i absolutely love Isabel Lucas. amongst Ashley Olsen, Alexa Chung + a few select others, she is one of the few women that i continually draw inspiration from. as a person she seems to have the perfect balance of being softly spoken in interviews vs oozing bronzen confidence at premieres. she also balances a ruggedness via casually unkempt eyebrows + purposely scruffy hair vs what is almost a sense of regality in her stance / the Dries Van Noten vibes in the embellishments that continually pop up in what is otherwise a fairly sleek + slouchy style of dress.
with everyday wear, Isabel seems a little more playful, with a ton of mismatching florals and prints. so perfect.
(images sourced from various tumblrs + other fan sources)
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other special mentions from the recent MET Costume Institute Gala:
Ashley Olsen:
Florence Welch:
Beyonce Knowles:
Natalia Vodianova:
Sarah Jessica Parker:
Naomi Campbell
(images from Marie Claire)
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Aunt Sybil had pink-rimmed azure eyes and a waxen complexion. she wrote poetry. she was poetically superstitious. she said she knew she would die soon after my sixteenth birthday, and did. her husband, a great traveler in perfumes, spent most of his time in America, where evevntually he found a firm and acquired a bit of real estate.
- p8
the spiritual and the physical had been blended in us with a perfection that must remain incomprehensible to the matter-of-fact, crude, standard-brained youngsters of today. long after her death i felt her thoughts floating through mine. long before we met we had the same dreams. we compared notes. we found strange affinities. the same June of the same year (1919) a stray canary had fluttered into her house and mine, in two widely separate countries. oh, Lolita, had you loved me thus!
- p12
we loved each other with a premature love, marked by a fierceness that so often destroys adult lives.
- p17
she was, obviously, one of those women whose polished words may reflect a book club or bridge club, or any other deadly conventionality, but never her soul; women who are completely devoid of humour; women utterly indifferent at heart to the dozen or so possible subjects of a parlor conversation, but very particular about the rules of such conversations, through the sunny cellophane of which not very appetizing frustrations can be readily distinguished.
- p39, Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov
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i became a temporary asthmatic this afternoon upon viewing the latest collection pieces by Gail Sorronda at RAFW. i was suprised that i had any capacity to love the label any more than i previously had.
with everyday wear, Isabel seems a little more playful, with a ton of mismatching florals and prints. so perfect.
(images sourced from various tumblrs + other fan sources)
XXXXXXXXXXXX
other special mentions from the recent MET Costume Institute Gala:
Ashley Olsen:
Florence Welch:
Beyonce Knowles:
Natalia Vodianova:
Sarah Jessica Parker:
Naomi Campbell
(images from Marie Claire)
XXXXXXXXXXXX
Aunt Sybil had pink-rimmed azure eyes and a waxen complexion. she wrote poetry. she was poetically superstitious. she said she knew she would die soon after my sixteenth birthday, and did. her husband, a great traveler in perfumes, spent most of his time in America, where evevntually he found a firm and acquired a bit of real estate.
- p8
the spiritual and the physical had been blended in us with a perfection that must remain incomprehensible to the matter-of-fact, crude, standard-brained youngsters of today. long after her death i felt her thoughts floating through mine. long before we met we had the same dreams. we compared notes. we found strange affinities. the same June of the same year (1919) a stray canary had fluttered into her house and mine, in two widely separate countries. oh, Lolita, had you loved me thus!
- p12
we loved each other with a premature love, marked by a fierceness that so often destroys adult lives.
- p17
she was, obviously, one of those women whose polished words may reflect a book club or bridge club, or any other deadly conventionality, but never her soul; women who are completely devoid of humour; women utterly indifferent at heart to the dozen or so possible subjects of a parlor conversation, but very particular about the rules of such conversations, through the sunny cellophane of which not very appetizing frustrations can be readily distinguished.
- p39, Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov
XXXXXXXXXXXX
i became a temporary asthmatic this afternoon upon viewing the latest collection pieces by Gail Sorronda at RAFW. i was suprised that i had any capacity to love the label any more than i previously had.
I agree. This Gail Sorronda collection was breathtaking! Her attention to all the fine details and all the elements of the garments seem to be in perfect balance...
ReplyDeleteoh did you/are you going to her sample sale this weekend?
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