Oh hail Haute Couture!


St John's cathedral“Come, come!”

“Madeliene, if you were the one wearing these tight leather pants you would not be so eager to rush!”

“Move it along Eduardo, I don’t want to be late!”

We climbed the wide stairs of the cathedral and, pushing the heavy doors, we stepped inside to find the villagers sitting on wooden chairs in their best ensembles. There was an excited hum in the air. I held Eduardo’s hand and led him to the front, nodding to Baker, Butcher and the woman who hides her smiles with her scarves along the way.

We settled on the second row from the front. I gathered my Elie Saab long sleeved gown around me and took off my slippers so that I could feel the cold coming up from the tombs under my feet.

“Tell me again why we’re here Madeliene. Continue reading


The essentials

by Georges Antoni for Harpers Bazaar Australia

You know darling, I am sure there are things in this world of yours that can take you to my shimmery shabby village when the day in your world is not going as great as you would like it to.

There’s the feel of velvet on your skin when sitting on a cushioned chair with a backless dress, and dining al fresco anywhere, everywhere, because really, wherever you are, you can always look up at the sky whether it is night or day, and be there completely, unaffected by the noise around you.

There are flowers — roses, tulips, hydrangeas, peonies ­and many more. These will always take you to the one who reveres them, while protruding ears recall an undying love — well, at least they do so for me. Skinny pants and leather scream the fabulous Eduardo del Mar and wrinkles must remind you of the stains of relative time — lines that could tell an immeasurable number of stories, while the rain can carry your dark and dreary emotions away from you.

These are some of the ways you can also find yourself in the shimmery shabby world of my village. There are other things darling, including smoking slippers to pace around in the woods and elaborate dresses that summon the intricate moulding found on the walls of the village, but if these are not at hand, the former will always be.

Story credits: Image by Georges Antoni for Harpers Bazaar Australia.

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Love mourned


I was in London yesterday; it is only here that the weather is as dark and dreary as the one found in my village. I wanted to see Algis, the guy who makes some of my necklaces — I was running short of the latter, and the awe inspiring, and I knew he could supply me with both.

I roamed around the London streets until I arrived at his workshop. The front door had been left open. I found his body bent, his face close to the necklace he was working on. I stood in the doorway, not wanting to disturb him while he worked, enclosed by crystals, pearls and silk threads hung on the surrounding walls.

There was a table on his right, displaying an array of statement necklaces with intricate concoctions of dyed braids, pearls, crystals and chains. Some had small skulls hanging, and all of them alluded to the Victorian era, when human hair was combined with jewellery to remember the loved ones who passed away ­— the era where the queen herself mourned love. I really should have kept some hair from the one I fell in love with. Continue reading


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