A word about life

Paper Fortress: 2009 - 2011 Reflection from Paper Fortress on Vimeo.
Found this over at Ryan's blog and it has that kind of poignant quality that really makes you stop and think for a minute. Well worth a re-post if you ask me.

Smile damn you!

I don't tend to take much notice of business success tips, but as I sit here with a scowl on my fizog, I'm minded to change my outlook a bit, and I'm posting this here to remind myself. 

“What does it cost to smile? Nothing. What does it cost not to smile? Everything, if it prevents you from connecting with people. While smiling sends a very clear message about your state of mind, not smiling creates an opening for many interpretations, including grumpiness, aloofness and anger – none of which helps you enchant people,” he says.

Maybe it's because he used George Clooney as a case in point, and maybe it's because he's got a tasty pad in Lake Como, but it makes sense.

Read the City AM article in full here

The roof is falling in

No, it's not a metaphor on the state of the economy, the roof really is falling in. The bathroom ceiling to be precise. What I always thought was a damp patch caused by the shower has turned out to be the bed of a lake, the water above growing in volume with the passing of every downpour.

The recent high winds and general monsoon-like conditions have clearly proved to be the downfall of the ceiling, which has started to bulge in an alarming manner, with water oozing through.

Now I know that on the scale of things this could be a lot worse. The bathroom could be within the house for one thing, meaning the lake could have been caused by a burst pipe - just imagine the carnage.

But it's still a pain. On the plus side, now I've (on builder's advice) poked a few holes in the plasterboard to release the water, I have the choice of two showers under which to stand in the morning. I could even do that hot/cold routine they like in Finland, or some other arctic territory.

Luxury. International luxury no less, soon with a bonus view of the sky through the collapsed roof.

These boots were made for crying

We were about halfway down the hill - about 500 yards at a push - before I knew something was seriously wrong. It was the boots. My brand new, just out of the box Visvim Serra hikers were going to kill me if I took another step. They were already killing me - it had been foolhardy to set out in nothing but a thin pair of dress socks between the leather uppers and my tender heels.

But those boots had been burning a hole in my shoe collection for a couple of months. Ever since I nabbed them at a bargain, but still eye-watering, price, they've been sitting atop my wardrobe waiting for some suitaby inclement weather to get an outing. The lack of a suitably stout pair of walking socks wasn't going to ruin their christening.

"I'm not going to make it," I said to Lizzie through gritted teeth."Leave me, and save yourself."

So Lizzie carried on down to the train station as I made the long trek back uphill, wincing with every step, to slip into something more comfortable.

The episode was proof if further were needed that the pain threshold of women is far above that of men. Lizzie also had her new shoes on - a pair of dainty little brogues. No socks, no nothing. After a trip to London which involved us getting lost in Bloomsbury and somehow ending up in Wagamama's in Soho, then tubing over to a pub in Islington before the long trek home, her feet were so raw that they were actually weeping blood. Not a whimper, all night. That's well hard.

Meanwhile, I continue to suffer. My heels are still showing the evidence of the failed outing of the Serra hikers, and even with the thick walking socks I have now invested in, they're still agony to wear some 24 hours on. I have been forced to admit that in contrast to the butter-soft nature of other Visvims, these blighters are going to need a bit of wearing in.

Looks like I'll be needing some lessons in pain control from Lizzie.

More proof that Bape is dead

Judging by the miserable prices my Bathing Ape collection has been fetching over the past few months I've been listing it on eBay, I would say the brand has gone the way of the dodo.

Latest case in point is my woodland camo cap. Something I was quite fond of back in the day and if I remember correctly parted with upwards of £60 for. Well it just got me £11.50 at auction.

It's a bit of a shame, but nothing lasts forever and this is a prime example of what can happen when your brand is adopted by the seedier side of urban street life. One minute Bathing Ape had cult status among the media luvvies of Soho, who picked it up on the back of James Lavelle of UNKLE and Ian Brown's product placement, and the next, via N.E.R.D's Pharrell Williams, you had R'n'B singers like Chris Brown wearing it and every wannabe gangsta on either side of the Atlantic wearing the playgroup themed hoodies in XL sizes. Anybody could see Bape was doomed.

Pharrell got a taste of his own medicine when his Billionnaire Boys' Club label was hijacked by the gangsta element - in fact it would be safe to say it never got off the ground.

Still, Nigo, Bathing Ape and BBC's creator, is making a valiant last stand by reopening his Bape store in Upper James Street after closing it in favour of a capsule collection within a shipping container in Dover Street Market.

But Nigo would be wise to check eBay. If nothing else, the auction site is the ultimate barometer of market tastes, and when prices of Bape tank on eBay, it's time for Nigo to think up a new strategy.

Hopefully one that doesn't end up with the label being bombed by a bunch of gangstas and the death sentence they put on any clothing brand they adopt.

Orange women

I don't like to be the one to criticise anyone for trying to look their best. Far better that than letting oneself go, by any measure. But some people really should take a good look at themselves before they go out in public.

Take the runner I encountered while out on my evening lap last night. She probably didn't realise that her skin had taken on the radiance of an umpalumpah thanks to some over-eager self tanning. I would bet she certainly didn't know that the backs of her legs looked like she'd lost control of a certain bodily function after a particularly orange-looking curry. The streaks indicated a badly applied fake tan. But it was the colour which stood out.

On the off-chance of anyone reading this being new to the fake tanning craze, it should be known it is available in varying shades. They have been developed to suit all kinds of skin. The idea is that you pick a shade that looks like you might have caught a bit of sun rather than taken a dip in a vatt of creosote.

There is a difference between a healthy sun-kissed glow and glow-in-the-dark radioactivity. Unfortunately, these days one can achieve both by way of a lotion or a spray.

Good taste and judgement is not included.

Bape Disney Donald Duck

It must be at least three years age since Nigo produced anything decent for his Bathing Ape label. We're now so far removed from the glory days of queues around the block for shark hoodies or having the likes of Ian Brown and James Lavelle endorsing the trademark camo jackets that you have to wonder at what point Nigo lost the plot.

And if anyone disputes this statement or thinks I'm being a bit harsh on the dimminutive Harajuku Peter Pan, I give you exhibit one: the Bape x Disney Donald Duck plush.

Aside from the fact that this is a pretty lame version of a Donald Duck, there is a place for plush Disney toys and that's in a Disney toy shop. Just because Nigo has fashioned his cuddly toy out of yellow and white camo pattern does not make this cool.

In fact the best thing about this release is the white camo bag the thing comes in.

But maybe the joke is on the bad bwoy gangsta types who have basically hijaked the Bape brand and destroyed any credibility it had left. Leave your bling and piece in the drawer. All you need is your Bape Donald.

As for future colabs, I'm sure Nigo hasn't done anything with My Little Pony or the Tweenies as yet.

http://www.highsnobiety.com/

Water cooler moments

Water cooler moment. An overused phrase if there ever was one, conjures images of beautiful young employees congregating around a dispenser, plastic cups in hand, chatting enthusiastuically about life.

Like, right. For one, this office lacks any of the required beautiful young types to fulfil the fantasy, and if it did, our 'water cooler', as it is so endearingly called in glossy-mag ponce speak, is located next to the fridge, which, if you had read my previous posts, is a biohazard of such potency that we have taken to donning chemical suits and gas masks just to open it.

Even the other water cooler, located outside the toilets, fails to attract the audiences for these facinating debates about US TV series and other mediocre throwaway gossip topics. Not once have I seen more than one person standing at it - and that is the person filling a cup, or emptying the drip tray.

In fact, the staff in this office go to such lengths to avoid bumping into people at the water cooler that they actually loiter at a safe distance, empty bottles in hand, as if they are waiting to give urine samples at an STD clinic. Any conversation is purely accidental.

But when the bottle is empty the fun really begins. Then, grown adults revert to their most basic of instincts as they hunt those responsible for taking the last cup, and force them to change the bottle.

The Friday Five 17/04

Seeing as I was off to London to indulge in the nation's favourite passtime, this week's Friday Five will be a personality revealing shopping list. Psycho analyse this:

1: Kuumba joss sticks (The Hideout) - White Amber flavour
2: Monocle Magazine (Magma Books)
3: Montana spray cans (white, black, blue, lime)
4: New work trousers (Uniqlo)
5: Tai Hachiro specs (DSM - never bought, because there are limits to what even I would pay)

Now I'm back, and my list has grown, so my next shopping trip might well include:

1: Baracuta / bomber type jack
2: Purple cardigan (cashmere preferably, natch)
3: Large check gingham short-sleeved shirt (Nice one in Carhart)
4: Madras shirt (Supreme / Uniqlo, if I can bring myself to become trendy)
5: Shorts (Uniqlo probably)

The (Good) Friday Five 10/04/09

The five sartorial rules I adhere to

1: Colours: Base the outfit in neutral, with splashes of contrasting colour restrained to details. The odd bright jumper in something like a blue is OK. Black, khaki, green, and beige are good base colours. Also, take note of the key colour of the season- this year it seems to be cobalt blue - and buy a couple of pieces in it.

2: Know what works. With my hair, reds, oranges and red-browns are an absolute no-no. I end up looking like an autumn day. Yellow, however, seems to work, as does purple. All in moderation (see point 1).

3: Fit is crucial. Anything that is too big is going to make you look like a sack of spuds. Too small and you'll look like you made a mistake on the washing machine setting. Good fitting clothes will look like they were made for you.

4: Classics: In these days of frugalness it's better to spend a bit more on decent classic pieces which will stand the test of time. Recent investments of mine have included classic shirts from Thomas Pink, a short trenchcoat from Dunhill, and 'Hockney' boat shoes from Visvim.

5: Accessorise. Something men rarely do, but for me the addition of a scarf or a cap will finish the outfit off. But never a scarf and a cap, unless you wish to look like a coal miner.

If this list wasn't called the Friday Five, I would also extole the virtues of a decent haircut, the best fabrics you can afford, and spending as much as you can, usually as much as the rest of your outfit put together, on good quality shoes.

Stussy at the Hideout / the Friday Five list, 03/04

The Hideout got its first delivery of Stussy on Friday, which consisted of a few new designs in a couple of colours.

Not much to shout about really, but those Hideout chaps are never ones to miss out on an opportunity so out came the free beer, and along came some bloke to do graffiti outside on the window.

It did the trick - that and the new Supreme drop on the same night - every fixed gear bike rider and media skater type within Soho seemed to want a look.

Which just goes to show, if you make the effort, the shoppers are still out there and willing to buy things, and that brings me to the Friday Five list, albeit a bit late, because this is Sunday.

This week the theme is retailing, or more precisely, five things retailers should be doing to get people into their shops. The first things shops should do is throw more parties, however tenuous the reason - people like a drink, and they buy stuff when they've had a drink. No brainer really.

2 - Open later. You all whinge that you're going under, but have you thought about opening when people are actually around, instead of at work? Like in the evening?

3 - Answer emails. I waited four weeks for a reply from Dover Street Market, by which time I tracked down the shoes I was looking for elsewhere.

4 - Give stuff away. Beer is good, but it could even be a free pen. Anything that makes the customer feel like you want them there, and to come back, even if he doesn't buy anything there and then.

5 - Get a website that works. There's a whole world of people out there who can't make it to the store, even if they knew it existed. They are your customers too.

Here endeth my sermon, from a customer's point of view.

G20 protest protection

Day two of G20 protests in the City of London, and another day of misjudged casualwear by the bankers and financial types. Like the adoption of a dodgy pair of Diesel jeans is going to persuade the mighty unwashed that you're actually one of them.

Now a hoodie, that's a different matter. Wonderful garment, the hoodie. On a Sunday morning while the coffee's brewing it becomes a cosy friend, something to snuggle up in while still bleary eyed. But in the urban jungle it can take on a totally different demeanor. It says 'youthful, streetwise,' and in SAS black with the hood up, it says 'come and have a go if you think you're hard enough.'

I wore my black zip fronted Acronym hoodie to work yesterday. Not because of any fear of attack, but because it seemed the right weather - mild, with an outside chance of rain.

I garnered confused looks. A shirt and trousers with a hoodie isn't a frequent sight. Was I a crusty or a hard working member of society? In my hoodie disguise I could have done a day at work and quite comfortably infiltrated the ranks of anarchy at the Bank had I so wished, and nobody would have batted an eyelid.

Now imagine the confusion if the entire workforce of the City had turned out in a hoodie. The crusties wouldn't have known who to direct their spittle at. Chaos would have reigned and some might even have ended up at work. There's a thought.

Top five style icons

Having just returned from a blogging seminar, during which the popularity of lists was emphasised, I have decided to create a new Friday feature, which will forthwith be known as the Friday Five. This will be a list of five things, of no particular theme or importance. This feature will run as long as I can think of things to compile them with. So, here is my five most important style icons:

1: Steve McQueen. Now this dude knew classic relaxed style. Most of what he wore is still a classic to this day - thick chunky cardigans, bomber jackets, sharp suits, polo shirts - and his influence has carried through the years. Shame he's dead.

2: Malcolm McDowell. The British actor who manages to effortlessly combine panache with a hint of menace in all he does, from Clockwork Orange, the film that made his name, right up to the present day and his role in Heroes. He was even photographed for GQ in a Burberry trenchcoat with a British Bulldog on a lead. Now that is cool.

3: Daniel Craig. Would I have considered Mr Craig if he wasn't now James Bond? Probably not, but he is, and Bond is these days is kitted out in Tom Ford and equally salubrious menswear brands, which Craig carries off well. Can't say I'm a fan of the Omega watch though.


4: Which brings me to Sean Connery. The only James Bond to sport a Rolex Submariner, the ultimate classic watch. ALso impeccably dressed, although many a woman would argue Sean Connery could look good in a potato sack. Advanced years have led to stylists giving him the granddad look, which is a shame, because he was snappy in his day.

5: Jude Law. Classic English gent with a twist, his style improves with age, not least because he is now the face of that quintissentially English brand, Alfred Dunhill. Sales went ballistic when he started wearing their stuff, but to be honest it has always been good.

You might note that the only American on there is Steve McQueen, and that is because Americans, with the exception of McQueen, have no style.

Jazzy funk

Dozing off on the train when my nostrils are filled with a sickly stench, evoking painful memories of misdirected teenage years I'd rather forget.

YSL Jazz. Made me feel nauseous then and it makes me want to retch all over this man who is violating my nostrils now. It might actually make him smell better.

Back in the late eighties the stuff was all the rage. That and Kouros, equally offensive. I think Joop! was also an option. The kind of aftershaves that are less a refreshing sensation than a full frontal indecent assault on the snout. They would strip paint. I thought they'd been banned.

Nevertheless at the time they were an improvement on the Old Spice my mum splashed over me just as I was leaving for my first school disco, with the immortal words: "you'll be fighting the girls off now!" Well mum, I didn't.

So have I gone into a timewarp or is this person actually wearing 20-year-old aftershave? There's a credit crunch on I know, but are people really that poor?

I Google it. They still make it. Costs £30. You can get something decent for that price.

I don't know what bothers me more - the fact it is still being made or that people buy it.

The Jazz is in my nose, I can smell it everywhere, like a rolling flashback. If it carries on like this I'll be wearing Global Hypercolour t-shirts again. Don't tell me they still make them. Surely not.