were Coca-Cola girls in red-sequined dresses walking around with trays of soda for our comfort and it was really laid back.  The opening act for the show was a Brit named Matt Goss.  He has a show in Vegas and he is like a funky Frank Sinatra.  He was amazing!  His music rocked and he had showgirls that danced around him—he gave 100% and it was brilliant.

Our lovely Coke girl and you can see the front row and the goodie bags!!!

I have never heard of him, but evidently he's #13 in the UK charts and has a big show at the Palms in Las Vegas. Anyway, the guy was great and his dancers were very sexy!

Then the catwalk show began.  I was so let down.  You’ll see by the pics what I mean.  Valentino must have a conservatory of clothes that would make any fashionista’s heart stop.  The woman who threw the fashion show actually had collected and owned all the pieces so I understand that Valentino hadn’t leant or chosen the clothes himself.  But my god, the choices were atrocious.  The theme was red and black (never a good move) and the era’s were a mess.  Some of the dresses looked like bad 80’s disasters that I’m sure Maestro Valentino wished never resurfaced.  And the way they were styled!  The girls looked like they were Christmas tress with ornaments on them. The models were so second rate.  They had bad skin, they walked poorly, their faces were “whatever.”  And whoever did their make-up—I could have done better!  It looked like they had grease paint smeared on as foundation with heavy red lips and heavy black eyes.  That’s so dated! The hair looked oily and matted—it was bad.  I saw all of the faces in the front row and everyone was in shock!!!   The show had 2 dresses that I would have liked—but not pined for—and in a fashion show—you should be drooling.  I’ll show you the dresses that burnt my eyeballs out of their sockets they were so ugly first and at the end of my post, I’ll show you the two dresses I liked.  Here goes:

I wouldn't have been caught dead in this when it was created! And the model--seriously?

I don't know if this was Valentino's take on a Spanish-style dress gone-80's but OMG! It looks like it is a costume. And so tacky!!!

I think if they threw some tinsel and some candy canes on her it would have been perfect! Ugh and look at her make-up.

I had to include this because I was wondering if Valentino was even trying when he created this and also whomever picked the model to wear this---did they not see it didn't fit her well? Oh, and I'm sorry again to be cruel, but does SHE have the face of a model to you?

The end of the show--thank god! Look how Goth and scary they look. This would have Valentino crying off all of that orange paint he has on his face!

Afterwards, I had a cocktail, spoke to a few people, had a person I knew from the media take a photo of ME on the red carpet with my camera (very funny) and I drove home pleased as punch that I got out and could kick off my heels—but gave the night a fair go.  I wish evenings like that were more common for me…just nice and chilled out.

If you’re wondering what was in the goodie bag, it was very disappointing.  The goodie bags in L.A. are so second rate compared to Blighty! Let’s see, there was a brand of skincare I never heard of that gave a night serum, wipes for your pet, a sample size of Paul Mitchell hair cream, foot petals for your heels and a CD from Matt Goss that I got him to sign for my brother.  I think they could have AT LEAST put SOMETHING Valentino in there!

Anywhooo….I’m thrilled to be able to actually share what a night out for me is like in L.A.  Leave me a comment to let me know what you thought about the show and that you agree the models are DIRE!  Enjoy and I’ll see you tomorrow with my own bit of fashion with a brand new “Wish List.”

PS: Here are the 2 dresses I liked:

I really liked this because of the layering, the material and the adorable cape. Do I think it is pure genius? No. But it is pretty damned cute and I'd dig it if someone bought it for me But really, it's the cape that makes it.

This is the only dress that said "Valentino" to me. It was his classic red. It was perfectly cut. It was feminine and elegant and wait till you see the back. This is a dress that would blow a man away when he opened the front door to pick you up for a black-tie affair.

You make a great entrance, but man, look at that exit. Your ass looks like heaven and your shoulders and back are stellar. This is an A+ and I'm not surprised they ended the show with this. Perfection.

Dedicatedly yours,

—One of 365

I think wigs have come a LONG way from these beauties! I discovered what I would do if I got a NEW "do" after trying on a wig that I never thought would take my fancy. I always imagined myself a blonde....sighhh......

Dear Ether,

My mom’s friend has a fun wig collection.  Not the cheap, crummy kind that you wear for fancy dress, but natural looking wigs that you would never know weren’t real.  Sadly, she had cancer.  BUT, she was one of these women who had a fantastic attitude and embraced her baldness. She decided to have the hairstyles she could never achieve with her natural coif.

Well, thank goodness she is 100% better, and her lovely grayish-blonde hair has grown back with luster. BUT she still has these fab (and might I say expensive) wigs hanging around that she likes to play with.  I was at her house the other day and she took me to her closet.  Sitting on busts were about 6 styles and colors that were tantalizing.  Blonde, black, chestnut and red.  Short, long, layered and curly.  She had the works!

I’ve never tried on a wig before because often places make you pay to do it.  Or they just say no because you obviously aren’t interested in making a purchase.  This time I had free reign!  I don’t know why, but I immediately gravitated towards the blonde bombshell with light streaking.  I was always jealous of the girls who had blonde hair in High School and dreamt of having glittering wisps of gold attached to my head—so on it went!  Here’s the problem.  I have really dark eyebrows, so I looked atrocious because the wig was SO blonde and my eyebrows were SO dark.  However, I didn’t think with my skin color I look too bad as a blonde. But my eyes are also very dark brown.  I looked too yin and yang.   Maybe if I dyed the brows—but then my lovely hair would be fried and cracking off, and my eyebrows would have roots!!!!!  A definite no-no.

The red was tres-saucy.  I used to dye my hair auburn.  I was trying to conjure Julia Roberts circa “Pretty Woman” and it was groovy at the time—or so I thought.  When I look back at pictures, I ask myself how my hairdresser could do that to me!  But this red was a brilliant color and short.  It worked well with my brows and after a decade of long hair, my adult face looked kinda sweet with a short bob.  But then I thought—oooo—this is a little too “I’m on the brink of 30 and I have to grow up look,” so I said NAY!

Can I tell you the one that was perfect?  One that I NEVER thought I would EVER choose? The pixie cut in my own shade–brown!  It matched my hair color perfectly and it was short–just like how Victoria Beckham did it.  It was such an extreme from my long hair that it really was a shocker.  It showcased my face beautifully and it also seemed so easy to manage.  I didn’t have any wild pieces flying anywhere or un-brushed bits that made me look poorly groomed.  My mom’s friend said it was always styled and perfectly polished—it was the easiest wig of them all.  I have a pretty angular face and it fit well with my facial structure—it almost convinced me to lop my hair off right there and then.

The offer stands if I ever want to borrow it I can, and I am so going to take her up on it.  I just wish I had someone who I could really shock.  I took digital pics so English gent saw me with it (LOVED IT).  But I can’t show YOU Ethers!  Anyway, my advice: For a fun day out, go and try on a wig.  You may be surprised what looks good on you and what your next hair-do is going to be!  If I ever chop this lengthy mop of mine off, it’s gonna be 100% pixie for me.

Dedicatedly yours,

—One of 365

A woman scorned...tsk tsk. But there is a first for everything. And my short, little tale will tell you the time that I SHOULD have looked more like the girl in this picture, but in my timid youth I allowed myself to be stood upon. No longer. My big mouth might get me into trouble sometimes. And things may be rocky with English gent. But every day I aim to NOT be a woman scorned ever again (fuck you Mr. X).

Dear Ethers,

When I was in College in the States (which I HATED and subsequently made me move to England) I was invited to a dance.  I was really young when I think about it now.  I had just turned 18, I had never had a boyfriend.  I mean, this was BIG.  The school I went to was old for American standards, being from the early 1800’s (it even had a slave tunnel that ran underneath it for underground escapees!) and it was done up in a beautiful gothic style.  Trust me, it was THE ONLY endearing thing about the place.  The dance was black tie and was to take place in one of the old halls that had probably seen balls and banquets where ladies and gents had gotten their tails and hoop skirts out before there was TV, an iPod or the Polio vaccine.  

I wasn’t particularly keen on the boy who asked me.  He was about 2 years my senior and I barely knew him.  He was the older brother of a girl who was in my dorm and since I really was very inexperienced with guys, I felt very anxious.  But, I was committed to the fact that this was part of what college was about and I had to go for it.  I’ve always had a very slim frame and a nice height, especially in heels.  I probably weighed about 110lbs and in my lovely red Betsey Johnson wedges (very 1940’s, Rita Hayworth) I was about 5’9.  I wore a black strapless LBD.  I had gone and had my hair done and went to Stila for my face to be made up.  I really went all out.  For a girl who had never had her dance card even penciled in, I felt it might be a full night with names marked in lead on my sheet. 

The arrangement was to meet outside of the Dance Hall at 8pm.  This was before cell phones were really popular so neither of us had one.  Lickety-split, I sprayed some special perfume my mom gave me, gave a last look in the mirror, took a deep inhale, and walked alone to see him.  I could see girls were looking at me and other guys were admiring me.  It made me feel shy.  Again, I hadn’t yet embraced being an adult yet and many of these kids were from Manhattan or Seniors in college and had come into their own—I felt like a kid.

8:15.  8:30. 9pm.

He never showed.  

I stood outside watching other couples happily enter the building where you needed a ticket to get in (he was in possession of those). I heard the music playing from inside and the loud chatting over it.  Glasses clinking.  Why did I wait a full hour? 

I had a red pashmina that I wrapped around my shoulders and walked home humiliated.  I didn’t want to be seen by anyone in the dorms because I didn’t want to tell anyone what happened.  Nowadays, oh, if I could step back into that One of 365 body and tell her what to do, that night would be SO different, but Ethers, I was crushed. 

I remember staring in the mirror at my beautifully made up face and seeing my eyes well with tears and thinking, “What a shame, my make-up will be ruined.”  But then I realized there was no occasion for it to look nice.  I slowly unzipped my dress, sat on my bed and undid the ankle-straps on my shoes.  I took the pins out of my hair, each wound up piece unraveling onto my shoulders.  I could have called home that night or spoke to a friend, but I think this was a right of passage for me.  Being stood up.  No one could console me anyway from 3,000 miles away. 

I got into bed and thought of those couples still in that old Hall dancing away.  I wondered why he didn’t show or leave a note?  Door locked, side light table on, I picked up a book and read until drowsiness stole me away and my alarm woke me for classes.  I wasn’t very popular so no one really asked how it went.  But then I saw him (it was a VERY small school).  I sort of cocked my head in wonderment with a quizzical look on my face.  He was sitting in the café with a group of friends.  I know he saw me, and he chose to ignore me. And I didn’t even know what I did wrong.  And to my dying day, I’ll NEVER know.

It was the first time in my life that a boy had hurt me.  And though he really had no deep meaning because I didn’t care about HIM, per se, it was the feeling of being jilted by the opposite sex.  We all remember our first kiss, our first “time,” our wedding and so on.   But do we all remember the first time we got stood-up?  I still have those Betsey Johnson wedges and still wear that strapless LBD.  And you know what, another guy eventually came and dipped me and put his hand on the small of my back in that outfit and I DID get my dance.  It all worked out in the end.  But I do wonder………..what WAS that boy thinking leaving an 18 year old girl standing out in the cold on that October evening?  And, 10+ years later, I wonder, has he ever thought about me?  Funny how someone can be an influence on your life, but you can make no impact on theirs.  And do you know what’s even crazier?  Even though it’s been a decade, I can still close my eyes and see myself in that mirror with fewer lines on my forehead, features less sharp—and yes—still a virgin (oh boy, sooner or later I suppose I’ll have to reveal that tale to you guys–I mean, do you even want to hear it?) thinking that 30 seemed dreadfully old.  And hearing my now 93-year old grandmother say, “It all goes by in a flash.”  My god, what a simple memory can conjure.

Dedicatedly yours,

—One of 365

Roses represent life and death. They adorn coffins and newborn's bedrooms. Snag a finger on a thorn and you bleed, but make it to the top and you get to the heart of the flower and benefit from its growth. But a rose without a scent? Why that's like a violin without strings! I think this world has become so mass-produced that it is even taking the most natural things away from nature.

Dear Ether, 

I went into a florist and saw the most delightful array of roses.  Crimson reds with blackened borders.  Blush pinks that looked the same shade as ballerina’s tutus.  Yellow the color of custard. White’s purer than the fluffiest cloud.  I touched their delicate petals and their texture was fragile but strong enough to withstand just enough pressure to let my fingertips glide along their ridges.  Long green stems with glistening, emerald colored leaves were placed amongst yellowed thorns.  

And, sticking my nose into this magnificent array of beauty—-I smelled nothing.  I expected to be hit with glistening florals, sparkly citrus and mind-blowing musks.  But all I smelled was an icy-wet odor of stale refrigeration and wet grass.  What a horrible illusion these beautiful sirens were!  

I remember my summers in England and Los Angeles.  The wild roses blossoming madly on the sides of roads or in people’s gardens.  The tea roses omitting their sweet smell as they basked in the sun.  The giants heads of other varieties blowing in the wind and the breeze capturing their heavenly headiness and just closing my eyes and taking it all in. 

I remember my mother bought me my first fragrance when I was a little girl.  It was very cheap—and simply called “Tea Rose” by a no name perfume company.  I LOVED it.  It captured everything that I thought a rose should be in a little bottle. I used to dab it on my wrist every night before bed and let it lull me to sleep dreaming of a madman’s trellis filled with roses and me standing under it’s canopy sniffing its fantastical fumes.  

And, you sure as hell bet that when I went to Borough Market in London for the first time, I bought rose flavored ice cream.  And my first purchase from Colombia Road market in Shoreditch—a dozen long-stem red roses that were so perfectly formed they looked like tea cups!  

My first fragrance from Jo Malone (on of my favorite perfumers) was Red Roses Cologne and for my senior prom I wore real baby blossoms woven through my bun to match my dress.  

So, when I went into this florist, seeing my old, dear friends, with no smell, I was so sad to see that they had been created in a hybrid hothouse, mass-produced for their looks.  Did no one care about scent anymore?  I asked the florist, and she said that garden roses didn’t last as long, were much more fragile and didn’t come in the varieties that the mass produced ones did.  She said refrigeration and picking them too quickly stole their aroma.  She told me that very upscale boutique florists had magnificent smelling collections and that they could be special ordered—but for a hefty price. 

The next day I went to a local garden center and perused their rose section.  Ahhh, what wonderful names they have come up with.  If you’ve ever visited the rose garden in June in Greenwich Park in England I’d recommend it.  It smells magnificent and they too, have fabulous names for their varieties.  I decided on a stunning sterling silver rose bush.  The owner promised that over time it would produce fragrant, sweet smelling roses that would have full heads and would be a glamorous shade of silvery-purple.  

As my plant was being loaded into my car I felt like I was adding another rose into the world that gave the air some scent—some beauty.  That, especially in Los Angeles, where everything is so concrete and polluted, I wanted to stick my nose in something natural and beautiful again.  I wanted to close my eyes and have my senses overwhelm me. 

Every rose has it’s thorn, but then again, sometimes it’s worth getting nicked to feel something and reap the reward of its beauty than to not have any experience at all.  

Dedicatedly yours,

—One of 365