Anyone who knows me will vouch for the fact that I can be quite the snob in regards to anachronisms of historical accuracy in films. Especially when those anachronisms arrive in the form of the costume design. There is nothing I detest more than a historically inaccurate costume. Elizabeth Taylor in Cleopatra, anyone? (Spot the girl who voluntarily did work experience aged sixteen as a fashion curator at a local museum).
SERIOUSLY?!
Therefore, I felt it was my duty to take to my little baby blog to congratulate the costume designers of The Theory of Everything for doing such an excellent job of…well…costume designing. I’m not entirely certain whether or not the clothes employed in the film were sourced vintage items or reproductions but either way BRAVO!
From Jane Wilde’s (Felicity Jones) adorable pale blue evening gown for the Cambridge May Ball…
To her pitch perfect wedding dress…
And everything in between and after…
Well, let’s just say this fashion history geek gained vast amusement from attempting to pinpoint the era each scene was focusing on based solely upon the costumes. Judge me. I don’t care. It all just adds up to a massive pat on the back and round of applause for the costume team.
If anyone hasn’t seen the film yet, I have just one question for you: WHY NOT?! Get your act together, guys! It is quite literally a masterpiece. I cried, I laughed, I cried some more, had a nosebleed, cried a bit more…stunning. Eddie Redmayne is absolutely astounding in his role as Stephen Hawking. And that isn’t even me just being biased because of my…ahem…appreciation of his talents. He has come a long, long way from Angel Clare of Emminster. I’m like a proud mother. Furthermore, Ms. Jones offers a heartbreaking portrayal of his hard-working wife. Once again, she has come a long, long way from the oh-so-naive Catherine Morland in Northanger Abbey. (Why must everything I speak of revert back to period dramas?) So seriously, I don’t understand why you’re still reading this post-GET THEE TO A CINEMA!
I’ll finish up by sending a gargantuan GOOD LUCK to all those involved at the Golden Globes. C’MON, THE REDMAYNE! AND THE JONES!
Today, I treated myself to the viewing pleasure of my own personal premiere of Christopher Nolan’s Memento, after approximately six years of promising myself every Saturday that I would watch it that evening. So here I am, on a cold Thursday evening in January, sitting in a darkened bedroom trying to come to terms with what I have just borne witness to and attempting to join the dots in my mind. I am currently getting nowhere. I am still drowning in a cloudy haze.
Despite my wavering viewpoints on various aspects of this film (if you haven’t seen it, I would highly recommend it…I’ll be keeping this post spoiler-free so that everyone has the opportunity to experience this heightened sense of disorientation), there is one topic upon which I have a very definite opinion. And that is the role of tattoos in the film.
For the benefit of those who are unacquainted with the plot of Memento, allow me to enlighten you briefly. Leonard Shelby (Guy Pearce) suffers extreme short-term memory loss following a traumatic incident in which his wife was attacked. The film concerns him seeking revenge for the wrongdoings that have been performed against him and his late wife…however, this is no mean feat considering he is incapable of making new memories, thus forgetting all events within a few moments of them occurring. In order to combat this, Leonard conditions himself to make note of all those events which he deems to be significant. Those events of the greatest importance? They’re noted in ink on his skin.
There are two very distinct and opposing viewpoints represented within the film in regards to these tattoos:
1) They are of massive significance to Leonard. They allow him to live. These are mementos of his past, objects through which he can progress and eventually achieve his ultimate goal. For him, they are essentially a lifesaver.
2) In the words of Natalie (another character, portrayed by Carrie-Anne Moss), they are freaky. Weird. Sure, it would be difficult to caress a hairless chest with the words “JOHN G. RAPED AND MURDERED MY WIFE” scrawled across it. But is the opinion of this one character representative of the ceaseless stigmatisation of tattooed men and women in the media (and in reality) today?
For me, tattoos are a means through which we can illustrate our skin with permanent souvenirs of the most pivotal, monumental moments in our lives. They are a commemoration of our successes in life. They remind us that we have survived. Isn’t this an art-form we should celebrate? Even in its most basic form of the ol’ stick-and-poke (an act which we see our Leonard perform on himself in a scene which I found particularly intriguing…so much so that I had to rewind it to hear the words that were being spoken because I was simply too enthralled by the nifty movement of his fingers), surely this co-existence of science and art is something not to be frowned upon but acknowledged for what it truly is…the creation of a permanent masterpiece on the human body?
Honestly, this is one of my favourite topics of debate. Please, feel free to share your opinion with me. I am genuinely interested. Drop me a comment. Go on. I dare you.
Au revoir, mes petits pois!
PS-if you did not swoon over Guy Pearce’s strangely alluring bleached blond punk hairdo in this film, you are wrong.
PPS-if you were not cast adrift in a sea of your own tears after Leonard’s heartfelt speech about being unable to adequately grieve and get over the death of his wife because he has no concept of time, then you have the kind of emotional stability I crave in my life and I envy you. I really do.
A few weeks ago, I embarked upon an aimless pondering upon what were, in my opinion, the ten most perfectly flawless women to ever grace the planet. Well, now it’s time for the opposite sex to get their fair share of the spotlight, as I turn to the ten (of the) most perfectly flawless men to ever grace the planet (70% of whom are or were part of the music scene…okay…maybe 90%).
I must ‘fess up. I have a mild tendency to claim that any attractive male celebrity whom I lay eyes upon is ‘the love of my life’. Thus, this was an extremely difficult task for The High Priestess. Therefore, I came to the conclusion that I would narrow it down to my ten ultimate faves (excluding one…or two…or five…it pays to be ruthless), particularly in the iconic fashion sense. So, without further ado, ladies and gentlemen, My ‘Perfect Ten’: Male Edition!
10) Brian Ferry
The lead singer of Roxy Music, Brian Ferry was and continues to be The King of Smooth. Three words: suave, suave, suave. I mean, this fella is rocking a pair of leather trousers in an image above like no other person ever could. Ross Geller, eat your heart out! And who could possibly forget the iconic baby blue suit, candyfloss pink tie combination from the Jealous Guy video? Fabulous, dahling!
9) Oliver Sim
This man is to blame for my obsession with elbow slits in clothing. Tucking formal peg-leg trousers or hareem pants into long black DMs was never fashionable until Oliver Sim came along. And not only is his style fashion-forward, it is also practical, especially considering the unusual yet hypnotising shapes this guy pulls on stage. Love you long time, Mr. Sim (and Romy…and Jamie…).
8) Kurt Cobain
If Brian Ferry is The King of Smooth, Kurt is most certainly The King of Grunge. With his dirty shoulder-length blond hair, baggy sweaters and jeans that any mother would have thrown in the bin a long time ago, Cobain became the defining image of an era and the mouthpiece for a generation of misunderstood teens. His legacy continues its reign to this very day, with a new age of teens being introduced to his music with every new rising sun, and both men and women citing him as their ultimate style icon.
(This song seriously speaks to me.)
7) Steve Strange
I’m in awe of his eccentricity. In fact, I’m downright envious of it. As the founding father of the ‘Blitz Kids’ scene in London in the 1970s and 1980s (and consequently the New Romantics), we are all eternally indebted to Strange for encouraging androgyny and the wearing of Victoriana attire simply to pop down to the shops.
6) James Quaintance
With the face of a cherub and the body of a rockabilly bad boy, James Quaintance was created to break hearts. A jack of all trades, he is just as comfortable working the runway as he is with the ink and needle or wheeling around Venice Beach on a skateboard. He even dabbles in the music scene. Perfection? I think so.
5) Jeff Buckley
It is no secret that I am madly in love with Jeff Buckley. With a voice as ethereal as a siren’s song (see what I did there?), hauntingly beautiful eyes and a through-other fashion sense, Jeff is the idealistic heartthrob for this lost little Goth girl. The morbid corner of my mind is also sickeningly roped in by the mystery of his eerie death. A conspiracy? We may never know. All I know for certain is this: I LOVE JEFF BUCKLEY.
Effortless. He doesn’t even have to try. How is this possible? How is this real? Ugh.
4) Robert Smith
The crazy-cool lead singer of The Cure is my beauty style icon. I mean, he got the ultimate Gothic make-up look down to a tee. And he is most certainly my hairspray rival. The quest for volume knows no end. I spy with my little eye something beginning with ‘s’…
3) Eddie Redmayne
Okay, so maybe Master Redmayne’s style isn’t exactly iconic…yet. But I simply couldn’t resist. I adore this man. Completely and utterly in love. The hair. The freckles. THAT SMILE. I could look at his face all day. I actually want to look at his face all day. I don’t want to do anything else. It hurts. It hurts so bad. My little heart. Swoon. Hurry up and move on Niamh before you make a fool of yourself…or is it too late?
2) Paul Weller
I have inherited an admiration for this man from a mod revival mother who tried her utmost to replicate his style. But seriously, what is not to love? The Modfather used fashion as a weapon to reel in a generation of unruly teens and taught them with words of rebellion in his new wave anthems. Angry young men looking their finest. And the best part about Paul Weller? HE IS STILL DROP DEAD GORGEOUS TO THIS VERY DAY. He is the perfect embodiment of the ‘fine wine’ comparison.
1) Morrissey
Morrissey is my god. I think we all already know that. Need I say more? He has an effortlessly cool image which just screams, “I know men and women are falling for me and I sincerely couldn’t care less. I hate people. Bring me my cat.” It is he to whom I pay tribute with my characteristic undercut and quiff. Morrissey, how I adore thee. Teach me your ways. And lend me your shirts.
That’s me. I’m done, off to cuddle my teddybears and spend the rest of my life painfully alone because no man will ever live up to my ridiculous expectations, considering my ‘perfect ten’ are well and truly perfect. Sigh. Ah well.
Could this be Dior’s greatest marketing ploy to date?
You know the name.
You know the face.
You know the song.
And now you know the brand and its product.
Congratulations, Dior. A gold star for effort and buckets of gold reserves in the bank as a result of this masterpiece of advertising.
I must not tell a lie; I was making my Sunday commute to work when my mother sent me a frantic, hysterical text message excitedly telling me of how she had just witnessed this advert for the first time way, way back in that glorious month of August. And do you know what was the most astonishing aspect of this tale? Mi madre was able to recall EVERY SINGLE MINUSCULE DETAIL about this two minutes of sheer brilliance. This is from a woman who constantly walks into rooms and forgets why she is even there to begin with. That’s how you know you’ve done a commendable job of advertising.
I must not tell another lie; as soon as I read my mother’s (rather hilarious) texts, I immediately made a pit-stop at YouTube and went on the search for the Holy Grail of advertising. And this one minute forty-five second advert turned into fifteen minutes of ogling the startlingly handsome Mr. Pattinson.
From the very first glimpse of his casual lounging on a rooftop in the blazing sun to that final smouldering glare into my soul, I was sold. And don’t even get me started on the smoking (fully-dressed) in the bathtub. By gad. Gee golly. Holy heart failure, Batman! A round of applause to the stylists on the set, without whom none of this seething gorgeousness would undeniably be possible. Mod suits galore!
But of course, this advertisement would not be so brilliant without the magnificent song styling of Led Zeppelin and the fabulously rocking ‘Whole Lotta Love’. It just completes the package in a way that no other song ever could. Perfection, perfection, perfection.
To conclude, I want to address all the men of the world and say…go out and purchase some Dior Homme. If it makes you even half as alluring as Sir Pattinson, it will be money well spent.
…that is, in the humble opinion of The High Priestess.
Ladies and gentlemen, behold the icons of my idolatry. Darwin’s fittest females in accordance with the evolution of mankind. My Perfect Ten. It is time to unleash the green-eyed monster.
10) Edie Sedgwick
Andy Warhol’s muse and the only person who can wear those disgustingly extravagant earrings and not look like Pat Butcher (she somehow makes those mini-chandeliers look like the epitome of elegance): the glorious Ms. Sedgwick. Unfortunately, the wildness of the era and the whirlwind world of fast-paced youth got the better of our Edie and she sadly passed at the tender age of 28 in 1971. However, her memory lives on in the multitudes of stunning photographs of the superstar, Warhol’s films and Leddra Chapman’s haunting ode ‘Edie’ (please excuse the dodgy video). Long live the It Girl.
9) Siouxsie Sioux
The lead singer of Siouxsie and the Banshees, many (including myself) would claim that Siouxsie Sioux is the ultimate Queen of the Trad Goths…for obvious reasons. The androgynous style, the raven’s nest hair, the dramatic eye make-up; Siouxsie has it all, not to mention her stellar music! It’s official. Siouxsie is the perfect Gothic package.
(Excuse the profanity…you have been warned.)
8) Agyness Deyn
At one point in every girl’s life, she will lay eyes upon the one woman she aspires to look like. Her true style icon. For me, that woman is Agyness Deyn. I dare say anyone who knows me well would be willing to stand up in a court of law and proclaim that my obsession with Agy is unhealthy. Every night I pray that I wake up the next morning looking like her. She is the definition of flawless. I cannot even convey how much I want to be her. It’s not fair. Life is just not fair.
7) Annie Lennox
Is it becoming pretty evident that I have a mild infatuation with buzzcuts? Considering I often get called ‘Mini Annie Lennox’ by my colleagues, it would be completely unfathomable for me to exclude the gorgeous Annie from my list. As if her fashion sense (THOSE SUITS!), cracking hairstyles and angelic voice wasn’t enough to make you jealous, she has the personality of a saint and a delightful Scottish brogue. I love her. Especially in this music video.
6) Kat Von D
She is the woman who worked wonders for inked ladies all over the world, highlighting the power and beauty of tattooing and encouraging everyone to embrace their bodies as a human canvas. Not only is Kat Von D a magician with a needle and ink, she also has a killer fashion line (which I plan on doing a blog post on once the online shop is up and running again following a devastating fire) and a fabulous Gothic make-up range. With talents galore, it is impossible not to adore this masterpiece of a woman.
5) Twiggy
The Bambi eyes. The boyish figure. The pixie cut. The button nose. The pouting lips. Twiggy is my vision of idealistic beauty. She is the woman who made me fall in love with vintage fashion many, many moons ago and for that I am truly thankful. Thank you, Twiggy. I owe you big time.
4) Kate Bush
As if having outrageously brilliant talents for choreography, singing and song-writing isn’t enough, Kate Bush just had to throw in the fact that she is stunningly gorgeous and can work a tweed suit better than any Fleet Street businessman or Oxford English Literature lecturer ever could. She is also insanely intelligent and isn’t afraid to make controversial political statements (Army Dreamers, anyone?). In your face, Patriarchy. IN. YOUR. FACE. Altogether now: I’M COMING BACK NOW, CRUEL HEATHCLIFF, MY ONE DREAM, MY ONLY MAAAAAASTER!
3) Florence Welch
I fondly recall summer 2010 as the summer my best friend and I officially became infatuated with Florence + The Machine’s album Lungs. That was the beginning of our ongoing adoration of Ms. Welch. No matter what she is wearing, be it an ethereal evening gown or a suit made from what resembles cheap wallpaper from the 1980s, the lady never seems to put a fashionable foot out of place. And speaking of feet…Florence’s perfectly pedicured tootsies are also things to be envied. Yes. She is so immaculate that even HER FEET are perfect. Ugh. And if this song doesn’t make you shed the tears of a thousand lonely sunsets, you have a heart of stone I tell you.
2) Stevie Nicks
The White Witch herself. Stevie is just completely magical. Mystical. Spellbinding. It cannot be denied that the blood that courses through her veins sparkles with stardust. If you have ever travelled through the countryside of Ireland via train, listening to Stevie’s haunting vocals whilst the rain sends floods of teardrops cascading down the window pane, you will understand the power of this woman’s soul. It is to Nicks that I owe the deepest gratitude for encouraging me to embrace the fantastical world of the paranormal, the tarot…all things dark and enchanting. Thank you, beautiful, beautiful woman. You allowed me to be who I am.
1) Dita Von Teese
Um. Yeah. I don’t think I need to go into detail here. I think we all know. There is no need. Dita Von Teese. My sin. My soul. Oh, Dita, do me a favour and lend me your coat. I swear I’ll give it back. I promise.
So, if you haven’t all drifted into the Land of Nod having been completely bored to death by my nonsensical ravings, I thank you for your attention and your patience. Now, leave me to wallow in self-pity, self-loathing and jealousy. It’s going to take me a little while to get over this post. Too much perfection. Too much envy.