Wednesday, 28 September 2011

Dressing up at London Fashion Week

Photo: Zoe Glazebrook for Vogue UK

Photos: Craig Arend for Altamira NYC

Photo: Refinery 29

If one could capture the essence of fashion – boil it up and then sieve it – how might the result be described? I like to think of it simply as: ‘dressing up’.
Of course perhaps the phrase ‘dressing up’ evokes images of pirates’ costumes, glittery shawls and sunlit childhood afternoons, rather than structured tailoring and catwalk shows. And yet, if one looks a little longer then the similarities begin to seep through.

Entering the courtyard of Somerset House, the first impression takes in small flocks of street style photographers. Their camera lenses are like beaks, snapping for 'the' outfit, 'the' person walking past who can be swooped on and asked, “excuse me, may I take your photo?”
Accordingly, plenty of those attending (including me) take it as a great occasion to dress up. Feathers, fringing, Marie-Antoinette - style taxidermy headgear. All this and more can be found striding across the cobbles. I enjoy it. Having the chance to spend a couple of days submerging myself in a world that celebrates and revels in style, plus observing all those who make diverse careers out of it, is fascinating.
In the words of my good friend, photographer Dvora, of Fashionistable (who is currently shooting for Vogue UK here), being behind the camera at London Fashion Week is like, “being in a sweet shop” – colours, textures and ideas abound everywhere. There are some who may see this as a negative - an opportunity for narcissism – but what’s the problem with enjoying conscious dressing?
My own experience of LFW is certainly enhanced by being able to dress creatively in outfits I don’t necessarily get the chance to wear every day. I may be there to learn, to observe, to take notes and photos and to pay homage to favourite designers - but I may as well have fun too. After all, many of the outfits I put on my blog might only be appreciated by the sheep in local fields or the occasional bemused walker who wonders if I’m really going hiking in heels and chiffon.

It thus seemed apt that a theme of ‘dressing up’ ran through many of the collections I saw. My London Fashion Week started with Paul Costelloe. I had caught a tube, run along the Strand and paused to change my flat shoes for lace-up, heeled brogues, before heading towards the entrance. It was an enjoyable beginning, with a collection that referenced the sixties. While I sat in the dark, my small notebook clutched in one hand, I tried to imagine how I would write about the clothes. The thought I kept returning to was the idea of days spent in grand houses playing hide and seek. Details such as ruffled necks and puffed sleeves gave it the look of a carefree afternoon of dressing up and playing charades. For me,  Costelloe captured the innocence, cut and elegance of sixties styling – a decade that I am more than partial to.

Another element involved in dressing up is the creation of a narrative. My friend Ellen is my long-suffering model when it comes to assembling characters such as zombies or figures in paintings (see previous posts).  Armed with the contents of my dressing up box, we have a great time whipping up fictional scenarios.
It's probably not surprising then that I find myself drawn to collections and shows with a very strong sense of identity and narrative - where the models are not only being dressed up, but also inhabit the spirit and story of the collection.
Perhaps the best designer I saw at London Fashion Week to illustrate this is Corrie Nielson. She certainly knows how to put on a show. Her latest: Arbiter Elegantiarum, was inspired by ‘The Picture of Dorian Gray’ mixed with oriental influences. It took place in what I assume was a concrete car-park, that had been appropriated for the occasion and kitted out with a panel of large, bare light bulbs hanging over the catwalk like a modernist chandelier.
The models didn’t stride – they sauntered – as the eerie music pulsed and camera shutters clicked like moths. What of the clothes? Folds of fabric cascaded in all directions like artfully re-arranged satin curtains, with acres of ruching, layering and pleating in between. My favourite piece was a green (I assume satin) jacket that fanned out below the bust like book pages or an elaborate ruff. It summed up the collection: the dramatic clothes that called to mind decadence and sumptuousness; the cuts that mixed together elements of Vivienne Westwood and Alexander McQueen. They almost made me want to dress up as a china doll and wander around graveyards looking melancholy – but that might be going a little too far.

Watching various collections drew out threads of comparison. The design process is akin to a writer creating a story – there must be a plot (the order of clothes), an inspiration, and in current economic times, a selling/marketing point too. But sometimes there is also a muse, as with Corrie Nielson above, and also with the design duo Fyodor Golan.
Although I wasn’t lucky enough to see this ultra-talented pair win the Fashion Fringe - which they more than deserved - I did get a close look at the clothes the next day when they were being exhibited. Gobsmacked is not a word I often use in relation to anything, but it is appropriate here. The muse for the collection was Frida Kahlo, and she was most certainly present – in the flower and bird motifs, in the low backs revealing the line of the spine, in the idea of transformation and metamorphosis. As a girl who has enjoyed a closer than usual relationship with her spine, I loved it. I will definitely be returning to this collection in a future post.

While at London Fashion Week I also saw Jaeger, Masha Ma and Jean-Pierre Braganza, but to borrow a fairytale line – “that’s another story,” for another day - or at least, for a Part 2.

The photos above were among the first ones I came across of my outfits at LFW. Many thanks to the photographers credited. And if anyone happens across other images elsewhere I'd really appreciate any links.

Finally, dressing up and narrative collections aside, what really made my LFW enjoyable were the people: Style East, Stella, Dvora, David, Jill, Dina, Nadia, Frances, Peony, Vanessa, Pearl and Craig among a whole host of warm, friendly, lovely individuals. It's the people there who make a good experience into a great one.

Finally, how amazing is this painting that Dina of She Loves Mixtapes did of me? You can see more images on her blog. I was shocked  (in the best possible sense) when she emailed them to me - how wonderfully talented she is.

Monday, 19 September 2011

Celebration or Denigration?

I've just spent the most wonderful weekend at London Fashion Week, where I saw fascinating shows, scribbled notes to my heart's content and met with good friends as well as interesting new people. I'll be covering much of this in a subsequent post. However, time is short and my teachers at college have decided that I should have no free hours this week, as I've been set several essays. Therefore, I thought it would be an appropriate time to post one of the articles that I submitted for the Vogue Talent Contest - particularly in light of some of the coverage that London Fashion Week and fashion in general recieves in the media. This was my polemic/ opinion piece:

Celebration or denigration?

As a reader of Vogue, have you ever had to justify your interest in fashion? Been accused of frivolity? Maybe someone has commented on the shallow ideals fashion promotes. Or you might have witnessed a shriek of – “It gives nothing to the world!”
Fashion, above other creative fields, is a magnet – repelling and attracting equally -- and disparagement is something it attracts with ease. Open up a newspaper and there’s another article screaming, “Why I Hate Fashion.” (Ergo, why my opinion counts more than yours because I am a serious individual, and to show how serious I am, I shall wear a shapeless cardigan). Or another claims smugly that catwalks are filled with, “emaciated teenage coat-hangers with spaghetti limbs on rickety stilts”. Furthermore, look at any fashion-related piece on a broadsheet website and scroll to the comments below. It is guaranteed that somewhere among the reactions will be an individual who is irate that the writer of the article chose to talk about anything other than world news or politics.
Fashion may not solve global crisis and nor does it claim to (though it can be valuable to help rebuild psychological confidence - as explored by Linda Grant in 'The Thoughtful Dresser'). In fact, it is one of the many means we use to distract ourselves from harsher realities – in the same vein as reading a book or enjoying good food. Why then the criticism reserved for fashion alone?
Firstly, the differentiation between ‘fashion’ and ‘style’ is not often recognised. Using the umbrella statement, “I hate fashion” is a little like basing all your assumptions regarding cinema on one trashy ‘romcom’. Fashion itself is the changing of trends every six months or so, with new collections being produced by designers twice-yearly. Style is using your clothing choices to express your personality. Sometimes the two coincide.
However, for many, the presumption is that anyone who actively enjoys and plans how to dress must be a bubblehead. For those sitting in judgment, it is apparently impossible to be both intelligent and stylishly attired: wear a leopard print turban simply because you want to, and you deserve ridicule.
Why is it alright to aim a pool of vitriol at conscious dressers? Where is the censure of such critics? Why does being a part of the fashion industry invite vilification?
It may not be a perfect industry - but then neither are the worlds of sport, fine art, music or literature. All similarly offer entertainment and enrichment. But fashion rises above these others in flack-attraction.
Perhaps attacking fashion is simply another form of bullying that goes unchallenged, an inverted status game of ‘my tribe is better than yours’. After all, clothing or painting the human body is deeply ingrained in our ancestral psyche. It’s an identifier, an instant signifier of belonging to a group. In colder climates, wearing clothes is a functional necessity. But more than that, with the luxury of choice, it’s a joy. Joy - now isn’t that something to celebrate, not denigrate?

In these photos I'm wearing an incredibly sumptuous gold silk Chloe dress. Yes, that's right - Chloe. No, I couldn't believe it either. This was a birthday present from one of the most magnificent, most beautiful and warm-hearted people I know - I call her my fairy godmother. I adopted her as my 'Fairy' Godmother because, after all, how else can you refer to someone who is not only able to whisk up a dress as fabulous as this, in a froth of tissue paper, but someone who also conjured her way to London to spend time by my hospital bed day after day in the aftermath of spinal surgery.
Here, it is worn with Office velvet heels and a long sleeved top from a charity shop. The straw bales accessorizing my look were appropiated from a local farmer, daahling. Or maybe that should read as my mum and I sneaking into the field to take some snaps just before the farmer arrived with tractor and trailer to cart them away into winter storage.

Monday, 12 September 2011

March of the Penguins

My fingers run over stacked spines in my grandma’s flat. Book spines, that is. Titles, authors and publishers all piled together. Here and there a logo: a small black penguin - usually on an orange background.
The older copies have the white stripe across the middle like a debutante’s sash. These are now considered iconic; the book world’s equivalent of a discreet designer label sewn into the back of a vintage dress. I am talking, of course, about Penguin books.

On a recent trip to the library I pulled out ‘Front Cover – Great Book Jacket and Cover Design’ by Alan Powers, which details the fashions, fads and relevance of book designs throughout the twentieth century. It was fascinating, proving the importance of the book jacket as much as the work inside (even though I've always been told 'not to judge a book by its cover'). Among the reflections on the impact of twenties modernism and design in the digital age, there were several spreads devoted to Penguin. The history is simple...
It was set up as a company in 1935, producing very cheap, high-quality paperback reprints of books. It was initially supported by ‘The Bodley Head’ and other publishers. The colour coded system was in fact inspired by Albatross (another publisher), and the books were first stocked by Woolworths - one of the first UK high street victims of the current recession.
Although looked down on by other established publishers, under the guidance of Allen Lane, Penguin went from strength to strength, especially post World War II. They are still highly successful today, with many illustrious authors (if you’ll excuse the pun) tucked under their wing.

It is impossible to have a favourite publisher – my most beloved books have sprung from all over the world. However, what can’t be disputed is the sheer aesthetic appeal of an original Penguin book cover. They are immediately recognizable, adding not just classic design to any bookshelf – but innovative ideas too. The dust jacket can cradle anything, from acidic and witty observations on class to tales of overcoming adversity. They are culturally significant.

Someone who completely understands this is Tony Davis, who founded 'Art Meets Matter' alongside Angela Lambert in 2002. I’m sure many will recognize his designs – the brightly coloured Penguin mugs, tea-towels and deckchairs.
I was lucky enough to meet him at the Hay Book Festival a few months ago, in a tent dedicated to Penguin (and Faber – another favourite) paraphernalia. By that point I had drunk two very strong mocha coffees, and was wandering around on a bit of a caffeine overload. Therefore, my memories seem quite vibrant; the purples, yellows, oranges and greens of the stacked mugs particularly bright. When I remarked on what a clever business idea it was, the stallholder said, “Oh, you should tell that to Tony” – which I did, enthusiastically, when he materialised seemingly from nowhere.
He was obviously incredibly passionate about his work, demonstrating ideas by picking up a pack of penguin pencils that were “exactly the same size” as book spines. And although I didn’t buy them, I was terribly tempted.
I walked away from the stall feeling unusually inspired. What was it about these objects, these useful items that made them so desirable? Was it, as some suggested, that they simply represented an aspirational lifestyle choice?
But maybe it’s more than that. As Davis himself said in an excellent Guardian article, he thinks of these creations as “Celebrating the essence of books”. I can definitely agree. Of the four Penguin mugs we own, I have read and enjoyed three of the titles emblazoned around them – The Great Gatsby, Jane Eyre and Pride and Prejudice. I am yet to tackle Virginia Woolf, but I can tell you that when I do, it will be with my purple ‘A Room of One’s Own’ penguin mug in hand.

I hope that Davis is right in assuming that items could inspire people to pick up books, something sorely needed in an increasingly internet-driven society (she says while writing on a blog).
I am a firm advocate for books as physical objects. While I can appreciate the utility of Kindles or ipads, it's not possible to replicate the joy of discovering soft grey lines of pencil underlining favourite sections or making observations in a classic; the markings over fifty years old. Neither will there ever be an app that releases the musty, biscuit-y tang of cream pages from a screen. In fact, at another stall at Hay Festival advertising the London Library (which I seriously want to move into/ work at full time), one of the staff said that a specialist perfumer had been called in to create a scent inspired by old books. That strikes me as just a little bit amazing.

From my point of view as a consumer, I appreciate the Penguin products because they integrate what books stand for into other parts of my life. Someone who loves cars might also own calendars, key-rings, photos and other household objects that relate to that automobile obsession. So why not do the same for books? Especially if it helps to combat the vapid, ghost-written 'celeb' memoirs that often invade the best seller lists like armies of ants.
So, my mugs, my book spine wrapping paper and a set of Penguin postcards showing 100 iconic covers serve to show the impact that books can, and do still have on the world. They rejoice in the written word – quite rightly celebrating the cerebral.

As you may be able to tell, I am dressed as a Penguin book cover. This would definitely be a fancy dress outfit of choice. I achieved my ‘literary look’ with an orange skirt and shirt from a charity shop, vintage hat and gloves that used to belong to my great-grandma, and a vintage white silk sash.

Finally, those affected by 9/11 were very much in my thoughts yesterday - those who died, as well as the relatives and friends who live with the consequences of that day, every day. Polka Dot Jill wrote an immensely powerful post recalling and reflecting on her responses at the time.

Wednesday, 7 September 2011

Vogue Talent Contest

I’m in a subdued airport terminal corridor at eleven pm. Everyone hurrying by looks tired and desperate to get home. We feel the same. We have just spent the week in Spain surrounded by fresh fish, terracotta buildings and plenty of sun. I am standing with my family on a 'travelator', which is moving along at a sedate pace. I scroll through a slew of bland PR emails on my phone, and then spot something that makes my stomach do a grand jete.

Vogue Talent Contest 2011- Result.
“Dear Rosalind, I am delighted to announce that you are the winner of the Vogue Talent Contest 2011...”
“Oh my Jesus!”
My mum turns around, looking concerned.
“Is it bad news?”
I shake my head and babble.
“I’m the winner! It says I’ve won!”
News of this email travels down the single file line of our family and friends in a Chinese Whisper. My dad asks if I’m sure. Where was it sent from? Is it a friend’s hoax? Nope, it’s real. I need to sit down.

The Vogue Talent Contest has been held every year for the last 60 years. Previous winners include novelist Owen Sheers and Vogue contributors Charlotte Sinclair and Harriet Quick.
The entry requirements are straightforward: to be under 25, and to submit three written articles – a memory, a polemic and a cultural review. It is the latter, written by me that can be found in the current October Issue of UK Vogue on page 204. I titled this third piece (Agri)cultural Review – it uses elements of parody but is also part commentary on an event in the rural calendar. Ironically this was the one I had fretted about most, as I hadn’t visited any galleries or shows since before my surgery in October 2010. It was the last of the three to get written, and was something of a wild card in terms of the idea and inspiration.

The other two entry pieces will be posted on my blog in the coming weeks. All three were written in Spring – and were continually polished, re-worked re-drafted and pedantically edited for several weeks. I worked on them at the same time as I prepared for my art exam, and geared up ahead of revision season. The envelope addressed to Conde Nast was finally posted in a fluster on the day before the closing date, sent by Recorded Delivery.

A letter telling me I had been shortlisted, replete with Alexandra Shulman’s signature, arrived the day before my final GCSE exam. I was so shocked I could only squeak and hyperventilate, like a set of dropped bagpipes. There was just one drawback. On the day of the lunch to which all finalists were invited, at Vogue headquarters in Hanover Square, I was due to be in a plane on the way to Spain. Being shortlisted was, by itself a huge honour that I rode high on, but how I wanted to sit down to lunch with the editors and writers I admired. I think I may have sulked. Alternative flights were sought,  but it was fruitless. All the feverish internet activity didn't turn up a way to get me on holiday a day later. There were no flights available.
It was several days later when I had already emailed Vogue to inform them that I would, sadly, not be able to attend, that our friends (with whom we were holidaying) rang to let us know they had found an alternate plan – an available flight to a tiny, recently opened airport. If I could make my way across London to Heathrow on the day after the lunch then I could join my family in Galicia. There was no question - I immediately emptied my bank account to book the new flight.

This was how I found myself waking up as the sky stretched its arms and yawned very early on a Friday morning. I was driven to the train by a friend, to be met at the other end by the wonderful person I call my ‘honorary uncle’: Clive Boursnell – an extraordinary photographer who then captured me walking into the Conde Nast building (he positioned me twice, oblivious to antagonising surrounding traffic!) He had also entertained me on the tube journey and quick cafe visit with his anecdotes and tales of Bea Miller, Bill Gibb and Cecil Beaton. So, the top three photos and the one below are with thanks to and courtesy of Clive.

After a fair degree of indecision, the outfit I had chosen was as shown: a vintage Jaeger cream silk shirt, (charity shopped), tucked into my favourite St Michael’s vintage cream culottes, also second hand. Over the top was a full length cardigan (birthday present...from a charity shop), kept in place with a worn, pink leather obi belt from ebay. My shoes were Carvela – heeled brogues that clicked as I strode through the revolving door over to the reception desk. Gold letters above my head spelt out V-O-G-U-E.

After giving my name I joined the other finalists (eight of us in total - and they were all so interesting, engaging and talented, but most of all, friendly) who were piled up on a leather couch. We smiled and introduced ourselves. Our ages ranged from 16 (me) to 25, and among us there were students, graduates, interns and a science teacher specialising in astrophysics.
We were soon called upstairs, where we were each given a name badge and a glass of bubbly – served in glasses that curved out like lilies. The judges included Alexandra Shulman (UK Vogue editor), Julie Myerson (novelist), Jo Ellison, Emma Elwick-Bates, Lisa Armstrong and Frances Bentley.
There was a brief ‘getting to know each other’ and then we were ushered through to the lunch room. The walls were bright white, covered with monochrome portraits and fashion shots from Vogue’s illustrious history. Twiggy and Jean Shrimpton stared down at me and I felt my cheeks flush the same colour as my belt.
We were seated with a judge either side; the judges moving two places along after every course, meaning that each finalist had the chance potentially to talk with six other people. The conversations were informal – with Alexandra Shulman it ranged from discussing the Ballet Russes, the inspirational Tim Walker (who was one of “her photographers” that she had championed) and the V&A; then with Julie Myerson - scoliosis and University choices. Recurring themes were my spine, my school, my future and my age, (I was referred to as “the baby” more times than I've sat on late trains). I was overwhelmed when Julie Myerson described my piece about recovering in intensive care as having “no extra words” and feeling like a part of something bigger. I also discussed fashion and style blogs with a different judge, and we evaluated the future of blogging as an industry.

When the conversation and delicious food drew to a close a few hours later we were offered a tour of the Conde Nast building. As you can imagine, no-one turned it down! We first explored the offices of GQ and Tatler, before being ushered along to the floor that housed Vogue. The highlight was, of course the clothes - ooh the clothes. The sheer volume of garments was breathtaking. Whole rails of trousers; walls of cosy looking jumpers and capes; rows of shoes lined up neatly like schoolchildren; an extraordinary sequinned dress accessorized with feathers. A member of staff made a reference to staying in the office until midnight and I wasn’t surprised.
It was strange seeing the magazine stripped back to its bare components, like the switches on a circuit board or the chemicals in a concoction. The people I was observing were the ones responsible for a new UK Vogue plopping through my front door every month.

The final part of our tour led us to the basement, where the Vogue archives are housed. I could happily camp out there – shelves heaving with fashion and photography books, alongside large files with every back issue of Vogue (both UK and foreign editions) from 1950 onwards.
By the time I floated away from this extraordinary day of meeting inspirational professionals and incredibly talented finalists, I felt complete. I had already worked out who I thought would win, and I was just ecstatic to have been given such an opportunity. As far as I was concerned, being shortlisted and getting to attend the lunch was a prize in itself. I left for Spain the next morning, shouldering a sense of fulfilment on one shoulder, and a very heavy bag on the other.

After recovering from the shock of being told I had won, I remembered that the most incredible part of the winner’s prize is a month of paid work experience at Vogue, which I will complete next summer. All I will say is that I truly can’t wait.

See also here


Saturday, 3 September 2011


Good things often come in threes. This was proved true when I arrived back from a few days by the coast to find an exciting looking package from Goodone waiting for me. Following twitter and email communication, I had requested to borrow three items from their AW11 line - a jumpsuit, a belt and a cable knit muff. For me this trinity of gorgeous garments brought with them three words: recycle, re-use and re-claim.
“Re”, unsurprisingly, means ‘again’. I currently need to re-charge my phone and re-organise my room. My parents need to sort out the recycling. Ah, there is a word that has been much misappropriated. As Pearl (from Fashion Pearls of Wisdom) pointed out in one of her recent posts, the term ‘recycling’ has been (ahem) 'recycled' to encompass all sorts of meanings. I agree with Pearl, in that it is definitely not the act of wearing the same dress twice – that’s called being normal.

On the other hand, the ethical company Goodone are definitely encouraging the right (and real) sort of recycling with their wonderful label. As they state on their website: “By using reclaimed fabrics in every possible part of the design process we create desirable, assertive and feminine pieces.”
I can attest to that. The jumpsuit was the first garment I decided to style, and the minute I slipped it on I felt like Katharine Hepburn. I have something of a battle with jumpsuits. I want one of my own very badly. However, I will not touch anything that looks vaguely eighties related. I want 1940s satin, not 1980s batwings! The other issue is the length. I love having long legs, but they do not lend themselves to trousers and jumpsuits. The hems usually graze the middle of my ankles, or even sidle up my shins.
So you can imagine my delight at getting to style this classy all-in-one. The fabric is soft and cosy, while also being durable. My inspiration for the first look was land girls – ergo the vintage headscarf and muted colour scheme. I have just put The Land Girls by Angela Huth on my reading list after seeing this review by LandGirl1980. All those monochrome and sepia photos of the large groups just seem irrepressibly optimistic. I don't know if it's the smiles, the uniforms or the images of machinery and windswept fields. Whatever it is, essence of land girl definitely influenced my style choices yesterday.
However, I’m not sure if any self respecting land girl would complete her duties in second hand Faith wedges and a vintage belt that belonged to her grandma. Or a silk shirt from a charity shop for that matter. I would probably have been chased away with a pitchfork.

What I like about Goodone is that they embody the spirit of ‘make do and mend’ that was so popular during times of genuine need. I recently came across the most extraordinary advert in an old ‘Picturegoer’ magazine. During WWII, the British National Savings committee spent considerable time and effort trying to convince people to stop spending. Imagine that! How different, how alien that seems to us twenty first century buyers. Long gone are the thrifty years of war and post-war, where every scrap of fabric had a purpose. Nevertheless, companies such as Goodone are reviving the practice of ‘reclaiming’ and ‘reusing’ unwanted fabrics and off-cuts to create their clothes.

The wartime campaign mentioned above even had a purpose drawn ‘squander bug’ – a gremlin style creature covered in swastikas, which the government used as a propaganda tool. This naughty pest would be depicted in adverts, whispering in innocent ears “buy it now”. He was a menacing puck; persuading citizens to part with money that could have been put to good ‘war effort’ use.
One of my favourite advertisements stated simply, “To dress extravagantly in war time is not just bad form, it is unpatriotic”. I think characters such as Anna Dello Russo and Daphne Guinness would not have taken well to rationing and coupons. Neither would I. But I can tell you something – we would have all got by.

We don’t ‘need’ new clothes all the time. We don’t ‘deserve’ it. These are wishes and privileges, not concrete rights. There was so much debate about these ideas when Lucy Siegle’s book ‘To Die For’ was first released (you can read my review here), but I wish to echo her sentiments once more.
Siegle suggested buying less and spending more. This sounds logical – I would rather save up for something from a label with amazing credentials such as Goodone, Orsola De Castro or the Vivienne Westwood’s ethical fashion programme.
Unfortunately, every time I utter the word ‘ethical’ (or in this case type it) the images brought to mind are of saggy hemp sack skirts and nettle waistcoats. The word itself is almost too worthy – too alternative. How to combat this negative stereotype?
Goodone claims that “We aim not to stand apart from the mainstream fashion industry, rather to achieve positive change from within”. This is exactly the approach I applaud – creating style rather than forfeiting it. The brand has worked with large names such as Topshop and Asos, and is a part of London Fashion week.

The second part of my styling used a gorgeous Goodone cable knit belt (I want one!) and an equally delectable cable knit and faux fur muff. I moved from land girl to Russian dinner guest meets hiker. The long cream dress is second hand charity shopped Miss Selfridge, and the boots are Topshop. The socks peeping out are from Nanadecor – a Japanese company that specialise in beautiful, organic, ethically sourced cotton clothes. The faux fur hat was from a charity shop, and the owl necklace is vintage.

Goodone can be bought from several places including Yoox, Young British Designers and Beyond the Valley. See their website for more information.
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