Johnny’s blue eyes were shielded with vintage black lace last night as he performed at the opening of the new Coco de Mer shop on Draycott Avenue last night. Wearing an ensemble of gold gloves, silver lips (courtesy of the hottest new make up brand Illamasqua), black porn shoes, and a priest’s cloak, Johnny stripped in the bay window to reveal ‘Sam is an Angel” in crystals on his back, while Sam Roddick (the owner of Coco de Mer) begged for forgiveness on her knees beside him.
The huge bronze penis in the centre of the shop seemed to be a focal point for women to gravitate to, a resting point to relax their hands on it’s crown and sooth their high heeled feet, in the throng of exquisitely made up burlesque-style models in glorious lingerie. Heads bopped to the eclectic range of rocking music blasting out from under the stairs, selected by the prettiest of dj’s, replete with red lips and a pillbox hat at a jaunty angle on her head.
From this I drove to the Vivienne Westwood party on Portland Place. Seemingly lit with candlelight, it was a dark, sultry affair, held in a glorious 18th century house with the most beautiful stucco and huge sweeping staircase. Undercover, Mark Ronson shielded his eyes from the thronging paparazzi by sporting clear bug glasses and a fur trim coat, while fashionistas looked on nonchalantly, propped up by the marble fireplace and gin cocktails.
Though a non-smoker, for me the most exciting point of the party was watching people smoking in the venue – as it is a private house – so still legal to smoke inside. Conversations were not cut short but smokers dashing outside for their nicofix and as i drove home I had a mock Proustian moment where, smelling smoke on my clothes, I remembered the years of evenings before when it’s lingering smell signified a great night out!…
Tamara Cincik.
