Anthropology 101

One doesn't need a pith helmet, a shovel nor sponsorship to be able to enjoy the many splendors at the Anthropology store on Regents street... just a healthy dose of curiosity and time. The ample space once occupied by Wedgewood, has now been transformed into an edgy,viby boutique.  As soon as you step into its welcoming arms....you will feel like Dorothy stepping into OZ..... a long way from home.
 The two shopping emporiums opened in London (one on Regent street and the other replacing Antiquarius on Kings road)are far more edgier and visually appealing than their counterparts in NYC. The decor and light,the structure and layout is such that you seem to be in a museum one minute, a boutique the next and a work of art throughout. The need is to buy , but also to gawk and stare at everything.

The changing rooms are like studio apartments ; they are  clean and spacious havens that look more like the insides of a large walk in closet than those tight coffin like boxes with curtains that stick to your bum like static giving the impression that you are inside wrestling with an alligator when all you are really trying to do doing is put on a pair of trousers. And don't get me started on the dust bunnies....Gap currently holds a gold medal for those.
 The staff are extremely pleasant ,many of them are americans with an easy smile and a helpful nature.
I love the skylight in the Regent street branch and the "hanging gardens of Babylon"... if Babylon is in London's Regent street. You are lulled into serenity and insighted to buy almost immediately... you can't help yourself: a little something for yourself,your kitchen...a gift that you end up keeping .

 I came away with  a chequered shirt as well as a delightful stack of colourful measuring cups that are too beautiful to be used for something as basic as that.My sister came up with a much better option: to use them for various snacks at "wine o'clock ", or "beer o'clock" or if you must..."whisky o'clock".

 
With all the american brands arriving on our shores where will the fun be in shopping Stateside? 
 You can't walk passed Cecconi's in Savile row without your senses being assaulted by the citrusy signature scent wafting over from the nearby "Abercrombie and Fitch" . As you approach the store you are wallowing in both the scent and the enormous bags from the shoppers stumbling out into the daylight. "Banana Republic"  is now on Kings road as well as Regent street with this season's look  focusing on"Mad Men"....if Mad Men is based in the Yorshire dales and not on Madison Ave. I frankly wasn't impressed with this season's collection ; I saw creased dresses hanging on listless hangers and a colour combination that would make Nora Batty cringe .... I simply couldn't conjure up an image of Betty Draper, let alone Joan Harris sporting any of these garments on show. Disappointed.
 Moving on....
"Coach" will be opening it's doors soon and the fabulous Reed Krakoff (chief designer at Coach who has his own fabulous collection)bags I so coveted when in New York  are now available at Harvey Nichols and on net-a- porter....hmmmm
  "Kate Spade" has opened 2 shops, one in Covent garden and the other on Sloane square,yes the darling of the Upper Eastside has defected .How will it compare with the likes of the very British and very in demand Anya Hindmarch ? Fashion is like a lunch with a very large italian family...there is enough for every one and something for all tastes.
Buon Apetito.

DIOR J'ADORE [NEW FILM]

 Look at this beauty : directed by Jean-Jacques Annaud , filmed in the Galeries des Glaces at the Chateau de Versailles and music by Gossip.
Keep your eyes open for some guest appearences....
Enjoy....it will help you forget the whole Galliano debacle.
Timeless, beautiful Dior.

Maroon 5 - Moves Like Jagger ft. Christina Aguilera

 For all you lovers of Maroon 5 out there: Pre order their new album " Hands All Over"...so you can "Move like Jagger" all over your living room.
Such a feel good song...join me and lets LET LOOSE!
NB: I almost got pulled over by the police on the highway as I was " Moving like Jagger" while driving...Hey! if it feels good....Worrysome part was , I had had a couple of glasses of champagne and wine... looks like I was also " Drinking Like Winehouse".
Dicey...

" Say You , Say.... Ravioli ": a love story part 2.

For all those who read my posting “Say you, Say me...” back in Oct.2010, you will be familiar with the characters: the ballsy B looking for love and her hopelessly romantic “starter boyfriend” X. For all those who don’t...you have some scrolling to do or simply click on this to catch up:
http://frockanrolla.blogspot.com/2010/10/say-you-say-me.html


So B thought long and hard over the situation with X and she decided to give things a chance. She kept her mouth closed and her ears open trying to figure this tall lanky guy, with a penchant for “cheesy and queasy”, out. What she did know was that he was visibly besotted with her and had no qualms in showing it. But love had played tricks on her in the past, she was now prepared to outwit it before she falls into its trap.But they had to step it up a notch now, another night in listening to bloody Lionel Ritchie and she would have to break X’s heart as well as his stereo. His romantic overtures were too Barbara Cartland for her taste and yet he still hadn’t taken her out for a slap up meal. Could X’s reticence be an oversight on his behalf or was he simply a tight wad? She shuddered at the memory of a past paramour who would bring a teabag of his favourite green tea with him whenever he spent the night as well as a packet of biscuits.There was never a second teabag, nor a second packet of biscuits. After several nights of this ritual, B had to ask:
“Tell me something, what is up with the one teabag?”
“Oh, I love a cup of green tea before going to bed” was his reply.
“And ...you just think of bringing the one?” said B dripping with sarcasm. “How about bringing the entire box? And maybe...I don’t know, leave it here?”
“Well... I didn’t know whether you liked green tea...” was his response.
 Hers was to send him packing.

The Foire de Nice, a yearly event and culinary treat for all self respecting foodie on the Cote D’Azur, was in full swing that weekend and B suggested to X that they drive to Nice to check it out.
So there they were amongst the many stands and stalls of mouth watering treats and B’s stomach started to rumble to a steady beat....take me out for lunch,take me out for lunch.But the loved up X remained stoically oblivious to the wild card she had dealt him: would he pass the test or tighten his wad?
“So what do you want to do now?” he happily asked, rose tinted glasses firmly in place.
“I’m hungry and would like to get something to eat!” she responded, slightly riled now that he still hadn’t picked up on the natural flow to this date: food, wine and then if he is lucky...some passionate dessert back at his flat with their companion Lionel Ritchie .Then again, at this point all she could imagine him possibly singing was: “Hello?... Is it meat you’re looking for?....”Grrrr
“Oh! Why didn’t you say something? Come with me...”he grabbed her hand and headed for a stall that made and sold fresh ravioli. B faint with hunger but determined to stand her ground, spotted a smattering of tables and chairs beside the stall and thought to herself: “Ok... he is making an effort here, although this isn’t quite what I wanted... it is kind of cute.”
X bought a portion of ravioli and turned to B triumphant. He then proceeded to turn his back on the stand, the tables , the inviting chairs and everything he holds dear...the lightning was about to crack.
“Isn’t this fun?” he declared with unbridled glee as he forked a piece of ravioli and thrust it at her gaping mouth: “A bite for you and a bite for me...”
B delirious with hunger and disappointment let rip: “Are you f**# kidding me? Are you seriously planning on spoon feeding me bits of ravioli while we stand here in the middle of all these people? What comes after that... Paddy cake?”
A now frightened X stood stoke still, fork in mid air, eyes agog, his blood rapidly draining from his face: “But... you said you were hungry! “he replied in his defence.
“Yessss ...as in take me to a restaurant ! Would that be too much to ask...or doesn’t your wallet stretch that far?”
“But I thought that this would be romantic....”insisted a stunned X with a face like a slapped arse.

X looks back on this day fondly now: “Boy! You looked scary...like an electrified brillo pad!”
Moral of the story: Never look a gift horse in the mouth...and if its mouth is open...it obviously needs to be fed.

They have moved on and moved in together since then....except for Lionel, of course. He can now be seen on television making fun of his own tunes in the ad for Walkers crisps....thankfully it isn’t on French TV.

"If You Go Down to Harrods Today...you're in for a BIG surprise..."

These bears have been hired to keep Mohammed Al Fayed OUT of Harrods.

His waxwork effigy that once stood proud in the Menswear dept. can now be seen standing outside the locked doors of Madame Tussauds.

I guess the only place for him is on Celebrity Big Brother...he can bond with Jedward. And for all you out there who don't know who Jedward are....consider yourselves lucky.

From the Sublime to the Ridiculous...

Gerard Depardieu, France's pride and joy and best export actor, a man who is a far cry from decorum and chi chi values....decided that he needed to relieve himself there and then on a flight from Paris to Dublin. By there, I mean on the much trodden carpet of the plane and then, well simply that.... and not the 15mns after take off the stewardess asked him to do. Apparently it was done with as much tack and sophistication as possible...he simply stood up and peed.....
If you can't hold your alcohol,you can't hold your pee....thanks to Mr Depardieu ,both  issues have been tried and tested in front of a live audience.

My friend whose husband is a pilot for a well known airline, told me a fascinating tale about the sunny Kate Hudson. The lovely young actress know for her romcom roles and easy manner  kicked up a fuss on a flight from London to Los Angeles . The reason for her unease? The gentleman sitting across from her in First class was talking on his cellphone.......in Arabic.
Yes, the Lebanese passenger was talking in his mother tongue and Ms Hudson took  immediate affront and sought umbrage with the staff , demanding that the passenger be immediately removed from the plane.
When the message was relayed to the pilot, he asked the stewardess to relay the following message to his valued passenger :" Please tell Ms Hudson that she should rest assured, her pilot is himself Lebanese and has never had any problem getting his passengers to their destination. Now if she feels that she cannot  remain on this flight , then he would be happy to take the necessary measures to have her  disembark at her leisure and continue her journey on another flight."
Ms Hudson's luggage was removed from the plane and left on the tarmac...for as long as it took to clear them and her..... for her next flight.

P.Middy's every move is documented ad nauseum. Yes, today she was papped in Chelsea coming out from her beautician's after having had a wax..yes, even the illustrious P.Middy gets a wax from her local beautician. What I find bewildering is the unnecessary need to proclaim her  "fashionista du jour".
Her mid drift mack may be "trendy"  and yes, nude maxis are in style and yes...she happened to pair it all up with a mustard coloured handbag...I say kudos! Today she has actually come close to dressing like a woman of her age .
Let us really address the "Fashion Police" issue:those horrendous "auntie" peeptoe canvas slingbacks she insists on wearing.

What is up with those? They are so beyond fashion they have actually left this hemisphere and moved on to planet Mumsy. They simply do not figure in any fashion lexicon as something remotely considered as fashionable or dare I say it : sexy footwear. Check the celebs and fashion forward people around you....Daphne Guinness? Angelina Jolie? Even British Kate Winslet?... Hmm ?.....seen anyone of them wearing that particular model of sheer mumsiness?
I didn't think so.
Can we kindly take it down a notch and revere her simply for her bottom.

Now for the ridiculous......

Yes, don't adjust your sets...this is Mohammed Al Fayed in the celluloid flesh on....Celebrity Big Brother.
He was doing a guest appearance and as well as making a royal "Asp" of himself. 
Speechless....

The Polka Dot Dress.

Once upon a time, in rented ground floor flat in Queensgate, London lived a budding dreamer and fashionista who wanted to be all things great but suffered from bouts of extreme shyness which would incapacitate her. That and the fact that she was always taught to respect her elders and bite her tongue kept her from speaking up from a tender age. What she feared most was confrontation and this is why, on that fateful day, she was pushed to her wee limits. Her younger sister, the tomboy of the two who preferred to drive over her Barbie’s rather than drive them around, always managed to voice her opinions loud and clear in her beat up trainers and short skirts. On that afternoon, she was busy with her Tonka truck and headless Cindy doll, so she did not witness my undoing.

Our gorgeous and temperamental mother, whose love for her older brothers sometimes bordered on adoration, had given away something of mine in an instant that stuck with me a lifetime and when invoked,the memory of it still is like a finger repeatedly poking my shoulder.
It was a day like any other and I was happily doing my bit for childhood somewhere in my room when my uncle popped in for a visit on the way home to the States from a business trip. Family visits were always a treat in our family, an opportunity for old and young to rally round and listen to tall tales relayed by not so tall men. One minute my mother and uncle were in the living room and the next... before me in the room I shared with my sister. They were gazing into out closet and before I could piece their conversation together, my mother had pulled out my prized possession: my navy blue “Flamenco”style, polka dot dress. Brand new, I was saving this marvel for the next birthday party invitation and my grand” Sunset Boulevard” entrance (I lived for the dramatic and any opportunity to project).
This was 1970 after all, I was testing my fashion waters and apart from the dreaded and itchy Viyella dresses our mother made us wear, this dress was my attempt at being avantgarde and fashion forward. And there it was, held up to my uncle for inspection before it was whisked away. It was then that I figured out their exchange and what it boiled down to is this: “You can kiss your dress goodbye now Reem, your uncle needs a gift for his daughter ....”
In that brief exchange, my dress was no longer my own, my feelings were confetti and my uncle wore the triumphant smile of the cat who got the bloody flamenco dress and wouldn’t get a bollocking from his wife.

“But it’s mine!” I screamed humiliating myself and breaking the code of family ethics: “Thou shalt not reclaim your property once it has exchanged hands.”
“Reem, how rude! Apologize to your uncle immediately!” exclaimed my mother happy that she had found favour with her brother while bailing him out.
 I was inconsolable until my father came home and I ran into his arms, explaining the reason for my distress. He could have promised me as many toys from Hamleys as I liked...nothing could replace that dress in my eyes.

Fast forward many years later, dresses have come and gone, my uncle now divorced was free to fully embrace his new title of playboy and charmer.He always had a beautiful woman on his arm and a libido as large as his kingdom sized bed.... (The bed in his London pad was so big that a hand full of kids could play freeze tag on it and never fall off...)
He paraded around his conquests and kept us entertained with his endless supply of stories. Soon the demands of these lovelies and the upkeep of this lifestyle began to take its toll on his wallet; style and substance costs money so do gifts and restaurants.He was saved the day he stumbled across “Pandora”: the luxury second hand boutique in Knightsbridge that sold gently used designer garments, accessories and as luck would have it.... my cast offs! His hapless girlfriends got gifts, as well as his friends and family, my uncle’s wallet got a reprieve and I ......got satisfaction.