Everyone seems to be launching a fragrance nowadays, and I can’t say I was surprised when Repetto jumped the bandwagon. In case you’re not a ballet aficionado, let me explain that Repetto is like Louboutin for the tutu-clad. Although the brand is best known for its world-famous, excellent quality points, they also produce bags, comfy clothes and pretty flats for non-dancers. And now also perfume.
Happy birthday tooo meee! I’m turning 19 on Friday, which means I’m another year closer to being all fat, wrinked and dead. Ain’t it a reason to celebrate?
No, honestly. I used to hate birthdays, because they reminded me of my perishing youth. Not that I love it that much. I’d rather be middle-aged, if that means having life experience and all the confidence that comes with it, a stable job, and the right to say “you’ll grow up and see.” Nevertheless, I’ve always felt irrationally sorry for every year that passed.
I really admire people who do awesome stuff just because. Those who write novels for pleasure, or make hilarious YouTube videos, or spend entire days drawing pictures they’re not planning to sell. Or those who build sand sculptures, for the joy of kids and lazy tourists. Thank God for those guys!
Back to blogging! This time from Paris.
Since One Day’s screen version came out in August 2011, and the book appeared everywhere, I’d been making a conscious effort to have nothing to do with it. Neither the film nor the novel. From all descriptions I had heard, it sounded as if Nicholas Sparks had re-written the Before Sunrise trilogy. Sacrilege, I know. Sacrilege, cheese and tears.
Some fragrances are so popular that you can name them as soon as you smell them. In other cases, it’s not even necessary to open the cap: you catch a glimpse of the bottle and know what’s on the label without having to read it. Just like clothes, perfume bottles can reach iconic status thanks to their extravagance, or, conversely, because of their simplicity. They’re often designed with no less care and imagination than couture collections. And it doesn’t really surprise me – if you think about it, fashion itself is just the art of packaging.
Here’s a confession I need to make: I read Cosmopolitan. And by read, I don’t mean browsing through the pictures in the dentist’s waiting room, and shaking my head with mild disapproval. No, I actually go out of my way to spend a precious 2 pounds (or 3.50, depending on the gift) on an issue of Cosmo every single month. Embarassing, I know. I usually buy it along with New Statesman, just to save my face in front of the pretty guys working at WH Smith.
…And a song I listened to when I was 14.
I grew up believing that David Hockney’s iconic painting A Bigger Splash was all about contrast: between the static, orderly background and the seemingly uncontrolled “splash”, which, by the way, was carefully painted with tiny brushstrokes. Alright, good enough.
I had plenty of ideas for today’s post – but then I came back to London. As soon as I crossed UK’s border, I was reminded about the biggest news of the
month year decade, at least. No, it’s not Egypt, or Syria, or the Pope. It’s not even K-Stew cheating on R-Patz or Biebs pissing in a bucket anymore. What can be more important than that? You guessed. The Royal Baby.