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.
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.
Mentions of politicians’ clothes are often irrelevant. I’m fed up of Michelle Obama’s dresses being discussed more feverishly than her husband’s speeches, and there’s no place for plunging necklines in an article about Angela Merkel, unless she wanted to legislate them. Luckily, she doesn’t.
Fun fact: an apron used to be called a napron. Then the n jumped back, like a cute little frog, or a person standing in front of the yellow line as the train approaches. It’s called metanalysis. The jumping of letters, not the train.
See, you’ve just learned something. Now you have an excuse to waste even more time on Coverrated: it’s educational.
Remember that time dad forgot your birthday? Or came to your school in a much too tight Led Zeppelin T-shirt? Or all the stupid stories about your childhood he loves to tell? Well, it seems like he deserves a really, really bad Father’s Day gift in return. But forget Winnie the Pooh necktie (he might decide to wear it!), World’s Worst Dad socks (ibid., with sandals) or even a Gillette, given with that meaningful look (spare yourself the horror of seeing it unpacked in the bathroom, and papa’s beard still unshaved.) Instead, get him one of these – and pay with his credit card. As a child of the recession, you don’t have your own money, do you?
The Oscars of fashion were presented earlier this week. Yes, I know that you know. After all, you’d been awaiting them at least since March, when the nominees were announced. You followed speculations about who will win – God, there was no end to these. You woke up on Tuesday excited and anxious to check the results, and then you went on to discuss them with friends and read media analysis of the ceremony and its outcomes.
Oh, you didn’t? Me neither.
Nineteen years ago, in a stroke of creativity, my parents decided to call me Anastazja. Which meant that during most of my childhood I was either the pop singer or the Russian princess. Recently, however, I’ve suddenly become a porn character. And it doesn’t help that my brother’s name is Krystian (which sounds exactly like Christian.)
I have a phone that doesn’t connect with WiFi, stream HD TV, print guns in 3D, shoot lasers or allow me to time travel. However, it does something better: it works.