Rules are made to be broken. That’s what we’re all taught in our school days. Well, not so much taught, but you pick it up along the way. Raf Simons certainly has. For his autumn/winter 2015 collection, on the first day of Paris’ men’s shows, he once again latched onto youth, his eternal inspiration. Only this season, like the last, felt like it was Simons’ own misbegotten ways. And, in tune with the season as a whole, that necessitated a trip to the archive, and a flick through the garments that defined his aesthetic.
Family is a big deal in Italian fashion. When Donatella Versace, for instance, talks about the Versace DNA, I don’t roll my eyes quite as audibly as I do with other designers. I once asked her what the name “Versace” represented to her. “As a label, or as my family?” was her reply.
It’s been snowing in many parts of the UK this weekend… just not in London. Nearly two years without a single snowflake in the capital. My daughter, now four and a half, cannot remember what snow looks like. While I really want her to build a snowman, the upside of the snow-no-show is that I [...]
For the first time in several years, I didn’t sow my sweet peas in November. Normally I would sow them indoors or outside in a cold frame to give them the winter to bulk up. In autumn 2012, in fact, I sowed them in pots outside in late October and they grew enough to be [...]
London Collections: Men – Machismo, mauve, muddles and messiness, from Alexander McQueen, JW Anderson, Sibling and James Long
There could be few more opposing statements on contemporary menswear than those proposed by JW Anderson and Alexander McQueen’s Sarah Burton on the third day of London Collections: Men. The former focussed on the floppy, the fey, the snake-hipped gender-blending 1970s; the latter on curled-lip, swagger-shouldered military machismo, last seen circa 1870 when Britannia still rules the waves, and the world. Their men were sufficiently removed from each other to seem to come not merely from different wardrobes, but different species.
It felt like groundhog day as you took your seat in the Topman venue in London’s High Holborn – where the high street behemoth and the various designers it supports has shown since London Collections: Men first launched in 2012 – and watched the boys go wandering by. Not just because of that déjà venue, nor the clothes, which for autumn/winter 2015 were standard seventies-via-nineties-via-last-season stuff jazzed up with psychedelic prints and a heinous passage of tartan. But because, well, we weren’t here all that long ago.
The small boy I found under a mango tree that day is, finally, legally my son. After wrangling with every conceivable authority here in Tanzania for seven years in an epic battle because my adoption case was incorrectly declared illegal, I hereby announce that in this case, love transcends law after all. The boy and I are inseparable; legally and otherwise.
I normally cannot wait to take down our Christmas tree after the big day itself. Along with all the clutter of wrapping paper, leftover food and empty wine bottles I just want to get rid of it once its purpose is served. By early January after two or three weeks in a centrally heated sitting [...]
There are worse New Year’s resolutions to make than deciding to take up running. It was in January 1999 and my very first run, if you discount ten minutes, pounding a treadmill in an air conditioned gym, was in London. I drove to a park with a friend who was an experienced runner and kindly [...]
Christmas is a time for many traditions and one of ours, on Christmas Eve, is to hurry around our local shops picking up all the food we’ve ordered, standing in line outside different stores. We are not the only ones. It is as if a madness has descended and we believe that, from the close [...]
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