Good evening all.
It’s been a week or more of procrastination. Busy bee that I be. Just back from Milan. But, alas, the London diary is here for your viewing, er, pleasure.
Since I last wrote, I’ve been noticing that for one reason or another there are far too many farewells transpiring in this boy’s life as of late. First Angeliki back to Athens and now my precious Hind, AKA Hinderance or simply ‘The Matar’ – here looking ravishing in As Four. 
Glenn, if you’re reading this over there in the big Apple and see her fluttering about in full nocturnal glory, be sure to look out for her for me, yeah? Sniffle. Tear cast down cheek… And now what? Wandson is back to Brazil until the chumps at the Home Office get it together. I guess we’re all just waiting for that new category that’s bound to come into effect soon. You know the one… after Spousal visas, Highly-skilled migrant, Work permits and so on… ‘Spellbindingly Stylish Souls’. After all, giving the streets of this country such a splash of colour and sparkle can merit at least a bloody visa, can’t it?? Exaggeration? Hmmm… Well, collectively at least, I think we must certainly add to the GDP or the GNP or one of those economic indicators, don’t you think??
Enough of such reverie for now. Back to Hind Matar’s farewell bash at the Sanderson Hotel.
Hind and Hayfa. Believe it or not, there’s even a third sister Hella. Talk about triple trouble.
You can at least count on a few props at one of Ian Schrager’s spots. That’s furnishings and objets, mind you. Not the suited breathing props of course… 😉
Adonis preening in his cage
The Matar on her throne…
And if you haven’t guessed by now – no – this blog is not about balanced reporting, journalistic integrity or insightful coverage. It certainly IS about a little self-indulgence though and so what if I find this creature abundantly inspirational?? That’s right, a VERY SHADED VIEW. Yes, this is a mini tribute and therefore I’m pasting photo after photo after photo of Hinderance until Diane tells me off.
The Matar doing her evil Ivana Trump impression… ‘Dahhhling, I’m indestructible… get off the dirty pavement and join me up on the SECOND floor… ‘
Whisked off to one of those parties that seem to be taking over London these days – some kind of mishmash of yesteryear. The Modern Times Club has made quite an impact on the scene recently. Some of those living to get dressed up and ‘be seen’ are more inclined to take a nostalgic route. Roaring twenties meets innocent fifties meets Edwardian leftovers – and everything in between for that matter. The chirpy sound at this doo however was certainly not for this child of darkness. But a few entertaining peacocks and the occasional eyecandy were worth a peek at The Grill Room on Regent Street on Tuesday…
Amegi Henacho, fashion editor of Flux magazine and stylist Alexia
I did make it to one high culture event this week (well done, Robb) thanks to Wandson’s friend Rosaria who invited me to Naked, the new dance performance at Sadler’s Wells theatre. It appeared to my amateur eyes to be a story of relationships through four couples acting as one over time. Like some tug-of-war over the stages in a couple’s development (and regression) and the dynamics between them as the relationship goes from a period of passion to complacency to irrecoverable abandon and then ultimately revenge. But what do I know? After all, I’m no grand critic of the performing arts. The set and video projections were beautiful and the dancing itself was engaging enough. The first half was a bit repetitive but most disappointing for this shallow fashion fiend was the lackluster costumes. And no they weren’t compeltely naked – that would have been certainly better than what was worn. It was a nice respite from the usual Dracula hours though.
The playbill read, " ‘Naked’ contains scenes of an adult nature." Well, anyone looking for some light pornography in the disguise of High Culture would’ve been very disappointed.
After 48 hours of extending the night into day, writing bits and pieces of articles and generally causing mischief with friends, I had to prepare for Diane’s arrival for the Boudicca shoot that we’d been asked to pose for. So I picked DP up at Liverpool St. Station and we made an emergency pitstop at the WC at the station pub – which for the many years I’ve lived in the East End I’ve somehow managed to avoid. Yet again, clientele aside (think hooligans and ladettes posing as investment bankers — or are they really?!) the place could be a good watering whole – if only the fake Rococco atmosphere could wear off a bit more on the dregs inside…)
After leaving our scent and marking the absolute final frontier of our territory, we carried on to mine where we did a couple of DoubleTrouble shots just for you since we know you’re getting addicted… as if…
Then kidnapped DP for the early hours of a Saturday night in Shoreditch. First to the George and Dragon which I tend to frequent less and less but it was a serendipitous night. Zowie and Bryan from Boudicca were out and there were many friendly faces for a change. And besides, Richard from the G&D absolutely reveres Diane. It was a Butt magazine launch party there we had stumbled into and of course they were thrilled to have DP turn up to cut the ribbon leading to some seedy exhibition in the toilet.
I told you it is a very SHADED view on fashion here…
If they only knew what state I was going to arrive in at their shoot the following afternoon… I think I kept it largely under cover though (I didn’t open my stuttering gob).
ran into Andres Ros – here looking adorable as usual wearing Patrick Soderstam
On to Shoreditch’s other Richard and his night Family at the Tea Room where I introduced DP to a couple of my dearest co-conspirators, Anna & Josh. Then DP and I ventured to GodZilla at the Boudoir where DP sensibly left to get some shut-eye before the shoot and I typically carried on.
The Boudicca shoot was warm and cozy yet surreal in Epping Forest, as you can imagine, as Diane has already reported to you.
So only an hour and a half of sleep, I climbed aboard a 6 AM flight to Milan where I was to do some work. Yes, work.
La Camera Nazionale della Moda Italiana (yes I got a wee bit of sleep on the plane, thank you) is co-presenting a slew of awards in conjunction with some of Italy’s bigger brands such as Benetton, Sisley and other textile consortium partners. Mittelmoda is the platform and I was invited to be on this year’s jury. This was the pre-selection where we ploughed through hundreds of portfolios of recent graduates the world over from over 932 applications in total. The final will take place in Grado near Trieste just before New York fashion week. I’ll give you a report from there later in the year.
Castello Sforzesco and its grounds — just as much nature as I can enjoy…
The following day I went to Piazza Castello (OK, after a little shopping in Via Montenapoleone of course…) to meet Luca Lanzoni, a friend trying to make the readers of Italian Glamour a little more glamourous. Revolution can come in small doses – that’s one strategy anyway!
He and I went to meet some of his Conde Nast colleagues at Vogue Pelle & Vogue Gioiello. Here you see the trompe l’oeil mural which, if visible, means that Franca Sozzani’s car is absent and she is out. Pity for me as I have been trying to get her to fax back that nomination for GWAND for a couple weeks now. I guess her assistant will get yet another phone call from me tomorrow and then the day after and the day after that and….until…
Me, tenacious?? Naw…
cha-cha — Robb —
