Riviera

Apparently it's going to hail tomorrow.
Winter weather. Bleak, miserable, gloomy. Cold with a capital C. All-round-yuck in general.
It's got me California' dreamin' (and there she goes, breaking out into 60s minstrel mode). Or rather stuck in un reve de St Tropez. A pair of K. Jacques (next on the *spend*thrifty purchase list). Carefree denim cut-offs. Tank tops. And just running around bare-legged and carefree. As you do (when you're playing beautiful muse)

All this pining for summer and balmy weather. I totally blame it on my new olfactory obsession which makes me smell like iced peach teas, vanilla sundaes, a guilty whiff of a clandestine Gauloise and tropical evenings (it is that yummy). It makes me just a tad obsessed with my newest find at the temple of all things girly-grunge and perfect, Arabella Ramsay (I have never successfully walked in and out without finding something to spend more money on...with the subsequent crushing guilt feeling making me dishonestly promise never to walk in again).

It's the perfect effortless throw-on. A re-worked Riviera inspired blazer courtesy of What Goes Around Comes Around (Come summer - I will probably be crushing on their customized punk-ass flannel shirts) A bit 1950s Monaco gentleman. Perhaps a little louche Miami Vice. Comfy and adorable as hell. It's totally perfect thrown over a little dress for that la garconne feel. Or with a tank and those much-desired-for beat up Levi's cut-offs (story about those later...arising from the death of a previous much loved pair of shorts in rather unsavoury circumstances)

I've found my new lover for all seasons.

Lots o' love on the boardwalk this weekend kids

xx

Bec

Blazer - What Goes Around Comes Around
Tank - Vanessa Bruno
Bling - Stolen from Grandma (literally...that's not a label...)
Shorts - Vintage Levi's (from Arabella Ramsay)

The Eye of Daniel Weiss

This month, my bible of all things avant-garde and oh-so-Parisienne-cool-girl, Jalouse had a Redhead issue.
Um yes, you read that correctly, a celebration of all things and people flame-haired and fabulous.
It almost made me wish I was part of that genetic minority (this, of course, would be a genetic impossibility - the Asian dominant gene clearly has made its mark on me) - at least the cool part of that minority. Which would include people like my brilliantly, gorgeous and ab-fab companion in all things camp and awesome Sas. And the people in that issue. Who aren't quite my friends yet. But they totally are in my head.

And voila - one of these people would be Daniel Weiss.
He who casts a rather bleak, edgy eye over the streets of New Yawk.

There's a touch of noir. A bit of the boy-factor (the best collection of retro cars ever...). And a lot of subversive humour (cue once again - old cars with even more awesome number plates - OLD SCL anyone?). His images aren't of anyone particularly stylish or beautiful. Everyday people. Now there's a concept. But like everyday people in New Yawk of course. Which are kind of just a tad cooler (alternative term - bizarre) than everyday people here.

It almost makes me want to photostalk the homeless people on Swanston St. Or those skater boys who always attempt to kill me every time I want to catch a tram to escape the boredom of class. Or the countless mothers and daughters having retail-induced tiffs on Bourke St (familiar?) Or even just my beyond beautiful posse of amigos. Who really should be a lot more photo-whorey anyway...

Here's to embracing the everyday.

Love

xx

Bec

PS. The rest of Daniel's photography is available for the admirin' at: http://www.danielericweiss.com
There's also a blog...but I've kind of forgotten what it's called...
Point is...check it out

Spin The Bottle

Sometimes I wish I was old enough to fully grasp how cool the early nineties were.

Johnny D hadn't settled with Vanessa P in France and was still wrecking hotel rooms.
Winona had cropped hair and was the very essence of pale, alterna-chic cool.
Kate Moss wasn't designing stuff for Topshop and was instead embodying drug-addled beauty.

Alternative was actually what it was and not some kids with emo hair singing about cutting themselves.
Worse yet, Miley Cyrus grabbing an electric guitar and purporting to connect with her tortured 'artiste' side while grinding on a pole
(For the record - I have nothing against pole dancers, in fact, I'd totally take up pole dancing as an alternative to yoga should anyone want to join me...Anyone? I'd also like a pair of pole dancer shoes. Trust me, they look pretty damn amazing and are apparently more comfortable than their perilous heights would seem to suggest)


But we can all appreciate the highlights of a bygone era. And then up our faux-cool factor by sprouting out words like 'Dope' and 'Whack'. Screw a healthy tan. It's all about embracing our winter-induced pale-skinned introvert. Be bitter. There's nothing like sprouting a bit of Reality Bites and My So Called Life angst every now and again. And muse about that one-sided romance in days gone past. Five minutes in a closet with you...

It makes me want to reinstate 'Spin The Bottle' as a party game all over again.

In hopes that it may alleviate my life from the following line:
'Love is when you look into someone's eyes and suddenly you go all the way inside, to their soul, and you both know instantly. I always imagined I'd fall in love nursing a blind soldier who was wounded in battle. Or maybe while rescuing someone in the middle of a blizzard, seconds before the avalanche hits. I thought at least by the age of 15 I'd have a love life, but I don't even have a like life'

Mmhmm.

Like - Love - You know what I mean.

xx

Bec

Theatrical

'You're such a drama queen'
Yes, well while I would dearly love to think so, a number of failed auditions in high school convinced me otherwise.
I think the person responsible for the above remark may have been simply referring to my unhealthy penchant for exagguration and general extreme (and probably unwanted) dramatic flair in everyday (cue normal people) activities.
It should be noted that above quote is usually accompanied by a sharp hit to the shoulder and a disapproving glare -
'People are now staring at us.'

But there's something distinctly alluring about the theatrical. The whimsical. The out of the ordinary. Something that makes me take a second look at the overly dandy guy who obviously put considerable effort into styling his mustache to an almost comical extent. Or the retro goddess at Seven Seeds who comes dressed head-to-toe in gorgeous vintage dresses from the forties with jet black femme fatale curls and Dita Von Teese-esque red lips. It's a little odd. But it definitely turns heads.

For the rest of us ordinary folks - there's no harm in a dash of sartorial whimsy to make one's life significantly more interesting. Which is why my inner drama queen absolutely died (a fake stage death of course...drawn out for maximum attention-whoring) upon seeing these adorably dramatic babies by wham-bang-ab-fab Finnish designer Minna Parikka (even saying the name makes you feel all fuzzy and cute on the inside)

A tad sensible 40s retro pump (ah yes the sensible court shoe for the serious professional climber in all of us). With a dash of the cartoon universe (hello Mick Jagger on those smacking red lip shoes).

It's theatre at it's very best.

Lots of love. Take a bow for me tonight. Or a curtsey.

xx

Bec

PS. Yes - these were kind of vaguely tragically spied in Asia. And in a somewhat sadder turn of events - are (alas...swoon of distress) not stocked in the Antipodes! But be a good theatre buff and perve on the rest of these delectable shoe babies at:
http://www.minnaparikka.com
There's even an online shop...
And you say I don't love you...
Tsk...

Happy Camp

Some places are just meant to make you smile (and quite possibly spend copious amounts of money in a spendthrift haze)

Musa is one of those places.

Gloriously camp. It's like the grown-up, glittery Barbie Fantasy House of every girl's dreams (Seriously, you didn't?). Covetable pink couches. Showgirl lights in the change rooms. Bubble features. And all things shiny and fabulous. A rhinestone studded shoe phone. One of the best rainbow brogues I've ever seen in my life. Kanye sunglasses (now all I need is the mega fur coat). Shameless bling. Super-happy clothes with polka dots. And colour. Lots of colour. Happy Socks. A live runway show playing on the wall. Like a bogan sports bar except ten trillion times better. Faux-grass and oversized fantasy rocking chairs outside. With really lovely friendly people inside. And yummy Pan-Asian nosh to boot. So basically you can get takeaways of both the edible AND non-edible type.

What more could you ask for really?

Maybe Malibu Ken would seal the deal...
But really a girl can't complain...

Especially with good takeaway

Love

xx

Bec

Catchin' Some Rays

So you can totally blame my beloved future-evil-world-dictator friend for the catchy pun in the title.
Rays of sunshine and stingrays...okay...no you probably get it. And I most likely don't need to spell out the more than evident 'dad joke' element of the line. A weak moment for one whose American Psycho tendencies come with usually rapier-sharp wit. And a penchant for nearly poking out people's eyes with cocktail toothpicks.

This is by far one of my favourite little finds from the tropics.
Ba-da-bing-and-boom
My stingray bracelet. Um...no not of the happy kind of 'we drew a picture of a stingray and put it on a bangle' as part of a paltry attempt to educate little girls on the variety of wildlife on our planet. But rather more of the brutal 'I killed a stingray and...voila...made a pretty piece of wrist adornment out of it' (My personal uber-bitch Anna-Wintour preference)

Before you throw your RSPCA picket sticks at me - I am totally not a fan of animal violence. I love animals. In fact - I totally wanted to become a vet when I was younger then realized I wasn't cut out for the job when my two wrongly named hamsters (I got the genders mixed up) died in my care.

But there's something about leather (and no...not PVC...no love for the fake things in life) that's just so beautiful (For the record- I totally fell into the same trap with my beloved Yves Saint Laurent deerskin tote). Stingray leather. It's just that extra little bit more esoteric and special. First spied on a Balenciaga 'Lego' belt I could barely afford. Then on a pair of Givenchy heels I still dream about to today. It's a pretty cool feeling having something just a tad 'alien-esque' on your wrist. Especially when they're the limited-by-the-piece, hand-made babies of a Malay ex-supermodel (now happily married to some gorgeous European with two disgustingly cute Eurasian babies...yeah...the type of people who make you want to kill yourself).

It's a little subtle. Loving the Melbourne grey? Just a bit facetiously glam. Definitely odd (I've had questions ranging from 'Is that a mosaic?' to plain 'Um...what the hell?'. And one of my favourite things for the season. Perhaps a little ray of happiness in my rather gloomy-shloomy semester of boredom.

Sing it with me now...'You are my sunshine...my only sunshine...'

Okay maybe not.

Curse you, lame pun friend.

Love & Sunshine

xx

Bec

Stiletto

As the ever-chic and sublimely wise Giovanna Battaglia (yes she of the impeccable outfits and 'rumoured to be dating Vladimir Restoin-Roitfeld' fame) says - 'The lower I feel, the higher the heel!'

And good Lord, rarely have words rung truer.
There is nothing like a pair of skyscraper heels and abbreviated skirts to make you feel all happy (and like you actually have desirable legs...)

Bad-ass platforms, wedges, chunky, artistic, bizarre...the bigger the better and I love them all (and secretly you do too...no really...you do...especially when they raise you to above average height...it's your inner 'I not-so-secretly fantasize about being a supermodel and not waking up for less than 10000 bucks a day' girl...)

And then there's the stiletto.
Could there be a better symbol for glamour and seedy illicit affairs?
Clearly my mind is far too often in the gutter.

Yes - they do make for some awkward 'teeter-totter' moments (and even worse disasters when caught in drains when drunk)
And point taken - they are rather 'delicate' hence the occasional 'tear-inducing-heart-breaking' heel breakage incident
On the flip - I'm sure they'd be an effective weapon for causing some pain. Have you tried jabbing someone in the foot with a stiletto heel? Highly amusing. But perhaps not on the receiving end.

But nothing beats a pair of black, metallic-heeled (sadly non-vintage but really one can't complain) Ferragamo stilettos. A mini LBD. A lychee martini in hand. And lounging around in a hilariously facetious bar with a pool feature (yes...a pool feature). For making you feel like a whole new woman. Or a faux-fantasy-supermodel at least.

Lots of love & glam

xx

Bec

Hobes Is Where The Heart Is...

First things first -
(a) Yes I am well aware that it actually is 'Home is where the heart is...'
(b) No I am not cliche-retarded. And who wants that hackneyed expression cross-stitched into many a well-abused welcome mat?
(c) While I am very fond of homes and a warm bed in general - my heart tends to float towards a good pair of shoes...

Especially 'running around the city' shoes. And no, not running in a marathon sense (kudos to you kids who did that but just...no) Say 'aye' with me if you too have suffered from shoes that have given you the mother of all blisters. Not fun. Or have broken apart on you (yes you stupid grey brogues from Fat...). Or have Asian mothers who attempt to force a pair of unsightly orthopedic 'comfort' shoes upon you ('Just no...mum...no...')

As we suffer through tres unromantic, disgusting bleak wintery days - my heart is very much set a-flutter by a good pair of Hobes.

The relatively spankin'-new brainchild of the talented (and might I add - lovely) Georgia (you Age-addicted sartorially talented law students may have already spied them in the paper)- these babies are the all-round 'looking-adorably-chic-while-running-around-on-an-urban-adventure' shoe.

Born out of every girl's quest to find the perfect shoe (now seriously, who hasn't thought that...) and inspired by the classic primary school (and it seems current trad/preppy/Americana dandy man) staple desert boot. Timeless style (so yes, it won't be like those gladiator sandals you're totally regretting buying after seeing some trashy teenager wear them with her lycra piece of material from Supre...) Deliciously comfy (and may I add foldable - I think that totally adds an extra element of thrill for me...it makes me think I have 'jet-setting' shoes...even if I don't really jet-set all that often). Totally hand-made with sublime Italian suede (and canvas) in god-sent neutral colours (there is a fascinating back story involving a traditional Italian shoe-maker)

Impeccable quality and totally high unisex androgynous cute factor - and for the price of 150 bucks a pop (yes I feel your inner tight-ass Asians screaming for joy). There's all too much to love.

And you wondered why my heart now belongs to a pair of Hobes...

Feel the love today. And run with it.

Love

xx

Bec

PS. Buy a pair (nay even more) on Georgia's beautiful site - www.hobes.com.au
In different materials and colours! Are you screaming YAY yet?

PPS. But if you believe in being manual and boring like me - they are also available for the tryin' and buyin' at Gorman and Obus stores around Australia

Mi Casa

As Dorothy said - 'There's no place like home'

And indeed she was right.

Nothing really compares to lazy days in the tropics. Childhood homes filled with memories of idyllic evenings. First kisses. Tragic awkward teenage moments. Spending everyday in the pool with your 'like totally cool' posse. Home made iced lemon tea. Slightly insane relatives. Family ghosts. Eight course banquet dinners. Getting a decent tan. Putting your feet up. The fish fountain. The faux-cave and the rather salacious action within. Mahogany benches and sunsets. Adventures of a rather well-travelled bag. It's a little bit jungle. But tamed of course. Letting the afternoon sun dry up droplets of pool water on your skin. It's a little bit insane. They call it 'going troppo.' But it's a beautiful eccentricity.

And all too perfect for me.

I miss it already.

Love & Sun

xx

Bec

Hip-Hop-Smoking

I love procrastinating. Especially when it involves finding pretty things to look at.

I really like this little piece of musical film. It's not new. But it is pretty gosh-darn amazing. I am rather fond of a good musical. It started with Joseph and culminated in many-a-guilty-snigger at the West Side Story in music classes.

I am also a little in love with Janelle Monae. I like to think I'd totally be like her if I had actual nouveau jazz/ghetto cool factor and was African American. It's a bit Outkast. And totally Yves Saint Laurent (Le Smoking anyone?) And maybe a little bit apocalyptic with its vision of android auctions. But if I had to choose any version of a bleak destructive future to live in - I'd totally dig this one.

And seriously, screw the robot next time I burn up the dance floor.
It's all about the android.

Love

xx

Bec

The Newest Arrival...

And here it is - my new baby.
The newest addition to my 'on-the-verge-of-exploding' wardrobe. I know. The solution is to 'minimize' rather than add in more superfluous but totally ab-fab pieces...but...but...

It can always accommodate another bag. End of story.

Bags hold a special place in my usually small consumer-whorish heart.
I am a proud member of multiple groups which proudly scream 'My bag is worth more than your life'
Because most of the time it is. Well, at least definitely in the case of my ex. Awkward? Okay. Yeah.

Ah, and a Chloe tote makes for the perfect travel-adventure companion in the tropics.
Buttery soft goat-skin leather. That trademark gold hardware we all know and love (who doesn't love a bit of hardware...and not of the nuts-and-bolts sort). Big enough to carry all the essentials of life. And a bit more. Multiple pockets to subtly hide the sins of the past week. And a big strap for that 'I'm trying to desperately emulate Alexa Chung's preppy androgynous schoolboy aesthetic' (It's the satchel factor). So really that makes it more like two bags for the price of one. At least that's how it totally won me over. Swoon.

Elegant. Tasteful. Simple. Pragmatic. And might I say, rather huggable.

And who said you needed actual human arm candy?

Love

xx

Bec

Tiger Tiger!

I love bling. Shamelessly. Preferably the bigger, the better.
Call it the pragmatist within me...Finger adornment and self-defence instrument. At the same time.
Nothing short of brilliant.
And especially when it has to do with big cats.
Like tigers. I love tigers. They're like lions but without the 'do and with a way cooler coat.

Which is why I'm particularly obsessed with this baby.
I got this off my favourite jeweller/taxidermist/all round majorly cool person at Shag (Vintage Ferragamo man - if you've been following the epic sartorial soap opera that is my life...and if so...lots of love)
His pack of boulderdusters were packing a particular punch that afternoon.
And in a slight stroke of insanity, I had a feeble - 'Oh my god, can I be as cool as you?' - moment.
And while the rest of the pretty little things on his fingers were sadly not available for my dorky imitation.
Alas, the tiger ring was!

Being ever the uber-sweetheart, he even appealed to my inner Asian tight-ass (which is dying...a slow and painful death thanks to this little piece of work) and emphasized the VALUE of the ring (aha...every accountant's favourite term - bang for your buck - and not necessarily a reference to sex for money)

Because really it's like fricken' massive. And therefore counts more as three rings as opposed to one.
So really - it's like 'Three for One' day.
That's a concept any Asian parent would love.

Spendthrift me? I'm just enjoying once again basking in my title of 'Lord of the Boulderdusters' (yes a challenge was made - and if you'd like to duel with me, you know where to find me) and embracing my total scary obsession with all things shiny and big. I like to think I'm also totally getting in touch with my inner predator.

But maybe that'd be a little creepy.

In any case - it's the law of the jungle this fine afternoon. Revel in it.

Rawr

xx

Bec

Blog-porn: TOURIST

Ah yes, she's spamming the inter-webs like a whore on crack.
But I've missed you all so much.

No seriously. Some things are so good they deserve to be shared.
Like new blog-sessions.

Et voila. Benevolent soul that I am. I'd like you to meet my favourite type of TOURIST.

Oui! Tourists. I really haven't gone that mental and embraced my shameless budget tourist side. Mm-hmm. No matter where you're from, you know who I'm talking about. They walk around in packs. Usually with tiny digi-cameras in tow. Loud conversations in their own language. Usually led by an incredibly conspicuous pack leader carrying a coloured flag?

Psh! Ye of little faith.

This is like the tourist you wish you were. With the visual diary you'd love to keep. Chock-a-block full of the cool hip kids you'd love to hang out with. Short stories from the new glitterati literati. Conceptual photography. Where the image = dialogue. Perceptive? I know. The new arty-shmarty thing in town. No wait, in the towns you'd love to live in. There are 'issues' yes. But you don't really need to follow it in any particular order. It's just a pleasure getting lost in a spell of clicking. And that's the best kind of travel isn't it? Even if you are stuck in a travel lounge. Or worse yet, your own living room.

And worry not, it doesn't come with a handy pack leader (with or without a coloured flag)

Get lost. Now. You know what I mean.

Check it: http://www.touristmagazine.co.uk/

Love

xx

Bec

A Touch of Hermes

Slightly superfluous background note - I was originally hoping to greet you with some nice happy snaps of my home away from home (possibly also so you can secretly go 'I hate you' and then I can smugly smile and say 'Well...yes...naturally...I was actually warm for a change...') but then Blogger decided to be a bitch and not process the photos. Maybe it's out of computer envy. Possibly. In short, story for another time.


But the tropics would not be the tropics without the requisite South-East Asian indulgence of retail therapy. Never has the Visa been worked so hard in its life. Actually no that's a lie. But anyway. And there's nothing like a bit of Hermes and tea. I'd like to take both at the same time. But I can't actually afford the tea cups even if Elle Macpherson (yes she of the bras and The Body) tells me that I should. I couldn't resist taking a little piece of the fantasy home with me. The fantasy involving me and a Birkin bag. And not much else.

Possibly a few decadent silk scarves that I could turn into a dress. Luxurious nonchalance.

Like the Twilly. Kind of ridiculously pointless. I mean, it probably doesn't even constitute an actual real scarf. But deliciously pretty in a kind of classic, traditional spoilt princess kind of way. She who owned a pony at the age of five when the rest of us dreamed. And eventually morphs into the type of woman who 'lunches', has an affair with the Costa Rican pool boy and owns a wardrobe full of Hermes bags (the Kelly, the Birkin...god forbid...also the Constance). This is disturbingly starting to sound like my own twisted fantasy. But we can all dream.

And even if all that never happens. And we end up stuck in libraries in very gray wintery conditions. Getting lost in Le Monde d'Hermes. Playing with that Twilly. With an old broken cup of tea. And the scent of Annick Goutal's Petite Cherie in the air. It comes pretty close.

Keep it dreamy and pretty today my loves!

Love (from she who is depressingly back in Melbourne)

xx

Bec