MUSE

I am a photography fiend, and my muse is my greatest friend Matilda Lee Curtis.
Below are exerpts from our improvised shoot, entitled LDN.

I love you, New York

I love New York, it's true, and fortunate as I was to find myself spending two weeks in Manhattan I asked myself what does one do when confronted with the amassed splendour of the Big Apple?
In my case the list of things on my journey included scenic treks to the Moma, Met and Guggenheim galleries, a trip to the dastardly fantastic Ricky's Halloween store, the purchase of several new Victoria's Secret items to renew my collection of bra's for winter, an authentic 15 dollar manicure at a Korean nail salon and of course a heavily indulgent rain-spattered shopping day dedicated to Soho and the Meatpacking district.

Plodding along in my staple uniform of leggings and biker boots, large and obnoxious headphones clasped to my ears streaming the likes of 'Hearts on Fire' by Cut Copy I roamed through the city.
It's true New Yorkers are a funny breed of people with naught but a hairline crack in their self-esteems to discern them from a raging herd of wildebeests during a hunt. The second it's starts drizzling people arm themselves in fashionable Wellington boots and fight over taxis. I can safely say that I've lived in London all my life and have only ever had to wear good old industrial Hunter wellies during a brief visit to the countryside. Apparently here in New York it's not the same, and I was quite perplexed with the image of polka dot, cheetah print and skull and cross-bone rubber boots clambering towards me as I crossed the streets. Never the less I continued, sketching away in my moleskin Picasso at the Moma, Kandinsky at the Guggenheim and trailing through the photography exhibit at the Met. Outside this particular museum I came across a man welding forks into little sculptures and bracelets, the most precise little contraptions that he managed to create to look like cars and bicycles. He looked like a lumberjack, wearing army combat pants and harbouring a grizzled beard. I saw he had made a few rings, none of which were to my preferred taste, so I asked him to make me one.
I am a firm adorer of rings, and I went home wearing my new addition to the family. It was a good day.




If ever you find yourself in New York near Halloween, it would have to take a pretty hard knock on the head to brush past the overflowing pumpkin stalls at the supermarket, the cleverly adopted themes of Dracula and Paranormal activity on TV, and of course the plethora of Ricky's Halloween Stores that seem to appear on every street corner. As it came to be I had a Halloween party to attend back in London, so I dragged my friend Connie to try on costumes with me in the vaulted warehouse that is Ricky's. With the Obama- masks placed next to the masks of the creepy clown from SAW, Ricky's is the place to go unless you're eager enough to rent a costume. Most of the outfits in there are just on the borderline of something you'd buy at Ann Summers as a special treat for that 'special someone', but its always been my belief that Halloween is the time that you can look like a slut and get away with it.



Amidst my endeavours I found myself craving sugary sweetness, and henceforth popped into a corner shop near my favourite hair salon in the big apple, Bumble and Bumble on 146 E 56th St (between 3rd Ave & Lexington Ave). If you're bored of your life, then it's most likely you're bored with your hair, and the first step for a radical new look is a haircut at Bumble and Bumble. Unfortunately, weep, weep, they do not have a salon here in London, only a 'training school' which, frankly, does us no favours. But it was at this hair salon that the moment of revelation to dye my hair completely Flamingo Pink occurred, and I emerged at the end of the summer with locks the colour of ‘Hubba-Bubba’. As I left a Mexican construction worker shouted 'Nice hair baby' and the airhostess on the plane asked me if I was in a rock band. I shan't lie, I was quite flattered. Note to self, in order to receive compliments, dye hair.

Anyway, in that little aforementioned corner shop I discovered a goldmine of exciting indie/cool magazines, such as 'Muse' and ironically 'Indie', the independent style magazine, as well as the quintessential 'Nylon'. I was quite impressed that amid the racks of 'People' and 'US' magazine they had French, Italian and German Vogue.
But, as ever, my heart belongs to' i-D'.









I haven’t seen the film, 'New York, I love you' as of yet, but with a cast concerning the likes of Rachel Bilson, Orlando Bloom, Hayden Christensen, Bradley Cooper, Blake Lively, Natalie Portman and Shia LaBeouf, and if it's anything like 'Paris, je t'aime' I recommend you go see it.

I Want Alice Dellal

If Topshop sold ‘Alice Dellal in A Bag’ I would be the first to buy it.
There is no limit on how cool or edgy this Brazilian model/socialite will become. At first we loved her for her rebellious outcry against the private-school educated persona; with a simple razor she was able to inspire thousands of teenage girls across London to shave their heads too and basically, in one phrase, ‘fuck it.’
Thus, an unlikely heroine was born from the tattoos and piercings, the ripped fishnet tights and hardcore combat boots. Somehow we came to love and adore the girl who looked as though she had jumped a homeless man and stolen all his clothes.

Personally, I believe London is under a wave of Dellal-fever. Forget swine-flu or cervical cancer, the real thing that parents ought to protect their daughters against is the reckless influence of Alice Dellal and her group of anarchists. More often than not we ordinary folk of day jobs and school priorities open up the paper to reveal a glossy snapshot of Pixie Geldof, Alice and Daisy Lowe stumbling out of a nightclub, knuckleduster and cigarette in hand.
Truth-be-told none of these girls are classically ‘beautiful’ or extensively ‘brainy’ but that’s exactly the reason why we love them so, they voice the crazy thoughts and fearless rebellion that’s inside each and every one of us….but we’re all to scared to let out.

Perpetually dressed as though she's going to a rave, Dellal counts Mick Jagger and Mario Testino as her godfathers, she's the daughter of a Brazilian model and a British millionaire, her brother is currently dating Grace Kelly’s granddaughter Charlotte Casiraghi, whilst Alice herself has posed for French Vogue and is the face for Pussy Glamore lingerie. I almost hate her.
Designers are even now starting to copy the model's style secrets, with both Alexander Wang and Proenza Schouler exhibiting Dellal-fever in their collections at New York Fashion week.
Hailed prophetically as the next ‘Kate Moss,' she even got her boobs out during London Fashion Week cat walking for ‘House of Blue Eyes.’
All I can say is, this girl’s got nerve, and her boyfriend is hot too.

Away We Go....

I’m going to be honest here, when I saw the advertisements for ‘Away We Go’ my heart didn’t leap out of my chest in a furious fit of passion, the scrapbook-like font and squiggled handwriting worthy of a seven year old slightly diminished my reasons for seeing this new film. I liked Juno, partly because of her infatuation with Sunny Delight and her extensive vocabulary of quotes like ‘For shiz up the spout’ and ‘Friggin sweet,’ (in my opinion we could all integrate a bit of ‘Juno’ into our day to day conversations, life would be just that extra bit sweeter) But as regards to indie films in general I shan’t profess myself to be a die-hard fan.

Alas I was cleverly manipulated by a close friend (whose name I shall contain a secret) who enticed me with the thought of lunch in the park and a film. It ended up incidentally as us eating Maccy-D’s on a park bench, but hey, I can’t complain.
The film was unexpectedly good; it’s one of those movies that leave you with a pleasant feeling of warmth and nostalgia, riddled with bursts of melodic music and witty jokes the characters ‘Verona’ and ‘Burt’ take you on a journey of parenthood, encountering all the extremes along the way, from the crazy hippie mom who fears the use of strollers will ‘push her children away’ emotionally, to the gentle yet naïve father who’s afraid that raising his daughter alone will leave her without the glam Hannah Montana backpack or Abercrombie wardrobe needed to be carefully selected with the helping hand of a mom.

It’s not exactly a fast-paced thriller with a gorgeous Hollywood assassin and hurling chunks of seared metal, your boyfriend will most likely fall asleep, but directed by Sam Mendes (the dude married to Kate Winslet who won all the awards for ‘Revolutionary Road’) ‘Away We Go’ will without a doubt put you in a good mood.
See it as an afternoon-evening event with someone close in a comfortable cinema (I quite like Notting Hill Gate) and it’ll satisfy.