May 5, 2014

fauxluxe isnae dead

I lost my chic glasses,
Just reading frames,
In a Parisian taxi
On our way
To L'Atelier
On the Champs-Élysées

Near the Portobello Road,
In London,
Did I later
Refresh my eyesight
At a bookstore

The sweet shop girls there
Spoke of Cumberbatch
As Richard the Third,
I know he is too tall

This new prescription is intense
And stronger than before,
Now through these glasses
I can see in to your soul


So, we were waiting to go in to the most fabulous department store evah, in London, called The Liberty, and we were waiting because it was Sunday, and on Sundays The Liberty don't open till noon.

The Wife is furiously working on her mobile, researching The Liberty, and I keep drifting further to the left, with both my eyes and my feet.  Because, just to my left are some crappy cafes with Hull FC Tiger supporters, sitting down for an early lunch.  (Hull FC would win its FA Cup Semi at Wembley later that day.) And, also further to the left is the real honest to goodness Music Hall where Mister Memory from The 39 Steps had his last breath.  Not really.  Hitch did it in a studio, of course.  But, that is the very same Music Hall that Buchan and Hitchcock based their whole masterpiece upon.

I wander down, the Wife wonders why.

The Wife wis right.  There are a tourist group in front of the Music Hall, and the Hall is plastered with an obnoxious giant neon sign of the travesty that is pretending to entertain Londoners at the present time.  I did take a picture.  It is bad.  Here t'is:

The London Palladium, where Donat, Carroll, and Mr Memory saved the day.

That's right.  The London Palladium.

Meanwhile, here is what London department stores look like:

The Liberty.  Badass old school department store.

Anyroad, The Liberty is on our right, The Palladium is on our left, and I wander back to The Wife, and she has been doing some furious research on her iPhone about The Liberty.  And she says, "Ugh.  Sometimes it is better to do Wikipedia.  Know what I mean? I do not want The Liberty's version, right?"

"Yes," I say, "The public relations point of view? The Pee-are version, right?"

"Look," Renee says, "The doors are opening."


The Wife is right.  Most of the time.

Sometimes the PR version is done so well, you can do nothing but admire.

To wit,

All apologies to my Mexican friends, and their Cinco celebration (which is basically, yet another crappy reason for United States of America citizens to get loaded and embarrass themselves), but my new idea is to make a holiday out of Chanel No. 5.  The fifth day of the fifth month, which was Mademoiselle's lucky number, and when she launched the most famous perfume ever.  Seriously, ever.  This is not some, "I like The Stones, The Beatles suck" kind of thing.  There is Chanel No. 5, and there is everybody else.

But, let me get back to what I was saying:  Sometimes the flipping industry can give you the great story.  And the Inside Chanel videos, which you can watch on YouTube, and are a product of Chanel, are the best video representation of Coco Chanel's life I have yet seen.  (The last two videos with Lagerfeld speaking in French suck, but it is all animated magic till then.)

Those animated videos are better than both of the Chanel bio films I have seen.  Coco Before Chanel is not bad, actually good.  Fudging the truth in a pleasant sort of way.

As I like to do.

fauxluxe isnae dead.

"Realize all things have their place/And live my life with dignity and grace"

All my love,
fauxluxe isnae dead.
You will be bombarded with fab posts re Paris et Londre, so get used to it.


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