Monday, 27 May 2013

Topform at Topshop



 Stuck in my office for most part of the last few weeks, pouring over the latest Marketing strategies and social networking tactics; I didn’t have much time for fun and games. Refreshingly so, Saturday rolled around and I had the absolute delight of returning to the relatively new, Topshop at Highpoint on the ‘West Side’. Saturday wasn’t just myself taking a break from everyone; it was a mother and daughter shopping date that included ice cream and pretzels and a hefty credit card bill.


I wandered around Topshop for at least an hour, gathering items I found appealing and well suited to my body type. However, I was soon greeted by a friendly (albeit stunning), tiny woman called Faiza, who complimented the style of boots I was trying on. Faiza wasn’t your usual kind of assistant; she maintained her own private style and didn’t hammer that usual shop assistant tone of “Oh my god girlfriend! Those boots are so totally cute! Want me to put them through for you right away, also would you like to join our loyalty program?”.

Faiza knew her shoppers; she could see that that like my Mother who has always, for the record governed high-end style, I liked shopping. That the experience I desired was different to say someone, who might look a little lost. Faiza and I got talking, and soon our conversation tipped it’s hat to my work in fashion and PR. I’m soon asked to skip the gargantuan line at the main registers and was escorted to the private ‘Personal Shopper’ nook at the back of the store. Topshop know how to possess ‘cool’, they could practically do it while sleeping. Topshop’s store entrance greets you with a cool DJ who plays the kind of music you could equal with a top nightclub. The store is well laid out; Topshop have considered their market well; adding petit and tall sections (and when you boarder on the smaller, fun size like I do, the petit section proves simply wonderful; eliminating my trips to the alterations seamstress).

Faiza then hands me on, to a bubbly, well-dressed and again very visually striking stylist, ‘Simone’. Simone is busy at first attending to another personal shopper, but she can ascertain I’m certainly not in a hurry.  While she attends to the shopper; I soak in the atmosphere. It’s comfortable and elegant, slightly bold but not bewilderingly so. The room looks like a chic, modern, yet glamorous lounge room. There are two generously sized dressing rooms; where the assistant stylists will assist you, provided you need it.

As I am now in the final stages of my Topshop experience, Simone decides to bring her A-game. Simone, just like Faiza – knows her clothing, and she knows how I liked to be treated. These women are savvy, and not in an underhanded or overbearing way.  Simone and I share excited conversation; about trips overseas and the rag trade. Both girls were utmost professional in their approach, and cleverly they know they are creating me the ultimate experience. Whilst standing at the private register, I am asked if I would like to sit down throughout the transaction (I don’t), instead I converse more with Simone about her experience in styling. It is evident that Simone knows, as well as I do; of the importance in individual style.

Upon my farewell, Simone opens up a glass cake tower and asked me if I would like a cupcake. Figuring that, for research purposes I should take one I’m spoilt with a chocolate and vanilla crunchy cupcake. It is the simple things sometimes that excite you. Without going overboard; I was pleased to be treated the way I was. Topshop staff are consumer focussed, and for the experience I had; I would certainly return for an afternoon of fun, stimulating conversation, great clothes and yummy treats.

Saturday, 25 May 2013

Secrets from the Black Box

Follow our Confidential Commercial Airline Pilot, in his fun adventures in the sky...


Life as a pilot is, in one word ‘luxurious’. It isn’t every day that you turn up to work and the flying conditions are quite simply, spectacular. The weather? 30° Celsius and clear skies. My day started off, very ordinary. All the normal checks were completed. We had arrived at the aircraft early, and it’s not every day you can sit in the cockpit and soak up the busy atmosphere of one of the world’s biggest, international airports. It's also not everyday you catch your engineer having a BBQ for 1 under the terminal platform. Well, this clearly was my lucky day.

Setting up the aircraft for departure I noticed the engineer sitting in the shade under the terminal on a park bench. It's not uncommon for them to take time out and why not take advantage of the weather? But suddenly Mr. Engineer gets up with tongs in hand to flip a couple of sausages on the BBQ beside him. That’s right, the man who was to push back my aircraft was enjoying a little Havana of solace in the simplest way possible. I suppose he had no idea he was about to be sharing his lunch.

Leaning over to the captain sitting next to me, I urged him to open the front cockpit window. "You smell that?" "Sure can." "Making you hungry?" “Sure is” was the quick exchange between us. So in a very professional manner we summoned the engineer to the aircraft. I can see the smile on his face as he comes to understand the situation. Long story short, 2 minutes later, we too are kicking back in the shade, eating a sausage in bread with a can of soft drink fizzing away in the background. The exchange was two happy pilots and a smug engineer.

That day, the passengers arrived 10 minutes early, so we were clearly winning. Oh, it wasn't all one-way traffic; I did gift him with a couple of cans of fizzy goodness from the aircraft galley. The moral of the story; the same we learnt at school, bring enough food to share with everyone. 

Sunday, 12 May 2013

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FASHION. CONSUMPTION. PROFILES. TRAVEL.




Time to dance

The World gone Gatsby Mad
Words by Claudia Sorace


It's the month of May. 'Well, evidently well spotted Claude' I suppose you are thinking. But there is a reason that this month is pertinent on the Hollywood calendar. It's also a pertinent date for Braudia. So, as I'm sitting at my mahogany desk on a rainy, autumn afternoon in Melbourne I am startled when Bryn, my business partner comes and sits on my desk and say's "Claude! May is here... It's the month of Gatby's release! And so, he is correct. You see, not only is Baz Lurmans "The Great Gatsby" hitting cinemas, but for May, everyone has gone Gatsby mad. 

 
Vogue's latest edition is centered entirely on the concept of the fashion and jewellery of the "Gatsby" era. Bryn is so exited because finally, it is fashionable to be old fashioned and for a man born irrefutably in the wrong era, I'm sure he's excitement is boundless because he finally feels that his chickens have come home to roost. 

So as I sit as my desk on a rainy afternoon, I ponder on whether the Gatsby influence will be a fleeting fashion trend (like last years fluro come back) or whether the opulence of the aesthetic class is here to stay. For the Runways, retro is back. But when we think "retro" with think 50's, 60's, 70's +, however we do not consider the nineteen twenties or round about 'retro'. 

Instead it's coined as the 'Gangsta or Flapper' period (in America) and the latter is a far nicer term. So how do you know if your a flapper? Well, you probably dress to compliment the period and have a dapper young medical student that you're courting named 'Henry'. Henry takes you rowing and for picnics and everything is wonderful until you see the browser history on his iPhone 5 - in which case you find out that Henry, is actually into 'furry' extra curricular and in which case, you decide to break up with him and laugh about the experience with your friends. 

So in this technical age, where Henry can get his kicks easier, quicker and without leaving his house, and you (trying to be all dapper in your flapper, which is incorrect nineteen twenties terminology for me, because in fact a 'dapper' was, in those days a 'flappers' father) happen to want an old school romance. See the thing is, half of the nineteen twenties 'Gatsby' glamour is made up of just that, 'romance'. Why? Well it's untainted, sure people still drank, cheated and threw their chaise lounge's out of hotel windows, they didn't, however publicize it. So, essentially, 'Henry' was the perfect man. By perfect man, I mean it wasn't recorded on friend finder where he relents his seedy goings on, or was incriminated by Facebook tags. 

But what else attracts us to Gatsby? Well, of course the glamour. It's essentially what everyone woman (in her right mind) wants; glamour and romance. We liken to Gatsby, because let's face it - if Leonardo DiCaprio is offering it up...who is going to say no? 

The reason the Gatsby era is so appealing is because that all important glamour equates to people trying harder. Think about the ever popular Downtown Abbey, and the eloquence it promotes. Why do we love it? Because the men wear tuxes and the ladies spend lots of time finger waving their hair.

I say now, that you should enjoy reminiscing the 'jazz period', even if you never lived through it. There's no actual going back for us tech age folks, but for an evening - take your other half or fabulous friends and transport yourself back to a time when love and romance were untouched by the limitless technology we possess today. What's more? Leo may be looking older these days, but lets he honest. We'd all still have a go... 

The Great Gatsby opens in cinemas on the 30th of May.
Snatch the June Edition of Australian Vogue for further Gatsby Madness. 

Wednesday, 8 May 2013

A Modern Man's Struggle...


Is Chivalry Dead….or just on life support?
The modern man's struggle - Words offered by Bryn Thomas 

The most popular reference we seem to hear about chivalry today, is that it is dead.
Over the weekend I was out having coffee with a close friend of mine, in a rather trendy French café; when I was subject to my first encounter with ‘the ultra feminist’. We’ve all heard of her before, the tale of the woman who yells at the gentleman for opening the door for her at the department store (where the doorman was that day, I’ll never know!) or the women who denies the seat offered to her on the metro, and rudely and loudly exclaims, “I’m quite capable of standing!”

Well I’m here to tell you gents she truly exists! She’s in her late twenties (although she could pull off a middle-aged women with the attire she was wearing) has reasonably short hair, those ‘indie’ glasses that scream ‘I’m an individual and I want everyone to know it’, and she wears a grey skivvy and an over sized necklace. Think primary schoolteacher crossed with a fire-breathing dragon.

In hindsight, I probably should have seen her coming, or at the very least recognized the hush in the room when she entered the cafe. But I was too busy in my Parisienne world trying to decide which pastry would go best with my café latté (I chose an almond croissant if you were wondering). Coming up to me, I politely moved aside for her and offered for her to be served first. A part from being polite and rather chivalrous I thought, I was still procrastinating over the almond croissant or the Bichon au Citron, and needed the extra few seconds to elect my treat. You see working in the fashion industry requires a sense of self-control and its not everyday I am free of my business partner Claudia, whereby I can splurge on the calories! Hence, the long decision.

Anyway, my lovely lady friend nastily responded to my offer with, “You know, women can wait in lines too!” I was caught completely off guard. Whereby, I removed my gaze (somewhat begrudgingly) from the tasty pastry cabinet to see her looking at me. Was she challenging me? I didn’t know what to do, or where to look. Was I about to have a duel with the she-dragon? The café attendant and the barista had both stopped what they were doing, and where looking at me too. The ball was in my court. “I’m sorry, I mistook you for a lady.” I said. Then turned to the attendant, “I’ll have the almond croissant please.” And retreated to my table. The dragon took her pistachio macaroons in her talons and stormed towards the door. (Luckily it was an automatic door, so no risk of another confrontation there.) The whole incident happened in a blink of an eye and within moments I was sipping my coffee.

Before anyone starts accusing me of being sexist, I, like most men, believe in women’s rights. I absolutely, positively support the notion that men and women should be equal in the face of the law, and I am proud to be from the country that was the first in the world to give women the right to vote and be elected in politics. But somehow my feminist dragon friend has decided that chivalry and equality cannot co-exist in society and this is where I disagree. I presume, (but could be wrong) that she feels that an act of courtesy or kindness towards her from a male is construed as a condescending attitude towards her. A technique used by men to make women feel inadequate and incapable.  Well I’m sorry! I really must protest! I think this cannot be farther from the truth...

In my mind, when I open the door for someone or give up my seat on the metro, it shows respect and mutual admiration for that person, even though I don’t know them. It shows that you are a dependable and admirable person and value the individual opposite to you, like society should.  To me it shows a standard of respectable behaviour in society, whether you open the door for a man or women shouldn't be entirely relevant.

Chivalry is not dead, despite the allegations of being sexist. It has simply changed, and I believe persons, who exhibit friendly, helpful deeds to one-another are exhibiting an act of chivalry. In retrospect, I wish I had chosen the Bichon au Citron afterall; which would have, ultimately have kept another bichon quiet.