Maripossa

Newsflash - I'm having dreams of butterflies.
And no, before you go all Matrix-guru on me - not of the existentialist/metaphysical Tao/Kafkaesque variety.
But rather of the super-dreamy, spectacular shiny pieces of blingtastic goodness from Maripossa (which, to show off my non-existent Spanish linguistic skills - Hola anyone? - means 'butterfly' and also serves a neat double purpose as a nifty little insult...whoever said my spiels weren't educational...such a liar...)

Maripossa is the lovechild of the truly sublime Lauren Besser.
Who I totally have a girl-crush on now. And who is pretty much worth an ode and more unto herself.
She's part effortlessly cool shaman-esque, Charlotte Kemp Muhl epitome of fabulousity and part adorable hostess-with-the mostest (I was welcomed with a variety of bagels...need I say more...)

Clearly cool people make the coolest things. 'Nuff said.
I've been a bit obsessed with her hand-crocheted metal necklaces and natural crystal pieces since the day I first set eyes on them and drooled all over the counter (incidentally while indulging on yet another piece of bling...it's beginning to sound like a crack habit no? But like way prettier...). Amazingly intricate. Delicate and kooky. Girly with a good liberal dose of bad-ass edge. Like our shared love of girls who 'do it their own way', Erin and Lou. Tough and dreamy. Anything goes really.

The best thing is - you can tell it comes from the heart.
The result of some life-changing travel and an unstoppable need to 'go her own way' in everything that she does.
Maripossa is like the sartorial god-sent answer to those of us who crave the slightly off-kilter. The esoteric. The muse who embraces individuality...to the Nth degree. I'm bored with the conventionally beautiful. So challenge me.
It's for she who is inspired by everything and anything. The random. In an aesthetically indulgent way.

And so I got to invade her creative space.
And even better - I got to take back a little piece of positive crystal dangly-shmangly goodness.
And dangerously lust-filled dreams for those new tough-as-nails metal tube necklaces and double rock knuckledusters.

It was probably a dream.
It seems almost too good to be true.

Keep it in the dreamtime mes amours!

xx

Bec

PS. More information and L-O-V-E on Maripossa can be found at - http://www.maripossa.com.au

Ingrid

Some friendships were just meant to happen.
And when I say 'meant to happen'...I mean like the mega friendship version of 'Kismet' (yeah ain't that a better way of saying 'fate' or 'serendipity'...after Cusack and Beckinsale half ruined the concept for me)
And some people are just kind of ah-mazing. So you feel really lucky knowing them.

The lovely, divine and perenially chic Miss Ingrid definitely strikes two for two on the above.
And, oh is it ever so splendid! Meeting of the minds. Endless talks of models, Laduree macarons, Paris, the Asian art of tea and more. Candid and sparklingly witty. Our shopping/'ladies who lunch' dates are the stuff epic sartorial fantasies are made of. Blessed with the most amazing armoire I have ever seen (okay...confession...I haven't actually SEEN it yet...I just kind of sadly perve every single time I see her) Only deliciously full of the most glorious vintage designer. Ever. Dedicated to the art of living. Beautifully. Making her a girl after my own heart...

I find it hard picking out of all her amazing ensembles (it makes me wish I could just photo-stalk her every day...okay that just came out sounding unnecessarily creepy)...

But her vintage, purple Chanel jacket really takes the cake...




A steal from Washington. Those damn senator's wives. Vibrant and boldly luxe. They just don't make it like that anymore. Paired decadently yet effortlessly with a knotted Hermes (incidentally I'd like to add at this point that we are scarf twins - except I have the mini version...oh that delightfully sinful little indulgence also known as the Twilly...how you will kill me one day) The perfect pick-me-up for a typical schizophrenic (I can't decide whether it's sunny or kill-myself-gloomy) Melbourne 'early Spring' day.

Much like the lovely mademoiselle herself. Who adds that extra dash of sparkle and fantasy to the banal. Who is, much like our joint idol La Mademoiselle herself, the epitome of style and substance (scary legal eagle mind alert)...

And divine sartorial kudos aside - a truly wonderful friend...

Hug your BFFs today. Because you know you want to...
Especially when they wear vintage Chanel...

Love and kisses

xx

Bec

PS. If you didn't know that La Mademoiselle is my way of saying Chanel - I still love you anyway...

Packin' It

Backpacks are cool again.

Fat is putting them in their shop-window displays.
The overly skinny, cigarette puffing cool cats at The Bend are wearing them.
And my bible of all things hip and happening in The Big Apple (yeah because clearly I live there and can partake in aforementioned super cool activities) has proclaimed that they are oh-so-back in a big way.

And on the additional flip, you can please your Asian mother with its beneficial physiotherapeutic qualities. Something about distributing the weight equally on the shoulders...I wasn't really paying attention at the time.

In any case - I really want a knapsack. If only because it makes a catchy rhyme - 'A knapsack on my back...' (Lame? Okay...yeah I'm going to shut up now...it's the whole 'year older...lamer jokes' thing...apologies if your dork radar has just exploded in your face)

You could just jump on the bandwagon and you'd be sort of cool (like the cigarette puffing and beanstalk legged crowd that shop like crazed retail whores at Fat). Or you could do one better - by simply doing your own thing. Like the always impeccably attired Tarang (such a stalk-mine if there ever was one...and a truly lovely friend to boot).

My inner dandy man (who clearly has serious consumer whore problems) is way obsessed with his beautifully practical canvas and leather piece of backpacking goodness. Simple, deliciously pragmatic and made in limited batches (that's the real catch...) - with a real 'heritage-cool' edge to it. The apparent physical benefits of getting your back into it just got exponentially more obvious.

That, or I'm getting old and turning into my mother...

I'm going with the former

Much loving,

xx

Bec

On A Rainy Day...

There's something about rainy days and puddles which kind of make you obsess about the humble boot.
Maybe it's the fact that water doesn't get in (thank you useless canvas shoes)
Or childhood dreams/memories of jumping in puddles (mind you, unachieved childhood dream - because in glamorous South East Asia - puddles are probably more akin to pools of battery acid...)
Or the fact that they're just 'made for walking' (especially true on that day where featured friend and I trawled from one side of the city to the other and enjoyed a shower au naturel at the same time...only the most fabulous way to be drenched is with good, stylish company...it's something I could see Isabella Blow or Diana Vreeland agreeing with...if they weren't so impeccable...all the time)

In any event - I'm a little envious/obsessed (or demented lovechild of the two...) of my fellow drenched companion's Jeffrey Campbell vaguely nouveau cowboy style gumboot booties. Perfect for puddle jumping. With a hint of unexpected Parisian insouciance (curse you Chloe and Vanessa Bruno for making me drool over quasi-cowboy boots...).

And of course - I could never say no to a well-heeled urban hiker's well-loved companion, a fabulous Balmoral in tan (oh yes...proper terminology...golden star sticker for me)...

It sometimes makes me wish the rain didn't go away...

Momentarily of course.

Love

xx

Bec

Samara

Some nifty folks make you happy-shnappy just looking at them.
Like listening to a Beatles album while sipping pink lemonade.
And eating vanilla ice cream with rainbow sprinkles.

The splendiferous Samara is one of them.
I'm more than a little envious of her ability to pull off eclectic with such aplomb.
Bold colours. Adorable accents. Zany patterned tights. Pieces that kind of elicit a tiny chuckle. And the most amazing, shiny Adidas x Jeremy Scott sneakers. Ever. Major camp footwear envy.

It's a little magpie. With a delicious sort of Marc Jacobs/Miu Miu aesthetic.
A dash eccentric globe-trotter. A bit ghetto-satirical. Which makes me think of Henry Holland and Jeremy Scott in spades. Totally fabulously mix-and-match.

The best part about it is that it's so her.
Laugh out loud hilarious (plus she laughs at my jokes...which is kind of a major point-scorer in my books). Bubbly. Full of intriguing tales and slightly mad-cap yet brilliant ideas (I am now fully inspired to embrace the idea of 'Carpe Diem' week and turning horse stables into uber-camp discos). Mega cute. And just super fun in general.

She's just kind of amazing.

Love

xx

Bec

PS. As part of her take on Carpe Diem week - the splendid Ms Samara has entered herself into the Myer Style-Off competition. So yeah...this feature kind of came a little retardedly late but you do STILL have like 24 hours to vote. And that is something worth voting for...

Pavement Kicks

I have a love-hate relationship with the humble sneaker.
Hate because it reminds me (ever so much) about my incompetency in all things athletic.
Exercise? Moi? What about never...
And how I look tres ridiculous (never street-cool) in multi-coloured Air Force Ones.

Irrespective of my inability to pull off ghetto...
I kind of love my uber-chic compadre Sam's Miu Miu deerskin kicks.

Serious ghetto/sporty cred. Sure. But totally edgy/noir at the same time.
And with a dash of superfluous luxe. That just gets better with age.
Plus they're like the shoe versions of my beloved deerskin tote.

Definitely some sweet kicks.

Love

xx

Bec

A Man & His Bag

And the awkward stalker is back!
(Bit of a hiatus after a bad case of camera karma - which hopefully has ended)

After all, this dapper chap was spotted during the tres glam and ubiquitously Melbourne 'waiting for a tram that isn't packed to the rafters so I will probably suffocate and kill someone with my bag at the same time' routine. While many a sartorial thumbs up is given to the beautifully executed 'black skinnies and boots' routine (which makes me want to totally date a grungy tortured artist/muso every time I spy it...) - I was just a little more obsessed with his bag.

Ah the man-bag. A name blatantly wasted on a suitably unattractive ex (for the record - I don't think he ever came to terms with its greatness). Satchels, framed briefcases, messenger bags, backpacks. I kind of love (with a capital L) the masculine bag (and pretty much everything with a dandy boy factor actually...><...It's the garconne in me)

But a beautiful man-tote! Subtly luxe and deliciously well-made. It's like the pragmatic book (more likely retail booty) bag of my dreams. Gorgeous chocolate brown. Buttery leather. Double strap function. Minimal but kind of fabulous hardware. I may have stood there drooling for all of five minutes.

Having said that - it kind of made the tram wait worthwhile. And definitely a dash prettier.

And I have a fulfilling mission of the week! A man-bag-hunting we will go! You know what I mean...

Love

xx

Bec

Oh Captain, My Captain

'O Captain! My Captain! Rise up and hear the bells...' - Whitman

Point noted. Too many watchings of Dead Poets Society.
And I totally would have attended that school had I been the right gender for it. Preppy male chauvinistic goodness.
And yes this is another one of my trademark 'If only I were a dandy man' rants. Which probably happen far too often for my own good. Resulting in the following introduction: 'Hey, this is Rebecca, she's a transvestite in disguise.' Awkward. Shall we move on? Yes. We shall.

But there's something inherently fascinating about the gentlemen of a bygone era. The sartorial element. The paraphernalia. Gin and bourbon. Because you have to drink like a man. None of that retarded alco-pop shit. Cuban cigars. Pipe smoking. Tuxedos. Bowties. Initialled handkerchiefs (something I am proud to say my father still does). Going to an old school barber. Retro jazz. Neat haircuts. Courting as opposed to dating. Button down shirts. Perfectly tailored suits. The idea of bespoke. It's very Take Ivy. And somewhat of an unhealthy obsession.

And so you can imagine the happiness level upon stumbling into Captains of Industry. Stumbling is probably the wrong way to put it. Honestly, I stalked it. As you do. Because clearly we're all normal people here. And nothing (not even my retarded geographic skills) could stop me. And it was my first port of call after the trauma that was exams. My inner dandy man (yes you know him very well...you and I both...) nearly died of happiness. Because he'd totally live here. Even if there were genuine dandy men (of the actual right gender) giving him kind of weird looks. 'Um...why is there some dorky Asian girl drooling on our floor and like totally invading our space?' With it's kind of grungy, very arty-urban 'oh-so-hidden-in-an-alley-and-up-a-rickety-flight-of-stairs' aesthetic. Instant cred. And the glorious loft space with sunlight streaming in through the windows. Vintage typewriters. Retro lamps. Travel trunks. Old magazines. Empty spirit bottles. It's enough to make a retro gentleman swoon.

And why wouldn't you live here? Retro barber. Check. Bespoke suiting service. Check.

Oh...oh...and wait for this...Handmade shoes. Yes. Because inner dandy man and I had a conversation. And we decided (yeah it was totally his fault) that wrong gender or not, you can never go wrong with a pair of totally made to order dandy man shoes by the lovely J.S. Roberts. Hand-dyed and made to your specifications (I kind of possibly spastically drooled through the whole process. Literally) In all their classic, old school Anglophilic glory. There is currently I believe a massive four month waiting list for these babies. But totally worth the wait. Oh and the sad thrill of seeing your name go up the list. Because I'm cool like that really.

In any case, whether you're actually a boy in search of that much-needed retro sartorial goodness or a girl with an inner-dandy-man problem or something in between (like a tranny in disguise) - the noble Captains do serve a mean coffee and apparently some very yummy nosh.

Lunch date anyone? Like...I kind of need a valid excuse to re-stalk the place. Really.

Lots o' dandy love

xx

Bec

Do yourselves a favour and pop into Captains at Level 1, 2 Somerset Place, Melbourne (Handy hint for the geographically retarded of us...it's ridiculously near the GPO)

Or perve at the website: http://captainsofindustry.com.au

PS. And thus begins the saga of the hand-made jodphur boot! But you can drool and swoon at the rest of James' creations at his lovely website: http://jsroberts.com.au
Even better - have a chat to the man himself, because he really is lovely with a capital L and talented with a capital T...

Harry - The Poet

When I first met Harry many moons ago (back when I thought the law school was a magical place...that's how long ago) - I knew I'd found my new M.M.F (alas no, get your mind out of the gutter...or is that just my mind? It's not a dirty acronym - but rather Mutual Muse Friend)

M.M.F = That friend who totally 'gets' your tortured artist side. Like your penchant for old French literary magazines. Vinyl records. Jeff Buckley. And a good glass of Scotch at night. And your somewhat bizarre dreams of reviving Beatnik nights and living like Kerouac all over again. Or maybe that's just Harry.

A true troubadour.
Poetic. Francophilic. The only person with whom I could practice my terrible with a capital T francais (or rather should I say 'mon francais tres rouille') Constantly looking like a vision out of a bygone era of travelling folk singers. And yet totally modern at the same time.

How can you not totally love a man who has the most amazing vintage collection ever? Comprised of paternal hand-me-downs (case in point - that leather snake-skin embossed blazer, cowboy belt and boots beat up to perfection) and finds discovered in many an op-shop around the world (that very Americana shirt was apparently in fact an Italian discovery)

Every single ensemble the man puts together seems to have a bit of a tale behind it.

Qualifying note - My father has nothing cool to pass on to me. What I've gleaned from old photos of him is that he was more tryhard Asian 'Bee-Gees/Travolta' than infinitely cool Dylan. Enough said.

The only thing I can really say every time I see Harry is that he's my personal version of a reincarnated Bob Dylan (and don't stone me - I know Bob's not dead) but it makes me feel all happy and nostalgic for a time when revolution was about free love and not war. And you roamed the country in beat up boots and a broken down car. And songs were about poetry and liberty. And doing something different. Because you could change the world a little like that.

Merci mon ami...tu m'inspires meme aujourd'hui.

Love & Peace

xx

Bec

PS. Harry truly does live the Dylan-esque dream and plays in a folk band with his acoustic guitar which you can see at many a law student society barbecue. We are also thinking of forming a breakfast club with a special emphasis on espresso if you would like to join. And there is of course the obligatory beatnik party.

No really. I kid you not.

Noir et Cuir

I really don't think there's alot for me to say at this point.
Except...I wish I had the actual panache, enigma and alterna-cool factor of the girl in this picture.

It's that frightening uber-cool vibe that we all know and love from those teen misfit movies of quality (cue early 90s)
Think Natalie Portman in Leon. Or Winona (yeah in them wild double denim, tattoo filled, hotel room trashing Johnny Depp days) in Reality Bites.

Screw the fluff of today!

But back on that X-factor:

Then and only then could I probably embrace my dark side with lashings of fur, signet rings, maxi leather skirts and scary/awesome boots (I like to think my new platform booties...which will be getting much love from and outside the camera...are kind of scary awesome in a kind of weird zombie love child of a trashtastic Lady Gaga-esque whore and a dandy Englishman...but story for another time)

I probably still wouldn't look half as amazing.

But they say they have cookies on the dark side...

Mmm...

Love

xx

Bec

Come Eat With Me

Digging through my photos this morning.
Because now I have the time and it's officially NOT procrastinating anymore.
Well it probably is...because there are probably more pressing things to do in the world like...saving it etc...but yes.

I re-found the ultimate solution to the double obsessions of both food and shiny things.
The cutlery necklace

Suitably shiny like your mother's best silver-ware. And with more than one option (so it's better than the humble spork). And really convenient (if possibly slightly awkward) for those pesky hors-d'oeuvres. Because it's simply uncivilized to eat with your hands.

Didn't your parents ever teach you that? Shame. Now we just have to wait for the chopsticks necklace. Then all my cuisine bases would be covered. There's an idea

Love & Munchies

xx

Bec

Pen - Bohemian Like You

'And I'm feeling so bohemian like you...'
One of my favourite songs. If only I could live up to it.
But not.

And it pretty much pops into my head every time I see Pen (I realize stalker vibes are radiating at mind-blowing levels)
Making the rather sterile (aka boring) halls of the law school far prettier with her piled on bling and adorable dresses (see ensemble of the day - cute mini with puffed sleeves, gypsy trinkets and boots). Thrifted eccentric with a classic edge.

It's bold, a little bit crazy in a good way...like the super cool gypsy-folk muse you wish you could be (yes change that to - I wish I could be) Note: Last time I experimented with the piled on 'trying to channel my inner Bats For Lashes' spirit...it was more homeless misfit than inspired mystic

And the best thing about Pen is how much the way she dresses is reflective of her 110% lovely, effervescent (girl-you-can't-help-but-fall-in-love-with) personality. Passionate about the environment (she does alot of impressive work in that regard...leaving me feeling rather ahem...unproductive...I should really start stalking less accomplished people). An intrepid traveller with a keen eye for the experimental and artistic.

An effortless muse really.

Now I'm just going to listen to countless replays of 'Bohemian Like You' and maybe that vibe will come to me.

One can always hope.

Love

xx

Bec

Adorably Offensive

Part I: The Post-Break-Up Hotness Factor
I was tempted to call this 'The Metamorphosis of Claire' then decided
(a) That sounded far too much like a beauty commercial of the door-to-door salesgirl type. Bad.
(b) It could bring back really bad memories of Latin (apparently a bitch of a subject...not that I ever tried) and/or high school science (Now look at the ugly bug as it undergoes metamorphosis and turns into...a butterfly...Awww...which by the way only has a 24 hour lifespan before it dies. Apparent moral of the story: You spend most of your life ugly, have a brief epiphany of beauty and then die. Am I particularly cynical today? Probably)

No but seriously. I have decided...not that I'm drawing on personal experience or anything. That some people just look WAY hotter post-break-ups. Maybe it's the fact that you're on the prowl again...or that you just need to cut that bloody bastard out of your hair (yes I did that) and/or you're feeling your empowered woman (or man) mojo return in a whole new AB-FAB experimental way. But it is so true. Claire's always been beautiful. It's that stupidly gorgeous Eurasian gene that she has. But Z-O-M-G...the hair! The complete change of wardrobe and aesthetic! Goodbye standard student uniform of tees + jeans and hello 'oh I just picked this up off my floor and I look amazing' vintage perfection.

The first time I saw Claire post break-up. My jaw nearly dropped. Oversized blazer with a pocket chain and floral dress. This time it was an old jersey dress made good with a 'I just found this old thing' heirloom Ferragamo belt (adorably, she didn't even know it was Ferragamo and hence had to rely on my heinously acute designer spidey sense) and the bling...Oh the bling...

Part II: The 'Jerk' Necklace
The 'Jerk' necklace is so awesome it deserves a whole part to itself. No not a mere paltry sentence. A whole PART.
More so because I picked it. And yours truly also layered it over her old 'handed down from many an Asian mother-to-daughter' piece. And even if you're not impressed by my stylist abilities (although I am currently offering my service free of charge if you did want a personal shopper...*nudge nudge hint hint*...) it really was just the most fabulous thing I'd seen in a while.

It's by ex-Melbourne (currently Adelaide *sniffle* based) woman of bling - Toto (and available at Lenko...if you did want to stalk it out...because you should) and here I provide you with a well organized list of reasons why it should be your next statement piece:

(1) It is absolutely bold,adorable...and yet offensive. So it makes for those absolutely grand awkward moments where someone goes: 'Oh my god...what a cute necklace...but so...' (trails off into weird silence) Yes it says JERK goddammit...

(2) People who wish to insult you no longer have to actually say the word to your face because you have embraced it in an all too aesthetically cool way

(3) Related to the point above - you save yourself some effort by not having to insult people verbally anymore. It's just like my 'Yo' ring...I mean why say 'Hello' anymore when I could just give people the finger AND meet-and-greet 'em at the same time.

(4) You can get more offensive words. Like 'Ass' or even 'Ass Face'. Or just really naff words from the '90s. Like 'Dope' or 'Phat' (which is totally on my indulgence list once I get out of my fricken' house post-exams)

(5) At only 30 bucks a pop...your inner cheap Asian/Jew/stingy Ebenezer Scrooge should be rejoicing...because that's like ridiculously easy on the hip pocket for an awesome slice of bling. Pamela Love and your stupidly priced 800 buck bracelets. Eat your heart out.

Hell yes.

Love

xx

Bec

PS. You can find the full range of offensive (or just pretty awesome) words at: http://welovetoto.com/

In Another League

One of the more unusual compliments I have received goes something along the lines of: 'You're a dandy man in an extremely girly shell.' Masculine vibes aside, (inner) dandy gentlemen rejoice!

I stumbled upon the indescribably fabulous 'Take Ivy' by Hayashida a couple of weeks back and couldn't stop staring for hours. Staring. Yes. Only the most productive use of time. Not only is there so much to love about its beautiful, grainy, late 60s technicolour (1968 to be precise with the dates) aesthetic and incredible preppy goodness, it pretty much re-affirmed the purpose of my existence on this planet. Stalking. No seriously, if some Japanese photographer could traipse through the United States of A with a camera snapping the cream of the Ivy League crop in the fullness of their elite, Long Island Ice Tea sipping, tennis playing, loafer and chino wearing glory. I too can totally awkwardly style-stalk (no I mean...'creatively capture') . It's acceptable. Totally. If only because he did it too.

On a sartorial note, there's so much inspiration to take in for today. Button up shirts over tailored shorts. Blazers, V-necks, Cuffed chinos. Leather loafers. Oh and who could forget or visually ignore the multicoloured Madras checkered shorts in the final shot which totally scream Ralph Lauren '09. I only know this because my possibly over-indulged cousin has a pair of pants in exactly the same print. Pants. Anyway...ignoring that .

All the classics that we know and love. I have officially decided that the next boy I date has to know this book back to front. If he does, he will probably be cooler than me. Which is also probably not hard to do.

In the meantime, I am totally celebrating my preppy inner man and breaking out a Scotch on the rocks. Listening to Ethio-jazz. Pretending I am FAR too classy for exams. Or anything academic for that matter.









Love

xx

Bec

Black Leather & Bow Tie

Words cannot describe how much I love this take on 'girl does boy'
PS. Not in that woman on top sense although that works too...

On the one hand - a sort of sartorial ode to the boys that we would all love to date
Part bad-ass, Jimmy D.
The untouchable yet desirable bad boy.
Part dandy intellectual a la Hamish B.
The boy who has impeccable taste with rapier sharp wit to match. And knows it.

On the other - an equally compelling homage to the female muse/ingenue we would all love to hate (but can't...)
With that louche 'I slept in, stole my man's shirt and walked out the door' appeal.
Like the girl with a love life (a la Francaise)

It's a mix we could totally have oh-so-much-more of.

Turn that cool factor up a notch kid. And possibly listen to multiple repeats of 'Androgyny' for good measure.

Love

xx

Bec