One month on the job, Congratulations Mr. Obama Friday, 20 February 2009
Thursday, 19 February 2009
You're Either a Fashion Person or You're Not
If you can recall the precise angle at which the coolest dude at your school wore his blazer collar, then you're definatley style-focused. The real fashion nut is likely to have been the too-cool-for-school kid, the one who sent shockwaves through the playground one morning when he arrived with his blazer sleeves rolled up. And after more than half a decade of life in the narcst lane this is perhaps my main insight: most of fashion is an attempt to recreate, to recapture and prolong the intensely giddy and sensual, absurdly exciting success of a school look. Indeed, I would say that most of us have our fashion imaginations arrested at 15. We are, like drug addicts, forever trying to recreate that early rush.
Here's to the next generation.
Monday, 16 February 2009
Tuesday, 10 February 2009
Saturday, 7 February 2009
Thursday, 5 February 2009
Wednesday, 4 February 2009
Tuesday, 3 February 2009
Le Baron Montès de Montejanos
'How are you, my dear fellow?' said Monsieur Marneffe, holding out his hand to the Brazilian, who looked exactly like a millionaire from Brazil as one imagines him.
Monsieur le Baron Henri Montès de Montejanos, the product of an equatorial climate, had the physique and complexion that we all associate with Othello. At first sight he intimidated by his glowing looks, but this was a purely plastic effect, for his character was extremely gentle and affectionate, and predestined him to the kind of exploitation that weak women practise on strong men. The disdain expressed in his face, the muscular strength of his body, his obvious aggressive powers, were offensive only to men; to women homage from such a man was flattering, and flattering in a way that goes powerfully to women's heads. All men are conscious of women's susceptibility to pugnacious masculinity; and one may see a man, giving his arm to his mistress, assume a swashbuckling swagger that is very amusing. With his superb figure set off by a blue coat with buttons of solid gold, and black trousers, wearing well-polished boots of of fine leather, convetionally gloved, the Baron had nothing Brazilian about his dress but a huge diamond, worth about a hundred thousand francs, that glittered like a star on a sumptuous blue silk cravat. A white waiscoat revealed a glimpse of shirt of fabulously fine material. His forehead, projecting like a satyr's, a sign of obstinate tenacity in passion, was surmounted by a jet-black head of springing hair like a virgin forest, below which a pair of clear eyes glittered, so tawny and untamed as to make it seem credible that his mother when carrying him had been frightened by a jaguar.
This magnificent specimen of Portugese Brazilian manhood took up his stand, back to the fireplace, in an attitude which showed parisian habits; and, his hat in one hand, resting an arm against the velvet draped mantelpiece, he bent over Madame Marneffe to talk in a low voice to her, concerning himself very little about all the frightful bourgeois people who seemed to him to be very inopportunely cluttering up the room.
Monsieur le Baron Henri Montès de Montejanos, the product of an equatorial climate, had the physique and complexion that we all associate with Othello. At first sight he intimidated by his glowing looks, but this was a purely plastic effect, for his character was extremely gentle and affectionate, and predestined him to the kind of exploitation that weak women practise on strong men. The disdain expressed in his face, the muscular strength of his body, his obvious aggressive powers, were offensive only to men; to women homage from such a man was flattering, and flattering in a way that goes powerfully to women's heads. All men are conscious of women's susceptibility to pugnacious masculinity; and one may see a man, giving his arm to his mistress, assume a swashbuckling swagger that is very amusing. With his superb figure set off by a blue coat with buttons of solid gold, and black trousers, wearing well-polished boots of of fine leather, convetionally gloved, the Baron had nothing Brazilian about his dress but a huge diamond, worth about a hundred thousand francs, that glittered like a star on a sumptuous blue silk cravat. A white waiscoat revealed a glimpse of shirt of fabulously fine material. His forehead, projecting like a satyr's, a sign of obstinate tenacity in passion, was surmounted by a jet-black head of springing hair like a virgin forest, below which a pair of clear eyes glittered, so tawny and untamed as to make it seem credible that his mother when carrying him had been frightened by a jaguar.
This magnificent specimen of Portugese Brazilian manhood took up his stand, back to the fireplace, in an attitude which showed parisian habits; and, his hat in one hand, resting an arm against the velvet draped mantelpiece, he bent over Madame Marneffe to talk in a low voice to her, concerning himself very little about all the frightful bourgeois people who seemed to him to be very inopportunely cluttering up the room.
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