vintage christian dior slip, spring wedges, plastic bag from victoire 

keep the day free

Uh oh. My fatalistic side just kicked in a few days ago and I began to realize that fall is just around the bend. I love fall. But everyone living in the north is fully aware of what comes after lovely fall. Bloody winter.

So this is your final warning to go do something silly outside while you still can. (I guess you can do silly things outside in the winter too, but last time I checked, frost bite was no laughing matter)
Stay out and watch the sunset in as many places throughout the city as possible.

Try to appreciate that there are palm tree-like plants growing around Ottawa. Outside. Temporarily of course.

outsides insides

Say hello to a few paintings done by my beautiful and talented friend, Shannon Armishaw. 
Things you should know about Shannon:
She creates dream-like landscapes liberated from practical concern.
Her ability to spin flesh and bone through rigid city structures in her images reminds me that it takes a certain kind of artist to convey the sensory experience of space.  
She can paint to shine a light on a dark place.
My neighbor is her dopppleganger.
Her work is exhibiting at The Ottawa Art Gallery in Art Rental and Sales for the rest of the month.

Check out Shannon's blog here.

in the streets

These pictures basically sum up everything I hope to wear this Fall: neutral palette, clean silhouettes with smart layers, lean boots, structured bags, blazers (worn as capes) and a hit of print.
I wish I could remember which magazine this editorial is from. 

my main man

gap denim shirt and flats, BF's jeans that I hacked up, club monaco belt

If what they say is true, then the only marriage worth having is the one between bread and butter. Naturally, this can be quite unsettling...especially if you are one of those romantic types. But for those more fixated on fashion than flirting, you know that there is another relationship that will stand the test of time. That relationship is between you and denim. 

Denim is a mature fabric; one that ages like a fine Bordeaux. He's timeless, tested and true. Denim looks good  cavorting down the street or modestly tucked under a tree. The more time you spend with denim, the more denim becomes a part of you. He molds into the angles of your hips. He hugs the circumference of your curvature. He figures out how you move and moves that way too.

Sadly, its true. Denim has let you down once or twice. Remember when he said your butt looked great in those bedazzled pockets (that brute!). Or the time when he convinced you that high-waisted was flattering (what a fool). But remember, no one's perfect and to make it in the long-run, forgiveness if key.
 Denim has made a few mistakes, but you know he means well. He's just trying to keep you happy; keep things spicy, you know?  
So let's hear it for cowboys, daisy dukes and the Canadian tuxedo! Give it up for Calvin! Here's to Levi! Denim, may our future be long and blissful.

just another hot, damp, hopeful weekend

gifted silk dress, vintage purse, nine west shoes people's choice sunnies, bangles and bracelets from Logan's Antiques. 
The best parts: listening to Slim Moore and the Mar-Kays, slinking around town in silk dresses, World Press Photo Exhibit, saki and blood-orange juice, turning secrets into sounds, watching woody allen flicks in bed, butterscotch sundaes, laying under the sky at midnight deciphering stars from satellites, an oil-coloured manicure. 

everything is illuminated

photos by faith allen 



images via jjjjound
A few images that have been floating around my mind lately and should be floating around yours too. 


Mobile images from the last few weeks

frances bean

Its not often you remember the first time you heard a band or a song, but I clearly remember the first time I heard Nirvana. I was 7 or 8. It was summer. I was in my aunt's basement, feeling bored and mischevious.

I  listlessly starting flicking through her CD collection  when I saw the azure-blue cover with a naked baby swimming towards a bill. I remember staring at it for so long trying to figure out WTF was happenig and why anyone would want to take a picture of a naked baby floating towards money.
As strange as the picture made me feel, I remember slipping the CD into the player and pressing play.

I didn't understand any of the song titles and I thought the music was just plain weird and loud. 
I eventually grew to love grunge music and even spent a few years with a rumpled plaid shirt tied around my waist, brooding over the loss of Kurt Cobain and in a weird state of awe/hate over Courtney Love.

But say what you will about the king and queen of grungeville-they sure do make cool-looking offspring, as you can see by these images of their daughter, Frances Bean, shot by Hedi Slimane.