library day.

'Bonjour, s kuh vou parley angley?' i read the permanently inked and wrongly spelt phrase on the back of my hand with my hull tones still seeping through. o.
'Non.'
Shit. The conversation just got ten times harder.
With my cheek presses against the door buzzer i try and explain as best i can that i'm here for my appointment i made earlier in the week. A mans voice tells me that Museé Galleria is closed for two years and then it sounds off. I stand still thinking he's pulling my leg. The french have a funny sense of humor, its a bit creepy. I stood and waited thinking he could probably see me through a camera or something so slapped a smile on. the door stayed shut.

It was raining too. Not men, nor golden opportunities or scrunched up fivers. Just plain cold, february droplets and i stood outside with my scarf wrapped around my head like a loon not really knowing what to do. It was probably the rain thing that got me rattled but i pressed the buzzer again and spoke full-on fast northern language. The man behind the buzzer didn't have a clue and soon the door swung open. That old trick always works.



I'd been sent by Vanessa to research some very particular archive collections, which i have to keep hush about because its her ideas for her next shoot and yeah. sworn secrets and all that crossed my heart and hope to die lark. The Parisian libraries are very different to the ones in London. They are all strictly appointment only and they prepare everything you want to look at for when you arrive. London libraries should take note.

The building itself stood tall and was empty of anyone, the only sound was the rain pelting down and clip clops as i tottered down the marble corridors. I want to get married in a library, maybe even that one. It is so secretive and has a trillion doors that lead to god knows where all with individual antique handles. It was set out in a dreamy circle, with one huge glass window full of panes that where fighting the rain. Inside it just got better too.
The helves were so high they had wooden ladders to get to the tops, stools around everywhere and a huge oak table in the middle for the likes of me to work on. What a pleasure.

The place is very close to what my paradise looks like, only it was missing music. It needed Belle and Sebastian's boy-girl melodies echoing through the walls. If it was mine and i would love to have my own library i'd take away all the clocks so anyone who came was instantly able to loose themselves. And the smell, of tough old paperbacks that had made it from all those years ago, all the times their pages had been turned over and here they where. Lined up, tucked away all neatly in alhabetic and date order just waiting to be aired again. Issues of The Face, I.D, Harpers, Vogues that were ever made under this one roof.

I stayed for three hours and it seemed like ten minutes. I got what i'd gone for though, stuff assigned to me to find by Vanessa to add to the visuals i am presenting to her next week. I've got some really cool stuff, mostly focusing on the early nineties which i've pulled with the intention of doing a shoot of my own when i get back to london. which will be mid-march now, fresh from Paris fashion week and straight to grey shoreditch again. I'll be working for Vanessa from London on stuff for POP magazine. Need to start arranging my london hello's with the girls really. i miss them a real lot but one of the bestest ones, Amiee, is coming to join me for Fashion Week in paris so i get my fix soon. Not sure if Paris is quite ready but i know i am.

A Single Man.

I always read the back page of the book before i buy it. I haven't read the 1964 novel by Christopher Isherwood so i had to go with the last lines that fade out Tom Ford's film adaption. It's honest and it's simple. A harrowing story of a man who hurt too much. It will silence you in a way that makes you question what our brief existence in this world really is all about. Get your tissues out and go see for yourself.

'A few times in my life I've had moments of absolute clarity, when for a few brief seconds the silence drowns out the noise and I can feel rather than think, and things seem so sharp and the world seems so fresh. I can never make these moments last. I cling to them, but like everything, they fade. I have lived my life on these moments. They pull me back to the present, and I realize that everything is exactly the way it was meant to be.'

a pretty ditty.

If I want to walk in the rain with no socks I will do just that,
Just because the French don’t.
If I don’t care about the hole in my brogue and the black smears around my eyes,
Why do the French?
I am never going to be chic,
Like the French.

So I walk straight through the puddles with absolutely no grace,
Rub my eyes dry and push my hair off my face.
I speak their words the best my northern tones can,
I weigh my fruit like they ask and give change to that young homeless man.

I look and stare and watch people pass me by,
Imagine them a story in my head about where they’re going and why.
Who they’ll marry and when they’ll die,
If they’re honest or if they lie.
What they sound like and where they’d rather be,
Whether they look anything like me.

A thin girl stood all hunched up and cold,
Looks like a girl too soon grown old.
Her eyes are dull, like she’s not even there,
The sleeve of her jacket is split with a nasty little tear.
I think she’ll be called Hannah or something equally as plain,
She’s blowing cloudy puffs of smoke at me, like she’s steadily going insane.

What would she do if my thoughts were actually said,
If she knew what I was thinking up there in my head.
It’s then that I catch her cigarette stare,
I didn’t even realise she knew I was there.

I feel her eyes decoding my gladrags,
My thousand antique rings, the soggy spines of my mags.
She clocks the hole in my worn away shoe,
I look at hers and she has one too.
I smile inside and realise she’s just playing my game,
Us French and English girls are really just the same.

A french kiss.

I haven't had time to go to a museum in donkeys years. I went to Jeu de Paume today and it really made me think about how much i hate my picture being taken. i think it's just one of those things i aren't very good at. I must only have like three pictures i like and thats because of who i am with in them.
Lisette Model is a really key figure in photography and i happily wandered around the exhibition of her work which made me think about what it is i do like in a photograph. I hate anything that is too obvious, too tweeked and over styled. It has to be real for me too, a moment or a face that has something hidden behind it. I like Lisette Model, her real name Elise Amélie Félicie Stern which i absolutely love and am going to call her by forever.

Anyway, her snaps really left me feeling like she had some kind of trick up her sleeve, something about the way she used the camera almost as a kind of detection device. Her images seem to speak aloud and she made it possible to see what habit often hides. The distinctive style was picked up from having no real technical training, which gave me a pang of hope. Maybe i need to snap more. I always seem to get carried away watching things go by that i don't think to capture it for other people. Wise words of hers were painted on the wall and read 'Never photograph anything you are not passionately interested in.' That hit the nail right on the head for me. Selective photography starts tomorrow so sit tight and see how i get on with that if you will.

She caught the attention of Harper's Bazaar, who as her first commission, published Coney island Bather, a portrait of a fleshy, jovial swimmer at the seaside. This now stands as one of her most famous photographs and she recieved the recognition she so deserved for the moments she managed to cleverly capture on her film.

This is the snap i got stuck on. Looks like a romantic daydream. I bought the postcard of it but no ways am i sending it, it's a keepsake.


The exhibition is running until 6 june, 2010 at Jeu de Paume, Concorde and it'll only set you back five euros admission.
jeudepaume.org

look mum. i'm tidy now.

pleased with paris.

I am so happy right now. Paris seems to be the city of eternal possibilities. I have only one enemy and she’s called time. I just seem to be constantly fighting it, so big sorrys for not being very hot with the blog this week but it’s been a blurry one full of hats, hoods and wind slapped faces.



I’ve been burning the candle at both ends and all I am left with is a misty Sunday, a messy bed and a hole in my pocket. My keys have been in that keyhole before the man in the sky has switched the big light on and I’ve not been able to leave till well after dark. The lines of street cafés have lead my way, or maybe more astray into the nights.

It’s hard to pin down where time has actually gone but it’s way been my best week so far. I’ve had tears, tickling and total potty times with new friends that have shown me the real Paris and I am falling hard in love with the city. I’ve tried my hand at being a DJ in some old wine cellar club, which I pretty much just stood crowd-watching instead of concentrating on what I was meant to be doing. Met The XX there too, they’d had gig in Paris that night and had come to let their haird down and lark about. I had no idea who they were but they’re pretty easy on the ears, they’ll be getting a play in the office this week.

I’m holding the fort this week because Annie and Vanessa are in Milan shooting the new Missoni campaigns. I’m a bit scared if I’m honest, I got a hefty list of things I have to have done by the end of the week when they return. I think I’m going to have to be methodical and keep my socks pulled up. I think there will be a few late nights in the office this week though.



I feel like I need a months beauty sleep but that’s not about to happen. My eyes have some nasty circles underneath and my feet feel like they’re almost worn out but maybe that’s just my boots. I think with interns and probably with any job in fashion, you’ve just got to push yourself that extra little bit no matter how knackered you are.
And coffee by the hour. This week is set to be even madder and I’ve signed the dotted line to stay a little longer here so I need to find myself a new flat cause this one runs out in March. Paris has stolen me and I couldn’t be more pleased.


p.s i got a ride on the back of a vespa down the Champs-Élysées on friday night and didn't want to get off, like ever.

meal for one please.

VOGUE to start
BAZAAR for mains
POP to wash it all down.
Bon Appétit.
x



five editorials by Vanessa Reid in this issue of POP to overdose on too! Go V!!!

rag and bone. rag and bone. rag and bone.

Rag & Bone Spring 2010 Runway Show at Bryant Park, New York. Picture this.

Kings of Leon frontman Caleb Followill sat up front watching his girl, model Lily Aldridge walk. The venue was dimly lit by oversized lanterns, the brick-walled Soho loft conversion could have been purposely build for Rag & Bone. David Neville and Marcus Wainwright deserve a big pat on the back for their very first stand-alone womenswear runway show. Fall 2010 is set to be a cosy one. Rag & Bone lead the way, with a heavy heap of style from Vanessa Reid.

Clap, Clap.

I’ve been following religiously from my mac, wishing I was there in NY with Vanessa to see it all myself. She consults for Rag and Bone you see, so she’s the one who bulked up all those snug layers, clad with the super cozy knits, camouflage anoraks and chose the palette full of plaids. Pouches on belts slouched low, bolo ties over button up shirts were mixed with knee-high socks, mittens and scarves really hitting the nail on the head with accessorize. The collection was sent down the runway to the catchy mixings of Thom Yorke and the front row was lined for the runway stunners like Sasha Pivovarova, Kasia Struss and Sigrid Agren along with newer faces like Lisanna De Jong and Keke Lindgard to strut to. Their messy hair tucked into their scarves made me promise myself I am not cutting my hair anytime soon. I swear on Rag & Bone.

I think I would sell my dog to get my hands on a pair of the stack-heel hiking boots or maybe just turn up for work bare-foot next week and hope for the best?

Vogue Queen Anna Wintour and Grace Coddington sat up front, smiling. Seeing things like this make me proud to be Vanessa’s intern, she’s standing out at the forefront of styling right now and just like me was an intern beforehand.

Vanessa assisted Marie-Amelie Sauve, who is a regular contributor to American, French and Italian Vogue. Wit woo. Marie-Amelie also consults for several fashion houses including Balenciaga and has shot with photographers like Mario Testino, Steven Meisel and David Sims. So Vanessa knows what she’s doing alright and is now storming ahead alone. Fingers crossed I can take a leaf out of her book but i'm set to stay another month here in Paris, so need to pull my socks up and get my creative
I think I might actually want to be a stylist. Scary. Oh god, better call my mum and wave hello to a lot more hard work.

more fleas, please!

I woke up super early today because I hadn’t had the definite go-ahead to have the day off. Luck must have been on my side though, cause a text came through telling me I’d be needed Sunday instead. So I spent the morning with Paris, aching for some newbie pieces to put my wardrobe in good stead for next week’s appointments. It’s hard to be able to afford all my frocks for work, so I headed for the thrift stores and a flea market over the river. I had twenty euros in my purse, a croissant stuffed in my pocket and about a million layers on under my trench.



I arrived super early and it was like a vintage ghost town, just beyond the gate at Clingnancourt. Just me and jack frost ready to take on the treasure hunt of these tiny lanes and make-shift stalls. Grannies wrapped up in fur sat with their papers and coffees outside their stands offering smiles and tempting me into their caves of vintage. I promised myself I would go steady and had to stick to things I needed. Some new boots and maybies another coat. Problem. I came away with a polka-dot vintage two-piece, two silver beauties and some sheepskin mittens but it’s all pretty special and cost almost nothing. I controlled myself on the crockery stalls, teacups are my sweetest downfall but today I managed to come away with just one. When I have a house of my very own, my cupboards will be full of mixed up china, the cups won’t match the saucers and the spoons will never be the same and you’ll get what your given.

On an interns salary, which is near nothing really, your imagination becomes worth more than the pennies in your purse. The trick of an intern is to do things on the cheap and still turn out like a show pony day in day out. With five years of fashion debt behind me and now my rent in Paris to scramble together, i try to change things little and often. After all, we need to save some spends for after-work drinks to do all that networking lark in this never ending story of interning.
I’ve got a pink-rinse on the go at the moment, my silvery crop takes a dose of it every two weeks and it varies from pinks to lilacs to blues, depending on how long I leave the stuff on for. It’s pretty candyfloss at the moment, maybe I need to calm it?

Accessorise are a blessing too, they can instantly put a new spin on a frock and I’ve got a box full of necklaces, rings, brooches and hair slides I play dress up with. There’s so much hidden away in flea markets, jumble sales and even in the back of my mums wardrobe, that it’s just a case of injecting a dose of your imagination, mixing a little bit of new with the old and making it something that’s yours. For me it’s a case of doing what I can with what I’ve got and right now I haven’t got two pennies to rub together so will be a regular Saturday morning girl at the French fleas from now on. Voila.

i'm selling ten dots a dime.

polka dot, polka dot, give me the best you've got.


my new best friends.

McQueen of Broken Hearts.

The tragic loss of Lee Alexander McQueen has broken the heart of fashion. A shocking end to his fairy-tale life has saddened and sobered us all to a standstill feeling of tragic loss. A man who gave such an outstanding contribution of his soul to his talented work has left the fashion capitals New York, Paris, London and Milan with an irreplaceable void.

I found myself treasuring an old April 1998 issue of The Face on my desk today, the McQueen cover staring straight at me as a bleak reminder of what a talented and inspirational man we have lost to such unexplainable reasons.

But after reading the reasons why McQueen was on the cover of The Face, I realized why he never could nor ever will be replaced. So take youself away, the same as I did this afternoon, into The Face and back in the year of 1998. The peak. I think myself lucky to have lived and breathed the same air as the supposed bad-boy of fashion, I really do. So here I stand, with these reasons alone and join the mass by saying ‘the man was a genius’. It was almost as though he had a direct line to God all along.


* 10 REASONS WHY MCQUEEN IS ON THE COVER OF THE FACE.

1. Because he leans over and kisses his mother, Joyce, when he’s taking his bows on the catwalk.

2. Because everyone else did All Saints.

3. Because when he trained at Savile Row, he sewed a label inside a jacket designed for the Prince of Wales saying ‘I am a ‘c**t’.

4. Or was it ‘McQueen was here’?

5. Because in interviews he would always say things like ‘I don’t know whether I can survive in fashion without murdering somebody’.

6. Because Suzy Menkes, one of the few fashion journalists who knows what she’s talking about, wrote that he’s ‘not just a fine tailor with a soaring imagination, but one of those rare designers who catches the spirit of the times’.

7. Because ‘it’s unlikely that a Briton would achieve what he has, but for a pupil from an all-male comprehensive in deepest Newham it is incredible’ (his headmaster Richard Jarman, Rokeby Comprehensive)

8. Because he turned up in Milan on a whim, with nowhere to stay and hardly any money, and blagged a job with Romeo Gigli.

9. Because he puts art in fashion and takes fashion’s head out of it’s arse.

10. Just because, okay?

My thoughts go out to his father and close friends, there is nothing harder than being left by someone you love. Rest in Peace Lee.

*The Face. April 1998 Issue.

eye-spy.

these are the sunnies i found today looking uncared for and unappreciated in a run-down shop behind where i work. just what i need to cover up my tired looking intern eyes. so i took them home for something like seven english pounds. steal.
i'm preying for that nasty kind of sun in the morning, the blinding kind.


if your craving: Topshop have some similar looking ones in tortoise shell for near enough fifteen smackers but if your in the monies, Karen Walker is your girl.

topshop.com
karenwalkereyewear.com

my year.

i have been trawling through old collections of designers today, looking for some very specific things and keeping my eyes and mind open at the same time to find new inspirations. I've made a huge file on my mac that i've got to go and get printed first thing tomorrow and then make into a big, fat file. I've had a constant cup of coffee and eaten my way through the bakery which is underneath our building. I have got so much done though, it's been worth getting goggly mac eyes.

I have this kind of tradition where whoever i am researching, i always have a gander at their collection of the year i was born. 1988. Today i had a peek at what Gaultier was getting up to when i was teeny. I love how the photography from the shows back then were taken from such a low level, every press person would get their own individual snap and that was that. I'd have liked a go at that game.

i
spy
with
my
little
eye
some
pale
faces
this
spring
summer.
i'm
up
for
that.
are
you?

xx

a poem tape.

I think it's rare to find a muse. It's a word that is too easily used and often confused with the 'it girls' lurking around. In my eyes, a muse inspires is someone that inspires in a way that you can't ever quite pin down. And you never should try to hard to understand it, or it's ruined. They're usually lost souls in their own little worlds, busy being themselves and our muse.
They just 'are'. It's a state of being.

see for yourself on:

Découvrez “ Le bel été ” avec Lou Doillon et Gonzales.
Discover the film “ Le bel été ” with Lou Doillon and Gonzales.
http://www.vanessabruno.com

Lou Doillon is one of those muses. She’s Parisienne. She’s absolutely beautiful. A creative soul doing her own thing, and in this instance, the camera catches her, follows her, and lets us in on some intimate freestyling. This short piece is a new 'video poem' for the designer Vanessa Bruno. Tap into Lou's world for a few moments and you'll feel like your a tooth-fairy in her new collection.
xoxo

i need to shut my eyes.

I am worn out. I just got in and am putting myself to bed early tonight. My cleaner changed my bed sheets while I was out today and she is such a sweetheart. She gave me blue Elle sheets. They’re pretty gross but it was a nice thought all the same and made me smile at the end of another long day at work. My legs feel like they aren't mine anymore.

I have had a full on day of researching galleries that I’m going to go back to this week. Vanessa needs to be in the know of what’s going on in the city whether it’s art, fashion or music as it all gets trickled down into styling. I get the jammy job of going to see it all, taking snaps and reporting back which is always good. I’ve made a big list of art exhibitions I think will be interesting and I’m going to go whiz around them all before the weeks out. They're are all open in the evenings so I’ll probably do some late-night runs when it’s quietest.

I found this tiny shoe-makers today, just near where I work and the little old man makes them all with his own nifty hands. I'm a little bit in love with the fella. Vanessa used some for a shoot last week and now i'm hooked on the place. He has them all stuffed with paper to keep their shape and he lines them all up like a proud father to each and every pair. The smell of leather always reminds me of when I used to clean my ponies tack, i spent hours trying to get it half as soft as these shoes. If i have time, i'm going to try and go back to squeeze my boat feet in a pair and call them my Paris keepsake shoes.

My eyes are dropping now. I need to be fresh as a daisy for tomorrow cause i've got a mega hectic day. There honestly are not enough hours in the day anymore. I thought only mums said that but it's true. I need Bernard's watch.
If you squint your eyes to the far left window of the old building below you can see where i spend my days. My beautiful old office building with the killer stairs i told you about. It's like a round yard with the statue of the horse and my road is called Rue D'aboukir which i still can't say.
i wanna sit on that horse though.


x

falling for paris.

people watching is a game i never don't wanna play.

Let them eat cake.

A love a good myth and because this one has French roots it is pretty spot for me right now. ‘Let them eat cake’ was a blasé remark by Queen Marie Antoinette when she was told her subjects were starving. Poor souls. It wound up with the uprising of peasants, or so I’m told. It’s just a myth after all but I think it’s a symbolises the ignorance of the elite and the catalyst for a new beginning. And what better industry to use this expression than fashion. So I took those words personally, ordered a gigantic slab of chocolate cake and crossed my fingers that the uprising would begin, for the sake of the interns!

It was my first afternoon off since I’ve been in Paris, so thought I’d better do something good to give myself a proper break. I went counting steps up the Eiffel Tower with Isabel. I got up to three hundred and sixteen and then gave up. I blame bad maths and good views but I soon lost count. I stood for ages at the top, just looking and not quite believing that I can call this home for a little while. J’adore Paris, I really do. It was pretty nippy up there and I way hadn’t worn enough clothes so we headed to a teeny café that’s fast becoming my new favourite. The waitresses wear little frilly aprons and all have combs in their hair and smiles painted on. The china is all vintage and it reminds me of a place in London down Columbia Road I used to go too. You can sit for ages in that place and they don’t shoo you out, it’s got a real homely feel to it because it’s family run and you can tell they take a lot of pride in making it the way it is. I ordered a hot chocolate and consumed more calories in ten minutes than I have all week but my tummy felt warm so that’s all that mattered really.

After that, I left Issy to go for a little shop and we arranged to meet later at some resteraunt she’d been dying to take me, called La Coq which was right near the Arc de Triomphe. That wasn’t till half eight though so I thought I’d better go and get myself something pretty to wear. I am in Paris after all and haven’t treated myself at all yet so it was about time.

I ended up in the Isobel Marant store flirting madly with those teasing mannequins. I think I actually ached for about half of the shop and had to leave pretty swiftly with my hands held together tight behind my back. The only way. Clap that please.
Next I went Chanel but for an actual purpose. I needed mascara so I can do away with my daddy long leg lashes. Their mascara is my savior and I literally layer the stuff on thick and fast with big tarantula legs in mind. I am over the falsies now, they’re too hard work and I can’t be bothered trying anymore. All I need is a little help from Chanel and I clump it up, lump it on and soon my eyes are all blacked out, just the way I like them.


bonjour.

I met up with Issy again outside my blue door. It was half eight and we were late for our table reservation for dinner. Whoopseydaisy, totally my fault. I knew she’d take me somewhere posh but was not ready for this place at all. Inside it was like some kind of cave with changing ice-lights and a bar made out of what looked like crystals and something Swarovski would have done. Out. Of. This. World. Of. Mine. Issy is a lawyer and she never even lets me chip in for anything, she insists on treating me and showing me the very best, in her doughy eyes, of Paris. She is so pretty she looks like a model and men are constantly trying to catch her eye but she seems oblivious, which makes me like her even more. I didn’t check my clock and time ran away with us. I had the best time though and am glad I have Issy around. She’s just like one of the girls back home and I do miss those lot.

Playtime is over and it’s back to work tomorrow. Alarm is set for seven so I’d best get my beauty sleep.
Tarah. xx

♥ what i am ♥

Un petit rien.
A little nothing.
♥

♥ is my mother ready for this ♥

Really big pearly raindrops fell today, all day, non-stop. Even rain in paris is pretty. I dragged myself out of bed, pinked up my cheeks and skipped to the metro for 8.30am to go and do my book drop-off. All set and almost there then the bb is off on one already. Ring-a-ling-an-early-morning-ding. It was Vanessa. She told me to get some breakfast (her treat) and that she’d be late. Annie had already emailed me telling me this, from London so i knew i was in for a wait from the word go. That girl is so on it, I don’t know how she can be so constantly switched on but Annie should have been an angel. I hope i end up as good at my job as she is and that they end up wanting to keep me here in Paris forever.

I sat for an hour and waited in a café nearby, just off Rue de Rivoli, which is like the longest, straightest road in Paris. Or that’s how I remember it anyway. I wrote postcards to a few people I miss (my grandad) and then knocked on her door, books in hand just before eleven. Vanessa always looks almost as though she hasn't tried, in a good, effortless way. You can tell she loves each and every piece she wears and she absolutely nails her individual personal style.

No sooner than i am in the door, two credit cards with post-it notes with scribbled on pins are in my hand and I’m out again. Bank run. I have to pay Thomas the rent for the office on Monday, so need to go pick it up. I get all the little admin jobs added on to my day to save those two time, like banking, post, expenses etc. Let me tell you about Thomas though cause thats way more interesting than stamps and notes. He's the Creative Director of a French men’s magazine called Paradis which we share our office with. It’s a really good substance men's mag, a big notch above the average and cause it’s only published twice a year it's has a really heavy focus on the quality of everything that goes in it. The photography is what stood out to me most, they’ve done some really cool shoots by really big dog photographers. J'adore their gritty nude shoot with London girl, Daisy Lowe . Brave. Girl.

♥ ♥

Anyway, i pecked Vanessa a goodbye, handed her the schedule for the shows I’d put together last night and right now she’ll be somewhere in the sky on her way to NYC, which kicks off on Thursday. I wish I was going but hopefully I’ll be covering Paris early March which I’m stoked about. Fashion week is better than christmas. fact.

This afternoon I have spent at my own apartment, for once, cause it was empty and still raining heavy outside. I pulled together some more designer archives from Comme, Hussein Chalayan and Yohji Yamamoto, which all go into inspiration files for Vanessa to see next week. It’s a real time consuming job and sometimes I feel like banging my head against the wall but it’s so satisfying when it’s done and the images are printed, filed and stashed away. The shows are always a really good point of reference with styling and it’s mega important to know what is going on here, there and everywhere, right from the first ever shows through to this seasons. It's the same as knowing your friends phone numbers off by heart, but with clothes instead and about a million more to learn.

I’m not sure if it’s because I’m in Paris, a city where hands are held and hearts are stolen easily but it really is just so romantic. Almost sickeningly sometimes. I have never seen so many happy couples and I seem to be constantly dreaming about my happy ever after with some imaginary French lover. Thing is, I have got a bit of a long-time fashion crush on veils. I always have something in my hair whether it's ribbon, clips, flowers or a new hair rinse but right now all I want is some kind of veil, a net even. ♥ I used to love playing dress up with my mum’s wedding gown and veil and I used to make her take pictures of me in it to see whether I was growing into it. It hasn’t been on for years now mind but veils are something i really do love. So, when I stumbled across Comme des Garcons Spring 05 collection this avo, I nearly stopped breathing.
So see for yourself, I will not write words because I nothing I say can do them justice, they are actual beauty.

♥ ♥


I am sold. Head over heels, totally in love with them all. I honestly dread the day I decide to get married, my mum should probably shoot herself now or start ordering lace samples asap because I want the laciest, longest, most beautiful hand-stitched vintage veil to walk down to my French fiancé in.
God, I sound like such a girl.

♥

http://www.paradismagazine.com/

my tools

salute these unpaid lifeless pins.

a busy little bee.

Today is so not over but I need to blog now so that i can get my head down to do another hour of work before i hit the sack. Friday night is not a party night in Paris. Not this week anyway.

I still have four folders that need filling with inspiration that i've pulled all week from archive designer collections, fashion editorials and just about every book ever made. I've spent the biggest part of the afternoon on the floor, laddering my new tights and sorting things out into different piles, labeling it all and trying to make it look as eye-pleasing as poss to hand to Vanessa first thing tomorrow. Saturday.

I'm kind of looking forward to giving them to her because after all the work thats gone into making sure they're tip top, it'll be like a weight off my shoulders. After i drop them off, i'm away to three different galleries, all in the name of research. Vanessa gets a lot of her inspiration from art references, culture and even music. It's way too easy to just go see a show and take it from there. She's not afraid to take risks and she does things her own way. And as they say, the proofs in the pudding. She's a really respected stylist with a great client list.

I'm taking the books around at 9.30am to her apartment, which by the way is exactly how i imagined it to be. Pretty much perfect. There's a huge entrance door opening up into a french courtyard with a windy old, wide-set staircase which spirals up to the second floor. Annie showed me what was what and where things were kept. The kitchen cupboards are crammed with magzines and fashion folders. I didn't ask where the pots were.

God i keep thinking about sleep. The lack i've had this week and how i am so looking forward to sunday when i can lie in, even just a tiny bit. By the time my head hits the pillow tonight, these books must all be perfect, packed and ready to deliver so that they are in her hands by the time she leaves for New York for fashion week tomorrow. I wish i could somehow fold myself into one of those plastic sleeves and go along with her. Maybies next time.

Just so you know what they are and why we do them, i'll give you the basics. It starts with Vanessa emailing over a never-really-ever-ending list. On it are names of designers, photographers, artists, books, stylists, locations - basically anything that she wants to know and see more of. Its our job to go about getting it for her, asap. Sometimes it's just a name. They can be alive or dead, really current or really old. A lot of the time it's a bit of a mystery to solve because she doesn't tell us what they do, who they are, where she's seen their work - so all we have is a name to go on. Not easy. But then you get nice days like today where i've been researching vintage Comme Des Garcons and i've pulled together the fattest folder ever. I kind of want it for myself.

One of the best wasy to get the bees knees of research is to go through the archives at the libraries. It can get a bit addictive though and you can be lost for days if you let yourself be. I wish you could take holidays to the library sometimes. Paid like.
I've gone and booked myself my first appointment in the huge Paris bibliotheque for next week, three hardcore hours. I have to give them a list of things i want to look at and then they'll prepare it and have it all out for me, so i hop straight on that photocopier. A good system really but three hours absolutely flies by and i need to make sure i have my head screwed on and that i'm prepared for a heavy dose of inspiration.

I feel like things are a lot clearer after today, which is good. Our morning meeting at Vanessa's took us through a detailed plan of what's coming up, what needs to be done and it gave us all a chance to set some deadlines. She goes to NYC to see her clients shows and then flies straight to Milan for another project - so it's pretty crucial we all know exactly what we have to do. My diary is cluttered with numbers, door codes, bb pins and addresses that i can hardly make sense of. Pretty. Please. Don't. Let. Anything. Go. Tits. Up

Cause i'm holding the fort in Paris this weekend and through to the middle of next week while Annie is away. It's nice that it's just the three of us. Wherever we are, there are constant emails pinging their way between us and if they can't get me it's usually because i'm already engaged, online or underground on route somewhere. Paris is not what i imagined but i'm falling hard in love with the place. Everyone says bonjour to everyone. Like people who have never met. Thats so refreshing after being barged and hit over the head with bags on the tube in grey London. J'adore Paris.

xxx
Co

i need new arms

I’ve just got in and am knackered. Poor Annie is still in the office preparing for our 9.30am meeting with Vanessa at her apartment. I’m nervous but know I shouldn’t be because I’m a newbie and she’s not going to expect the world from me on day four, surely? Possibly wrong.

I have been like the girl on Devil Wears Prada today and had to lug a million and one bags around doing more returns to all the kind places that lend to Vanessa. I can’t tell you enough how happy I was to see the back of them today. It hurt my heart a little to take the Fogal tights we used for the shoot yesterday back though. I wanted those for keeps. If you don’t know their stuff, have a goosy gander at their beautiful hosiery on: www.fogal.com. I’ve had a bit of an affair with tights since I went to Tokyo this time last year. They have the biggest selection possible and all the Japanese girl’s pins look super cool. BebaRoque is another one that seems to have gone bannana’s with fashion folk. They’re at www.bibaroque.co.uk

When I eventually caught my breath and took a second to think about what was going on around me, I thought about what the hell I was actually doing. Here I am, half way between Paris and hell and all I want to do is make everyone happy. Whether this is nipping out to do a personal favour like picking up duvets or general admin that needs and has to be done, I’m up for it all. Sometimes you’ve just got to grin and bear it and know that everything’s going to be just fine in the end cause it always is.

It got me thinking though, about things that an intern is required to be or indeed become. Top of the list is to understand that you pretty much have to do anything and everything that’s asked of you in the most efficient and quickest way possible. Whether it’s delivering 25 returns, photocopying front to back pages of a book or making the tea. The better you get at things, the more they’ll give you to do. It’s all about trust too, building up their confidence in you that you can deliver the goods and a little bit more than the norm.

My diary is glued to me, as is my dinky notepad so I’m ready to put ink to paper wherever, whenever. Post-it notes have become like my little friends and coffee is my drug. I feel exhausted tonight but I’m crossing my fingers that if I keep my socks pulled up, they might just get that I am serious about this fash business. I stayed late tonight, till ten helping Annie finish up. We had Oasis on and the inspiration files out. We’ve printed out a load of the research we’ve got together to show Vanessa in the morning. A lot of it she’s requested because it’s from a collection she’s seen, or book she’s after but some of it’s just stuff me and Annie have thought is cool.

I’ve always had a thing about mermaids and I just can’t shut up about them at the moment. I blame Splash. Anyways, Annie and I were talking about shoots she’d done previously and she told me all about working with Juergen Teller not so long ago. He sounds quite a naughty chap and I’ve loved a lot of his work but stumbled across this old book of his earlier. And oh my god I am all over it. I want all three images blown up and plastered on my walls and then I want Kate to come and scribble on it a little. That’s all. So someone please tell Juergen and Kate that they’re needed asap.





Need some kip now, I’ve got printers to go to first thing and Vanessa to meet at 9.30am.

♥ tip toes ♥

Okay. I think this is the first time I have sat down properly all day. I have ugly feet anyway so figure they pretty much deserve to hurt for that alone. Yak. I can’t believe I’m still thinking, talking and now blogging about feet because I have had a monster of a day trying to find the perfect pair for our model.

Am I even making sense? I feel like my head is away with the fairies. Hell broke loose in my fashion heaven this morning when my phone rang before I’d even made it to the office. It was Annie. It’s always Annie. I don’t really use my phone too much over here because being a struggling intern I can’t afford the sky high bills. So when I hear it ring-a-ding-ding, I know something is
a) wrong
b) needs doing
c) has changed and needs re-doing

I was not expecting the problem to be socks. The thing is, the shoot had kicked off early and the socks we’d taken weren’t right. Being an assistant is demanding, the stylist requires everything, in record time, in every colour available as and when she requests it. So I set off in a hurry to find the shop Annie had given me instructions to pick up from. What a mission. Paris is way smaller than London and easy on foot but when every street has the same pretty Parisian buildings its really hard.
My street map is my new bible and thank God it didn’t let me down today.

I found the shop and chose four different styles of four different colours of four different socks. Somehow hailed down a taxi with all of my bags to take me out of the city centre and up towards the North of Paris. The shoot was in a studio tucked away behind huge old wooden doors that reminded me of The Secret Garden. I did not find a peaceful garden full of flowers though, I found madness. Models. Photographers. Rails of clothes. Rows of shoes. And a load of people i didn't know or have time to get to know. The tall pretty IMG model posed perfectly in position as a handful of trendies all scurryied around her. I tip toed in with my delivery and handed the bags over to Vanessa. She thanked me and gave me kisses. I blinked and she was gone again.

I didn’t stick around for long because I had piles of stuff to do back at the office so hopped on the Metro, stopping for a quick lunch on route. A safe salad. There was nobody much in the office when i got back, the girls next door were still doing model castings for fashion week so I took advantage of having all that space to myself. For like two minutes i pretended it was all mine but then the phone rang and i remembered i am a little far off having my own office, yet.

I whacked The Smiths on and got my head down and three hours absolutely whizzed by. After the shoot, we had tonnes of returns to do. Everything has to go back to it’s lender exactly as it came to us. So out came the tape and boxes and off came the flakes of my nail polish and on my knees I got. The grubby job of returns is one all interns have to do but when that last bag is gone, my god it feels good. I waved half off today and am hand delivering the rest tomorrow. I don't actually mind that part because its helping me get to know the city better. I am totally already in love with Paris after two days and i'm worried i won't ever want to come back to London....

♥

and so it is.

Today I went to the office. It’s really cool, pretty open plan with huge windows and stacks of magazines shelved up the walls. I could have just sat and read all day. But obvs didn’t because I had stuff to do, things to fetch, people to call and names to start remembering. I’m getting used to the whole two kisses thing now too. Lean and kiss. Lean and kiss. I have made up a little game I play with myself where I try and guess what perfume they have on. Today I sniffed YSL Cinema for sure, same as my friend back home wears. And Marc Jacobs new one, not sure about that whiff though.

Me and Annie sit opposite each other tapping on our macs amongst all the piles of stuff we need to sort out and a huge bar of chocolate that neither of us can snap cause it’s too hard. A right tease. Anyway, today’s real mission was to get everything sorted for a photo shoot tomorrow for the new Marani Lookbook Pre-Collection AW 2010/11. There was pairs of socks and shoes everywhere, bags and receipts lay scattered all over and I had dry cleaning to be taken and fetched in prep. Not to mention the coffee run, post office run and all the time trying not to get lost and try to communicate in their language. Stress.


Vanessa is styling the shoot tomorrow you see, which is going to be done in a studio nearby first thing. That’s why everything had to be done and dusted by the end of the day. The photographer is called Kacper Kasprzyk and we’re using a beautiful model from IMG called Ali. After some last minute run rounds, Annie found the last pair of shoes we needed and the green light went on. Come our call time at 9am, bob’s our stylish uncle.

My concentration was a little all over the place today. Just next door to us is a model booking agency and in between the oo’s and arrr’s I can hear a mixture of French, American and English voices. The models come to the main door so its my job to let them in with my best ‘bonjour’ and my kissy kisses. They all looked so nervous in their code black jeans and staple vest tops as I walk them through to the casting room. I try to copy their walk sometimes on my way back to my desk. Not exactly the same with my little pins. Bless them girls though. I think people give models a rough time to be honest. The poor pretties spend their days running around from casting to casting just to have to be inspected by a bunch of people that might or might not think they’re ‘beautiful’ when they almost always are anyway. I would have cast them all today, bar one. Meow.

The afternoon flew by and the office was lit up with lamps in true Parisian style as soon as the wintery sun dissopeared. As the office cleared out and we packed up our things, I realized how big my list of to-do’s is for tomorrow. I am loaded with passwords and codes and a key of my own and my diary is full of scribbles and post-it notes. I didn’t want to forget anything, so literally wrote everything and everything down. Even peoples names with teeny little drawings I doodled so when I make the tea in true intern form, they’ll think I’m a sweetie for remembering.

Overall, as far as first days go though, I think it was grand. I need to master the spiral staircase and must learn to ask for milk in my coffee but other than that I think this internship suits me pretty much down to a tee. On the way home I got a bottle of wine and met Isobelle back at the flat, she’d bought me a little stool so I can sit out on my balcony and people watch when I’m bored. There’s a row of mopeds lined up outside our apartment owned by some very bonny French boys that ride around on them. Fingers crossed one of them will offer me a ride to work one day soon if I keep the smiling up.

Bon Nuit. xxx

POP shoot

How cool are these please? I am all over that lilac hair. Hmmmm....i'm pretty sure my hair can handle that. Oui?

(Stylist, non other than Vanessa Reid for POP Magazine) love it.

day two.

After last night’s riskè bath, me and Hélène sat up drinking some more and talking about all the wild parties that had gone on in these four walls over the years. She has had quite a colourful life and doesn’t look a day over 30. I didn’t ask how old she was though. Rude. Après hours of her tales and too much to drink, I hit my mo-hare sack and went out like one of her quirky little lamps.

I didn’t close the curtain last night either. Half because I didn’t want to shut out Paris and half because I forgot. Still, I woke up pretty much blinded by the clouds of stale smoke. Yak. Before long Hélène was in my room, singing some French ditty and making me a brew. Good morning Paris, you absolute sweetheart.

Breakfast was non-existent because I left it too late and had to be out of the door and on the metro by eight. I met Annie, who is looking after me throughout my intern at a café close to Musée du Louvre. I was early and she was late so I grabbed a seat and ordered my second heavy dose of caffeine pre 9 ‘o’ clock. Ouch.
At first glances, Annie could easily be a French girl. She’s got Olsen-ette brown waves and immediately apologized for having sleepy eyes. She didn’t at all, she’s really pretty. I think she’s just a very busy bee, skipping around the city, doing errands and balancing her time between the Office and Vanessa’s(The Stylist) house, in the 4th arrondissement apartment.

Annie told me all about what I should expect over the next few weeks and quizzed me on my previous interns. I told her all about Distill magazine and how it had opened my eyes to the fact that I didn’t have to limit myself to London. Annie has been working for Vanessa for just over 4 months so she was a newbie to the job too, which put me at ease as she explained everything about the role I’m going into. Most of the shoots she’s done have been editorials for POP magazine but also look books and private clients, such as Missoni. Basically my job is to make Annie’s job easier, less stressful and make sure everything is super duper under control. I’ll tell you more about the projects as they come up as things are being kept hush hush at the moment.

I start properly tomorrow so we just did lots of diary dotting and then she took off for her first appointment of the day. I meet Vanessa tomorrow, who is the stylist that I am interning for. Eeeek. She is represented by an agency called Streeters, really nice people and you can have a peek at some of her work on their site. Tap in: http://www.streetersnewyork.com/
Then search under ‘Stylists’ for Vanessa Reid. Pretty cool.

The rest of my day was spent having lunch with Hélène and her good friend who after all that time I still cannot pronounce his name properly. I must learn to train my voice. Anyhow he was really interested in what I am doing and told me about his friend, who is Stylit Eric Damon, who’s worked on SACT and Gossip Girl. He was online in record time, excited to show me just how far his friend had gone from his pretty modeling days. Check out this you tube of Eric’s new book.
Tap this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-YNZDWkNZVc. SO FUNNY.

Bye now.
xxxx