Sleuth (1972)

To borrow a cliché, there can only be one. And with Messrs. Olivier and Caine in the headline, one should certainly hope so

Belatedly, Joseph Ettedgui

   Early this April, my father received a card from Issy Ettedgui, with a heartfelt, touching and unlachrymose handwritten message regarding the peaceful passing of her husband Joseph that made a particular note of the affection he held for "his brother," for our families were close enough for me to refer to him, with a certain honour, as "Uncle Joe." That habit, as it seems to do when Britishers grow into their teens and beyond, had  indeed dissipated by the time I became a young adult

   But don't mistake a loss of formality for a loss of respect and admiration; I'm perennially inclined to admire men of taste, of class, of perseverance and of percipience. And perhaps our personal relationship also served to elevate Joe in this particular facet of my esteem, but there's certainly little wrong with that

   This post is an apology, for I do a great many things out of time and sequence. Perhaps those who choose to read this post might feel a morsel of understanding; a sympathy founded on the difficulty in composing and cohering thoughts regarding the death of a presence in one's life. But it is still rather belated a post, especially because Joseph was one of the vaunted few in the last years of the 20th century who continued to make fashion retail a sphere of interest. His patronage alone of Kenzo Takada's output in his formative retail years is proof of his nous for talent. We also shared a belief in a wardrobe that was built upon dependable, finely made clothes with ample room for the fashionable and the expensive to elevate it - a philosophy that more than hinted at his adaptability

   Amongst the various branded shopping bags that filled my childhood, the minimalistic black rectangles on a white background motif that signified a purchase from a Joseph shop always lodged in the mind in a manner that was both iconic and in tune with the visual modes of the 1980 - as stark and neat colour arrangements, Nagel prints, deceptively simple but striking aesthetics, pristine glamour, and so on. He may not have aimed his shops at children, but for a time, Joe's Café was a cherished, if infrequent, treat that forms a fond part of my South Kensington memories. I can only imagine what celebrated restaurant he might have overseen had he lived to see his hotelier desires come to fruition

   Even as he battled the cancer that ultimately took his life, Joe made time for me during my nascent forays into fashion-related work, and encouraged me not to discard my semi-romantic notions after the crisis that is financial eradicated my former livelihood. Indeed, given the upcoming evolution of my professional life, I believe that he was correct in his steering, although it is a shame that he could not be there for me to tell him the news. I spent a fair amount of time at the former Conduit Street site of his luxury goods operation, Connolly, over last year, covetously admiring the Charvet shirts and unconstructed sportcoats, imbibing the genteel and warm aura of its woody yet somewhat minimalist decor, striking up friendships and letting him know in which directions Mode Parade was pulling me that week

   I have always suspected him as responsible for my father's Habanos habit, though he was always a responsible and devoted man. Still, with his brand of unassuming charisma, I imagine that it would have not taken much convincing; it seems symptomatic of his trenchant way of discerning what one might need in life

   The photograph chosen for the remembrance postcard is an excellent, dégagé portrait of Joe reclining in a beautiful silk dressing gown, shirt, trousers and designer trainers; a happy, joyfully eyed depiction of Offbeat Informality, if ever there was one, and certainly an encouragement to those who knew him that we should not remain sad for long

Merci et Bon Nuit,

B

For Joseph Ettedgui; 22 February 1936 - 18 March 2010

Ivy Friends (Plastic Curio Objects No.1)

Perhaps the only Trad memorabilia that I find interesting these days

Smoking Shirt (Dance Dance Dance)

   Tintin said:

I bet he can dance too

   So, I wonder what he would make of this:

   A flashback to more immobile times follows:

The Cake - 'You Can Have Him' (1967)

   Decades before Sugababes achieved a mild flavour of notoriety for performing their debut single on Top of The Pops with an unsmiling archness, the world birthed this:

   My sentiments regarding The Cake's showmanship could only appear trite; this Manson-James Brown-Ronettes hybridising should only happen in the theatre. What's so delicious about this performance is that it did not

   For unconventional band mascot/ensemble dark horse-status, the impassive baby doll that was Jeanette Jacobs is right up there with ABC's homosexual, Kid Swifty Lazar-esque midget, David Yarritu

Blue/Green Again

 

   It's the return of that  allegedly irredeemable colour combination; a suitably optimistic presentation for the latest wedding I attended recently. And I barely believe in marriage, so my high spirits surprised even me

   ADG, a member of my personal Band of Blog Brothers, has written an exceedingly kind and trenchant tribute to your author, with one commenter noting an accessories trifecta of mine; namely, my rose pin, pochette and pen. This time, on the grounds of ensemble dissonance, my writing instrument remained at home

   Even I have my Coco Chanel Moments

Akwapim Hills

   Aburi, one of Ghana's cuter townships, is favoured as a weekend retreat from the pulse-pounding bustle of Accra and its ever-fractal traffic. It nestles amongst the Akwapim Hills, which provide the benefits of a reasonably high and pleasant altitude, as well as a more moderate temperature. One easily feels at home in tailored linen, mohair, ramie or cotton, reclining on the porch of one of the various colonial or neo-Ghanaian residential forms that dot the area

   The area seems to offer more than one different viewpoint: ex-pats from various walks visit often to meet, discuss, broker and recline. The cleaner air may be more conducive to bonhomie and reason - perhaps it is provable by science

   I just go for the air. And the abandonment

Plug 1, Plug 2, or, Leather Lust Object No.4

Ettinger padded leather magazine rack, as found by Put This On

   Some of you Paraders will have noticed the recent addition of a hotlinked Ettinger of London graphic in the right hand column of this... column

   And in response, some may have wondered as to whether I'm "selling out, maaaaaan" or simply turning mercenary

   I find it the height of bad taste to even mention in passing that producing The Mode Parade requires a certain amount of dedication, which can sometimes mean that I appreciate the odd incentive to help sustain my irregular rate. For the record, I often use that last line with a number of my girlfriends

   Recently, I noted a fact that's obvious to anyone with a bluffer's knowledge of clothing-related blogs - it can lead to courting from entities much larger in scope and resources than we passionate keyboard ramblers. And so it was with Ettinger, but at least they have the decency to make absolutely covetous and well crafted lust objects of leather, refinement and colourfully ludic finishes. The other e-mails I receive actually believe that I would consider endorsing fashionable sportswear; that would be more germane if your author was Henry Holland, I'm sure

   And let's face it - that vintage leather-covered magazine rack of theirs strikes a credible blow for intelligent decor

-----------------

   The second plug is for a fine new directory devoted to the arts that a friend of mine thought might be worth a mention here. So like a radio DJ answering the request line, I'll be nothing but obliging

   The Omnivore collates newspaper reviews for confections of the filmic, written and stage varieties - the information age version of reading the quotes on a film's poster before instantly summoning the fully authored piece for further edification. It's rather useful if you need more than 5 reasons as to why, say, Salt is not worth seeing. If you're the rubberneck type, as am I, who enjoys opinionated writing that may often turn vituperative, you may also enjoy the articles exhibited and linked to on The Omnivorous Blog

   I'd like to mention, in conclusion, that my friend asked if I could work this little advertorial into a Leather Lust Object post. I have to say, I have surprised myself - a promotion within a promotion within a rumination on promotion, and thematically on point where one lucky lady is concerned

   Sometimes, I do deliver

Go Faster

As it was unwritten in Ecclesiastes 1:9, "There is nothing new under the Ghanaian sun"