Because Paul Harnden Shoemakers

One of my favourite destinations in Soho is IF, which sells European and Asian designs.  I'd always gravitated toward Ivan Grundahl's clothes, but today someone else stole my stylist's/stylish heart.

The English company Paul Harnden Shoemakers makes shoes, obviously (or not necessarily, really), but it also makes beautiful scarves and coats.*  The scarves I saw at IF both incorporated vintage illustrations.  Above is my photo of an oblong scarf, and you can see the same print on a man's shirt, below:

Harnden also showed a bone-colored scarf with navy illustrations of individuals from a children's book, with each page number intact. And he makes a scarf which reminds me of my R. L. Stevenson's A Child's Garden of Verses (which I still have) and its beautifully faded illustrations, with colors like someone hand-tinted a photograph.

This coat, which research shows me is available in LA at Decades, reminds of me a Vivienne Westwood. 

But better because discovered.  (Read this article from The Atlantic on the "new" use of "because"):

http://www.theatlantic.com/technology/archive/2013/11/english-has-a-new-preposition-because-internet/281601/

Because The Atlantic.

Not into this new use of "because"? Ahh, well.  No Harn-den.

*Actually it would be quite brilliant for Paul Harnden Shoemakers not to make shoes, though the gentleman does make some beautifully shabby ones, perfect for dancing across rooftops or to wear while sweeping the hearth.

London in New York (a visit to Jo Malone)

I may have come to terms with the sad fact that I will probably not be going to London to style-blog the Olympic Games.

So I'll take London where I can get it, even if I "get" it in New York.

Today I took an impromptu jaunt into the city and landed in midtown just as the rain started to come down (London-y, no?).

I was hungry and decided to look for a little cafe en route from the car park (at the funky Hearst Building).  As I was approaching the Avenue of the Americas, the raindrops parted and Pret a Manger appeared under a rainbow.  (Not really, but please allow a little dramatic effect.)

I popped in, hoping against hope that *maybe* there might be a totally British section of the cooler that stocked a Coronation Chicken sandwich. Instead there was chicken, avocado, and balsamic vinagrette.  I made do.

Then I high-tailed it over to Saks, in the mood for a bit of old-world department-store luxury.  I used to visit Saks on my lunch hour when I worked in the city and have some fond memories of celebrity beauty encounters: Frederic Fekkai!  Bobbi Brown!

One of my stops was at the Jo Malone counter.  Ms. Malone, as readers will know, opened up her signature fragrance shop on Sloane Street, in (or off?) London's Sloane Square. (Does the street count as the square?)  Anyhooo, I remember wheeling my first-born in her pram into Ms. Malone's Sloane Street shop some 13 years ago. 

Today at Saks I tried a citrus, then a floral, and then layered them.  I'm *not* a fragrance person, but tonight am aromatically transported to a little green-and-white striped park chair every time my wrist wafts through the air.  I think I must return for a purchase (I'm notoriously non-impulsive when it comes to cosmetics and fragrance; they'll be there when I get back.)

And finally, I just opened my email to find a quote from one of my very favourite London designers for an article I'm writing. 

Rain, Pret, fragrance, lovely designer: some days London just calls out in the sweetest of tones:

Miss C's Olympian Selvedge Story

My story "Power Lines: Stella McCartney's Winning Style" has just appeared in the new Selvedge sports-themed summer issue, timed just right for the Olympic Games.

McCartney has designed the kit/athletic uniforms for Great Britain's Olympic athletes, and I wrote about those designs as well as about her sportswear-inflected fashion.

Thanks to the smart Kate Battrick, who provided me with her assessment of McCartney's designs for the piece.

One Thousand and One Bytes: In Celebration of Publishing

This is my 1001th post(!!!), and I wasn't sure how to mark it.  But in the tradition of 1001 Nights, I think that stories are appropriate, especially stories that deal with the publishing world.

Today I read a terrific article in the New York Times about Janet Groth, long-time receptionist on the 18th floor of the New Yorker when it was on 43rd Street.  I love stories about New Yorker culture, and this one, from 25-year-receptionist turned scholar and author, did not disappoint. 

But I was drawn to more than her experiences: just look at what she's wearing in this photo:

This dress, photographed in Greece in what must be the late 1950s-early 1960s looks almost like this one from Tory Burch:

And this home decorating fabric from Amy Butler:

And maybe this ghostly Marni print:

I interviewed at the New Yorker, in its fabled 43rd Street location, around 1997.  The position would have been a ridiculous fit--the editor said he'd be unconfortable with a PhD candidate fetching his dry-cleaning (snap!)--and I was too seasoned in my own way for that kind of Devil Wore Prada experience (Devil Drycleaned Prada?).  So it didn't work out and the editor jumped ship with Tina Brown anyway, not too much later. 

I was reminded of my NY publishing worldview when I was recently given a novel.  I can be turned off pretty quickly by certain titles (like this one) and covers (like this one) but decided to give the novel a go because I trust the judgment of the person who gave it to me. 

Turns out, this novel, Happily Ever After (eeek!--that title!) by British author Harriet Evans is a very good read about the book publishing worlds of London and New York (Evans has experience).  I even invented a literary heritage for Evans: her parents are Sir Harold Evans and Joni Evans (her parents really are in publishing too). 

Anyway, the novel's heroine (the far-too-trendily named "Elle"--eeek! again) wants to be the kind of gell who pops into Pret and grabs a takeaway coffee and sandwich for lunch.  I wanted to pop into Dean and Deluca for the same.

(I did go to this great little bistro in the mornings between 5th and Mad for its sweet potato muffins dusted in icing sugar.  Delicious. At lunchtime the joint was in full swing with serious lunchers who had their expense accounts in tow.)

Back again: the novel is very self-aware of its status as a potential chick-lit book, and of the derisive status that chick-lit has in some minds.  So there are smart discussions of cover designs (what makes a novel look literary?  What doesn't?); of Bridget Jones' Diary as the original chick-lit text (or is it?); and literary versus "pleasure" reading.  Think literary canon vs. personal paracanon--the books that anthologies tell us to read versus the books that we LOVE to read (and there can be crossover).

And what on earth is a detail from that umbrella by London Undercover doing at the top of this post?  It reminds me of the gingham umbrella on the cover of Evans' novel, which further recommended the book to me (Despite the shopping bag.  I'd have added a satchel instead).

Still awake?  Tune in for Scheherazadean story 1002, yet to come.

The Yellow Books

Recently a large unadorned structural objet came into my daily work life, and it called out for some immediate tarting up.

So I papered it.  I've been collecting wallpaper samples for the past decade, having almost papered my dining room. For this small but conspicuous project, I went to my first wallpaper discovery, J. R. Burrows and selected Priory Garden, which was created in the "style" of William Morris. 

I did notice that the Burrows Company said that rolls of the wallpaper, imported from England somewhere around 1983, were found in the attic of the Nowrood, Massachusetts, family home of the publisher and photographer Fred Holland Day, but attic schmattic, Day Schmay, blah,blah, blah: I was interested in the flowers and colours.

So (and there's always a "so") I was surprised to learn, while discussing how many rolls to order with the charming J. R. Burrows over the phone, that my new wallpaper has a literary pedigree. 

For Fred Holland Day, who papered his father's bedroom in the historic Norwood Holland Day House with Priory Garden, also published the American edition of The Yellow Book, a popular literary magazine (1894-1897) from London. 

The illustrator Aubrey Beardsley was its first art editor, and male literary greats such as Henry James, William Butler Yeats and H. G. Wells were printed in it.  The Yellow Book also promoted women writers, such as Ada Leverson and illustrators, such as Ethel Reed.

A couple of other Yellow Books that have recently caught my eye are those by the artist Harland Miller. Utterly self-aware of his sometimes "macho" (his word) work, Miller creates fictional Penguin covers with a wink. 

Some of these covers look to be a good eight feet tall; some fit beautifully over a mantle, such as this cheeky pink book in the London home of decorator Harriet Anstruther:


The fine print is bold.

 There do not appear to be any yellow books in Anstruther's home, but lush, bitten rosy pinks abound:

I'll give Miller the last word:

You Zetter, You Zetter, You Zet . . .

So that I can properly source the vintage textiles that continue to catch my eye and imagination, I am taking a virtual trip to London, where I shall be ensconced at the Zetter Townhouse.



I shall, through the power of my imagination, climb these stairs that remind me of a Kaffe Fassett crazy log cabin square:

My room will be this one, draped in Union Jacks, all the better (the Zetter!) to immerse myself in Anglomania:

I shall take a daily pint on one of these banquettes:

and I shall spread out my fabrics in the library,

perhaps enticing fellow textilophiles who pass through the lobby:

Although my mind will say "Do not Disturb," my door knob might just say this:

And how does that song go, again?  "When I say 'I love you,' you say, 'You better . . .'"

But more importantly: Who's coming with??!!