I wish...

...I could say this was me back in the days.

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The twenty euro Chanel horror.

So. I have this friend... She's very sweet and kind and well, she's just plain amazing - obviously, cause she's my friend. Anyhow, she's also mad about a certain French Fashion house known as Chanel. Rings a bell?

Before I continue, I must tell you that I need some advice on this. Some of this girl's friends happen to think she might be taking it a notch too far. They fear a true obsession, an addiction even. I, on the other hand, do not agree with them at all. I think it's very normal and healthy to long for a moss green suede 2.55 jumbo. Or a classic quilted black leather one. With a gold chain strap. And a delicate gold printed Chanel stamp on the inside of the flap. Anyhow, not all of my friends seem to think like me.

Ok. So this is the case. Yesterday the above mentioned friend ran into my other friend E.W.
E.W. had just returned from a lover's getaway in Thailand. She spoke about the incredible vintage market she went to, how cool it all had been and about her amazing finds. My friend listened with a big smile, and was very happy that friend E.W. had had such a great time.

E.W.:"You would have loved it, it was huge and everything was so cheap! They even had real Chanel bags for 20 euro." 

Suddenly I freezed. Ehhh, I mean, my friend freezed. She freezed and turned her head, looking E.W. straight in the eyes, begging her to be joking: "20 euro!!?", she cried out. "20 euro?! A Chanel! For 20 euro?! A real Chanel!?", she screamed.

A little hesitant and uncertain E.W. looked at her and said: "Yes... a real Chanel for 20 euro." "And you didn't buy it for me!? A REAL CHANEL!?! FOR 20 EURO!" That was the moment when she snapped, tears sprang to her eyes, and suddenly it felt way too crowded in the hallway, with all the other students leaving the lecture room. She excused herself from E.W. and quickly ran to the exit, inhaling the fresh air as she made it outside. After a minute or two she refound control over her breathing, and leaned back to the brick wall.

A real Chanel bag, she thought depressed, for only twenty euro... That's the same I spend on an average day on groceries, or on two cocktails at Harry's Bar. One bra from Topshop is twenty euros, or two return train tickets to The Hague... A real Chanel bag...

However, after fifteen minutes or so she decided it was time to move on. Only quickly considering how much a ticket to Bangkok would cost and if it would be worth flying over the entire globe, she firmly shook her head and although not meant for others she accidentally said with a strict tone: "No!". A little embarrassed by all the surprised looks for talking out loud, she quickly re-entered the building. Upon seeing her friend E.W. they hugged and kissed and made up. Although E.W.'s last remark was still quite painful ("No, of course I didn't buy it, I mean, why would I need a Chanel?"), she firmly repeated her new life mantra: "There are more important things in life than Chanel. There are more important things in life than Chanel."

And I agree. I think. Right?

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I'd like a pound of Portobello's please.

Portobello Market; this Notting Hill based market is known for its fab vintage finds and appears to be a true hotspot for designers. It's been said some simply snatch a vintage Dior from one of the stalls to alter it in the most minimalistic way and throw it onto the catwalk. Designer diamonds, careful now, here's the fashion police.

I've not spotted any designers, but sure saw some diamonds. Enjoy.

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I need a time machine.

That I have classy grandparents is something that can be said without a doubt. Although my dad's father is no longer with us, I can still recall that both him and my grandmother from that side always paid a great effort in looking chic and elegant. No wonder my dad loves to groom and style his outfits - in a very manly way, that must be said.

My mums parents have a true fashion background, as I've mentioned in one of my earlier blogposts as well. My granddad comes from a family that started earning money with selling fabrics, somewhat before the Second World War. However, my great grandfather lost everything during those years of war, and had to rebuild his entire life and company after it. He had to start from scratch - yet again. My grandfather, who then looked like a Hollywood movie star fell head over heels in love with my grandmother, a true looker herself. They were only 21 when they married. It has proven to be true love, as they are still mad about each other. They always read my posts, and I know that this time too they're probably arguing over something silly, but deep in their eyes such a deep eternal love for each other is settled, that it gives me hope and fills me with joy. Anyhow, let's not get sentimental, as this was not at all what I wanted to write about today. My mums parents may be very happy and in love, they were also - and still are - extremely stylish.

After the war, my great granddad rebuild his fabric company, expanding it a little, which resulted in a  boutique of womens hosiery in The Hague. My granddad gradually worked his way into the top of the fashion industry and turned the store into a womenswear boutique. He met Salvatore Ferragamo in Firenze, had meetings at the Gucci headquarters and was invited into Pucci's private palazzo for some champagne and some partying - the glamourous ones, how they did it in the 60s and 70s. Italian fashion started to rise in those years, and it was at that time that my grandfather started to run a successful business that even led to having the Dutch Royals as one of his customers.

My grandmother posing in her bathing suit
and pumps at the beach - 50s

After 40 years my grandfather decided to sell his business. With much pain in his heart he retired and started to enjoy a life that seemed less stressful; however, neither one of my grandparents ever lost their passion for fashion. When the company was sold I was only 11 years old, unfortunately too young to understand anything (I was not like Tavi Gevinson, I guess...) about fabrics, cuts and fits, although I did know there were certain items that were not nearly as special as other pieces. I wasn't allowed to enter the basement area of the boutique for example, I later learned that this was where Valentino and Dior were sold. And so when my mum had some business to attend and took me with her, I either hung around the atelier, while chatting with the "les petits mains" - to quote Kaiser Karl - or I was leaning on the white leather couches (it was the 90s!), completely silent and hypnotised: I gasped at the amazing dresses women were trying on while their husbands were drinking bubbles and smoking cigars. Whenever I read about Chanel, it reminds me of those years. Obviously I was way to young to fully grasp the idea of what was going on, and no doubt I have made it much bigger in my fantasies, but the glamourous 20s vibe was definitely still alive in my grandparent's boutique.

Whenever I am at their house for dinner or just a random visit, I wander around and look at all the black and white photo's; my grandmother posing in a typical 50s bathing suit at the beach, wearing her pumps, or the both of them striking a pose with their ski's while looking all styled to perfection. They fill me with inspiration and ambition, and although I cannot lift on the contacts that my granddad once established in the international fashion industry - unfortunately -, I know I will make it there once too.

[Please do not take any of the above described lifestyle as a form of bragging, I merely want to describe an era in time with the right sentimental feel to it.]

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Inner frustration

So. What to do when you're angry...? Several times today I've feared an explosion when confronted with those that have caused my bad temper. I have been frustrated to the bone these past days, and I know for a fact that if my classmates were to read this post, they can only guess why. Yes, it's study related.

Anyhow, I do find ways to deal with my aggressiveness: the kitchen has never looked cleaner, the bathroom had a make over and I washed my hair three times to calm down under the shower. That may seem a little absent minded, but although I am exhausted because of the inner frustration, I feel sharp and alert. I did however need something to cheer me up. And whenever I feel like this, there's only two things that can calm me down and put a serene smile on my face: an unlimited gift card to spend at a certain French maison at rue Cambon; or - much easier and way cheaper - pretty photography.

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Stitching with style: Lesage Haute Couture

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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. 

BLABLABLABLA

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. 

BLABLABLABLA

"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. 

BLABLABLABLA

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"

BLABLABLABLA

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 

BLABLABLABLA

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

BLABLABLABLA

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I've found my true love. 

I heart...

... clever solutions for broke students

I heart...

... Berlin mentality (and Chanel obviously)

aujourd'hui: voici Paris!

Recently I went back to my home town The Hague to pay a visit to the Gemeentemuseum. As I stepped out of the car, I saw at least a hundred people were queuing in line, so my heart started pounding a bit faster and my eyes got that glazed, determined shine, that I always get whenever I am very excited about something. This exposition must be quite something then, if everyone was dying to get in...

After what seemed hours of waiting (but actually only took fifteen minutes), I was released into the wild. Err, into the museum. Voici Paris focuses on high end fashion, couture fashion as we may say, throughout the years. The glamourous Haute Couture; a world that is drenched in champagne, charm and Chanel.

It all started with the man Charles Frederick Worth (1826 - 1895), who not only invented the label that is nowadays sewn into every garment made, but he was also the first to come up with the idea of Haute Couture. That meant several big changes, but it made the fashion world how she is today. Designers design a collection from their own inspiration (opposed to before, when women went to their tailor to have a dress made for them, with their instructions on how the dress should look), and they show this collection on mannequins to prospective clients. These clients can order from the collection, that consists of limited editions only. Everything is handmade in the couture house and it's all tailored on the body. A last important feature of Haute Couture would probably be that the designer oversees every aspects of the production.

Not every designer that makes pretty dresses can call himself a couturier, though. Le Chambre Syndicale de la Haute Couture, that was established in 1868, is a very select group of designers. You have to earn the right to be a member by following certain guidelines, such as design made-to-order for private clients, with one or more fittings; have an atelier in Paris with at least fifteen full-time employees; present a collection to the Paris press every season (twice a year), with at least thirty five runs with outfits for both daytime wear and evening wear. Members nowadays include Christian Dior, Balenciaga, Chanel, Givenchy, Jean Paul Gaultier; some international members are Maison Martin Margiela, Valentino, Giorgio Armani and Elie Saab.

Anyways, back to the exposition! You first enter a room that is filled with my favourite label of all time: Chanel. It shows you a peek in the collection that Kaiser Karl himself designed for the s/s 09 collection, where he worked together with the Japanese origami artist Kamo and transformed the runway into a white flowerfield, all made of paper.

From contemporary Chanel, the expo then leads us back into the history of fashion, starting with Worth and onto big names like Paul Poiret and Marie Vionnet. Oriental influences are clearly visible in these designs, and about the life of monsieur Poiret could be held an exposition alone. With his love for extravagant and exotic parties this 'king of fashion' ruled in the beginning of the 20th century. As the website of the Met explains very clearly:

"Poiret's exoticized tendencies were expressed through his use of vivid color coordinations and enigmatic silhouettes such as his iconic "lampshade" tunic and his "harem" trousers, or pantaloons. However, these orientalist fantasies (or, rather, fantasies of the Orient) have served to detract from Poiret's more enduring innovations, namely his technical and marketing achievements." 

Poiret was well known for his parties that had the sole purpose of creating name in the fashion industry and showing his wealth. He often claimed to have freed women from their corsets, and didn't have one bone of modesty in his - well dressed - body. In his memoirs "My first fifty years" (1931) you can get a good image of the man that more or less invented how to bend marketing to his advantage in the fashion industry. 

We're taking a quick walk through the roaring twenties when Miss Coco Chanel first came to play, and go on to the thirties and forties.

After the Second World War, Christian Dior enters the fashion stage, shocking the world with his excessive use of fabric for a 'New Look' in a time when fabric was still very rare. His silhouette referred back to the 19th century, when women still wore corsets and  big dresses. He claimed to have designed ''flower women'', with a skirt that would sway open as the cup of a flower upside down.

Dior in the 70s

Miss Coco makes her comeback after the war, mostly improving her earlier designs and introducing items to the fashion world that we now consider classics, such as the tweed ladies suit, the Little Black Dress, the two tone pumps and the black quilted purse. 

Let's jump to the sixties, when Audrey Hepburn wore this lovely fuchsia pink Givenchy dress in Breakfast at Tiffany's ('61). 

The exhibition also shows you work of today's designers; Dutch well known names - as well as international couturiers. A last designer worth mentioning is the Chinese Ma Ke. Her collection is all about authenticity and tradition. As an reaction against 'fashion for the mass' she pleats about going back to fair trade, quality and individual creativity. 

Feb 2007 collection WUYONG ('useless') The Earth, in Paris. Garments were stained with mud and sand, and presented in sculptural shapes.