taylor rocks my (frilly) socks.

Oh Kate Nash. How I once worshipped the ground she sung upon. Her clothing, her music, her hair! How I longed for the Nash hair-do; that frizzy russet mane is b-e-a-utiful.
Once upon a time I would have rebuffed any allegation of the sort. My outfits of choice, my hair and my love of the awe-inspiring instrument that is the guitar.
Nevertheless, I profess my adoration of the Nash. In spite of everything I still love the Nash way of life, even if I have discovered Spanx and body-con skirts, my heart lies in the magical land of tea-dresses, A-line skirts and untamed tresses.
Which brings me to my next point, Charlotte Taylor. Oh how work experience has been enlightening, pleasurable and soup-filled. For the past few weeks I have awaited the day she unconstrained her look book photographs online, so I could discuss how astounding and stunning and elegant the collection for AW10 truly is.
Inspiration is derived from penguins, grannies and the eccentric within, how eclectic. Being the most un-fashion designing girl in Kent I loved the concept yet I did not know how it would translate into clothing. The outcome is graceful, chic and ever so Kate Nash.


Penguins enthuse shapes, lines and colours, in addition to print. Oh that silk penguin print! I’ve laboured alongside metres upon metres of that glorious cloth for a month now and how I love it.
The eccentric within inspires ballooning contours and colour clashes of silk and crepe alongside tweed (Granny motivated).
Along my ride to return to the swindling bastards that are Red Jet, Charlotte’s father Chris asked me “Yes, it’s all nice. But would you really wear it?” My reply was instinctive, “Hell yes!”


There is so much to love about this collection; my personal favourite has to be that it is an AW collection, yet Charlotte has regressed from the time honoured traditional colour palette that is so distinctively winter. Yellow, orange and purple work beautifully alongside blue and yellow printed penguins? Yes, it’s true. And yes, it works. The tweed and heavy cord textiles bring this back into the cold season. (Black washes me out, yet other than my beloved navy there are very few alternatives come Christmas time hence my appreciation of these colour induced looks.)
Charlotte often cites Marc Jacobs as an influence business wise, yet so much of her collection recalls my favourite designer. In particular Marc by Marc Jacobs, yet with a sophisticated edge.
I love love love it. Charlotte has worked so hard, sewing into the wee hours, she’s put so much on the line and all I can hope now is that the buyers will care for the collection as much as I do. It is truly beautiful an I wish her the best of luck!


www.charlotte-tayor.blogspot.com

an earful.

Music. How I long for just one musical bone encased in my body.
I own a beautiful guitar, I respect my instrument increasingly more than many of my beloved belongings, yet can I play the darn thing? I know chords, I truly do. It just so happens that when I strike those steel strings the sound (it can NOT be called music) I produce is exceedingly distant to how it is designed to sound on one’s ears.
“What do you want to be when you grow up Emma.” Oh how often a child is solicited with this question. This question of embarrassing answers. My own answer? Well after Astronaut and before Lawyer, my answer would merely have been…a pop star. Those that have experienced my singing will snort with amusement at this, since the cold, hard truth is that I can not hold a tune. I’m actually tone death. Additionally rubbing salt into my wound, to be a pop star you need the X factor. I don’t (I’m hindered in dance skills and charisma and acting skills to top it all off).
Apposed to scrawling across my keyboard adhering pointless words together, I’d love to be strumming my guitar. Alas, it is not tuned. Alas my tuner has broken. Alas, I don’t even have the foggiest idea of how it should sound, let alone how to compel it TO sound that way.
The one mantra I can perform consists of no chords. Purely one string notes. And dear God don’t request I sing along’ it’s hard enough playing the tune, let alone tallying my warbling into the mix.
Yet, despite my musical disabilities I’ve never faltered in my absolute devotion to lyrics and rhyme. Just because I’m retarded in that field, does not mean I can not appreciate others talent. This week I attempted to purchase Kings of Leon tickets for the 30th of June. Said tickets sold out in SIX MINUTES! Obviously I’m not alone with my love for the hillbilly brothers.
Songs can flood my brain with memories. Just today while enjoying a wee scampi and chips in Yates I was reminded of my inability to play guitar; Hey There Delilah came on. Cringing is mandatory each and every time I hear this song; why am I so untalented and why am I so BAD!? I’m sure everyone feels the same, but lyrics and music and bands have such a profound effect on my over-zealous emotions. Opening my iTunes is alike lifting the lid of a memory box.
This was never supposed to end this way, yet here we are. My top memory inducing songs in the world. Nothing elaborate or pretentious, unadorned and undemanding music that makes me smile, songs that make me cry and anger inducing lyrics.
Read My Mind - The Killers
Because the stars are blazing like rebel diamonds cut out of the sun.
I’m Yours - Jason Mraz
Because it’s the Thailand anthem.
Boys Don’t Cry - The Cure
Because this occurred JUST before he got a tattoo.
Waterloo Sunset - The Kinks
Because it is beautiful and reminds me of getting a train homeward bound.
Milk - Kings of Leon
Because I love them.
The Bucket - Kings of Leon
Because it’s my favourite.
Honey and the Moon - Joseph Arthur
Because I’ve listened to this song constantly for four years.
Hot n Cold - Katy Perry
Because I love my best friend.
Crack the Shutters - Snow Patrol
Because I remember laying in a Bangkok bed listening to this.
This Modern Love - Bloc Party
Because each time I see them, I want to cry to this song.
Sweet Disposition - The Temper Trap
Because I love Reading. And (500) Days of Summer.
Fairground - Simply Red
Because it reminds me of my Mummy.
Day and Night - Kid Cudi
Because, oh Malia was so good.
There are too many songs to my 19 years. Too many.
Sorry this is a little bit of a rubbish post. I can’t write properly anymore…

And I tried to add my version of this from Chok's'd Bar in Thailand but it wouldn't work.

That old romantic ideological psyche of mine…

Being such a gran at heart I am a full blown old fashioned romantic. Blame the parents. Mother met Father when she was but 19; I tend to ignore the sector of the story in which my Dad has had a previous wife, I believe this steals away from the affection a tad. Nan and Granddad met when they were of equal age and have now been together for 52 years. Great Nanny Emma and Great Granddad Bob also, were young lovers and life-long partners prior to Emma becoming a wee batty and believing my sister was my Uncle Mark in all his balding glory.

My eternal optimism for the power of love (sorry 80’s night and lots of Back to the Future will prompt one to say things along those lines more often than not) has been tested of late. Those pesky Functionalists will try to tell you that a broken home does no good for a child, but what about a loving relationship? Because all I know is that I have grown up believing beyond belief, in the words of Rob Simonsen for 500 Days of Summer, that I will “never truly be happy, until the day (s)he met, the one.” I ask, is this really healthy? Without intending heartlessness to those it has effected, wouldn’t a bit of divorce hit (or rather batter) some sense into me? This week I grappled with the image of my first V day alone in five years. Yes. Five years. This is the reasoning behind my heavily proclaimed undying love for the 14th of February, because until this week began I did not know Doom Day on the other side of the fence. Dear god is it awful. Now I possess sympathy. The adverts, the editorial space, the television shows. All dedicated to the smugness a relationship offers to us all. (Here I will take the time to personally thank This Morning for making my morning on the 9th of February the teary-est in existence.)

Nevertheless. I will NOT falter in my absolute, sheer belief in the day that is St. Valentines Day. YES. In a world alike to mine, an old romantic ideological psyche, every 365th day should be V day. Yet, and my commonsense allows me to acknowledge this much, there simply isn’t the time or the pounds to spend each evening at a candlelit meal, receiving standard wear red or black underwear and a card that says it superiorly than the inarticulate couple can themselves. Why not take one day out of the year to wallow in our complacency? Envious single people of the world, I have tasted the bitterness and I resent you not for your cynicism. Friend love is the retort to any negativity surrounding this day of the year. Bake a HUGE chocolate love heart cake ala Amber, Emma and Apryl. Make each other cards, watch girly, but not love films. Do not actively shun V Day. Comedy films may help some, but personally I am acquainted with myself and I know what I’m avoiding. This makes innate heart aches worst. The aim of the game is Friends fireman episode, not Noah’s (salty) Ark.

My beloved Valentines Day’s consists’ of seeing my beautiful besties to bake, onwards for the exchanging of flowerpots full to the brim with food, CD’s and velvet roses (even better was the exchange of a flowerpot for a guitar) and eating a three course dinner on the conservatory floor escorted by a mammoth mayonnaise. Valentine’s day can be truly lurid. Yet it is but one day of the year. And two days later is an even grander, chub-inducing day of dreams (and lemon and sugar.) Comfort eating is but 48 hours away my darling.

PS. Wait for the cake to cool before spreading on a ton of butter icing. Butter soaked into chocolate cake results in inedible food of doom. PPS. Jem and Bernie, my hoya kerrii sweetheart plant.

my charity wonderland

Oh the humble bee of the high street, those quaint English charity shops. How they make me wish I could return to Thailand.

Imagine, if you will, an Urban Outfitters bazaar. Chatuchak weekend market is precisely this. OMG I can’t express how amazing it was. 50 baht to every pound. Therefore a hand made button adorned bag I bought for 100 baht? It cost me two pounds! And bless the lady manning the market stall was so confused when I wanted to buy two!

How I loved my Thai shopping adventure. A backpacking adventure more often than not turned into a two month shopping spree. Bangkok market on the Khao San was chock-a-block full of tourist t-shirts and knickknacks during the day, during the evenings I spent eating a hefty quantity of plastic-bag pork however, the small backpacker street transformed into a band tee, quirky dress and marvellous jewellery one-stop shop.

Regrettably I’m not in possession of £500 to spend on a return ticket, therefore the English variety must suffice. Today I had but two minutes before the Marie Curie was to close. My sister admittedly “loves the smell of vintage clothing.” Yes, the little one adores the smell of old people. She’s always been a fan of cabbage and piss.

Generalisations and stereotypes out of the way. Here are my two purchases. One blended cashmere tartan blazer coat and floral clip-on earrings that puncture my pain-relishing ears to death. God I miss the magnetic Claire’s accessories sorts. Or simply the earrings that make use of the holes I had gunned through my lobs.

I’ve additionally decided to incorporate Viktor & Rolf into my everyday wardrobe. Or I just coveted to skip about the Hursey household as a 1940’s house wife. I unearthed my prom petticoats, deemed two too many for the day time and decided to try every dress from my suitcase on to witness it with a poofy skirt. It went well. I may even start cutting holes…

Well Vogue, the holy grail, has informed me that cold and warm nail polishes are in. I’ve decided to be a freak, and yes I am laughed at for this, but I love my blue and coral nails! One of the bestest colour combinations and I feel all summery, even if it is snowing outside.

(Just thought I’d add the lining from my sister’s coat because I love love love it. And it goes superbly with my earrings.)

Oh and how adorable is the petticoat-under-a-coat look?

the hobbit is hence forth, a love story.

Just a wee picture. Because I'm a book worm loser.

indie cindy porn

Just because I'm a deeply nice person and believe the world should gaze upon this beautiful image, yet again from Dazed and Confused February 2010. Ahh Michael Cera. You beautiful boy. "Fine, I do all my hiking free form. I enter the wilderness with nothing more than a childlike sense of wonder."

a gravity defying spectacular.

Is everyone ready? This is mind blowing. Like, jaw dropping beauty resurrected into a bona fide fairytale costume.

Welcome, Viktor and Rolf SS10. Pooling resources with none other than Dazed and Confused February.

Oh the splendour. The only thing in existence more impressive than these beaut’s is the ring’s of Saturn. And these pictures. Gurt lush. And and and, the telephone call with Viktor Horstings as the remarkable couple head to Miami.

“We felt the need to attack a sweetness, and intuitively we made sketches of the voluminous shapes of a traditional ball gown,” the duo explain of the collection they entitled Credit Crunch Couture. “We wanted to destroy that perfection, so to speak - that’s really what we wanted to achieve. We were thinking about the words ’cutting’ because of the credit crunch - you hear so much about cutting budgets, so the word stuck in our minds.”

Well, all I can say is thank the high-in-the-sky lord for the Credit Crunch, because if not, who knows if the word cutting would ever have truly stuck in Mr Horsting and Mr Snoeren’s minds and persuaded them to craft my fashion fantasy. Remarkable in concept and execution.

And the pictures. They have possibly now edged their way into my top, number one editorial’s ever. My favourite;

Magdalena Frackowiak's posture reminds me of the Jack-in-the-box and doll sequence from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. She looks fabulous; relaxed and fun. The studio is the perfect backdrop, no fuss. Let the dresses and a model of the moment do the talking. Oh those gloves, and the bows!

I love how Dazed have managed to achieve perfect harmony between the true inspiration behind the dresses. The deconstruction, destruction, of tradition. The hair, the simple make-up, enhance this theme perfectly. Who needs jewellery when your skin shimmers like the moon.

“Thrillingly impractical mutilation of tulle” I genuinely, cannot put it better myself. I dare you not to witness true beauty: