Inspiring design

Inspiring design by Yoav Avinoam

BIOGRAPHY (copied from website) Yoav Avinoam was Born (17.2.1980) in Petah Tiqva, Israel. His interest in industrial design is rooted in his childhood passion for cars aesthetics that transformed, later on, to his interest in design. In 2005 after a year of traveling in India, he started his studies at the Bezalel Academy of art and design in Jerusalem. In 2007 he studied for a semester at the Politecnico of Milan. In 2007 he did an internship at leading Israeli designer Ezri Tarazi and in 2009 was hired for a full time job. In 2009 he graduated from Bezalel, for his Graduation project Yoav designed the Shavings stool and coffee table, a series of furniture made by pressing sawdust and resin into a mold. Each piece is unique relying on the inventory of wood shavings and the semi open mold. His work was selected to be in Israel`s Designers of the future exhibition in Tel Aviv. In 2010 Yoav won 3rd place in the Massimo Martini design award “the intelligent hand”, a design competition made in collaboration with MACEF Milan and DesignBoom for his Shavings project. Yoav Avinoam lives and works in Tel-Aviv, Israel.

Colour obsession: rusty red

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Hospital horror: crush turns into crash

Ever from the moment my baby and I laid eyes on each other we were inseparable. We would spend long mornings in bed together, while enjoying our morning ritual. We would have a Nespresso - what else? - and cuddle up under the covers. He's very much a pleaser, my baby, always trying to make me happy and to put a smile on my face. But we don't just find the action on those long lazy mornings in bed; we also explore cities together, we travel the world side by side. We fall asleep on long train rides, and we move a bit closer to each other when it gets colder outside. We're connected, my baby and I. He loves me, and I love him.

That's why last Friday was such a doomsday. Even though it started out fantastically - a glimpse of sun was peeking through the curtains and it was one of thóse mornings - it ended up in hospital horror and hell. While chatting my baby suddenly had a stroke. A serious one. He was shaking, then completely paralysed, and shut down. He didn’t move an inch. I started crying and figured the only cure to this horrible condition was to give him an electric shock, a cardio version operation, to defibrillate him. Perhaps then he would come back to life! If only I knew how...! Before I could undertake any action, my baby slowly came back, but was still in a rather strange state of mind. I quickly made a hysterical phone call, and was advised to pop over at the nearest first aid point. And so, there we went.  

I ran into the clean white space, with my baby, while constantly stroking him. The doctors examined him briefly and ran some tests, before coming with the devastating result: "He'll be ok, m'am", the doctor said, in his long white, three pocket cotton coat (unfortunately no McDreamy, more a McAcne) as he began his outcome. "The only bad news is that it might take five to ten working days before he’ll be its normal self again." I couldn't believe it. After first thinking my baby had died, this was of course the best news ever. But why did I still have a strange, unsettled feeling in the gut of my stomach...? Don't get me wrong, obviously I was super happy to hear my love would soon be alive and kicking again, but ten whole days without him would just make my life so empty, so meaningless... I knew it was the only right thing to do, but when handing him over to the doctors my heart broke. "Oh baby," I cried hysterically, "don't be scared, I'll be seeing you soon!". 

I know that I've only become part of his family recently, but they have been so friendly and kind to me, that it feels like I've known them for years. Only eight more working days before I get to see my baby Mac, the Apple of my eye, again.  

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Stitching with style: Lesage Haute Couture

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Colour obsession: beet red

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Uniting the nude in Amsterdam

Model Claire Granlund wearing THE heels and a dress designed by Iris van Herpen as well.

Iris van Herpen's designs rarely cover up the entire body. Strips of leather, small cut pieces and little peeks and openings make sure there's always some skin showing. Ever since I was blown away by her show at the opening soiree of Amsterdam Fashion Week, I'm a big fan of this very talented Dutchie. Perhaps nudity is not the first feature you think about when describing van Herpen's style, however shoe designer Rem Koolhaas thought it would be an interesting collaboration between van Herpen and his shoe label United Nude, and so he decided to unite the nude. The result: a pair of extremely sexy, amazingly high heeled booties, with the attitude of Haute Couture and the edge of a kinky SM whip to it. Available in two colours - cream and black - this collaboration asked for a celebrating party.

The result of the collaboration in cream

Blogger buddies Yara and Andy 

Fashion fabulous model and designer Jean-Paul Paul

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Evolving Influence

Speakers include: Style Bubble, The Cut, Bryan Boy,
 Cupcakes and Cashmere, Street Peeper,
Bloglovin', Gala Darling, LOOKBOOK

I know one of my first blogposts was about Tavi, and how I thought it went a bit overboard when magazines were looking at her outfits to get a glimpse of new trends. But, it's a simple fact that bloggers nowadays are gaining more and more influence in the fashion industry, which is why I was very sad that I couldn't fly to NYC after being invited by IFB (Independent Fashion Bloggers) to listen to the 'debate' between famous fashion bloggers. Luckily a little video was composed of the Evolving Influence conference. Click play to view.

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Multi Culti

New York vibe mixed with 

Parisien art inspired by amazing Africa

John Galliano has five on his front lawn, the Kube hotel in Paris has a couple, as well as Sharon Stone and Pierre Cardin, who are all big fans. Predators in shocking colours like neon pink, risky red, bold black and shiny silver, represent the pop-art movement of the 21st century.

Intimate get together: Anne de Grijff

Photo's by Press Only & Fashiolista (Maddie Raedts and Emilie Sobels)

Fall is coming, and with that so are the new fall collections. Launch parties, cocktail get togethers and collaboration celebrations fill the air of Amsterdam with fashion vibes.

Colour obsession: mustard

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Fashion Fairy Godmother

My mum has a lot of different friends. Most of them live in our hometown, a little town close to The Hague, where the parliament of the Netherlands is seated. Others live in Athens, Lausanne, Turkey or in Paris. 'La Parisiene' has just moved back to The Netherlands, and with that, so has her closet. 

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Last weekend I was at my parents house for my dads return from a long businesstrip. At dinner my mum informed me about the fact that her friend M. had moved in her new house and - when I was about to take a bite - that she was cleaning out her closet. I freezed. My fork hung still in the air in front of my open mouth for a minute as I stared at her with awe. She kept on eating. After I realized my chin had nearly dropped onto the table, I quickly took a bite, but almost choked. Both my dad, my mum and my brother were now staring at me, as I was bright red and coughing and hiccuping like a wounded wolf. Not caused by lack of cooking skills that I unfortunately inherited from this part of the family, simply because the news that my mum had just thrown on our dinner table as if it was nothing, was enough to make my heart miss a couple beats and to let my blood pressure raise within seconds to heights it had never been before. 

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"Why don't you call her," my mum asked, still a little surprised by my performance at the dinner table, "and ask her if you can come over to see what's she's doing with all of her things?" Before I tell you all about the phone call, let me first enlighten you with why my dinner had been so rudely disturbed by my bodies severe attack. Friend M. is a very nice friend of my mums. Although I've only met her a couple of times, I know she dresses in the most amazing long - but tailored - open cutted beet red suede coats, carrying creamy Chanels, and wearing luscious Prada boots. Not tacky, vulgar or trivial at all, no no, friend M. always looks as if she just stepped out of her gorgeous car, with her gorgeous purse after a long shopping weekend away with her - ofcourse - gorgeous husband. Can you expect anything else than immaculate taste from someone who's spent years in London and Paris? Anyhow, perhaps now you understand why I was so anxious seeing what she would do with all the things that were either too last season or just not her taste anymore. So I made 'the call'. She was ever so kind, and invited me over for coffee the next morning. Like a child who's too excited to sleep the night before his birthday, I felt tempted to jump on my bed and bounce around. After the first jump however, I became a bit too self conscious and quickly looked around my door post to see if anyone had heard or seen me. 

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After a night of wild dreams about - what else - a supermarket filled with Perfect Pradas, Gorgeous Gucci, Classic Chanels and Mindblowing Missonis, I woke up all sweaty and heavily breathing. I don't say this too often, because it you would mean you'd really impressed me; but what a night! After a quick coffee (not the best idea as I suppose I could've gone for days without caffeine on the thought of where I was heading in 30 minutes...), I went to friend M.'s place. She opened the door looking more stunning than ever; this woman, after having two children who are now nearly my age, stood in the dooropening in a tight pair of jeans, unbelievably high (another thing I don't say very often) wedged sandals, the perfect white silk blouse and a gorgeous long turquoise and blue knitted cardigan. Finishing touch: humble Chanel hangers in both ears, a necklace that I have too (but mine's fake), and cute gold Vuitton bracelets, very elegant, very simple. My head tilted a bit to the right, I smiled with content and quickly came to senses when she started speaking to me. 

BLABLABLABLA

"I have tons of Chanels and you are always welcome to borrow any of them"

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After another coffee (yup. Welcome ADHD, nice to meet you. (huh?)), in the lounge (LV cityguide on the table!) we went up the stairs, to her heavenly kingdom. A kingdom where money doesn't set the rules, but fashion freedom that had arrived from Rue Cambon, Avenue des Champs-Élysées, Brompton Road, Rodeo Drive, Via Montenapoleone, Calle de Serrano and 5th Avenue. "As you probably understand", she started, "I have a daughter of about the same age as you, and she's developing a serious handbag addiction. So if you don't mind I'll keep the bags, but I have tons of Chanels, and you are always welcome to borrow any of them." Funny, as I write down what she literally said, I notice this may sound spoiled to you, but the way she said it, it was just a very generous offer from one fashion addict to the other. Or perhaps my brain was a bit blurred and foggy because of the treasures that lay in front of me. "Pick anything you like," she said, pointing at a corner in her walk-in-room (That's right, a walk-in-room. Not a walk-in-closet.) that had neat little piles of clothes, a couple jackets on hangers, some bags, some shoes and some accessories all carefully picked and put together. I felt a bit uneasy and very, very greedy, but my curiosity won. I tried on Pucci blazers, Gucci sandals, and dresses with black laced tops and satin bottoms. I looked at myself in the mirror walking with Louis Vuitton bags, with Prada purses and in Missoni jumpers. I stared at Dior belts around my waist, Chanel earrings in my ears and perfect pearls around my neck. “I am so glad that I can make someone who's interested in fashion happy,” she cried enthusiastically. “I know! Me too!” I cried back. “And I'm serious, if you ever like to borrow one of my Chanels,” she continued “just call me, don't worry, I like my things to be worn. I also have a marvelous Marc Jacobs dress, and very cool Chanel earrings with huge golden fives in it.” 

Pretty Pucci has captured my heart years ago 

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After I came home with two bags filled with fab finds, I sunk into the couch and sighed. Wheter God exists or not, I do know that I very much like Fashion Fairy Godmothers. And I know that if I work real hard, I can be a Fashion Fairy Godmother to one of my friends daughters someday as well. Can't wait... BbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbLABLABLABLA

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I'm so excited...

... and I just can't hide it.

I know, I know, I know, I know baby I want you.
I want to love you, feel you, wrap myself around you.
I want to squeeze you, and please you.

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Fashion Environment

This past Monday was the start of a new year at fashion school (AMFI - Amsterdam Fashion Institute). With a semester called 'Fashion Environment', I came to think about my own fashion environment. Basically speaking, you could say that my environment exists of a couple sectors: first there's the school, that's obviously a great fashion environment for me. It fills me with knowledge about important fashion brand strategies, the tales and truths of the industry and it teaches me how to design a smart communicating lay out. Next to that it secures my future as a fashion professional, it also secures my sense of style, in a way that there's not much chance I am completely off with latest trends. Having such wonderfully well dressed boys and girls wandering around the school, even a child could spot trends or see fashion statements that are worth keeping an eye out for, pop up their heads way before they hit the highstreets. You might think morning life in front of your closet picking your outfit for the day has gotten harder ever since I became a Fashion student, the opposite is the case. Since now my inspiration has lead me to believe that everything is possible, I make bold choices and decisions. Perhaps some are a bit over the top, but who's judging? AMFI may seem like a runway to others outside of the fashion environment, to us it's just a place where we can express ourselves and steal some inspiring styling shots from each other. 

Next to school, my job is part of my fashion environment. Being the editor in chief for Fashiolista (God, do I love saying that!), I am asked to go see collection previews, art gallery openings and other fashion related events. I get to meet amazingly interesting and inspiring people in the industry for interviews or other features (read here about our latest cool blogger Suze from fashion blog Hold Your Breath) and I am allowed to go to Fashion Week!

Seeing my friends is another piece of the pie called my fashion environment. My friends inspire me with their wise words and wisdoms about life and love. We can chat for hours about the drama that troubled men have caused in our lives, but we can easily switch to the new knitted and leather A/W collection that has just come in stores at Zara, and then keep this subject on for couple hours or so. The hopes we all have for the future, the shared ambitions, the wish to let our fashion environment expand over the years, fills me with a firm believe that we'll all make it there someday. 

That leaves me with the last fashion environment to discuss, which is also the one that inspired me to write this post. As some of you may know, I live in a student apartment in Amsterdam, with three roomies (or I should say flatmates, as we all have our own room) that make life a little less boring and much more comforting when you find yourself stumbling along those three stairs with a striking pain in your left heel after drinking too much wodka ("with a hint of a fresh squeezed lime, please?") and walking far too long or dancing way too fierce on your new moss-green leather wedged ankle booties (laced up!). They hear my overenthusiastic stories when I come home, sink down to the kitchen floor, only to give a two-hour speech about the blue eyes of a certain famous singer I just stared in the eyes. They also soothe me when this singer is declaring his love for a certain editor - though not an editor for Fashiolista. 

Anyhow, I am wandering off. I wanted to talk about my domain in the house: my bedroom. This is definitely a huge part of my fashion environment, it's where I choose my outfits and where I write my posts, where I can read books and mag's and where I work on school assignments, where I can close the door and be in my very own dreamy world for hours on end. It sometimes feels quite personal when someone enters this world of dreams and hopes that I've created, as they are MY dreams and hopes, and I often feel quite aware of what's to see in my room. It's filled with books, cramped with shoes and packed with little bits and bops.The walls are covered with frames of antique fashion drawings, old black and white photos, a newspaper ad from the 80s from my grandfathers boutique and I think I made clear to anyone who enters my room I'm quite the Chanel fan. My room reflects who I am, organized in my own way, and interested in a broad range of things. It also reflects my way of dressing and I've often heard that my bedroom is an exact replica of who I am as a person. This makes me smile.

Photos by Emilie Sobels

Not completely random I came to think about my bedroom as my largest and most personal fashion environment, as my assignment for the coming five weeks is to design a living room box - or in my case a bedroom box, as my targetgroup is teenagers - in which you can clearly see whose special space it is. That means mini beds and mini desks, but what else? If you're in the age group 13 - 20 years, please inspire me and perhaps you'll find your tribute in my bedroom box...!

Photos by Emilie Sobels

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