So, this week London was besieged by old friends. Camilla and Ros came over from The States, Rachel journeyed from Bristol for one night only, and Roxanne – who’s been travelling Asia for the past three months – returned home, which meant drinking. Lots and lots of drinking.

In other news, the clutch in the top right picture, which belongs to my friend Camilla, is made from bulls’ testicles. Yes, you read that right. It is literally a ball bag.

BALMAINIA AT THEOUTNET.COM has just launched a Balmain sale. There’s up to 75% off, but it’s still effing expesnive, obvs.

If I were a Russian oligarch’s wife this is what I’d buy:


Jil, honey, £185 for a paper bag? Are you for reals? First you have us all forking out over £100 for an orange plastic bag, and now this…

Are you trying to test how silly fashion people are, Jil? If that’s your game then you’ve successfully proved that they’re inordinately silly, because these bags (let’s call them Grocery Clutches) have sold out!


Jeez, Gwen, why you gotta show all us twenty-somethings up like this? I mean, seriously…there must be a hideous portrait of this woman locked in an attic somewhere, Dorian Gray style, because I’m pretty sure she hasn’t aged a day since the ’90s.




Do you know what makes her even more awesome? The fact that she admits to applying makeup several times a day AND staying focused as hell to keep her body looking the way it does at 42 years of age.

In the Harper’s Bazaar interview which accompanied this shot she told the journalist “there is no secret: You just have to eat healthy, work out, and torture yourself!” So at least there’s no sense in wondering if us mere mortals can emulate her regime, right? I’m pretty sure she was also once quoted as saying something along the lines of “if I wasn’t famous I wouldn’t bother”, which pretty much lets the rest of us off the hook.

Oh, and the new No Doubt tune isn’t bad either…


I’m experimenting with Instaphoto. Yes, Instaphoto – Instagram’s shoddier cousin for Blackberry users.

Anyway, it’s been a busy one. I went home to Bristol for a very stereotypical hen do, complete with pink iridescent cowboy hats and such; realised my friend Tanya is about to hit the big time when Grazia named her ‘the new Emeli Sande’; went raving on Clapham Common at SW4 (and got photobombed by some chump with a distinctly egg-shaped head); got very drunk on umpteen bottles of fizz  at my friend Phoebe’s 25th birthday; and ate the most delicious brunch I think I’ve ever had at Counter Cafe, overlooking the Olympic Park. Ok, so this is really more like a week and a half’s worth of photos…

Now, off to Notting Hill Carnival. Dude, my liver hurts.


When it was revealed that Hedi Slimane would take the reins at YSL it wasn’t the fact that the Parisian fashion house picked a renowned menswear designer with a penchant for stripped-back minimalism which surprised me, it was the announcement that Slimane would continue with photography alongside his prestigious new appointment.

I had no idea how accomplished he had become since leaving Dior in 2007 to concentrate on life behind the lens, but the work speaks for itself – moody black and white shots of top models with just-been-f**ked hair, holding smouldering cigarettes.

Rumor has it he’ll be shooting campaigns for Saint Laurent Paris (as he recently renamed it) himself, and it’s little wonder when the results are this striking…

All images from


I get a bit cringed-out by most slogan T-shirts, but these – Chic Happens and Holy Chic – by Ashish for Lulu & Co are utter genius.