It's true to say that when it comes to fashion advice, this blog is not necessarily your one-stop shop. But what is that gentle breath you feel upon your cheek? It is the winds of change.
We are opening the Style Bible 2.0 with the delicate art of accessorising. This is a balancing act indeed. Merely the injudicious addition of a gold chain can take you from Sevigny (Chloe) to Savile (Jimmy) in a semi-precious flash.
It is best to take as your base a timeless item of tailoring, perhaps a vintage Marc Jacobs blouse – and I cannot stress enough that this is a purely hypothetical example – that you were especially pleased/smug at finding tucked away in a second-hand shop in Norfolk. But I am not suggesting you set this off with a waisted belt, a classic clutch or piece of statement jewellery. Fashion is about pushing boundaries. I am urging you to unconsciously deposit a thick strand of banana rind on your chest, preferably somewhere near the blouse's defining feature – in this case, a large bow – in order to draw the eye in.
The banana rind is really enjoying its fashion moment. It is organic, ethically produced from sustainable materials, and will provoke fascinated glances from passers-by. These people are now your style disciples. It is more effective, more edgy, more totally now than, say, a cappuccino five o'clock shadow, a piece of toilet paper stuck to the sole of your shoe, or having the back of your skirt tucked into your knickers. I do, however, recommend wearing it for at least half an hour, while you walk down a busy Saturday-morning suburban street, and around a hectic station concourse, before removing it in the privacy of your train seat.
[Top, £40, vintage Marc Jacobs; bag and cardigan (just seen), stylist's own; banana, 30p, Marks & Spencer]
Next time: how to make your summer-sandal scabs totally 2009!
10 comments:
This made me snigger helplessly, and slightly embarrassingly, at my desk.
Ms Rose
Your advice on how to work the snot/ regurgitated milk/ sweet potato mush look is eagerly awaited.
I too have been sniggering at my desk upon reading this - I'm also slightly disturbed by the mention of Jimmy Saville as I can't help but recall the deeply disturbing tale you once told me involving his tongue/your friend's hand!
Jane - I fully empathise with your fashion predicament. I also remember the horrifying time when I went out one evening with a group of new mums in a chiffon blouse - it was my first night out in a while so I had made a real effort - and went to the ladies, looked in the mirror and discovered that my fetching breast pads had utterly failed and I had leaked milk right on the front of my blouse in two perfectly formed rings around my breasts. It's a good look.
Jane
If I can offer my advice based on the raising of the the Young Miss Joneses - dress in the colour that you intend to feed your child that day. Generally, and at early stages of weaning, this will mean 'off white'. Although in the case of summer fruits you may be able to mix in some pink, or with carrot perhaps a light orange. Black will never work.
Anonymous - you have my sympathy. When Young Miss Jones the Elder (niece of our eponymous Miss Jones) was weaning we had arrived at Tesco for a shopping trip when it became clear she was expecting a feed. Rather than dragging a screaming child round the aisles, we resolved to remain calm and simply divert to their well subsidised cafeteria, where Mrs Jones the Younger (sister in law to etc. etc.) and I could also indulge in a cake whilst feeding YMJtE. Feeding over, I selflessly offered to do the shopping, and allow MJtY to continue to relax with a second cup of tea in the company of her now sated daughter (those with children will recognise that this was perhaps not an entirely selfless act on my part...) At the checkout I went to my shorts pocket to retrieve my wallet to discover that my flies were gaping open. This I could have dealt with. I was less sure how to deal with the two or three teaspoons worth of mucus-laced yoghurt that my daughter had, unnoticed, regurgitated in that general area some fifteen minutes earlier. Still, at least it explained why the lady had scanned my shopping with such alacrity...
Anonymous I fear that may be me when I go back to work. Apart from the chiffon blouse, I'd never wear anything that nice to work.
Big Brother perhaps you should blog too? Very amusing.
Oh yes, Jones Major, do! Brother, father, mathlete, fixer of my broken stuff, unwitting supermarket sex pest and now... blogger.
Catching up with my favourite blog in modern style on a tiny mobile screen, the tiny letters appeared to promise me an entry entitled 'Cut me, I bleed coal'. I was looking forward to stories of a hitherto unsuspected youth as a child labourer in the pits.
Now I come to think of it, I'm not sure if they ever sent children to the coalface. Possibly during some budgie shortage.
Chris
I don't recall the young Miss Jones (not to be confused with one of the Young Miss Joneses) ever being sent down the pit to dig coal (unless it happened when I was at school - and even that is unlikely given that East Anglia is not famed for its coal deposits). She did, however,used to dig worms from the back garden and hang them on the fence for the birds to eat.
And if she still thinks it's a good idea for me to blog, there are plenty more where that came from...
I WAS JUST HELPING THE FOOD CHAIN ALONG. OK?
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