Valley Of The Dolls

I was rifling through a whole bunch of random photos I took over the last few weeks and found these...
They kind of come together to make some weird type of mood board because all of them have this sort of perfectly pretty (but maybe secretly creepy) Valley of the Dolls/Stepford Wife -esque thing about them...

The classically pretty Victorian era mansion that pretty much constitute the house of choice in East Melbourne (which I have since declared the suburb of choice for the preternaturally hip, artistic and beautiful i.e. people like Stefanie)

The Willow dress in the shop front in Hawksburn. Totally made for the Stepford Wife of the noughties...the gold, the sexy 80s bustier shape which reminds us of all things good from that era (think the sexy power dressing of Muglier, Alaia and Grace Jones as opposed to your mum's acid washed jeans which hopefully those damn rave kids have retired from wearing by now...Yes? Yes...) It could totally work with bouffant hair, scary-yet-awesomely-big earrings and heels so high I could swoon...Hostess with the mostest? Trophy wife? It has you covered...Just ;)

And ballet flats! How could we live without ballet flats? They go with everything and make you feel so quintissentially French and Bardot-esque while traipsing the streets of...well...anywhere really. These are the perfect ones by Repetto (so comfortable and properly made like they're supposed to be...the quality is unbelievable...French naturally)...they give me the illusion of being in Paris in the spring whenever I wear them (with their totally non-functional yet pretty colours...yes silver and light brown...><)

A pain an chocolat, some macarons, pastel coloured balloons and a bike with a basket in front...

It's like my own fantasy Miss Dior Cherie ad...

Now if only Sofia Coppola were here...

Ah...prettiness.

So pointless and yet we can't live without it (or at least I can't...)

Love

xo

Bec

A Belated Farewell Kiss to Summer

‘And she’s eating her fingers…like they’re just another meal
And she waits there in the levee wash…mixing cocktails with a plastic tipped cigar… ‘ - Pavement in Summer Babe

Okay so summer here officially ended like 3 weeks ago but it still feels like it hasn’t gone away. As much as I love the sun and whipping out my beloved cut-offs and afternoons on the grass…I kind of really want winter to come just so I can actually get a chance to don moody black body con and boots without feeling (and looking) like a walking experiment for heat conduction. Word. I feel your pain fellow raven-haired members of the human community.

Point is. It’s time to say goodbye to the sun.

I found these pictures last night on an inspirational site (frequented by none other than Miss Erin ‘I’m too cool and raw for school bitch’ Wasson…it has amazing vintage finds…as expected) and was just amazed by how much I loved them.

I love finding images that inspire me. They reminded me so much of the season past and all that dirty, rollicking (slightly trashy and 100%guilty) fun that comes with it. Field tripping in an old bus that’s way past its mechanical expiry date (they do have those I’m sure), seeing (or shamefully participating in) some major PDA in the park and just living like it’s Woodstock (or Coachella…or more locally and presently…Falls)

As the sun starts to set in the Southern Hemisphere – I’d say do as the prim lace doily says and just ‘Fuck growing up’

Love

Xo

Bec

All images courtesy of Spanish Moss Blog (http://www.spanishmossvintage.com)

Goodbye Alexander McQueen

I was going to write a post about another indie bag label I had completely fallen in love with (makes me almost want to put the kind-of-newly-purchased-Longchamp bag in the pile of retired bags)

But then read on the internet grapevine that Alexander McQueen was found dead at the age of 40 sometime yesterday or today (I guess depending on which hemisphere you're on)

It kind of hit me in the stomach. The same way it happened when Yves Saint Laurent passed away last year. It's all a little bit surreal because McQueen was one of those designers that just took my breath away sometimes. I think he was one of the few remaining couturiers...the type who knew how to cut a brilliant ballgown (with just a hint of British cheek), and the perfect jacket with which to go on imaginary hunting trips (yes with my imaginary aristocratic boyfriend).

Watching his shows (yes vicariously through Style.com...oh how did I live before that site...) was almost a fairy-tale like experience (if you dream of bags instead of magic pumpkins and shoes instead of fairy godmothers)

But he put a little bit of magic into fashion...It was so out there and yet so rock and roll. I remember falling in love with his campaigns for his offshoot label McQ. The gritty punk kids off the street, all leather, smudged kohl eyeliner and the spirit of sweet rebellion...and even the ones with the colour coordinated cheerleaders. He captured the youth and all-embracing nature of having your own individual style.

In my little homage to McQueen - I've just put up some of my favourite moments and outfits that I think embody what the man meant to me. I never knew him but he embodied everything that I love about fashion and everything that inspires me. That you are able to dream and make-believe, and project those visions and the beauty of those images into what you wear every day.

Thank you Alexander McQueen and the sartorial world has lost yet another of its greatest stars prematurely.


Images courtesy of Style.com

Love

Bec

xo