CFDAs

As you know, exams are upon me (two tomorrow), but here are my favourite dresses from the CFDAs, or 'fashion oscars'...

Not entirely sure about either. Alexa looks slightly frumpy and Emilie de Ravin looks uncomfortable. Still, good effort!


Both smart and sleek in black


Both of these are interesting and adventurous, what we expect from models. I warn you in advance that I am beginning a Devon Aoki obsession, and my Jessica Stam one is perpetual

My absolute favourite is...

SJP (surprisingly) in an Alexander McQueen, whom she honoured at the awards ceremony.

Sartorial showdown

The MET ball finally occurred! With Anna Wintour at the helm, it was a night of shocks and spectacle, and of course, extreme style. Parading down the carpets were the creme de la creme of the fashion world.

Some flourished, but there were the inevitable 'flops'. Now, I originally wrote one haiku when the nominees were announced for the CDFAs, but instead for each outfit there will be a haiku to match. For the most part...


Carey in Miu Miu

The blossoms encased you
so fresh you are,
the modern Flora of Primavera.


Alexa in Philip Lim

You are beautiful.
But I don't buy it, too perfectly
dishevelled.


Gisele in Alexander Wang for Gap

Fierce Gisele.
Eyes pierce the camera, nothing concealed,
like your dress.


Miss Alba looking elegant in Sophie Theallet for Gap...Yawn


Sienna and Jude...who cares about their clothes really, hello faces!

The eye candy arrives,
they are chased inside by whispers,
Oh! the challenges of beauty.


Vera Farmiga in Sophie Theallet for Gap

You got away with it in Marchesa. Not in Gap.
The ice blue exploded with pritt stick for black ribbon.
It must have been glued to you. No other excuse.


The tiger in Chanel

Sh-sh-she looks lovely.
Surely.
Too terrified to comment.


Chloe Sevigny in Proenza Schouler

The aqua-marine envelopes her,
dignified yet rare.
Maybe she is part of Primavera too.


Naomi Watts in lovely, fuschia pink Stella McCartney


Zoe Saldana in Calvin Klein

She wore the midnight sky
tonight, made divine
by Mr Klein.


SJP is a mermaid princess in Halston Heritage

Although Zoe Saldana looked completely stunning, for me the first prize in the sartorial showdown goes to Chloe Sevigny. I love love love that turquoise colour, and she took a risk with the outfit, which is key to gaining some fashion credit. Kudos to Sevigny!

The Inimitable Icon

Phew! What a week...

There are many perks that come with living in London, perhaps the most recent of which is the Grace Kelly dresses exhibition at the Victoria and Albert museum. Now, I have not actually had time to visit this exhibition (rest assured it shall happen soon), but this made me think about icons, but, in that self-absorbed way of ours, British ones. No, I hear you cry, Grace Kelly is not British. No, she is not, but perhaps there is more intrigue in ones own cultural icons than others, as they create more impact. Well, in any case, one person in particular inevitably sprung to mind...

Actress, beauty, talent, duty
to the country? Not really, just
an icon.
Alongside tea, crumpets,
croquet and reticence.
Barely size six, her waist
a mere twig, but she glides
willow-like. As with the oak,
she becomes stronger with age-
At least, her image does.
Britain encapsulated
in that Little Black Dress
bedazzled with rocks, and a cat
for good measure.
She put a spell on you
with those dark hypnotic eyes.
The eyebrows have a life of there own,
stamped across your head, like
you are across history.
There has never been such a beauty as you,
in and out. Actress. Activist.
We look up to you, we adore you,
Audrey, what did you say?
"I never think of myself as an icon.
What is in other people's minds is not in my mind.
I just do my thing."
Of course.

The iconic and quintessential Audrey Hepburn:

C D F A

The CDFAs are soon to be held, where there will most likely be a fashion showdown amongst the elite. The nominations have recently been announced, alongside the tribute to Mr McQueen and the awards that have already been awarded. If you get what I mean.

The 2010 nominees:

WOMENSWEAR DESIGNER OF THE YEAR

Marc Jacobs
Alexander Wang
Donna Karan

MENSWEAR DESIGNER OF THE YEAR

Tom Ford
Michael Bastian
Rag & Bone's Marcus Wainwright and David Neville

ACCESSORY DESIGNER OF THE YEAR

Marc Jacobs
Alexis Bittar
Proenza Schouler's Jack McCullough and Lazaro Hernandez

SWAROVSKI AWARD FOR WOMENSWEAR

Prabal Gurung
Joseph Altuzarra
Jason Wu

SWAROVSKI AWARD FOR MENSWEAR

Patrik Ervell
Simon Spurr
Richard Chai

SWAROVSKI AWARD FOR ACCESSORY DESIGN

Alexander Wang
Fenton/Fallon's Dana Lorenz
Eddie Borgo

INTERNATIONAL AWARD

Christopher Bailey

GEOFFREY BEENE LIFETIME ACHIEVEMENT AWARD

Michael Kors

ELEANOR LAMBERT AWARD

Tonne Goodman

EUGENIA SHEPPARD AWARD

Kim Hastreiter

CFDA BOARD OF DIRECTOR'S SPECIAL TRIBUTE AWARD

Alexander McQueen

FASHION ICON AWARD

Iman


Yay Christopher Bailey! Lets hope it's a knighthood next.
Fingers crossed for Marc Jacobs and Tom Ford. And Jason Wu.



A haiku (a preliminary to the full poem after the awards!)

Some are safe. The fashion
icon parades her golden trophy.
We are restless.

Battle of the dresses

It would be faintly ridiculous for me to let the Oscars flutter by without a mention, so here goes!

They came, they saw, they conquered.

The dresses, I mean,

they waltzed down the red carpet,

transforming each woman into a queen.

They bedazzled and battled

leaving the suits of men in their wake,

to confront the leader of the pack: Marchesa

was to commit a terrible mistake.

A furious few fought longer,

with chiffon, sequins even a scissor

or two, and tenacity was rewarded

amongst the pushy, pompous victor.

Prada trumped Dior with a score

of pazazz above bland,

yet flowers crept along the cloth

into the diamond, encasing the hand.

But for all this, the dresses fought in vain

for the true Queen arrived,

resplendent and dignified. For all their efforts they

would have to mature, and next year try again.

Very dramatic, but then again, this is the Oscars!

To keep, or not to keep? That is the question.

I had a slight dilemma (not particularly drastic!) after I ordered a skirt from the Urban Outfitters website, and it arrived not the flowing skirt that I was hoping for a la Saab, but rather rigid. Here's the poem:

Struck with pleasantries

I ordered it off the net.

It entrapped, as the night

sky enclosed about me amidst

a whirlwind of structured stars.

It settled above the worries and woes

sent to disrupt, they gathered dust.

It had to be mine.

That was as it should have been.

Instead, the stars were stuck down

to the stiff chiffon- what had they done?

The glittering specks were tamed

they fought but one by one

were picked from the sky

as the mantra of the human

rang across the sudden walls.

It fell down and the dust was cast into the air.

Despite the poem, I still quite like the skirt!

The Divine Ford and Firth

Sorry- long week! It is always incredibly hectic after half term. Of course, work will become progressively more chaotic as exam season approaches.

Anyway, onto the fashion. I saw Tom Ford's 'A Single Man' a few days ago, and thought it was wonderful; heavily stylised yet tender and heart-warming. Colin Firth's performance was beautifully nuanced and captivating. A few models here and there weren't too bad either (I don't think Tom Ford could resist!).

So here's the poem:

A Single Man

Amidst his impeccable house

the professor sat in tense anticipation.

Everywhere a reminder of

the architect he lost.

No amount of Chanel, Dior or Armani

could retrieve him from his grieving.

And rightly so.

The desperate lady

perfecting her eyes,

creating her face

was powerless.

The paper lamp flickered across

the decadence but it could not

reach those trapped in misery.

Meanwhile a confused boy

with a jumper of snow

wondered why the professor was afraid.

His model girlfriend looked beautiful

and was quiet. Nothing else.

As the professor perfected his suit

on the bed the gun glinted and clicked

but he was a coward.

The fully furnished man could not do it.

Instead, he lit up and took the Aston round the bend.

Callow Carey No Longer

A tribute to the wonderful Carey Mulligan, who deservedly earned her BAFTA yesterday...

You gazed with awe into your mother's wardrobe

too early,

It gazed back at you with tender derision.

As you cunningly matured it brightened with age,

The rock became the diamond.

You tried it on again but

it sagged. It was not supposed to sag.

Maybe a few more years are in order?

All the while you become

Magnificent.

The final attempt is upon you,

you have tried your hair first:

long, bobbed, pixie, brown, blonde.

Blonde and pixie it is

You're the Puck.

At last, your arms creep along the floral web

the shoulders can support it,

the silk no longer drowns you but

your yellow head bubbles above the surface,

like the flower.

Your skin is aglow,

Did you stay in all these years?

Nothing to match your eyes, the real diamonds

Or do they rest upon your ears?

To finish, a ribbon to secure

as you gaze upon yourself

it is the dress who reveres.

It fits.

Change of plan

I have done some investigating. It is clear to me that there is an extreme abundance of fashion blogs. Who really needs one more? I have come to the conclusion that this particular blog is slightly useless, and have formulated a new plan.
So, the grand plan. Here it is: I am going to write about fashion but, I am going to write about it through the wonders of poetry. Crazy I know, but I want to have a go and see where I end up.
It will probably be pretty evident who I have been reading at the time of writing the poems. For instance I am buried in Plath at present, so perhaps a more candid and sinister side will seep through. Who knows? That is the beauty of poetry. Take what you want from it, it does not need to be clear.
However I would like to mention that I do not mean to cause offense in any of my poetry, I simply write down my jumbled thoughts as soon as they form.
Just to briefly mention, I am going to start a blog on culture in general, and explore anything of interest to me and hopefully to you! From the victorian era to the swinging sixties, I shall write down any nuggets of information worth reading.
Onto the first poem then- bear in mind that I will improve with time, so I hope this is not a enormous anti-climax (although I'm sure you were not holding your breath)...

Upon hearing on the death of the brilliant Alexander McQueen, I composed this poem:


Alexander McQueen.

When Wacko Jacko died it was bittersweet.
Fire and ice collided. King of Pop. 'Child molester'.
But you, when you died the world
flickered out momentarily
as the immense presence tore at the fickle few.
Momentarily.
From its ashes sprung a new fiend, emptiness.
It crashed upon our ears,
Our eyes,
Our words choked and then-
We picked up our paper and carried on...

I musn't forget the tickets for tomorrow.
It had your name on. Now replaced.
But it is etched in me
Rebellious You.


Again, no offence intended. I promise that my future poems will be less melancholy.

I will update roughly every two or three days, as that gives me plenty of time to have any strokes of inspiration.

I hope you will continue to have a look at my future posts- thanks!