Friday, August 11th 2006 - Moss Off already, why don't you

I am sick of to the teeth of the Moss. Ok we know she is normal, we know she is beautiful. Yes, she has done way too much Coke and booze in her time but find me someone in fashion that is cleaner than clean (ya right). I even have the utmost respect that during the height of the Kate witch-hunt, she didn't go crying to the press with some sob story or another. But ENOUGH ALREADY.

I am sick to the teeth of her at the moment - she has been over exposed. 1. PUT YOUR TOP ON GIRL! She seems to be incapable of keeping her clothes on. I am all for self expression and being uninhibited but I have seen more of Kate Moss's nipples than Jordan's! She has a great pair no doubt - so do I (so it isn't a case of boob envy), but it has become tedious that every shot of her seems to be topless - even when she is supposed to be flogging merchandise.

2. I like the cover of Vanity Fair - the Mert and Marcus pictures are great but then compared to the English Vogue Cover ... oh dear what was the Conde Nast UK camp thinking (and it maybe me but isn't it out of focus????). Again everywhere you turn there she is.

3. Finally - open any Fashion magazine (which I am likely to have to do almost everyday for work purposes) and she has landed every bloody campaign. It is like either every ad director worldwide was devoid of an idea!
"Oh I know ... lets get Kate Moss! ... that will be original and different!"
From Burberry (the one she was doing "before"), to Dior, Versace, Longchamp and Vuitton you see Kate on the pages of the first 25 pages of ads. I dread to imagine how much each of these companies paid for the privilege - when they could have gotten someone else just as worthy (Maria Carla, Daria, Hana etc).

Yes do support her, yes she is a role model (although she has never asked to be), but I am so sick of seeing her everywhere. I think the true public backlash might now begin. She will have survived the Cocaine scandal, and the addictive rocker but will she survive her own over exposure? If I were her agency (Sarah??? Rein it in a bit will you), I would be very wary about now.

Wednesday, July 26, 2006 - My domestic bliss.. and the thorn in my side

Time is tight at the moment. I have spent the past few days working on a national campaign and their shop images. Although we are sweltering in the heat it has been fun. (I just love dry heat but give me the humidity and I am miserable) Now it is getting a bit much so bring on those thunderstorms!.
The job so far has been a giggle! The team and the client are a delight to work with. I know I shouldn't be surprised but with these things everything goes well, or it becomes your worst living nightmare.

I have been put forward for the big one again! Lets see if they give me a shot this time. They have been asking for my show reel now. My portfolio has made the first cut so I am still in the running. The last stylist to do it was pulling a decent living off it alone and did so for almost 2 years! Goodbye debts (keep your fingers crossed for me).

Life has been crazy of late. Just put my parents back on a plane home (more about that later) and then opened my doors to my 4-legged friends. The gremlins, aka the terrorists, aka Itchy and Scratchy are owned by my friend the Photographer and his boyfriend. The boys were off to a week by the lake and I took the Jack Russells. I always have fun when I have them to stay. They don't always listen (but do you know a dog that does?) but it makes my flat seem more of a home. I am a dog person, and with my life, it would be cruel to have my own; so I do enjoy having them about the place. There is nothing more amusing than strapping on my rollerblades putting the dogs on their leads and heading out for walkies. It is rather like having a dog team pulling you along. They love it, I end up exercising my fat arse and there are smiles all round. It was pity when they went home this evening.

Karma is a funny animal. It is strange how things seem to pop up. As I mentioned I put my parents back on a flight home 10 days ago. They were not home more than 48 hours - before they randomly bumped into Rockbottom at dinner in the city. In a city of 6.7 million people I tell you! Lady Chance is laughing at me - in fact, I suspect she is having a right ol giggle. Now my mother would never admit to meddling. Heaven forbid! However, having bumped into him - I was dispatched an email to say that he was out with a woman who was married, that he used to work with. Furthermore, her husband and Rockbottom are doing some business together. I have heard him talk about the couple but have never met them. What I can't believe is, how fast my mother can extract information! I was then told how lovely it was to 'bump' into him and that he is on great form.

What actually galls me is, that I really dont want to know. I am doing my best to divorce him out of my head (with varying degrees of success) so the fact that he just won't go away pisses me off no end. I also know my mother; having stayed with me for the past three weeks, will have been delighted in volunteering all sorts of info (as only Mothers tend to do) Personally, I would rather he was information lockdown. At least she didn't know anything about Benefits Boy who breezed into town.

Monday, May 8th 2006 - Pacaderm Punch

"Gianpaolo Tarabini, CEO of Blufin SpA, the 1bn company behind the luxury Blumarine label, was killed on Friday in a tragic accident during a safari in Zimbabwe.

The 67-year-old, an experienced trekker, was with a professional hunter and a photographer when two elephants suddenly charged and he was trampled. His two companions escaped unharmed."

I worked with this guy - rather mad and dashing - had a great Ferarri collection and he and his wife (Anna Molinari) were lovely hosts. I know he will be missed. I on the other hand find something sadly comical about it all - life is short ... just make sure you don't get trampled by an Elephant.

Tuesday, April 25, 2006 - Channelling Donatella

One of the more interesting aspects of the job I find myself on at the moment is that the team works with a different international hairdresser each day. This is unusual as the team is usually fixed for the duration of the shoot. To be a (photo) session hairdresser takes a huge amount of skill (over that of your average High Street Crimper) but also dynamic results need to be achieved fairly quickly. Now we all have tricks of the trade - for the session hairdresser life would not be the same without the humble doughnut (a mesh nylon ball) that you wrap hair around to give the illusion of greater volume or shape. Working with hairdressers who are top of the game in their own salons, often find the transition to a session shoot quite difficult. Generally their standard is far lower and it is our job to push them to make looks that are worthy of editorial coverage. For this job, enough fake hair has been dyed, cut and generally manipulated to keep Cousin It happy for years.

Today the guest Spanish hairdresser is on the set. She is a delightful happy woman but just one minor flaw, she is channelling Donatella Versace as her style icon. There is so much collagen pumped into her upper lip that I keep thinking she is going to trip over it. Now there are also badly done cheek implants and a buy 10 get the 11th free course of Botox that she has willingly under gone. She didnt hold back when striving to achieve her look of hero worship. The flowing Latino brunette has been replace by what can only be described as Polenta yellow hair and the orange tinge of liberal slashing of St. Tropez.

To compliment her hard work she has dressed herself in turned hem Capri jeans with Candies (high heel open toed mules with Diamante buckles) and a white knock off Chanel box jacket. As I mentioned at the beginning of this description she is lovely but you can understand my difficulty in trying to keep a straight face when discussing the intricacies of style to her.

I try (although not always successfully) not to be the Fashion Police however all of this, on a 50+ woman, it was too much for me not to share it with you.

Monday, April 24th 2006 - Museum of the Politically Incorrect

The past 10 days have been taken up on the job that started out as hell in hair dye, but I have to admit it has vastly improved; given that the client finally settled on the clothing direction they desired. The most astounding aspect of this job however has been the location. The Museum of Hunting and Nature.

At present, I am typing in the Petit Salon - which in the normal universe is actually the size of a single bedroom flat in London. Looking down on me is a 2m x 1m portrait of Marie Antoinette in her Hunting attire. Everywhere you look it is books on hunting with titles such as Hunting Game with Gun and Camera, Hunting Boar and my favourite Large Game, Small Gun

Now regardless of your position on hunting (which I refuse to go into here) this is a stunning location and a memorial to a bygone era. Every nook and cranny is crammed with all kinds of hunting items. From stuffed Polorbears to Rhino, Monkeys to Cheeta. There are stuffed animal heads hanging from the walls, bronze statues of Deer, Boar, Lions and Tigers. Solid Silver Candelabras of Hunting scenes, which are so elaborate it makes you believe they will race across the tabletop at any moment. The wall tapestries with delicately woven Elephants, pheasants, unicorns and stags. In the hall is a large gothic stone staircase which I am sure they based the set design for Phantom of the Opera. It is absolutely magical. The cellar resembles a mad dungeon, its now converted to a private dining room where we have been served an amazing lunch every day. The room still has large hooks for hanging meat for the kitchens. If you were that way inclined, it would make a superb venue for any Mistress with room for a rack in the corner.

With a venue like this, it is almost understandable that when the Nazi Army came marching into Paris, the city fathers allowed them in with out a fight, thus protecting their heritage. Places such as this would have been bombed to smithereens. I dont profess to question how the French handled themselves but on the flip side they dont have the same affliction that London shares for Concrete post war painful architecture as a result.

Imagining this venue as my own private residence (it is now the Museum and a fancy expensive gentlemans club) is far far too easy. Perhaps I l suffer from my own illusions of grandeur. I know I spend a good deal of my life own little fantasy cocoon but a girl could get used to this!