Sunday, 13 March 2011

Richard Lester - Boutique London

   


   Recently, I had the pleasure of finally reading this well researched tome and would recommend it to all Paraders with an ounce of interest in the period and the book's unique yet obvious premise of grounding the 1960s and '70s clothing experience where it truly took flight - in its shops

  Without scans, it's difficult to review this meaningfully - hence the quoted copy below - but it is a very worthy compendium of photographs and Malcolm English artwork that is only intermittently available from other immediate sources (like something called "The interweb," apparently) and, without directly stating it, places much of the emphasis on the now undervalued concept of shopkeepers designing their own desirable products; to do this in a time when practically anything was permissible, desirable and born from one of the boldest cultural intersections in living memory would always ensure these luminaries' places in stylish and entrepreneurial history

   For the record, my favourite portraits naturally feature, or relate to, Hung on You's Michael Rainey and Christopher Gibbs, The Beatles' Apple Boutique, Michael Fish, Blades of Savile Row and Tommy Nutter, as well as the beauties that modelled for BIBA and Annacat. I'll be forever glad, also, that there was ample room for Vivienne Westwood and the late Malcolm McLaren's concern, Sex 

   It is affordable, unfussy to the point of sparseness in its writing and is fundamentally a well presented snapshot of a diversely presentable time. More helpfully, it compiles all the names of all those faces that made this scene one that hasn't lost its large footing in the cultural consciousness into one neatly packaged book. Groovy, Lester
To any style conscious Londoner in the sixties just two places mattered: the King's Road and Carnaby Street. By the end of the decade the whole world came to see and be seen, to take part in the theatre that played out of the new boutiques and onto the street. From the sleek modernist tailoring of 'Top Gear' and 'His Clothes' to the nostalgic dressing up box style of the World's End boutiques, at the heart of it all were the young designers whose conviction to make and sell clothes on their own terms generated an explosion of talent which lasted and evolved over twenty years, leaving an indelible mark in fashion history. 'Boutique London' follows the journey of the first risk-takers like Mary Quant and John Stephen, to the celebrity salons of Ossie Clark, 'Mr Fish' and 'Granny Takes a Trip', stopping along the way to include the weird and the wonderful, the glamorous and the bizarre. With in-depth profiles of over thirty retailers and lavish illustrations, the clothes, interiors and characters of 'Boutique London' are as diverse as they are colourful, vividly bringing to life a vanished London, which changed the way we shop forever.

Lou Reed - 'Sad Song' (1973)


I'm gonna stop wastin' my time
Somebody else would have broken both of her arms


   Sadness for the weekend? Perhaps this inappropriate, ever moving threnody is on my mind due to the tsunami tragedy of Japan that has occupied hearts and columns of late. Elizabeth Avedon is currently promoting a charitable auction of photographic works for the cause. Mayhap others will follow

  Funny what other interrelated trivia comes to mind - 'Sad Song' was sampled by the plagiaristic yet innovative Japanese under-to-overground pop stars Flipper's Guitar (the training ground for my favourite recording artist, Cornelius) as part of their psychedelic song cycle, 'The World Tower,' produced by Salon Music's Zin Yoshida

   Spent energy, bitterness, ruing, catharsis; bitter pills don't come much sweeter than this

Friday, 11 March 2011

Anticipating



   Whilst the font is on the uninspiring side and the CGI glow that adorns our tweed-clad hero is rather unappealing - even if it is in reference to his alien nature and upcoming Roswell adventure - this is reasonably effective in drawing attention to the imminence of Doctor Who's sixth season

   My semi-regular readers probably dreaded some sort of recap of last year's successes, since they are really here to see some dork with a baby Afro attempt to to adorn himself in style and present himself as "witty" to the 39 people foolhardy enough to follow him. And of course, there are dedicated Who blogs and columns; no one really requires an analysis of the show written in the most grandiloquent style possible

   So, here is all that needs to be known - it is the wittiest, frothiest and gosh darn best adventure series going, starring a Brummie with a long nose, the prettiest willowy redhead this side of Lily Cole and a very talented fellow with a funny face who may have finally upgraded to self tying bow ties and can hold his own in performance with the likes of Michael Gambon. And to top it off, they will be promoting the almighty Stetson:



   April 23rd cannot come soon enough

Thursday, 10 March 2011

Ribaldry: Boutonnière Tales





   On rare occasion, when I'm not deleting spam, "private videos" and entreaties to promote pricey trainers (Mode Parade is not that kind of "fashion blog"), I unearth the odd kind word and genuine gem in the column's e-mail. This comes from a first time caller and long time reader (hopefully?), who has already developed a notable camaraderie with the rest of the online menswear fellowship through Boxing The Compass, a witty and comprehensive take on the vicissitudes and vices of dressing well

   This is his unedited e-mail sent in response to my most recent ensemble post. If you are sensitive to the amorous adventures of real life Uncle Oswalds, please avert your eyes:
Sir,
My comment is a bit too long for the comment section of your post, and perhaps unsuitable.  Here it is:
My great-uncle ALWAYS wore a boutonnière. He visited us at our place on Cape Cod for a month every summer to sail, golf, etc.  One time he appeared home in the same handsome clothing from the evening before... I was having breakfast(!).  The flower was gone from his seersucker lapel, and I asked about it.  He told me that "a man should never wilt before his flower does", meaning that one should stay out until the boutonniere wilts. 
Grandmother was in the dining room as well (great-uncle Maxwell was her brother).  I asked Uncle Max (in his seventies at the time) if he had thrown away his wilted flower, and he said to a nine-year-old me: "I left it on her pillow."
Grandmother spun around, inadvertently sloshing the coffee from her cup "MAX!!"
I think I was in college when I first emulated the flower/pillow gesture, and ONLY then did I realize what Uncle Max had meant.  Brilliant old fellow!

I love your blog.



-Yankee Whisky Papa

   For the record, I was seven when I "met" Uncle Oswald, my parents being unaware of Roald Dahl's more indelicate side. Because of him, I will never contract leprosy

Tuesday, 8 March 2011

Leather Lust Object No.6


Crocodile leather cigar case with piercer and 9 carat gold mounts circa 1955 by Asprey, via Antiques.co.uk

Sunday, 6 March 2011

Springspiration



    Consider one or two traditional accoutrements like neckscarves, a matching yet complementary shirt and tie combination and lighter coloured suiting for the incoming season. It will be good for you. It's to our cost that illustrators are no longer charged with the content of lookbooks

Scans by Sator from Grafton Fashions For Men 1971

Linkerati

   Here is where I've been spending some of my online time of late:
  • The Cutting Class. Having come across this via Twitter this week, I've had an edifying time reading its breakdowns of garment patterns and fabric usages in runway collections; a stimulating form of dissection, to be certain. Intelligently and confidently written, it may become a reference when I begin moonlighting as a dressmaker under a particularly flamboyant sobriquet one day (my heart is currently set on "Lazlo T. Funkenschmeiter," by the way)
  • In light of the imminent Royal Wedding, I have been perusing the details of its predecessors at Vintage Connection, purely out of interest in the passing of fashions and aureate displays of affection and happiness like the real gold charms that filled the cake at the Queen Mother's nuptials
  • Daniel Copley, writer and cynic, is one of the few I follow on Twitter. Recently, he has decided to consider online dating. Since I feel he is sure to follow through on it, it may be worth keeping an eye on his blog over the ensuing months. It could possibly turn out to be Humiliation Theatre
  • The Big Bark Blog. Because my friend Sasha's burgeoning film reviews column saves me quite the chunks of change that would otherwise be spent sitting in a darkened theatre myself. I'm duty-bound to divulge, however, that I often skip her writing to stare longingly at her Sophia Loren wallpaper instead
  • Slashdot. Sample headline: "Meth Dealer Faces Loss of His Comic Book Collection"; how much more entertaining can "news for nerds" get?
  • Gregory Parkinson. Because he creates vivaciously refreshing womenswear, all filled with psychedelia, drape and a certain sense of hippyish abandon. And because his nephew suggested it

Friday, 4 March 2011

Boutonnièred



   It felt like time for an actual tiny slice of nature in my jacket buttonhole. And for good measure, a map of Delaware (of all places) in my breast pocket

Monday, 28 February 2011

Dance For Imaginative Miss Potter



   I have had Tales of Beatrix Potter on my mind of late. Perhaps it's the delightful music that accompanies the fleet of feet in its performance. Perhaps it's the surreality of ballet, the kinetic interpretive expression of passion, composure and the vagaries of life, executed by professionals garbed in outsize 'human animal' costumes. Perhaps it's Oscars Night and I am musing over whether Black Swan's chances would increase had Natalie Portman danced in an outfit representing an anthropomorphic cygnus in a bonnet

   If the talking animal genre has elements of parody in its whimsical little heart, then this might be its apogee: humans dressed as animals that behave as humans, yet lacking any discernibly natural behaviours beyond the motions of the dancers, wearing eyes that remain utterly unmoving and mouths that never part, making no sounds to complement their hybrid disposition. Like The Nutcracker, such a fever dream of the stage requires a child or a childlike mind to see such things as they should be; playthings brought to life and their absurdities then rendered through a slightly off-kilter (in its own right) yet resolutely elegant medium. It is also a testament to the varied methods for telling a well loved story

   Besides, this sort of fun is the perfect gateway drug for ballet if one wishes to start them young. For this arrested developer, it's very much perfect

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