Holey moley

I was wondering who'd wear this Death Becomes Her-style Viktor & Rolf cartoon ballgown first. Good on Katy Perry for embracing it's full-on, feelgood barminess. Various websites have made the requisite, bad, mouse-nibbling jokes but whoever said fashion had to make sense? I love Viktor & Rolf's great sense of humour - their collections are always a breath of fresh air against a host of imperious pretentiousness. Fashion should always put a smile on your face. Happy Friday! 

Gaga says Happy Birthday to Hello Kitty

I am literally crying Swarovski tears of joy. There are simply not enough superlatives to describe this glorious marriage of Lady Gaga and Hello Kitty; my two favourite things in the world, ever.

I truly hope Gaga gets weirder and weirder, I bloody love her.

What do you think? Is she all style and no substance or does the industry need her special brand of crazy?

Oh Deer

Ruddy brilliant knick-knack emporium Caravan are selling this little beauty for a mere £99.

I think my life has been seriously lacking a Bambi lamp up til now. When is it too early to start compiling your Christmas list?

I Just Buy It For The Articles

Mr Hefner hasn't been in my good books lately, what with all the splitting up with the Girls Next Door palava. Most disappointing. He's recovered well, however, with this beautiful editorial in this month's Playboy, featuring French actor Gilles Marini. Known for his role as Dante (*faint*) in the Sex and the City movie and, erm, Dancing With The Stars, Marini scrubs up pretty damn well for this shoot, taken at iconic Hollywood hotel The Roosevelt. The man certainly can rock a suit.

I love how richly filmic it is; it was inspired by Paul Schrader's 'The Comfort of Strangers'. Film-inspired fashion shoots always tend to be great - a favourite of mine was The Royal Tenenbaums shoot for Harper's.
Can you think of any other great film-meets-fashion shoots?

Ashish SS 10

Goddammit, Ashish is cool. He's a ruddy nice bloke to boot so it's only right that I publicly salivate over his latest sequinned offerings. I literally cannot wait until the 'I get around' top hits the shelves.

Irony AND sparkles? Yes please.

Cavalli Club

You may have gathered by now that I bloody love (and not always in an ironic way) all things flashy, trashy and of questionable taste. This makes Roberto Cavalli my spiritual leader and Dubai my land of milk, honey and champagne bellinis. The Cavalli Club at The Fairmont Hotel is the Narnia-like portal to the centre of this louche underworld, overflowing with Eurotrash like me who think leopard-print chairs are the height of chic.

A melee of snakeskin, fur and Swarovski, the club-cum-restaurant screams style over substance but proved AHM and I wrong with the beautiful food, fabulous cocktails and  fit manager  impeccable service.

I spent the entire meal very overexcited, spilled things, applied too much bronzer in homage to the great man himself, got drunk on champagne cocktails and glamour, darling and repeatedly asked the bespoke-suited waiters if Bobby was hiding in the kitchen. All in all, a very successful evening. Go.

Cringe

I don't plan on making a habit of saying I thought of things first but I've been planning on posting excerpts from my teenage diaries here for MONTHS! Damn you, procrastination. I can't remember where I found out about Cringe, the new book based on nights in London where the old-enough-to-know-better would gather to read out passages from their teenage diaries (and simultaneously betray their former angst-riddled selves). Absolute genius.

Better late than never, here's the first woefully Angela Chase-esque snippet from my 1999 diary (me aged 14-15):

(The preface, incidentally, was a very succinct: Live fast. Drink loads. Party hard. Evidently my motto at 14.)

Hello mum. 

I know you're reading this - or maybe you've skipped this part and gone straight to the juicy bits. I think invading someone's privacy is wrong, no matter what your relationship is with them. I also think if you can't trust your mum, you can't trust anyone. If I know you've read my diary I don't ever think I'll trust you fully again. And that's a very sad thing for me to realise. Please don't make it real.

Just close the damn book.

I was a comedy genius and didn't even know it. So solemn. So earnest.

So ridiculous.

Were you as misguided a teen as I was?