WEEKEND DEETS…the archive


Hanro vests on line

There’s a tradition in my family that goes something like this.

On Christmas eve, there is a point where most normal people give up on shopping and head off to find solace and cheer in friends, family or alcohol. It is at this particular moment that my boys head into town to eat crepes. It’s quiet by then and they get space to wander around. They eat crepes, talk about er, guy stuff (I am not privy to these conversations, obvy) and then they buy chocolates and a Hanro vest for my stocking.

Helping Santa out is a wonderful thing.

Looking back at this collection I see I have a sort of Hanro journal, each one representing a special Christmas spent together. Funny how clothes are more than just that, how they hold our emotions and stories within them.

AS SEEN…yellow ball


Untitled artwork 2014-05-20 (10.55.16-349 AM)

The sun’s out!
That was a bit of a shocker really, coming all at once like that. I just wasn’t ready. Anyway, it’s gone again today (thank goodness for British weather) so let’s take a moment to breathe, regroup and, y’know, form a plan.
I mean, I’m trying not to get hysterical here but really, who were all these people out yesterday in their little dresses with their legs all shaved and the boys with their shorts all cool and like, yeah, I was totally prepared for Summer?
Did I miss a memo?

I love sunshine. So much. But for some reason I have forgotten what you’re supposed to wear when it’s hot.
I don’t mean when you’re on holiday and cut off denim and a bikini top is acceptable. I don’t mean in the (mythical) word of festival chic, with flowers in your hair and a £2000 maxi dress. I mean in real life, in London, now.
Only, not now. Because today it’s not hot again, looks a bit like rain.
Actually maybe that’s the problem. Perhaps the only solution is to live somewhere where it’s hot all the time. That way I could crack the dress code and be done.
Legs shaved.
Owner of perfect sunglasses.

CRUSHING ON…going her own way


Stevie Nicks 2013-09-16 (01.06.57-208 PM)

As you know, I do love a uniform. Well, it turns out that Stevie Nicks does too (we’re so alike).
Describing how she put together her signature looks she explains that really, she wanted to create a look that she could stick to and not worry about. That way she could concentrate fully on her work. (Oh Stevie, I so agree, I just know we’d get on.)

“I decided on my outfit right in the beginning, because I said I want a uniform.
So I said I want black fringy and I want a black skirt and I want a good leotard and I want a little black riding jacket and I want black platform boots and I want a scarf and I want a hat. And then I want you to make three more sets of that and I’m off, because I would rather focus on my music than what I wear. So I came up with something that looked great on me, and looked thin and looked feminine and then I put really heavy boots with it so that would calm down the ballet skirt-ness of it all. And I said, I’m not going to worry about it.”

I love that she is on the one hand such a powerhouse and a legend and on the other she made these decisions from such a practical viewpoint, which is totally the way I see clothes. I love them, but I want to be in stuff that’s right for me, and that I can do my job well in. I thought it was so telling that she mentioned looking thin, and that the boots were deliberately designed to make her appear taller (she’s tiny) because those things gave her confidence. And isn’t confidence what we all look for in clothes? It’s not actually the clothes themselves, but the stories they allow us to tell ourselves about who we are and what we are capable of that is so seductive.

I love that. Thanks Stevie, keeping Dreaming.

In Your Dreams, a documentary that follows the making of Stevies Nicks’ new album, premiered here last night in London, followed by a Q&A.
You can download her new album in iTunes now.

CRUSHING ON…for the love of grey marl


grey marl forever-1
OK, so the thing is here, when I’m shooting, I have a sort of uniform.

There is a very good reason for this.
I’m extremely easily distracted, so put me anywhere near a rail full of beautiful clothes (let alone for seasons that haven’t even happened yet) and I’m liable to hit some sort of identity crisis slash anxiety meltdown. Add in a sprinkling of implausibly good looking models and the meltdown could hit a manic depressive spiral of angst amazingly fast (no really, I worry it could). There is in fact a danger I could forget entirely about the job I am there to do and worry only about having dressed wrongly, or missed out on the good genes in the good genes queue.

So, my friends, as a distraction from this awful possibility, (and having spent my entire childhood customising/losing/deliberately ignoring any sort of enforced apparel) I now have created and imposed a uniform of my own.

My name is Emma Miranda Moore and I am an addict.
My addiction is grey marl.
A grey marl sweatshirt, jeans and good kicks will basically take you anywhere, shooting wise. I have been known to go crazy and swap in a grey marl tshirt in a warmer climate situation (I know, try and remain calm, you would still recognise me) but basically this is the magic formula.

The thing I love about the grey marl sweat is that it’s only ever going to get better. How many things in life can you say that about? Not many. Amazing.
Stretched out neck? Desirable. Frayed cuffs? See them there, don’t care.

I do play favourites, that Champion number up there is on pretty heavy rotation at the moment, it’s just getting good. It takes a while to break those kids in, but once you’ve bent them to your will, they are yours for life.
Just try throwing one away, I dare you.

What about you? What do you wear all the time?

Lee sweatshirt, above centre, c/o hubshop.co.uk

CRUSHING ON…new beginnings


back to school 2013-1

What is it about September?
Is it the ingrained memory of new shoes and a freshly packed pencil case that never really leaves us? Is it a Fashion Week thing? Is it the fact that my birthday falls right at the start? (Thanks for asking, it was lovely.) It just always seems to burst with positivity and promise (and this is from someone who thinks Summer should be a 12 month affair).

One good thing about September of course, is the opportunity for a whole new wardrobe thing. Not everything new, but just looking at it all after a few months away from coats and, oh, y’know, socks, it feels fresh. And nothing says new season like a new bag.*

This one seems to work already, even with an ancient cut off denim skirt and favourite off black tshirt (aka what I wear endlessly). I’m damn sure it’s going to work with a round shouldered coat and knee boots.**

Right then, now I just need to find my pencil sharpener.

*It should be pointed out that this particular new bag will have to last me for the rest of my natural life. Good job I like it.
** It better. See above.

ON BEAUTY…slip into something


Bikinis are tricky things aren’t they?
Naked in public, essentially, is what we’re looking at here. So what you’re after is something that will give you the confidence to carry that off without giving attention to the voice in your head that tells you you are in a nightmare where you’ve lost all your clothes. A bit like the one when you’re about to step on stage but you don’t know your lines. Or you’re trying to run but the pavement is made of sticky toffee.
So when you find that one, the one that makes you feel that everything is alright. Maybe even a little bit better than alright. That jumping around and actual swimming and, like, a real life good time would be possible in this garment, then hold on to it.
Tell it that you love and treat it right. Never let it go. It is, indeed, a true and fine friend.

Now stop your worrying and get in the pool.

Bikini by Melissa Odabash

ESSENTIALS…European legs


white jeans-1

Let’s start at the very beginning, a very good place to start. Oh Julie, you are, as always, so right.
There is a short list of things that I decided many years ago were essential, whatever the holiday destination. From work trip to country weekend to beach, there are a couple of things that I always find I need, or rather, that I feel a bit panicky without. These things, since you ask so nicely, are as follows: some kind of massive pashmina, (this is in fact my comfort blanket, airline pillow, extra jumper and cuddly toy all rolled into one). (Although I actually quite object to wearing one in the evening as it makes me feel slightly like I’m in too flimsy an outfit at a wedding. In Surrey.) Lavender oil, (to make my pillow smell like home) (I’ve gone a bit pillow-centric here, but bear with me) a gallon of moisturiser and a pair of jeans (or, if you’re feeling fashion today, a jean). You can travel in them, they knock the edge off your oh I’m not sure now new holiday top and if your beach based Easter break that was supposed to get you away from the biting, trying to hurt you cold in England, turns out to be not that warm either they will keep you cosy while you saunter casually up to the bar and order yourself a another medicinal whiskey.
How then, what with these strict rules and everything, did it come to pass that I ended up in the Canaries with no jeans? Error.
But in every mistake lies an opportunity and all that and this, I felt, was just the time to indulge the white jean fetish that has been gently growing inside me for about four years. (I am not one of life’s fast learners).
The issue I have with white jeans is that they also look a little bit Euro Sloan. Or, when worn in combination with any cashmere item, a little bit Yummy Mummy. I do not pass judgement on these looks and yet, they are not the ones I aspire to. Despite this, my yearning for a pair was growing as they would, I fancied, turn me into a cool French girl in a band a la Charlotte Gainsbourg. Now that is a look I can aspire to. Please.
Well, as with so many questions, Zara was the answer. I’m in the middle of nowhere currently and the shopping opportunities are few but if I know anything I know that there’s always a Zara. So quick shopping trip done and white jeans in hand, or rather, on slightly goose pimply legs and I’m gonna tell you what I’ve learned.
Number one, go up a size. White jeans should not be skin tight. This, from a girl who lives in skinninest skinnies.
Number two, roll them up a bit. Simples, but makes all the difference.
Number three, know that you do indeed now look a little bit Euro-sloany and a little bit Yummy Mummyish and not at all really like you edit French Vogue, but stop caring. Just stop.

Walk your warm legs to the bar and get the whiskies in.