Model and guest blogger Laura Bailey's blog, brought to you by Vogue.com. Fashion as it happens, reported direct from the team in Vogue House. <p>Mixed Miami memories - Nineties one night stands for shoots on a square of white South Beach sand cheek-by-jowl with another team, another fashion story. The wide-eyed gatecrasher in top-to-toe Palm Beach ladies' vintage cast-offs when everyone else was wearing white jeans and Gucci in the billowing ivory sail super-sized lobby of the Delano. On location with Abel Ferrara on an ill-fated movie adventure back and forth from NYC, whilst the best drama happened off camera, and at least I got to drink and curse with Beatrice Dalle.</p><p>Fast forward a decade to 2010 and I joined a happy gang to celebrate the opening of the Soho Beach House, Nick Jones's chic Miami outpost, and Florida began to work a different kind of holiday magic. A tease of a weekend, but one I'll always remember, and this Easter I returned, with family and friends, to relax, to explore, to do nothing and everything at once, as it is somehow possible to do when one's anchor is a stripy sun lounger and the big blue beyond. The very first morning I raced five miles along the beach in the jet-lagged black before dawn. And then I slowed to a gentle stroll. And played.</p><p>My top ten Miami tips, for now...</p><p>1. <a href="http://www.cmadeleines.com" target="_blank">C Madeleleine's</a></p><p>Still my favourite shop/fantasy closet in the world. This time I met the legendary proprietress Madeleine Kirsch - admittedly wishing I wasn't wearing flip-flops and and a swimsuit under my dress, but I swiftly zipped myself into a dream Eighties scarlet-trimmed navy Chanel suit. I could while a frivolous afternoon away just trying on comedy shades in a corner, but a boyfriend tap-tapping away on his Blackberry and five hungry little mermaid kids meant I speed-changed on a stopwatch before falling for vintage Versace and shrunken Pringle cashmere, YSL geometric and floral prints, and yes, THAT Chanel suit (tailored in-house and delivered to my hotel, princess style). I'm done, for a year, but no regrets.</p><p>2. <a href="http://www.jugofresh.com" target="_blank">Jugo Fresh</a>&nbsp;</p><p>Okay, given a choice, I'd choose a double espresso over a cold pressed anything. But, for the first time, in Miami, I somewhat reluctantly appreciated the allure of the new world of juice, or at least the best coconut milk in the world.</p><p>Jugo Fresh is a health cult and expanding fast. There are maybe five in Miami, but the flagship store is in the heart of the Wynwood Walls, kind of an art installation in itself. Follow the curve of the graffiti toward a lime-green cocoon, where state-of-the-art fridges overflow with the promise of eternal life. Health and hope, bottled.</p><p>3.&nbsp; <a href="http://www.mandolinmiami.com" target="_blank">Mandolin</a></p><p>Rosy memories of the longest lunch in a&nbsp; postcard-pretty blue and white garden, glorious Greek tapas, a carafe of pink wine, and a race to the airport, but I'd lost my bearings and had to phone a friend. Mandolin, first time around, was a brave pioneer off the beaten track, a Turkish/Aegean oasis of a bistro which now finds itself in the throbbing heart of the Design District. Simply where I'd go if I could only eat one meal in Miami. And a special thanks to magical Anastasia aka Mrs Mandolin who swept the children away to eat flowers in the organic garden next door for desert, whilst those of us left behind finished&nbsp; ice-cream, and sentences… &nbsp;</p><p>4.&nbsp; The Margulies Collection</p><p>One stolen afternoon, a list in my pocket - a solo tourist with an art mission and a taxi number. <a href="http://rfc.museum" target="_blank">The Rubell</a>, <a href="http://www.delacruzcollection.org" target="_blank">De La Cruz</a>, and <a href="http://www.margulieswarehouse.com" target="_blank">Margulies Collections</a>. Shining stars in the Miami art, and philanthropic, worlds. A rare treat. No rush. Just looking. Just go.</p><p>5. <a href="http://standardhotels.com/spa-miami-beach" target="_blank">The Standard Hotel and Spa</a></p><p>The Standard is for grown-ups, but they thankfully turned a blind eye to the five over excited ragamuffins my friend Kate and I showed up with, who immediately turned the hammam chill out swings&nbsp; into a raucous playground until we managed to distract them with a paddle in the glorious pool before a bayside lunch&nbsp; under sunshine striped parasols. There's yoga, and a spa of dreams, and all the things I promise to make time for one day. Instead, we played round-robin ping-pong in the lobby whilst waiting for a cab, and they probably breathed a big karmic sigh of relief when we left.&nbsp;</p><p>6. <a href="http://www.deltoroshoes.com" target="_blank">Del Toro</a>, Design District</p><p>I kind of hate myself when I get excited about trainers, but here I gave myself permission to surrender, and anyway, I was only following the boys. This shop is special. We stumbled upon it amidst a stroll through the deserted Design District which felt like a movie-set on a sleepy Tuesday&nbsp; afternoon. It was around 5pm. "Where is everyone?", I asked a local Beyoncé lookalike. "It's all Thursday - Saturday round here, but it's happy hour around the corner at 6pm...Everyone will be there." We found the bar later, but first the shoes, and bags, and more. I don't need handmade Italian Mickey Mouse hi-tops but I'm still thinking about that ruby red quilted overnight duffle…</p><p>7. <a href="http://www.plantthefuture.com/about-us/" target="_blank">Plant The Future</a>&nbsp;</p><p>Just because my kids love cacti and outside the desert, this is their spiritual home. Paloma Teppa, industrial designer and artist, fuses her love of nature with wild and wonderful flights of the imagination. Our London garden centre terracotta pot plants have been entirely eclipsed by an exotically-planted ceramic white TV. Sweet succulent dreams, Miami style.</p><p>8. <a href="http://woodtavernmiami.com" target="_blank">WOOD TAVERN</a></p><p>The galleries were empty. The shops were empty. We were the only tourists. But we crossed NW 2nd Ave in the Design District to WOOD and it was a party - at 6pm. Taco Tuesday. Cheers.</p><p>9. MIAMI HEAT</p><p>I prefer to play sport, not watch it. I nearly didn't go to the game. But, when in Miami, of course I cheered, drunk beer and bought the T-shirt. A pro-basketball game is pure Americana theatre, its stars micro-managed modern heroes. I found myself taking close-up pictures of 'Birdman's' trainers - and tattoos. But only because a marshall accidentally directed me and my two nine-year-old boy dates to courtside seats, where we were virtually part of 'KING' Lebron James's security detail. I chose to ignore my boyfriend's texts, imploring me to take our (almost) equally amazing seats eight rows back. Lucky stars.</p><p>10. <a href="http://www.sohobeachhouse.com" target="_blank">Soho Beach House</a></p><p>No words. Just happy memories. Of a room with a view.&nbsp; And five sleepover kids who couldn't bear to be parted, from each other, and from Miami's boardwalk wonderland.&nbsp;</p><p>Postcards from paradise and the back-to-school blues.</p><p></p><a href="/blogs/laura-bailey/2014/4/postcards-from-miami" title="Laura Bailey Blog Miami memories">Continue reading...</a> urn:www-vogue-co-uk:1:docid:101655 http://www.vogue.co.uk/blogs/laura-bailey/2014/4/postcards-from-miami Tue, 29 Apr 2014 10:43:44 +0100 <p>Paris messes with my head. And my heart. I didn't write anything down. I didn't take enough pictures. I cancelled dates in favour of spontaneous reunions, French-girl flirting and simply shooting the breeze. Twenty-four hours is never enough. My extra-curricular art itinerary (<strong><a href="http://www.lesartsdecoratifs.fr/english-439/exhibitions/forthcoming-events">Dries Van Noten</a></strong>, <strong><a href="http://www.grandpalais.fr/en/event/bill-viola">Bill Viola</a></strong>) languished in an optimistic scrumpled note in my (quilted) handbag this time.</p><p>But I did chase the ghosts and the very real Miss Sophie Kennedy Clarke - Scot star-in-the-making thanks to <em>Philomena</em> and <em>Nymphomania&nbsp;</em> (who wears her new-found fame as lightly as her DM's and a dirty joke) - around the apartment of Gabrielle Chanel on the fabled Rue Cambon. We didn't mean to dress like sisters. I blame the rain for black beanies and matchy-matchy Rapunzel dreads. Together we traced the Chanel codes via the treasures and trinkets, Leo totems and Chinese lacquerwork. From a chandelier dripping in lucky crystal numbers to the legendary mirrored stairway, I-Spy fashion history.</p><p>Back to the future and the Chanel 'Hypermarche' show is already the stuff of fashion folklore. It was somewhat surreal drifting around the Grand Palais in a world where everything on the outsized shelves - from cookies to Coco Pops - was stamped with those double Cs and desire.</p><p>A frenzy of Instagramming - and looting - ensued, whilst I just stopped and stared at Rhianna as spectator at a dance to her own tune; at Cara D as model and actress in her very own world; at those shiny-bouncy trainers which will make me cheat on Nike come autumn; and simply skywards, through a sunbeam filter on cue if choreographed by Karl Lagerfeld.</p><p>I arrive late to lunch (happily distracted en route at Chanel Place Vendome by diamonds and the new version of the J12 watch I've worn forever) at <strong><a href="http://www.thoumieux.fr">Thoumieux Brasserie</a></strong> with my suitcase and schoolgirl French to be charmed by the talents of up-and-coming chef Jean-Francoise Piege and surrender to time-trickery thanks to Elodie Bouchez and Cecile Casell (actress-turned-singer/musician: look/listen out for <strong><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5xerDmSwiNo">HollySiz</a></strong>) celebrating something or everything. Any excuse. Pretty perfect Paris, according to Chanel - albeit a one-night-stand. A tout a l'heure.</p><p></p><a href="/blogs/laura-bailey/2014/3/paris-according-to-chanel" title="Laura Bailey Blog - Paris... According to Chanel">Continue reading...</a> urn:www-vogue-co-uk:1:docid:101073 http://www.vogue.co.uk/blogs/laura-bailey/2014/3/paris-according-to-chanel Thu, 13 Mar 2014 12:33:45 +0100 <p>At some point, in the early hours of the morning after the BAFTAs (bravo Gravity!), I slipped off my heels to tip toe around a pile of moonboots and suitcases, shedding Cinderella layers - and diamonds - as I made tea and toast and contemplated waking my children and heading to Heathrow an hour later.</p><p>Things I forgot to pack: my washbag, my hairbrush, my make-up, my ski jacket... I could go on. Between duty-free and a Swiss petrol station, I bought the bare essentials (Crème de la Mer in miniature, sunblock, a toothbrush and two-for-the-price-of-one black eyeliners).</p><p>I'm not a Gstaad girl at all (having not quite managed to save up for school ski trips, never ever wearing fur, and being most at home on a desert island) and I still feel somewhat an actress fraud in my Seventies-inspired all-in-one Stella McCartney ski-suit ten years on from my first clumsy attempts to catch up on the slopes.</p><p>As it turned out, Le Grand Bellevue, the newly-reopened hotel in the heart of town and the shadow of the mountains, where my girlfriends and I and our gaggle of small children stayed, exudes a kind of laid-back fireside welcome and modern glamour - a world away from the high-society glitz of Gstaad folklore.</p><p>The potential pain of organising various combinations of&nbsp; ski teachers, kit galore, and lunching logistics for our ever-expanding party, was entirely miraculously negated in style thanks to the Bellevue team, who also waved a magic wand upon a twilight sleigh-ride through an enchanted forest towards a secret supper in the wilds causing screeching giggles to whistle through the pines.</p><p>The grown-ups gazed wishful-thinking upon the best spa for miles (from a salt-scrub shower to aromatic steamrooms and - apparently - legendary massages) realising it would be sacrificed in favour of rosy-cheeked action adventure, sleepovers and splash time in the pool (this time). But the luxe stash of Bamford beauty treats in the bedrooms overcompensated for my late night amateur packing-dramatics, along with the sharp embrace of a navy sky, the stars reflected in glittering ice ("Is it always Christmas in Switzerland, Mummy?").</p><p>Wraparound balconies overlooking the snow-white wilds and a Michelin-starred restaurant meant the hotel would be ultra-romantic a deux but it's an adventure playground en masse, even boasting a private cinema where the kids were spoilt with a happy combination of sushi and Monty Python one night.</p><p>I didn't read a book or wear a dress or even window-shop at Prada, and mostly ate cheese. But I didn't fall, except in love with a fairytale town. There are all kinds of girls - and little (tomboy) princesses - in Gstaad.</p><p><a href="http://www.bellevue-gstaad.ch/">Bellevue-gstaad.ch</a></p><p></p><a href="/blogs/laura-bailey/2014/2/from-the-baftas-to-the-gstaad-mountains" title="Laura Bailey Blog - From the BAFTA's to the Gstaad mountain range">Continue reading...</a> urn:www-vogue-co-uk:1:docid:100832 http://www.vogue.co.uk/blogs/laura-bailey/2014/2/from-the-baftas-to-the-gstaad-mountains Fri, 28 Feb 2014 14:35:36 +0100 <p>Here are my top ten (in-and-around) LFW tips.</p><h3>1.The Firehouse Hotel</h3><p>In a hard hat and neon safety vest I clambered over an obstacle course of tangled wires and carpet samples, sampling china whites and chinoiserie along the way in a building site on Chiltern Street in Marylebone some time before Christmas. Last week I returned as a guest of brilliant hotelier Andre Balazs, as one of the first few to sample the delights of the spanking new (but already seductive in the extreme) Firehouse Hotel.</p><p>It had taken me two hours to get there amidst the tube strike from an East End studio, but from the moment I arrived, the old-school golden glow of the bar radiating the smiles of friends worked mood-enhancing magic and destroyed school-night good intentions.</p><p>From breakfast (chef Nuno Mendez's 24/7 genius) to, well, a sleepover, The Firehouse will be London's new port in a (fashion) storm. And right across the street, <strong><a href="http://monocle.com/about/contacts/london-cafe">the Monocle Café</a></strong> conveniently serves the best coffee in town. Double espresso to go, possibly via <strong><a href="http://mouki-london.com">Mouki</a></strong> - the exquisite Chiltern Street boutique curated by Maria Lemos, which can now double up as the best hotel gift shop in the world for the Firehouse guests.</p><h3>2. <em>Bailey's Stardust</em> at the National Portrait Gallery</h3><p>The new blockbuster show at my favourite gallery in London - the <strong><a href="http://www.npg.org.uk">NPG</a>.</strong> Get your fix of fashion and rock-and-roll legends from Deneuve to the Stones, but linger on the master's lesser-known landscapes, African adventures and incredible East End portraits.</p><h3>3. Emilia Wickstead</h3><p>My Fashion Week will be a juggling act between shows and BAFTA celebrations (and my kids - it will be half-term so I'll be swapping stilettos for ski-boots on Monday), but a sure-thing LFW highlight for me will be <strong><a href="http://emiliawickstead.com/welcome">Emilia Wickstead</a></strong> on Saturday. I've long been&nbsp; drawn to her elegant aesthetic (while feeling too scruffy, too mis-matched, too 'London'), but a visit to her Chelsea atelier last week proved to be a calm and inspiring diversion as I tried on coats so perfectly cut I almost didn't care what I wore underneath (though a tweed check pencil skirt would definitely be on my wish list). Basically, what I wish I was wearing when in reality I'm running around in a jump-suit and hi-tops.</p><h3>4. SHRIMPS</h3><p>Everyone's wondering what Hannah Weiland for <a href="http://shrimps.co.uk">SHRIMPS</a> - creator of the Wilma, THE faux-fur coat of the season - does next. I know, because I wore just about everything&nbsp; last weekend for her upcoming autumn/winter 2014 fashion film. In true sweet SHRIMPS spirit it was very much a family affair, but wait and see...</p><h3>5. Beauty and Flowers</h3><p>Today was a good day. After Leigh Keates at the <a href="http://www.joshwoodcolour.com">Josh Wood Atelier</a> cut a whole inch or two off my hair, I spoiltly slunk upstairs for a once-in-a blue-moon massage of dreams, and then someone sent me flowers (a VERY good day). A wild rainbow of a <a href="http://www.scarletandviolet.com">Scarlet + Violet</a> posy in a jam-jar tied with a rosy ribbon. I'll follow suit for thank yous, or apologies, or just because.</p><p>The new Josh Wood Colour Atelier Beaute and Scarlet + Violet flowers - treats on speed-dial for Fashion Week and beyond.</p><h3>6. Anh Duong at ROBILANT + VOENA</h3><p>A hop and a skip from Dover St Market, home to the Simone Rocha's spring/summer 2014 collection of dreams as well as the best collection of hard-to-find photography books in town, is <a href="http://www.robilantvoena.com">ROBILANT + VOENA</a>, where Anh Duong's first solo London show of self-portraits opened last week. Chanel No 5, Dolce &amp; Gabbana gowns, and rows of high heels seduce as Duong explores our fetishistic fantasies of fashion and her own (and our) mirror-image in expressive and emotive paint.</p><h3>7. Adwoa Aboah</h3><p>My much-more-than-a-model to watch (just always looking out for her).</p><h3>8. Isa Arfen</h3><p>London-based Serafina Sama doesn't show here (yet) but every time I fall in love with something on a friend or in print, all roads seem to lead to <a href="http://isaarfen.com">Isa Arfen</a>.</p><p>The perfect sleeveless white shirt, a cotton jean, a hug of a fluffy coat are all so kind of Marilyn Monroe on the beach before she was famous with a modern twist. My definition of desire.</p><h3>9. SISTER BY SIBLING</h3><p>I'll be wearing my Lead Sister sweater on the ski-slopes with moonboots - far from Somerset House - and waiting for pictures from the London show that simply makes me smile the most.</p><p>Cheerleader luck and love to the talented trio - Cozette, Sid and Joe.</p><h3>10. BAFTAS</h3><p>The BAFTAS (and what to wear) are another story, but I'm rooting for my genius pal Alfonso Cuaron and <em>Gravity</em>; Matthew McConaughey and Jared Leto for <em>The Dallas Buyers</em> <em>Club</em>; and Cate Blanchett in <em>Blue Jasmine</em>. And awe-inspiring Lupito Nyong'o must win Best Supporting Actress for her heartbreaking performance in the the devastatingly brilliant <em>Twelve Years A Slave</em>.</p><p>A lucky London moment as the worlds of film and fashion collide this weekend. The mountains might feel extra cold and quiet on Monday were it not for eight rosy-cheeked kids and the call of the wilds.</p><p>xxLB</p><p></p><a href="/blogs/laura-bailey/2014/2/laura-baileys-london-fashion-week-top-ten" title="Laura Bailey blog - London Fashion Week Top Ten Tips">Continue reading...</a> urn:www-vogue-co-uk:1:docid:100624 http://www.vogue.co.uk/blogs/laura-bailey/2014/2/laura-baileys-london-fashion-week-top-ten Tue, 11 Feb 2014 16:43:38 +0100 <p>As I pack, wrap, remember and imagine, just a quick celebratory Christmas thank you note via Vogue. Backwards and forwards: a few thank-yous to the friends and strangers who made my year, and my 2014 wishes...</p><h3>2013: Favourite people and places</h3><p><strong>JOSH WOOD COLOUR<br> </strong> </p><p><br> My best-beloved Josh who, aswell as being a global hair-colour star, happens to be the kindest and most inspirational friend. 2014 is going to be huge for him (but I can keep a secret or two).</p><p><a href="http://www.joshwoodcolour.com/">Joshwoodcolour.com</a></p><p><strong>LOQUET LONDON</strong></p><p>When Sheherazade Goldsmith and I dreamt up our bespoke locket business idea a year ago, we could never have imagined the adventures ahead. We're wrapping up last orders for Christmas and we'll be wearing Loquet close to our hearts around the world. She'll be on the road with <em>Gravity -&nbsp;</em> lucky charms, shooting stars and true romance. To the moon (via LA) and back again.</p><p><a href="https://www.loquetlondon.com/">Loquetlondon.com</a></p><p><strong>SHRIMPS</strong></p><p>Faux fur happiness. Hannah Weiland is a future star and her witty cult coats are just the beginning. Now selling at Opening Ceremony in Covent Garden (where incidently I did almost all my last-minute Christmas shopping - difficult teenagers et al).</p><p><a href="http://shrimps.co.uk/">Shrimps.co.uk</a></p><p><strong>SOLANGE AZAGURY PARTRIDGE<br> </strong> </p><p><br> The most fun I had at work all year was as a modern Cleopatra in a ruby-studded crucifix for <em>Metamorphosis</em>, a stop-frame treasure-hunt animation set in a wonderland dreamscape as imagined by genius Solange.</p><p><a href="http://www.solange.co.uk/films">Solange.co.uk/films</a></p><p><strong>BELLA FREUD</strong></p><p>What Bella did next: curioser and curioser. Films, collaborations, soulful songbirds for the Hoping Foundation and of course, every girl's ideal knit (current favourite is the bright blue "Girl" sweater, but it was so hard to wrap and give away her khaki "Last Poets" sweater this week). Never enough Bella - seeing Patti Smith sing twice in one week with her this summer was unforgettable.</p><p><a href="http://www.bellafreud.co.uk/">Bellafreud.co.uk</a></p><p><strong>CHARLOTTE TILBURY</strong></p><p>The beauty launch of the year: Charlotte Tilbury Makeup. So much more than the perfect eyeliner (the Feline Flick) or moisturiser (Charlotte's Magic Cream). The realisation of a beautiful dream, cocktail-whispered over years of empathetic friendship. Expert experience and supermodel secrets fused with business brilliance and a global vision. Her own best ambassador, Charlotte is a true original. Talent and grit, the greatest dancer, and now a mogul aswell as a mother and a true friend. Empire-building in style. Love and respect.</p><p><strong>KIDS COMPANY</strong></p><p>Camila Batmangelidh is London's angel and her Kids Company is a revelatory revolution of kindness. She'll give 5000 kids with no place to to go safety and peace at Christmas.</p><p><a href="http://www.kidsco.org.uk/">Kidsco.org.uk</a></p><h3>2014: Dreams and promises (in no particular order)</h3><ul><li>To finally read the instructions to my shiny-new serious Leica camera, and stop snapping away on my iPhone like a schoolgirl (I blame Instagram).</li><li>Berlin in springtime (and Paris, and LA...).</li><li>French lessons.</li><li>More talking, less texting. More books, less iPhone.</li><li>Tennis: topspin and practise makes perfect whites.</li><li>Bike helmet always - rain or shine.</li><li>I don't need any more trainers, ever. But I do want to run.</li><li>London hotels. The Chiltern Firehouse and The Beaumont (coming soon), and Claridges forever.</li><li>Matching lingerie. Occasionally.</li><li>No tequila, ever. Not even with George Clooney.</li><li>More words, less pictures.</li></ul><p>Love and Christmas wishes, and excellent 2014 adventures to all.</p><p>Laura</p><p>x</p><p></p><a href="/blogs/laura-bailey/2013/12/christmas-hopes-and-promises" title="Laura Bailey Blog - Christmas 2013, Hopes, Promises, Resolutions - Vogue.com UK">Continue reading...</a> urn:www-vogue-co-uk:1:docid:99891 http://www.vogue.co.uk/blogs/laura-bailey/2013/12/christmas-hopes-and-promises Mon, 16 Dec 2013 15:55:02 +0100 <p>Everyone has more important things to think about, but even the over-achieving superwomen in my life like a beauty fast-track tip, and a treat - or two - especially in November. Mine come via two of my oldest friends - Charlotte Tilbury and Josh Wood, both at the absolute top of their game in the worlds of make-up and hair, respectively.</p><p>I can keep a (beauty) secret. Charlotte Tilbury, make-up artist extraordinaire, has a few. But now she's sharing, via her recently-launched line of cosmetics and skincare. Luxe but ridiculously easy to use (I should know - the back of a taxi is my all-too-common- dressing room), inspired by screen sirens and rock chicks past and present, and channelling Charlotte's own unique and infamous glamour and wit, her brand, a true labour of love, is designed to celebrate and enhance all kinds of beauty whilst encouraging fantasy. On a good day, I'll go for Dolce Vita whilst Kate Moss is The Rebel (snap these looks and more up as beauty-in-a-box gifts or stocking thrillers - I refuse to talk about Christmas in November, but Charlotte can).</p><p>Always in a killer heel and a smoky eye, Charlotte is her own best ambassador, and an especially thoughtful friend on Saturday night when she slipped her Wonderglow magic potion into my handbag: "For tomorrow darling, trust me....".</p><p>My Charlotte Tilbury favourite five;</p><p>1. Full Fat Lashes 5 star mascara</p><p>2. K. I.S.S.I.N.G lipstick in Penelope Pink</p><p>3. The Feline Flick in Panther&nbsp;</p><p>4. Bronzed Garnet Colour Chameleon for Green Eyes</p><p>5. Multi-Miracle Glow - Cleanser, Mask and Balm for babysoft skin.</p><p>The worlds of Josh Wood and CHANEL have long been connected via a shared stream of international models and creative dream teams as well as the one and only Amanda Harlech. But their friendship just got serious. This week, Josh's Holland Park Atelier&nbsp; launches the first ever Chanel Nail pop-up with the ground floor living room space at the mews transformed by the Chanel design team into a glossy retreat within the already-iconic space.</p><p>I give my favourite Chanel polishes Blue Boy and Dragon as tiny thank yous all year round but now I'm open to new colour temptation, and sitting still occasionally.</p><p>Nail guru (and Chanel ambassador) Marian Newman will be in residence, adding another starry name to the roll-call of internationally renowned experts at the Atelier. Josh already inspires love and loyalty far and wide, so a mid-winter manicure or more, courtesy of Chanel is simply the icing on the cake.</p><p>Josh Wood Atelier, 6 Lansdowne Mews, London W11; 0203 393 0977</p><p><a href="http://www.joshwoodcolour.com/">Joshwoodcolour.com</a></p><p><a href="http://www.charlottetilbury.com/">Charlottetilbury.com</a></p><p></p><a href="/blogs/laura-bailey/2013/11/beauty-fix" title="Laura Bailey Blog - Beauty Fix - Vogue.com UK">Continue reading...</a> urn:www-vogue-co-uk:1:docid:99337 http://www.vogue.co.uk/blogs/laura-bailey/2013/11/beauty-fix Tue, 12 Nov 2013 16:23:25 +0100 <h3>Monday</h3><p class="MsoNormal">Writing. And unpacking. And re-organising stationery. Lined vs squared paper? Ink vs pencil?&nbsp;Present-wrapping. Missed birthdays - on a promise or two. Layers of grey and tartan on the sidelines of my son's football tournament where the lucky seven are somewhat distracted by David Beckham failing to be an incognito kickabout dad cheering his son.&nbsp;Email inbox - 550. Manage to gently dent to 490 in between goals. Homework and stories and a race to Chelsea for the <em>Vogue On Designers</em> book launch at Daphne's. While Alexandra Shulman pays tribute to the writers barefoot on a chair, I remember a speech I made in the exact same spot for my best friend's wedding three years ago and making everyone cry (I was trying to be funny).</p><h3>Tuesday</h3><p class="MsoNormal">I cycle to Mayfair via Hyde Park. Optimistic October tourists rent lonely but defiant deckchairs. Schoolgirls trot on horseback towards the Serpentine. A heron oversees proceedings perched atop a Henry Moore. All is familiar, and yet strangely new.&nbsp;An out-of body detour via Marc by Marc Jacobs (theoretically to replace a lost umbrella - actually to fall for a tropical-print jumpsuit) when I find myself early for a meeting with Solange Azagury Partridge at her shiny new Carlos Place flagship store. Rings on (all) my fingers, Solange and I talk work&nbsp;and play (look out for our film collaboration <em>Metamorphosis</em> later this week), and we continue our conversation at Scotts over lunch. Treat time. But reality calls via parents evening (afternoon?), heels swapped for hi-tops en route.&nbsp;A slightly indulgent "serious"&nbsp;discussion of maths and mischief over hot chocolate with extra cream follows: "But I just get the giggles Mummy..."</p><p class="MsoNormal">Late, late, late, quick change into black Temperley lace for the relaunch of Alice's Colville Mews store, somewhere all my worlds have long happily collided. An extra-special evening with&nbsp;Loquet London bespoke lockets&nbsp;(mine and Sheherazade Goldsmith's labour of love) sitting pretty amidst the gowns and the girls&nbsp;in the mews (our pop-up home 'til Christmas). Festivities later at an ever-expanding table at the Electric. Alfonso Cuaron, director of <em>Gravity</em>, and seven women. Well, he was celebrating too...</p><h3>Wednesday</h3><p class="MsoNormal">I choose and fit an Erdem dress for tomorrow's <em>Gravity</em> premiere in about ten minutes. Winter flowers. To the ground. But&nbsp;easy as a T-shirt. No messing around.&nbsp;Editing, deadlines, an interview via Paris. Soccer mom. Boyfriend home from Rio but off to see&nbsp;<em>Captain Phillips</em> at the London Film Festival. I fall asleep in my tracksuit before he gets home. (Sorry).</p><h3>Thursday</h3><p class="MsoNormal">Boyfriend's birthday. I give him one of Sam Taylor-Johnson's <em>Suspended</em> self-portraits before he's fully awake. It makes my kids want to learn to fly. Cake for breakfast means late for school.&nbsp;The thought of finally seeing <em>Gravity</em> later distracts all day. But strange things happen.&nbsp;I'm suddenly allergic to eyeliner. Our car goes missing. At one point I pile my pals into my Mini with my barefoot-pyjama-clad kids and ask my babysitter to drive us to Leicester Square. Fast. We leap out and into a black cab en route. We make it but only just. I find Sheherazade and Alfonso and&nbsp;couldn't be happier to sink into my seat, and into outer space (in 3D).</p><p><br> I won't write about <em>Gravity</em> except to say that I felt like I'd looped the loop, or learnt to scuba-dive all over again. The edge of reason between fear and trust.&nbsp;Total panic and deep calm. Just see it.&nbsp;And don't try to organise birthday candles and more immediately afterwards. And definitely don't walk miles to Claridges in an evening dress and your highest heels because you can't find a cashpoint and can't quite go home. (Gravitational pull).</p><h3>Friday</h3><p>I've known for a month I would be having lunch with Bill Clinton (and one hundred or so close friends) at Fruit Towers, home to Innocent Drinks, a hop and a skip from home. I didn't know I'd have had three hours sleep, and I wouldn't have cycled if I'd known&nbsp;monsoon rain was about to hit W10.&nbsp;At least I didn't have time to get nervous or think about what to wear. But&nbsp;I was definitely the only guest to show up in a cycling helmet.</p><p>I do know I was enormously lucky to be there. Richard Reed, co-founder of Innocent, introduced the President and the&nbsp;extraordinary missions shared by the Innocent Foundation and&nbsp;The Clinton Foundation, and then Bill Clinton talked and talked and talked.&nbsp;About Africa and the economy, about farming and freedom, but also about family and lessons learnt - and about a Hyde park walk with his wife at dawn. "You will never be as good alone as you will be with other people." It was emotional. Some of the guests no doubt went straight off to save the world. I met my kids at the skatepark. I tried to explain my day and what it meant to meet a President. My son: "Did you actually see where they mush the fruit? And can we have more mango?"</p><h3>P.S. Sunday</h3><p>With apologies to my kids (abandoned to afternoon Disney and a babysitter). A mad dash to see <em>The Last impresario</em>&nbsp;at the London Film Festival, young Australian director Gracie Otto's documentary about Michael White - producer, party animal, eternal optimist and loyal friend. A guilty pleasure watching his life unfold on screen and realising belatedly that he'd kick-started so many of my magical memories. My first Cannes Film Festival on a wing and a prayer, life-long friendships forged around his kitchen table, the boyfriends he didn't approve of, the beautiful girls, the first time he met my newborn babes.&nbsp;I should have dressed up and gone to the party, but instead I'm remembering whole years I'd forgotten and going through my photo-albums. He would understand. Kind of. And if I drew a hearts-and-arrows doodle of my week, Michael would be the there, amongst the beautiful and the damned, the fashion princesses and the Presidential parties, with a wink and a smile. (MW, IOU).</p><p><a href="http://solange.co.uk/">Solange.co.uk<br> </a> <a href="http://www.temperleylondon.com/" target="_blank">Temperleylondon.com<br> </a> <a href="https://www.loquetlondon.com/">Loquetlondon.com<br> </a> <a href="http://gravitymovie.warnerbros.com/">Gravitymovie.warnerbros.com<br> </a> <a href="http://www.innocentdrinks.co.uk/" target="_blank">Innocentdrinks.co.uk<br> </a> <a href="http://www.innocentfoundation.org/">Innocentfoundation.org<br> </a> <a href="http://www.clintonfoundation.org/">Clintonfoundation.org<br> </a> <a href="https://whatson.bfi.org.uk/lff/Online/default.asp?BOparam::WScontent::loadArticle::permalink=last-impresario">Whatson.bfi.org.uk</a></p><p></p><a href="/blogs/laura-bailey/2013/10/worlds-colliding" title="Laura Bailey Blog - President Clinton, Sheherazade Goldsmith, Alice Temperley">Continue reading...</a> urn:www-vogue-co-uk:1:docid:98861 http://www.vogue.co.uk/blogs/laura-bailey/2013/10/worlds-colliding Tue, 15 Oct 2013 11:46:37 +0100 <p>I'm spoilt. I came home as planned in the middle of August, worked and played, but I had another somewhat secret late-summer getaway plan, just me and my kids. I hadn't been to Greece since I was a student, but had long yearned to return, albeit in a little more style and surviving on more than tomatoes and ouzo.<br> </p><p><br> Fate conspired that two beloved girlfriends had exactly the same idea, and so our first few days at Amanzoe, two hours from Athens on the east coast of the Peloponnese, were spent gossip-drifting from one outrageously decadent villa to another and boating to nearby Hydra and Spetses. Hydra had a piece of my heart before I ever first set foot there (my life via Leonard Cohen songs) even if my kids were more interested in fishing and friendship-bracelets than old sad songs on a loop.<br> </p><p><br> Amanzoe's magic works intuitively and gracefully. It's luxe on ecstasy, but gentle and low-key. I can understand why so many guests barely leave the property - the beach club with its three enormous pools, watersports and milkshakes under parasols.<br> </p><p><br> The spa which my friends tell me is alone worth the trip (maybe next time? My kids faux-outraged faces when I broached the idea of a babysitter for an hour won that one). Even our three-in-a-bed pavilion boasted an infinity lap-pool where we could swim naked, overlooked only by olive trees framing the horizon and pile of books I didn't read because even the sky became too distracting. Maybe it's OK to sometimes just stop and stare and sleep a little longer? Hand-luggage only. I needed nothing. Shorts and T-shirts and a couple of dresses. I played tennis barefoot and ate supper in flip-flops after lazy games of sunset chess.<br> </p><p><br> But, &nbsp;despite&nbsp; the seductive temptations of Amanzoe life, I wanted to explore, and the hotel is perfectly positioned for adventures galore. I was competing with Olympic pools and newfound small-boy soulmates, but Napfoli, an hour away, is enchanted from the film-set piazza and artisan stores to the Fortress of Palamadi. I'll never forget bribing my kids to hike to the lighthouse on Spetses with the promise of a horse-drawn carriage back to the harbour.<br> </p><p><br> An action-packed last day water-skiing in the bay of Porto Heli, where - like a Disney mirage - a giant bouncy-castle floats in the sea. That is what my kids will tell their friends about. I will remember a room with a view. Space and time. And castles in the sky.</p><p><a href="http://www.amanresorts.com/amanzoe/home.aspx">Amanresorts.com/amanzoe</a></p><p></p><a href="/blogs/laura-bailey/2013/09/postcards-from-positano-to-the-peloponnese---part-two" title="Laura Bailey Blog - Postcards from Positano to the Peloponnese - Part Two">Continue reading...</a> urn:www-vogue-co-uk:1:docid:98329 http://www.vogue.co.uk/blogs/laura-bailey/2013/09/postcards-from-positano-to-the-peloponnese---part-two Thu, 12 Sep 2013 13:41:27 +0100 <p>Before I fade to white, and whilst I'm still remembering how to tie my shoelaces and get dressed in a little more than my bikini and cut-offs, here are my belated postcards from my European adventures in paradise.</p><p>In the past, I've taken romance-and-adrenaline charged scooter-trips along the Amalfi Coast and dreamt of moving one day to a blush-pink villa balancing on the cliffs. I'd wear broderie anglaise and pick my own lemons and write poetry no-one would ever read. This won't happen, at least for the next twenty years, but last summer I found my fantasy Positano home at Villa Tre Ville - formerly the estate of Zeffirelli and his vast entourage of&nbsp; the beautiful and the damned - and vowed to return.</p><p>It's now a hotel pretending not to be a hotel. Mia casa, tua casa. I'm sure there is a menu, but I never saw one. In fact, I barely made any decisions at all. Adventures simply evolved. A skip down a hundred steps to the rainbow-parasol beach next door for a kayak and penne pomodoro. A birthday boat-ride to Lo Scoglio, possibly my favourite restaurant in the world for zucchini pasta and prosecco.</p><p>Waterfall-diving and cliff-jumping en route to Cetara.&nbsp; A Prada fix in Capri&nbsp; where I stomped about in winter boots, wet swimsuit &nbsp;and salty dreadlocks. And the 'Walk of the Gods' into the clouds before a breakfast of croissants and peaches. Dolce Vita dreams are made of this.</p><p>The six of us became sixteen. Lunches became later, longer and noisier. And as the fireworks of Ferragosto spiralled from sea to sky reflected in the rocks, I simply counted my lucky summer stars and made a wish or two.</p><p><a href="http://villatreville.it/" target="_blank">Villatreville.it</a></p><p></p><a href="/blogs/laura-bailey/2013/09/postcards-from-positano-to-the-peloponnese" title="Laura Bailey Blog Postcards from Positano to the Peloponnese">Continue reading...</a> urn:www-vogue-co-uk:1:docid:98327 http://www.vogue.co.uk/blogs/laura-bailey/2013/09/postcards-from-positano-to-the-peloponnese Thu, 12 Sep 2013 11:43:17 +0100 <p>I can't even remember exactly the exact conditions of the bet, or the dare, or the promise, but a year (or five) ago my best friend and I vowed to abandon all responsibilities (boyfriends, babies, work) and treat ourselves to a Paris weekend one day. Just us.</p><p>Leona Naess, whose music (and laughter) was the soundtrack to my NYC twenties, and who, even though I officially lived alone, I basically lived with for six years, is a girl of her word, and despite an ocean between us and a babe in each arm since, raced me to Paris on Friday for a long weekend of pure and simple daydreaming, drifting, forgetting (and remembering).</p><p>There is no-one who knows me better. Except she still expects me to have run around the park before breakfast and have ordered the croissants (and handed in my homework) by 8am. I've changed. Me, the girl who never sleeps, had to be woken by her so that we &nbsp;"didn't&nbsp; miss a minute" (maybe it was the wine the night before, maybe it was the <a href="http://www.lebristolparis.com/fr/bienvenue/" target="_blank">Le Bristol</a> linen…maybe I just RELAXED???). But the Brocante beckoned. An email a week or so before from my friend Lotte, my eternal angel guide to Paris wrote: "p.s. Lucky timing. Remember that best-ever market in the Marais? It's on, your weekend." Too good to be true.</p><p>And so one entire blissful Saturday was spent on and around Rue de Bretagne rummaging through old photographs, slipping antique linen nighties over our jeans and jump-suits, and gazing at (and fantasy-furnishing) attic apartments&nbsp; whilst doing make-believe sums outside realtor windows. A speedy bento-box lunch at <a href="http://www.nanashi.fr" target="_blank">Nanashi</a>&nbsp;and a phone-call or two from NY/London led to a fast re-focusing on gift-shopping galore.</p><p>An actress friend who knows her way round Paris had told me to try to score a table at <a href="http://www.springparis.fr" target="_blank">SPRING</a> for Leona and I.&nbsp; A little homework warned me this was an elusive golden ticket, but as I perched in a café guarding our market paraphernalia so that Leona could go and buy an extra suitcase (?!) for the journey home, I got the call. "Just the two of you? See you at 9pm."</p><p>I panicked slightly. Maybe we should just find a bar and go out dancing, return the calls I'd been ignoring, and see what happens? Once upon a time, maybe? But really, what could be better than a table for two at possibly the best restaurant in Paris? (and I'd thought finding the Celine clutch amidst a pile of faded baby dresses had made my day). After seven exquisite courses, which occasionally even paused our non-stop chatter, we strolled, almost skipping, past the Louvre in the moonlight - me in a thigh-skimming Eighties Eiffel Tower-print Chanel halter-neck mini-dress "accidently" bought via <a href="http://www.1stdibs.com" target="_blank">1stdibs.com</a> in a February moment of madness (but if not now, then when?) - back to the bar at Le Bristol for that last drink that she used to insist on (and now its my turn).</p><p>I'm frequently spoilt in Paris on 24-hour Chanel stopovers, but traipsed to the back of a (very long snake of a) line (sorry Leona but at least we got to send the kids postcard-pretty Eiffel Tower snaps whilst we waited) at the Palais de Tokyo on Sunday morning for the <a href="http://www.vogue.co.uk/beauty/2013/05/07/no5-culture-chanel-exhibition-palais-de-tokyo-paris" target="_blank">Chanel No 5 exhibition</a>. She forgave me over Deneuve dreams, super-8 St-Tropez seduction and photo-booth giggles (both too proud to try again, but I'll cherish those off-beat happy snaps forever).</p><p>Shopping, swimming and other stories; Vintage Celine, slips for sleep (or poolside Positano sometime this summer), wooden Bambi puzzles and sticker-books of dreams for our kids; and a pink ruffled bikini from <a href="http://www.stories.com" target="_blank">&amp;other Stories</a> at its 277 Rue St Honore flagship I loved so much I bought it twice (making up for lost time). In the steam-room after a Sunday afternoon swim in the hotel pool, clock-ticking and reality-calling, we promised to - once in a blue moon - check in to a fancy hotel and simply shoot the breeze.</p><p>Sweet farewells and a race to the Eurostar. I was so relaxed I barely blinked when I lost my ticket between security and the newsagent, and left my passport on the train at Kings Cross. Much back-tracking sprinting, apologetic flirting and deep breathing later, I somehow&nbsp; found myself at my kids' school, laden with booty at 3pm, as if nothing extraordinary had happened. "How was your weekend?" "A dream," I whispered. "Already a dream."</p><p>And that night I built Paris out of mini-lego with my son, who's godmother Leona was somewhere between JFK and home, emailing me all the things she'd forgotten to tell me. And so it goes…</p><p>We'll always have Paris.</p><p>PS. Look out for Leona singing new songs at <a href="http://entwinenyc.com" target="_blank">Entwine NYC</a>. One of these days I might just get on a plane (because she's worth it).</p><p></p><a href="/blogs/laura-bailey/2013/06/paris" title="Laura Bailey Blog - A weekend for two in the City of Lights">Continue reading...</a> urn:www-vogue-co-uk:1:docid:96523 http://www.vogue.co.uk/blogs/laura-bailey/2013/06/paris Tue, 11 Jun 2013 16:00:26 +0100 <p>Nothing beats a holiday in my home town, even for just one day. Much as it was tempting to lounge around in my garden making daisy-chains under a true-blue sky, I'd promised my daughter an adventure involving some kind of combination of art, ice-cream and a bus-ride, and so, after chasing our dog around the park, we set off for Somerset House. Far from the fashion week circus I'm in my MiH grey-jumpsuit uniform and trainers (she's in stripes and shorts and hi-tops and shades - my LFW uniform??), and we head straight to Fernandez and Wells for melted-cheese croissants and chocolate cake (priorities), and watch the courtyard fountains rise and fall showering striptease kids who can't believe their luck. "Why didn't we bring our swimsuits mummy?".</p><p>I'd watched the <a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b01skv6r/The_Man_Who_Shot_Beautiful_Women/" target="_blank">Edwin Blumenfeld documentary</a> far too late the night before (I only watch TV on catchup around midnight, a week (sometimes years) later than friends have told me I "must see" it), and carried my brownie-crumbed tiger-girl around the show in the East Wing, focusing on cat's eyes through her eyes, until she slipped away to grab a front-row seat in the miniature cinema to watch Blumenfeld's avant-garde work in fashion film. Roles reversed, she then led me from Grace Kelly to abstract <em>VOGUE</em> covers before zig-zagging through the waterfall piazza and asking where the toyshop was (?). Postcards ('Bunnies in Art') for her friends from the Courtauld Institute shop almost did the trick.</p><p>I thought I'd missed the <em>Becoming Picasso</em> show at the Courtauld despite a ripped-out reminder cutting languishing on my pinboard for months. It was the last day, last chance. Lucky. A rare and priceless treasure-trove too fleetingly in London. And lucky I have a daughter who, off-school sick all week, decided to sell her paintings door-to-door for cash (even the ones I really really wanted to keep) and thus has a newfound passion for art-and commerce. At five, she doesn't even get pocket money yet, but her entrepreneurial ventures meant I couldn't argue over yet another white fluffy flammable owl at the Covent Garden Disney Store ten minutes later when she said she'd buy it with HER OWN MONEY.</p><p>And then we walked, ice-creams melting, through Soho, towards the park, and I don't know if it was the Blumenfeld brainwashing or a rare girls' only moment, but I dared broach the subject of a wedding invitation and certain alien etiquette and suddenly we found ourselves at Liberty and my daughter who "WILL NEVER WEAR A DRESS" picked out her <a href="http://www.liberty.co.uk/fcp/product/Liberty/CHILDREN/Mirabelle-Print-Pleated-Dress/82691" target="_blank">party frock</a> ("if I can wear it with my leggings and hoodie and Nikes"), and I paid before she changed her mind.</p><p>A holiday Monday. Just me and my girl. A day to remember.</p><p>P.S. she's invited even if she's wearing her Chelsea football kit on the day.</p><p>Blumenfeld Studio: 
New York, 1941-1960<br> 23 May-1 September 2013<br> <a href="http://www.courtauld.ac.uk/gallery/">www.courtauld.ac.uk</a></p><p></p><a href="/blogs/laura-bailey/2013/05/summertime-at-somerset-house" title="Laura Bailey Blog - Summertime at Somerset House">Continue reading...</a> urn:www-vogue-co-uk:1:docid:95807 http://www.vogue.co.uk/blogs/laura-bailey/2013/05/summertime-at-somerset-house Wed, 29 May 2013 12:33:09 +0100 <p>I don't need a new watch. I've worn my beloved Chanel J12 for a decade, in black or white, depending on my mood and where in the world I am. Classic but boyish, they've served me well. A watch for scuba-diving and mountain-climbing - tough, timeless chic. I've never worn a delicate bangle of a watch. Too ladylike, too precious somehow . And yet suddenly I like the idea of changing my watch for a special soiree, of flirting with more feminine proportions and becoming the kind of woman who keeps different watches in velvet boxes and time-travels with a click of her heels in a cloud of scent.</p><p>Inspired both by the shape of the No5 perfume bottle stopper and that of the Place Vendome (Mme Chanel's Ritz, Paris address),&nbsp; the Premiere was first created in 1987 (imagine Deneuve at a bar, wrist captured in gold chain, perhaps in a ruffled white shirt, waiting in the half-light). &nbsp;I'm not giving up the J12, but, for when I feel like being someone completely different, there may be new and different ways to tell - and pass - the time.</p><p>"There is time for work, and time for love. There is no other time".</p><p>Coco Chanel</p><p></p><a href="/blogs/laura-bailey/2013/04/always-chanel" title="Laura Bailey Blog - Chanel Watches La Montre Premieré">Continue reading...</a> urn:www-vogue-co-uk:1:docid:94742 http://www.vogue.co.uk/blogs/laura-bailey/2013/04/always-chanel Tue, 23 Apr 2013 16:11:28 +0100 <p>I'm in LA for a fortnight leading up to the Oscars, and I'll be sending&nbsp;<a href="http://Vogue.com">Vogue.com</a>&nbsp;my photo-diary, from Venice beach to the red-carpet, Pasadena to the Hollywood Hills ... click back for daily updates! LB x</p><p></p><a href="/blogs/laura-bailey/2013/02/la-stories" title="Laura Bailey Blog - Los Angeles travelogue">Continue reading...</a> urn:www-vogue-co-uk:1:docid:93613 http://www.vogue.co.uk/blogs/laura-bailey/2013/02/la-stories Tue, 26 Feb 2013 10:00:00 +0100 <p>The Notting Hill mews HQ of Temperley London, Alice's W11 wonderland, has long been both where I go to score a major frock (half an eye on a little dove-pink party-dress versus floor-sweeping black whilst supposedly buying a belt for a friend...?) and served as a constant backdrop to infinite fun and games - fashionable and otherwise. Those backstreet cobbles are also where our kids have played, partied, skateboarded, face-painted, laughed and cried (us too, minus the &nbsp;skateboards).</p><p>But this weekend marked the beginning of a new era for the brand, with the opening of their first Mayfair flagship store on Bruton St - where her neighbours include Stella McCartney and Matthew Williamson - a hop and a skip from Bond St. I've watched Alice at work as the new space took shape, directing builders and electricians,&nbsp; shows and shoots - often with her gorgeously eccentric boy, my godson Fox, in her arms - or scooting loop-the-loop between 'bridalwear' and a display of Charlotte Olympia ankle-boots (Temperley's show shoes), sequins in his wake.</p><p>Day one on Saturday felt very much a family affair. Filmmaker brother Henry, photographer sister Mathilda and a gang of old friends toasted Temperley's new home in the West End via Somerset, Portobello Road, and Africa (somehow, between designing so many collections a year I've lost count, and opening a shop, Alice slipped off to Kenya in October to work for Oxfam).</p><p>My kids want to know how much the golden Bambi in the window is. It's not for sale, but everything else is, from Temperley's signature gowns, so beloved of Sophie Dahl, Jaquetta Wheeler and countless beautiful creatures, to leopard-print scarves, to my favourite ALICE diffusion blouses and sundresses.</p><p>Look out too for this season's collaboration with Barbour (country life meets London luxe). Love and respect to my amazing friend, the next chapter for Alice and Temperley London begins. Just in time for Christmas. Go see. Go shop.</p><p>Temperley London</p><p>27 Bruton St<br> London W1</p><p><a href="http://www.temperleylondon.com/stores/london-mayfair" target="_blank">www.temperleylondon.com/stores/london-mayfair</a></p><p></p><a href="/blogs/laura-bailey/2012/12/west-end-girls-temperley-bruton-st" title="West End Girls at Temperley Bruton Street">Continue reading...</a> urn:www-vogue-co-uk:1:docid:91875 http://www.vogue.co.uk/blogs/laura-bailey/2012/12/west-end-girls-temperley-bruton-st Wed, 05 Dec 2012 17:27:26 +0100 <p>Some trips I take for fashion, some for love. Somewhere in the sky aboard the Flying Carpet ride as monsoon rain struck last Saturday night at Disneyland Paris, only love - or maybe the thoughtful family-pack of emergency white rain ponchos (obviously left behind in our hotel room in favour of a cherished Balenciaga wool overcoat which will definitely never be the same again) - could save the day.</p><p>With seven sugar-high kids in tow (all I needed was a Snow White costume and I could have provided bonus photo ops for unsuspecting tourists), I somewhat begrudgingly replied to my best friends' teasing messages as they swanned around Le Meurice in Paris between art and cocktails. But one glance at the rosy-cheeked beaming smiles all around me and I knew this was the trip we'd remember forever.</p><p>A very different candyfloss and rollercoaster-fuelled Paris, but it's not every day you get to dine with Mickey and the gang as fireworks explode around the biggest Christmas tree the kids will ever see. As my little girl, who "hates" princesses, but wants to "marry" Pluto announced philosophically: "Mummy, these are the best days of our lives in the whole world ever," and that was before we hit the gift shop...</p><p><a href="http://www.disneylandparis.co.uk" target="_blank">www.disneylandparis.co.uk</a></p><p></p><a href="/blogs/laura-bailey/2012/11/disney-dreams-come-true" title="Laura Bailey Blog - Disneyland Paris - Some trips I take for fashion, some for love">Continue reading...</a> urn:www-vogue-co-uk:1:docid:91098 http://www.vogue.co.uk/blogs/laura-bailey/2012/11/disney-dreams-come-true Tue, 20 Nov 2012 11:48:16 +0100 <p>Tuesday night fell dark and stormy. Autumn's mellow fruitfulness had slipped suddenly into the big chill. I'd spent the afternoon cheering my son's skinny-legged, knobbly-kneed football team in a bobble hat and decade-old duffle coat, under a snow-white sky, half-ignoring teasing messages about the evening ahead. Even Josh Wood who was masterminding the festivities, and who I count on to tell me EVERYTHING, was keeping secrets and I confess to the kind of teenage butterfies which betray the promise of a proper party.</p><p>Everyone knows Josh as a master-colourist, more jet-set these days than most of his more glamorous clients. Some know that should you be lucky enough to find your way to his Holland Park Atelier, all kinds of magic happen in that seemingly sleepy mews... of the heart and of the hair (plus the added bonus of a damn good breakfast far from the madding crowd).</p><p>Many moons ago, when Josh first whispered to me of the possibility of taking his celebrated Atelier to Liberty, it already seemed like a match made in beauty heaven. When I first moved to London, Josh and I would sometimes spend a decadent afternoon there, me trying on everything in sight before he sensibly led me toward the stationery department. Josh's modern creative genius combined with Liberty's heritage and very British fashion flair now means more excuses to indulge. Maybe now I'll finally stop talking about that long choppy fringe, and track down George Northwood at Atelier Liberty to just do it. There'll always be diaries and shoes, perfume and pencilcases to distract me whilst I make up my mind.</p><p>Back to Tuesday, and it's 9pm and I've found Cozette McCreery of Sibling and James Long (two of my favourite knitwear designers) at the DJ booth. Always an excellent sign. Josh is drinking coconut water, which I rectify immediately. All eyes skywards as the iconic Liberty balconies suddenly unveil a sea of peroxide blonde ladies in red and the show begins. Swaying siren divas in every corner (on and off the stage) as the infamous (in certain circles) Miss Theo Adams appears.</p><p>I remember momentarily acting cool and nonchalant at the back before unashamedly virtually crawling to the front row. For an hour or so I surrendered to the music and the madness, probably definitely ending up with a moment or two on stage dancing with Josh and Theo, and Kristen McNenamy. As Cozette McCreery said, when asked to play House music, 'Well, you'd get Kylie round mine,' - lucky Liberty!</p><p>Later - I may have also had a long and very serious chat with Theo on a street corner about my kids' Halloween costumes (must try harder) - and I may have promised to write something the morning after. Sorry Theo, a shy tiger and a little devil who refused to even wear a mask (amateur!) distracted me momentarily, but I can't get you out of my head.</p><p>Josh Wood is now at liberty in Liberty. And me too, from time to time, even on a school night.</p><p>Atelier Liberty<br> 3rd Floor<br> London W1B 5AH<br> T:+44 (0) 203 393 0977</p><p><a href="http://www.joshwoodcolour.com/" target="_blank">www.joshwoodcolour.com<br> </a> <a href="http://theoadams.com/" target="_blank">www.theoadams.com<br> </a> <a href="http://www.liberty.co.uk/fcp/content/josh-wood-liberty/content" target="_blank">www.liberty.co.uk</a></p><p></p><a href="/blogs/laura-bailey/2012/11/liberty---but-not-as-you-know-it" title="Josh Wood is now at liberty in Liberty">Continue reading...</a> urn:www-vogue-co-uk:1:docid:90861 http://www.vogue.co.uk/blogs/laura-bailey/2012/11/liberty---but-not-as-you-know-it Mon, 05 Nov 2012 12:46:01 +0100 <p>What girl could say no to the chance to design her very own capsule range of handbags? Not me, especially when offered the opportunity by British accessories label Radley for whom I've been lucky enough to shoot the last two campaigns.</p><p>I trawled through my archives (i.e. my very messy drawers of memories); love worn missing-sequinned evening bags I've had since the sixth form mixed up with fancy Paris splurges and flea-market treasures picked up on the road all over the world, in pursuit both of what felt just right for now, plus forever true to my own style and desires. I'm drawn to a classic silhouette with quirky details.</p><p>I'll always love a Seventies-inspired schoolgirl satchel all grown-up, and a clever clutch that can carry and hide all manner of sins. The&nbsp;Aubrey&nbsp;in navy is pretty much my new favourite thing, and I travel light on a sleepover, even to NY and back, so the&nbsp;Blenheim&nbsp;could just be my new best friend on the red-eye.</p><p>I'm so guilty of the bag-within-a-bag thing - especially when I need to remember my passport, the kids' homework, MY homework et al, so the minimalist&nbsp;Trellick&nbsp;serves as a new upgraded deluxe filing system for all my multiple personalities. The illusion of order counts for a lot.</p><p>I loved examining the first rough samples, drawing all over them, tweaking and perfecting. Shooting the final collection with one of my fashion heroes Alasdair McLellan felt completely different to any other modelling day. Working on-set in the studio with the bags I'd dreamt of - and toiled over - from mood boards (starring the two Laurens: Bacall and Hutton, Catherine Deneuve and Francoise Dorleac, Monica Vitti and more modern-day icons) to pencil sketches, to the final images felt a little bit scary until I started to savour messages from my best-beloved girlfriends (who are in the end the best inspiration of all) choosing their favourites and wanting them now.</p><p>The Laura Bailey for Radley collection launches on October 11 2012 and is available at <a href="http://www.radley.co.uk/" target="_blank">www.radley.co.uk</a>.</p><p></p><a href="/blogs/laura-bailey/2012/10/laura-bailey-for-radley" title="Laura Bailey designs a capsule collection of handbags for Radley">Continue reading...</a> urn:www-vogue-co-uk:1:docid:90273 http://www.vogue.co.uk/blogs/laura-bailey/2012/10/laura-bailey-for-radley Mon, 08 Oct 2012 13:52:53 +0100 <p>I took a day out of my summer holiday in August to shoot a short for ALICE by Temperley with my friend Nick Haddow directing. Thanks to Alice for entrusting me with a bag of clothes and the germ of an idea, and to Leona Naess for the beautiful song (it helps that we're all old friends).</p><p>A joyous stripped down back-to-the-drawing-board adventure for me; no crew, no hair and make-up, no stylish trickery. More a portrait than a fashion story, the ALICE dresses simply became my second skin. You can even see my swimsuit underneath throughout because we swam before and after - when in St Tropez...</p><p>Over a coffee or two in spring, my photographer friend Nick Haddow and I imagined a girl on the run, both watched and watching, hunted or haunted, perhaps with flashbacks to calmer waters. Neither of us had made a short fim before and my messy crossed-out notebooks attest to the experimental nature of it all. We'd fallen in love with Leona's song, and the promise of a brief summer idyll looming.</p><p>The ALICE cruise 2013 dresses seemed to perfectly evoke the timeless barefoot runaway sunkissed daydreams we wanted to capture on the road. I packed a bag and wore my favourite things almost every summer's day, not just for the film. Shot consciously rough and cine-style, 'closer...' is an instinctive response to the light and the landscape on the day.</p><p>Fast-forward to London Fashion Week and it was somewhat surreal to be hiding in a corner on Friday night watching the film we edited at my kitchen table screen as part of the BFC Fash/On Film launch line-up, alongside films by Mulberry, Anna dello Russo for H&amp;M, and talented young director Abbie Stephens (beneficiary of the first <a href="http://www.britishfashioncouncil.com/content/1882/Fash/On-Film" target="_blank">BFC/River Island/Fash/On Film</a> mentoring film grant) for Emilio de la Morena.</p><p>But for me, this film will always be personal, more about friendship than fashion. I'm laughing at the end because my out-of-shot daughter REALLY NEEDED me to blow up her beach ball and make spaghetti for tea and couldn't wait any longer.</p><p>'closer...' is for Luc, because Nick (director), Leona (music) and Alice are my little boy's godparents, the shoot symbolic to me of the family we choose along the way and our interwoven stories. I'll explain it all to him one day, but for now here's a slice of my summer in close-up, with thanks to Alice Temperley.</p><p>See the film <a href="http://vimeo.com/49149101" target="_blank">here</a>.</p><p><a href="http://www.temperleylondon.com/" target="_blank">www.temperleylondon.com</a></p><p></p><a href="/blogs/laura-bailey/2012/09/closer-for-alice-by-temperley" title="A joyous stripped-down, back-to-the-drawing-board adventure...">Continue reading...</a> urn:www-vogue-co-uk:1:docid:89835 http://www.vogue.co.uk/blogs/laura-bailey/2012/09/closer-for-alice-by-temperley Mon, 17 Sep 2012 10:04:42 +0100 <p>"Everyone just somehow behaves differently around real diamonds," costume designer extraordinaire Jacqueline Durran tells me in advance of this week's <em>Anna Karenina</em> opening. A long-time collaborator with director Joe Wright (remember THAT green dress in <em>Atonement</em>?), their work together starts with in-depth character studies in the shape of clothes.</p><p>For <em>Anna Karenina</em>, Wright envisioned strongly defined and differentiated silhouettes, Keira Knightley as Anna, drawing on the severity - or "stark elegance" as Durran describes it - of Fifties couture, nipped and tucked upon 1870s period references. Working closely with Chanel, Durran decorated Anna in lavish and opulent style, the jewels, the decadent and icy crown atop shifting masks, exposing a ruthless vanity amidst the set-piece society snakes and ladders. Restraint disintegrates as a public dance becomes a private seduction, the glitter in Anna's eyes reflected in a strangle of diamonds and pearls.</p><p>Wright's brave and visionary re-imagining of <em>Anna Karenina</em> as a world where emotion and performance spiral dangerously from a revolving stage - which both contains and propels the action - blurs the boundaries between life and art, and pierces the jealous strutting hearts which are the novel's bloodlines.</p><p>Tolstoy's tale, so beloved and possessed by generations, carries such a weight of expectations and projected fantasies, but Wright somehow challenges the reader's rite-of-passage love-learning memories whilst leaving space for them to breathe.</p><p>A very modern (anti-) romance: "There can be no peace".</p><p>Anna Karenina opens Fri 7^th September.<br> See the trailer <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RxtsC_LZ9eI&amp;feature=youtu.be" target="_blank">here</a>.&nbsp;</p><p></p><a href="/blogs/laura-bailey/2012/09/behind-the-scenes-anna-karenina" title="Laura Bailey Blog - Anna Karenina">Continue reading...</a> urn:www-vogue-co-uk:1:docid:89508 http://www.vogue.co.uk/blogs/laura-bailey/2012/09/behind-the-scenes-anna-karenina Tue, 04 Sep 2012 13:35:27 +0100 <p>Have you ever lost your heart or your head? Cried a river, or left without saying goodbye? Escape into dark dreams and twisted fantasies via <em>Topsy Turvy Tales</em>, Charlotte Boulay-Goldsmith's spider-strewn collection of stories of the magical and the macabre. Her words - exaggerated by graphics that shrink and grow as if in Wonderland - combined with witty and whimsical illustrations by Laura Hyde, build a seductive world in which to dream under a blackened sun.</p><p>A rare and quirky book for anyone old enough to wonder about everlasting love, how clouds become icebergs, or&nbsp; the romantic challenges facing a shy oyster named Chester. Charlotte's web of beetlejuice and brimstone and impish imaginings… curioser and curioser…</p><p><em>Topsy Turvy Tales</em> by Charlotte Boulay-Goldsmith.</p><p>Illustated by Laura Hyde.&nbsp;Available&nbsp;here: <a href="http://www.humptydumptypublishing.com/component/virtuemart/topsy-turvy-tales-detail" target="_blank">www.humptydumptypublishing.com</a></p><p>Two stories from <em>Topsy Turvy Tales</em> have been made into short animations:</p><p><em><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kVDeV41Bg6k" target="_blank">The Girl With the Liquid Eyes</a></em></p><p>Written by Charlotte Boulay-Goldsmith.</p><p>Directed by Charlotte Boulay-Goldsmith and Adam Smith.</p><p>Narrated by Maryam D'Abo.</p><p>Produced by Humpty Dumpty Films.</p><p><em><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pFAcFRsVheA" target="_blank">The Man with the Stolen Heart</a>&nbsp;</em> (teaser)</p><p>Written by Charlotte Boulay-Goldsmith.</p><p>Directed by Charlotte Boulay-Goldsmith and Adam Smith.</p><p>Narrated by Bill Nighy.</p><p>Produced by Humpty Dumpty Films.</p><p></p><a href="/blogs/laura-bailey/2012/08/topsy-turvy-tales" title="Laura Bailey Blog - Topsy Turvy Tales - short stories">Continue reading...</a> urn:www-vogue-co-uk:1:docid:88787 http://www.vogue.co.uk/blogs/laura-bailey/2012/08/topsy-turvy-tales Mon, 13 Aug 2012 18:21:22 +0100 <p>The first time I met Camila Batmanghelidh, founder of Kids Company, I couldn't speak, and just listened in shock and awe as she told me the tales of children living on the edge, but just around the corner. The second time, swallowed up in a hug of an armchair amidst the carnival pinks and blues of her base-camp office, I couldn't stop talking, dazzled and inspired by her vision and benevolence. Camila and Kids Company embrace with open arms those who quite simply have nowhere else to go. I climbed Kilimanjaro with their stories in my heart. I could and should do more at home.</p><p>The Royal Academy has long supported the Kids Company centres, funding and running art workshops and working one-to-one with children who don't like being told what to do. The astounding results of such emotional investment and compassionate nurture are now on show in grand style. As Olympic fever takes hold, here is CHILDHOOD:THE REAL EVENT, for one more week...just go.</p><p>On Sunday I scooted through Hyde Park with my kids, indulgently pausing at Cecconi's opposite the Royal Academy from where we emerged smeared in hot chocolate and scattering croissant crumbs to cross the road and climb the gallery steps. They raced around, entranced by the dancing colours and majestic sculptures, whilst I drifted slowly in their wake, determined not to let them see me cry. Blessedly too little to see the blood and tears in the rainbow kaleidoscope of emotions on show, it was the Shoebox installation on the ground floor that stopped my little boy in his tracks. "My lucky life," he said, before resuming normal focus on tormenting his little sister. Just kids.</p><p>The stuff of nightmares reimagined in clay, oils and on film can start to feel like hope, or even home. Kids Company reaffirms and protects the right of every child to dream in peace, to trust, to be beloved. Shelter in the storm...</p><p><em>'If you don't deal with trauma it acts like a timebomb in the brain. Art provides a safe way to release things. The places that artists go, and the places where children go, are similar. Both deal with the dark and the dangerous, but both also know how to respond with childlike joy'</em> - Camila Batmanghelidh.</p><p><a href="http://www.royalacademy.org.uk/exhibitions/child-hood-the-real-event/child-hood-the-real-event,424,RAL.html" target="_blank">CHILDHOOD: THE REAL EVENT is at the Royal Academy of Arts</a>&nbsp;until July 22 -&nbsp;6 Burlington Gardens London w1S3ET.</p><p>See below as to how you can support <a href="http://www.kidsco.org.uk/" target="_blank">Kids Company</a>:</p><p><em>Donate by Text</em></p><p>To make an immediate donation of £5 text KIDS HELP to 70700. A £5 SMS will be billed to your mobile account. For more information contact 0845 644 6838.</p><p><em>Send a Cheque</em></p><p>Donations by cheque should be made payable to Kids Company and sent to: Kids Company, 1 Kenbury Street, London, SE5 9BS. Include your address if you're happy to be contacted.</p><p></p><a href="/blogs/laura-bailey/2012/07/17/art-therapy" title="Laura Bailey Blog - Kids Company at the RA - Childhood: The Real Event">Continue reading...</a> urn:www-vogue-co-uk:1:docid:88164 http://www.vogue.co.uk/blogs/laura-bailey/2012/07/17/art-therapy Tue, 17 Jul 2012 16:03:30 +0100 <p>Topshop was where I bought my first pair of heels and my first bikini, as well as my sixth-form 'uniform' of navy mini-skirt and oversized white shirt (mostly worn with trainers and not the fashionable kind), so it was kind of a (much-belated) teen-dream come true to guest-edit their summer collection for the ground floor Edited space at the Oxford Circus flagship store last week - and almost impossible not to shop en route…</p><p>I imagined a dream girl on the road travelling light, chasing dreams and flirting her way around the south of France. Brigitte Bardot in the perfect white dress and oversized shades, bikini underneath just in case. Perhaps a novel, an eyeliner and a chunky knit for the (Vespa) ride home thrown in a raffia basket over the handlebars. In real life I'd have another bag trailing buckets and spades and towels and crisps, but she is not me, and this is play time.</p><p>Bardot might have danced bare foot, but for now I'm wearing my Prada white stilettos (the deluxe version of those first high heels) with everything, at least until I run away to St Tropez.</p><p>Timeless denim, rolled-up chinos, print dresses and straw hats; summer style is beyond trend - the place where fantasy and nostalgia meet and make friends.</p><p>I'll change my mind tomorrow, but today my favourite EDITED look is the little red daisy-print dress worn with white hi-tops and a dark denim jacket. I'm saving the perfect pink swimsuit for a Mediterranean state of mind, but not the cream square shades…</p><p>Whilst my daughter did her 'puppet-dance' in the Topshop window to my favourite tunes (I'll remind her of that one day), I promised my little boy more than once that we'd just be five more minutes - and that Niketown was right next door.</p><p><a href="http://insideout.topshop.com/blog/2012/06/edited-by-laura-bailey.html" target="_blank">READ ABOUT THE COLLECTION HERE</a></p><p>LAURA BAILEY 'EDITED' for TOPSHOP is at the Oxford Circus store until July 13.</p><p></p><a href="/blogs/laura-bailey/2012/07/02/je-taime-topshop" title="Laura Bailey - Topshop guest edit- summer collection">Continue reading...</a> urn:www-vogue-co-uk:1:docid:87704 http://www.vogue.co.uk/blogs/laura-bailey/2012/07/02/je-taime-topshop Mon, 02 Jul 2012 18:34:31 +0100 <p>I could write about Matthew Dunster's brilliant new play, or about how any trip to the <a href="http://www.almeida.co.uk/event/children" target="_blank">Almeida Theatre</a> can lead to the best kind of professional or personal fireworks, or the fact that every night in June a naked girl will be leaping into a sky-blue pool on stage in Islington, but not now. I'll also save the essay on last week's theatre-date, my daughter's dazzlingly-brilliant godmother, the now eminently Honourable (but we always knew she was extra-special) Baroness Kidron of the Angel for another time, because <em>Children's Children</em> for me, was always going to be all about Emily.</p><p><em>Sally Rogers, Emily Berrington and Beth Cordingly</em></p><p><em>Trevor Fox, Emily Berrington and John Macmillan</em></p><p>Emily Berrington plays Effie, the wayward daughter of desperate Gordon, heartbreakingly brilliantly played by Trevor Fox whom I first met at the Billy Elliot rehearsals long before the show became the talk of the West End and Broadway (boxing-coach George in the original cast). When Emily called to tell me her news, our circles ever-decreased in the best possible way. I can think of no better stage-dad for her theatre debut than Trevor, who still doesn't understand quite how we know each other, just that Emily is a star. It's enough.</p><p>From the moment she appears on stage all blonde attitude and sulky one-liners in an oversized Live Aid T-shirt, I stopped thinking of her as my almost-sister, and surrendered to the goosebumps and the pride. We're both related and not (I won't do the equations here but I remember the day she was born, though we missed out on the growing-up years). If I didn't already know this bright and brilliant young actress I'd want to. Emily's beaming encore smile would have made me cry if I hadn't been happily squashed between her entourage of best-beloved Guildhall mates on the balcony (plucked out of drama school early by a super-agent, she's in theory still studying). I floated&nbsp;stalker-style&nbsp;around the party after the show eavesdropping and collecting compliments for her. She happens to play a sometime model with big dreams and a baby in tow. I gave her notes, not knowing how very little she needed them. "Oh the places you'll go", as I say to my kids every night with a little help from Dr Seuss.</p><p><em>With Emily</em></p><p><em>Children's Children</em> by Matthew Dunster is at the Almeida Theatre until June 30th.</p><p></p><a href="/blogs/laura-bailey/2012/06/06/childrens-children" title="Children's Children">Continue reading...</a> urn:www-vogue-co-uk:1:docid:87115 http://www.vogue.co.uk/blogs/laura-bailey/2012/06/06/childrens-children Wed, 06 Jun 2012 16:08:36 +0100 <p>Felt, Eliza Poklewski-Koziell's jewellery mini-boutique on Chelsea Green, is where I race across the park to on my bike when I'm on a last-minute quest for the perfect present. Exquisite diamond tiny hoop earrings for the multi-pierced; lucky charms for lucky goddaughters; or vintage costume bling for fancy-dress eccentrics (I pretend not to notice the too-distracting, hand-knitted, egg-shell blue baby cardigans and ignore a sudden desire for an antique rose-print tea-pot).&nbsp;</p><p>These simple, shimmering oil-slick bracelets by Iwona Ludyga caught my eye last week. I scooped up half a dozen for my best-beloved girls, inevitably stealing two from the party bag for myself&nbsp; the moment I got home.</p><p><a href="http://www.iwonaludygadesign.com/" target="_blank">IWONALUDYGADESIGN.COM</a>&nbsp;and <a href="http://www.felt-london.com/" target="_blank">FELT-LONDON.COM</a>. For contact info, new website coming soon.</p><p><a href="http://www.vogue.co.uk/jewellery">SEE THE LATEST JEWELLERY NEWS</a></p><p></p><a href="/blogs/laura-bailey/2012/05/22/felt-jewellery-mini-boutique" title="Felt Jewellery Mini Boutique ">Continue reading...</a> urn:www-vogue-co-uk:1:docid:86809 http://www.vogue.co.uk/blogs/laura-bailey/2012/05/22/felt-jewellery-mini-boutique Mon, 21 May 2012 19:09:19 +0100 <p>&nbsp;<br> <em>Portrait of me aged 18</em></p><p>I've lived many lives, both real and imagined, through photographic alchemy since my village schooldays, but I will always be indebted to the man who banished my sixth-form blues 20 years ago by inviting me into his world. It was a hop across a stile and a skip along a muddy path between my school and his home studio - a geographical nothing but emotionally worlds apart. Thanks to Robbie Wraith I know all the words to Bob Dylan and Van Morrisson songs, I will always dream of - and run to - Italy and, contrary to recent behaviour, I know how to (very occasionally) simply sit still and let my mind wander into the quiet zone.</p><p><a href="http://www.vogue.co.uk/photo-blogs/laura-bailey/laura-bailey---day-2">SEE INSIDE LAURA'S WARDROBE</a></p><p>In between cross-country running and first dates, Shakespeare workshops and driving lessons, I'd find my way to the 'Old Schoolhouse' to eat and drink with his beautiful wife Tina whilst their children adopted me as a kind of honorary big sister. My chosen family. Whilst I sipped Chianti or did my homework - or sometimes both - Robbie would paint, and for a while, all was calm.</p><p>"Nobody feels any pain<br> Tonight as I stand inside the rain<br> Ev'rybody knows<br> That Baby's got new clothes<br> But lately I see her ribbons and her bows<br> Have fallen from her curls.<br> She takes just like a woman, yes, she does<br> She makes love just like a woman, yes, she does<br> And she aches just like a woman<br> But she breaks just like a little girl".</p><p>Bob Dylan, <em>Just like a Woman</em></p><p>Every painting and drawing in Robbie's new show at <a href="http://www.messums.com/" target="_blank">Messum's</a> on Cork St - which opened this week - triggers hazy bittersweet memories along with a renewed awe of my wise old friend's exceptional talent and piercing vision. His quest for truth via art was my first inspiration, a tacit permission to dream big dreams. A new drawing is long overdue he gently reminds me. These days we squeeze all-too-rare London lunches between trips and kids and very different kinds of being looked at. I won't be wearing my school uniform or my hockey boots this time around, but the soundtrack will always be Dylan.</p><p><em>Messum's,&nbsp;8 Cork St, London W1S 3LJ,&nbsp;020 7437 5545</em><br> <em>Exhibition open May 9 - 26 2012</em></p><p></p><a href="/blogs/laura-bailey/2012/05/robbie-wraith" title="Robbie Wraith">Continue reading...</a> urn:www-vogue-co-uk:1:docid:86649 http://www.vogue.co.uk/blogs/laura-bailey/2012/05/robbie-wraith Fri, 11 May 2012 15:18:19 +0100 <p>On my first trip to Istanbul, over Easter and with kids in tow, the challenge was to strike the right balance between sightseeing and swimming. I chose the right hotel, as the Ciragan Palace boasts an enormous pool which seems to gracefully slip into the Bosphorous River below, along with a decadent high tea where sculpted sandwiches and elaborately iced pastries line up as if auditioning for <em>Alice in Wonderland</em>. My children's new-found passion for&nbsp; Istanbul may admittedly owe as much to this chocolate and vanilla showy symphony as to my tales of long-ago pirates and adventurers.</p><p>Early-morning action adventure from the upside down Medusa-heads drowning decoratively in the Basilica Cistern Roman baths to the Egyptian souk, where my strawberry-blonde daughter was followed around&nbsp; by strangers bestowing gifts and blessings until we fled upstairs to the serene blue-tiled oasis of Pandeli for a spice-laden feast (no,they don't do chips), followed by a lazy afternoon spent floating around in the pool simply watching the boats go by (in between handstand competitions). Happily sandwiched between my sleeping starfish babes on the first night, I was shocked out of my Patti Smith documentary/room service reverie by fireworks exploding from a tiny fishing boat right in front of my window. A lucky omen and a spectacular welcome, it felt like my own private light show.</p><p>A picnic breakfast enroute to the mighty Blue Mosque, where, as everyone gazed skywards, seduced by the Ottoman spiralling domes, I watched a lonely man and his Hoover slowly shuffling back and forth across the vast carpet as if oblivious to the awestruck crowds. The man who fell to earth.</p><p>A hop and a skip through the happy-snapping queues to the Hagia Sophia, and then back to the future via the inspirational Istanbul Modern Museum. Briefly stranded and happily lost we ambled around before giving in and persuading a friendly security guard (museums and hotels are heavily patrolled - we went through airport-style security half a dozen times a day), to help us find a taxi. Tourist fail - we should have bought a map and found our way to the tram.</p><p>I thank the all-knowing Boris, concierge at the Kempinski Ciragan Palace, for pointing us in the direction of the Galata Tower…the thrill of the climb and a 360 degree view of the city and beyond, combined with accidently-on-purpose stumbling upon a district teeming with quirky hole-in-the-wall coffee (and pomegranate-juice) shops, trinket stalls, Hammam boutiques (Lola again graciously receiving free soaps and magic oils...I should go shopping with her more often), and the most eccentric and dusty vintage store in the world where I managed to distract my kids with novelty shades whilst I dug deep, eventually salvaging the perfect navy tea dress which deserves to be reincarnated via intensive dry cleaning.</p><p>Also thanks to Boris' top tips, we strolled at dusk towards Ortakoy, a "village" on the river, where I bought bangles and charms and other unnecessary accessories on the way to HOUSE for an al fresco supper. The exquisite but ageing Ortakoy Mosque is currently undergoing a major facelift and thus was entirely&nbsp;encased in plywood like the biggest birthday present in the world. Locals recommended the Sunday market, which we returned to the morning after, magpie kids enthralled by conveyor-belt stalls of identikit twinkling plastic souvenirs (how many models of the Blue Mosque can one little boy "really, really need"?) whilst I was drawn to a beautiful lost-in-time bookshop&nbsp;where I bought a stack of fading postcards and a jagged-edged violet quartz paperweight. I just found them (two weeks later) wrapped in tissue in a bag I'd forgotten to unpack, along with my daughter's rose-tinted heart-shaped shades, a letter I hadn't posted and illegible scribbles about the places I wanted to remember for next time.</p><p><a href="http://www.istanbulmodern.org/" target="_blank">www.istanbulmodern.org<br> </a> <a href="http://www.bluemosque.com" target="_blank">www.bluemosque.com</a><br> <a href="http://www.hagiasophia.com" target="_blank">www.hagiasophia.com</a><br> <a href="http://www.galatatower.net/" target="_blank">www.galatatower.net<br> </a> <a href="http://www.thehousecafe.com" target="_blank">www.thehousecafe.com</a><br> <a href="http://www.kempinski.com" target="_blank">www.kempinski.com</a></p><p></p><a href="/blogs/laura-bailey/2012/05/11/a-long-weekend-in-istanbul" title="A Long Weekend In Istanbul">Continue reading...</a> urn:www-vogue-co-uk:1:docid:86628 http://www.vogue.co.uk/blogs/laura-bailey/2012/05/11/a-long-weekend-in-istanbul Fri, 11 May 2012 12:05:55 +0100 <p>How could I have forgotten to teach my son chess? I glanced over from the the bar where my daughter and I slurped banana milkshakes to see him being instructed by a gang of pretty freckled nine-year-old girls in crochet bikinis.</p><p>At Soneva Fushi in the Maldives there's time to learn chess (or scuba-diving, or ice-cream making…), or the freedom to do nothing at all but drift by bike from beach to perfect beach. After dark, stretch out at the extraordinary Cinema Paradiso (<em>African Queen</em> one night, <em>Monsters vs Aliens</em> the next) or traverse the <em>Indiana Jones</em> rope bridge to the treehouse observatory to commune with Saturn after supper in the garden (and entirely from the garden) under the stars. "Intelligent luxury" is the mantra. Soneva Fushi has long been at the stylish forefront of sustainable tourism, minimal environmental impact (plus maximum fun and inspiration) the aim.</p><p>Every morning, we'd wake, tangled up three in a bed and race the hop-and-a-skip to the ocean; extra points for spotting a turtle or a baby shark before breakfast. My daughter wanted to stay behind with her true "dolphin family" and my little boy has asked Santa for a kayak (in April). Not sure if the Thames can complete with that turquoise&nbsp; mirage. I've always been more drawn to lone adventures - mountain quests and African oydsseys over beach idylls en famille…I was wrong. Daydreaming and action-adventure. Perfect playtime. Best holiday ever.</p><p></p><a href="/blogs/laura-bailey/2012/04/11/castaway" title="Castaway">Continue reading...</a> urn:www-vogue-co-uk:1:docid:86028 http://www.vogue.co.uk/blogs/laura-bailey/2012/04/11/castaway Wed, 11 Apr 2012 16:09:35 +0100 <p>Portobello Road may be my long-time stamping ground, but East London is my treasure-hunting, day-tripping mecca. Happily (temporarily) stood up by a friend in E8 I had time to drift around Broadway Market and down a few too many espressos at the Market Café before we were reunited for lunch and a blissful Friday afternoon persuing vintage <em>Vogue</em>s, Pearly Queen egg cups and other "essentials" at Stella Blunt, the legendary little curiosity shop. Happy magpie pickings via Sixties hairclips and shiny, new ribbons down the road, and on to Artwords for more books to taunt me from the guilty leaning tower beside my bed. Next time, on a Saturday via the Fiendish and Goode cakestall please. Sugar and spice, and a handbag full of haberdashery. Sweet dreams are made of this.</p><p>The Market Café,&nbsp;2 Broadway Market, E8,&nbsp;<a href="http://market-cafe.co.uk/" target="_blank">market-cafe.co.uk</a>.&nbsp;Tel:&nbsp;020 7249 9070.<br> Stella Blunt,&nbsp;75 Broadway Market,&nbsp;E8 4PH. Tel:&nbsp;07958 716 916.<br> Artwords Books,&nbsp;20-22 Broadway Market, London, E8 4QJ.<br> Fiendish and Goode Cakes,&nbsp;<a href="http://fiendishandgoode.co.uk/">fiendishandgoode.co.uk</a>.</p><p></p><a href="/blogs/laura-bailey/2012/03/29/on-broadway" title="On Broadway">Continue reading...</a> urn:www-vogue-co-uk:1:docid:85820 http://www.vogue.co.uk/blogs/laura-bailey/2012/03/29/on-broadway Thu, 29 Mar 2012 15:13:42 +0100 <p>I long for Paris. I love the Eurostar. A couple of weeks ago I arrived at King's Cross with a spring in my step and a case full of Chanel. The next few days felt full of promise and adventure. My daydreams ground to an abrupt halt the moment I stepped into the station. Doom and gloom, delays and queues. No choice but to find a quiet corner with a book. Not as simple as it sounds. An accidental hero decided to request a stranger moved his backpack to allow me to sit down and the response was a sharp right hook, (this was two hours into the waiting game). Just about dodged the crossfire, thanked for well-intentioned chivalry and ducked into a café. Four hours after leaving home I curled up on the train only for the tannoy to break the news that the journey would take double the time and that we had five minutes to decide whether to make a run for it. I watched some of my fellow passengers forlornly shuffling down the platform, defeated. I stayed still. Always an optimist. Cue another long anxious pause for a medical emergency on the next door platform, and more angry hissing and spluttering into Blackberrys all around me. And then, with more of a sigh than a hoot, we slunk out of the station and towards the coast.</p><p>Whispers of snow, security alerts, electrical failures and worse followed us through the tunnel. I sipped my wine and read and snoozed, waking with a start as we pulled into Gare Du Nord at 3am. I tried to will my driver into existence but he'd long ago given up on me. By the time I realised that no amount of wishful thinking would magic him back to life, the taxi line snaked across the entire station. Just about now, the crowd started to forego all respectable travel etiquette in favour of pushing and shoving forward from the trenches. Half of us were diverted to another more desolate side of the station where there was no taxi rank at all, and the abandoned masses started to somewhat hysterically flag down any passing vehicle to no avail. Soaked through, I huddled under a friendly student's umbrella, trying to strategise and get my bearings. Should I attempt to walk? Check in to the nearest hotel…? A bleak hour to be attempting to navigate Paris alone. My gang had become four, perched on a roundabout, trying to hitchhike. Safety in numbers. And then, like a vision, I spied two policemen in the distance. Swallowing my pride, I ran, pleading in schoolgirl damsel-in-distress-French (It doesn't hurt to ask). In a heartbeat I was swept off the ground and into the middle of the road, where they promptly insisted an off-duty minicab take me "home". I quickly rallied my student trio ("Solidarite!"), and soon we were bundled up in the smallest taxi ever invented, suitcases on laps, and off on a magical-mystery tour of Paris just before the dawn.</p><p>When at last the Ritz appeared before me as if in a dream. I was so overwhelmed with delirious gratitude I managed to trip over a large concrete bollard in Place Vendome as I was (over)paying the driver, and thus staggered to the hotel gates, bruised and bleeding. You'd never know I'd only come from London, and for a fashion show…</p><p>A few hours later, leg iced and thick black tights and big shades hiding the evidence of the night before, I was at the Grande Palais for the Chanel autumn/winter show. I've criss-crossed Africa alone and climbed Kilimanjaro, but I've never needed a police rescue to get me to my Paris princess palace before sunrise.</p><p>The things we do for (fashion) love.</p><p><a href="http://www.vogue.co.uk/fashion/autumn-winter-2012/ready-to-wear/chanel/full-length-photos">SEE THE ENTIRE CHANEL SHOW</a></p><p></p><a href="/blogs/laura-bailey/2012/03/22/the-fashion-train" title="The Fashion Train">Continue reading...</a> urn:www-vogue-co-uk:1:docid:85693 http://www.vogue.co.uk/blogs/laura-bailey/2012/03/22/the-fashion-train Thu, 22 Mar 2012 15:57:53 +0100 <p><br> <em>My moodboards&nbsp;</em></p><p>I admire, but can't commit to Tumblr, am not exactly sure what Pinterest is for (however pretty it may be), designed a website and then got distracted, and though I have arty toys on my iPhone (Instagram, Hipstamatic etc...), I rarely remember to use them. My kids' drawings fight for space with jagged-edged ripped-out Jane Birkin and Deneuve portraits on old-school pinboards in my studio, and few things make me happier than a proper old-fashioned letter from a friend, or printing my favourite snap shots in black and white. But I will confess to a modern distraction or two, usually discovered to specifically avoid domestic duties or deadlines.</p><p>Kay Montano's <em><a href="http://www.kaymontano.com/" target="_blank">Adventures in Make-up and Other Stories</a></em>&nbsp;is one of my new favourite obsessions. Kay has dreamt up a virtual magazine designed to inspire and empower and amuse. Apart from being one of the best make-up artists in the world, Kay's is a powerful and original voice in the beauty business, and her interviews and profiles are revealing and insightful. A night in with Kay's blog for company feels a little like the best kind of night out with a girlfriend, rich in secret-sharing and magic-making. I'm lucky that so many of my multiple lives seem to lead to Kay - best beloved friends,a penchant for Chanel and a desire to trawl through classic Seventies Lauren Hutton pictures once in a while to name a few. You can find out how to make your lipstick last a dancing night, or how Thandie Newton gets ready for the BAFTAs, but the 'Other Stories' are what makes the make-up make sense.</p><p><br> <em>Kay Montano at work</em></p><p>At a Chanel dinner the night before the BAFTAs, when I had most definitely done my own make-up, rosy-cheeked thanks to an afternoon sledging, eyeliner smudged at the traffic lights en route, I found Kay at the bar (in the best light), and started to exhale. The red-carpet circus struts on, but the flirty shadowlands and messy inbetween moments are perhaps a safer place to play. No excuse for being the last to leave though (I blame Sophie Dahl and Poppy Delevingne).</p><p><br> <em>3am girls</em></p><p>And here are a few more of the pretty pictures I scan (and steal) from time to time. Pick/make your own collage. DIY online, on (or off) the wall.</p><p><a href="http://sundaygirl.tumblr.com/">sundaygirl.tumblr.com<br> </a> <a href="http://amandadecadenet.tumblr.com/">amandadecadenet.tumblr.com</a></p><p></p><a href="/blogs/laura-bailey/2012/03/2/moodboard" title="Moodboard ">Continue reading...</a> urn:www-vogue-co-uk:1:docid:85304 http://www.vogue.co.uk/blogs/laura-bailey/2012/03/2/moodboard Fri, 02 Mar 2012 15:22:44 +0100 Thu, 25 Aug 2016 16:39:55 +0100 http://www.vogue.co.uk Thu, 25 Aug 2016 16:39:55 +0100 condenet.technical@condenast.co.uk en-gb