Top five - 10 apr 25
More orange via Hèrmes, book rec, Marni AW 2002, September 5, francophilia
My new old Hermès shorts, sourced vintage from Maryam. I wrote about how Hermès unsurprisingly makes the best orange nail polish, shade “Orange Boîte” and so it was due destiny that I have these 100% cotton, orange and white striped, pleated long shorts.
Kaliane Bradley, The Ministry of Time. I think I won’t “review” the book: I never know how much summary to add and how to explain that reading this book activated my PSNS. Can’t it just be that you’ve been getting to know me here… and that if you’ve decided that we have similar tastes, you’ll see that you too will love this book? Bradley’s writing is simply expert. I think sharing passages will sing my song.
We went downstairs. Margaret suggested that an apple would be a welcome victual (her words), so I put the kettle on and started to cut an apple. Margaret told me that modern apples tasted both bland and unpleasantly tart, and I started explaining intensive farming. Upstairs, we could hear the low voices of the men.
Someone in the middle of the road, giving directions, had an outrageously powerful storm light. I mermaided bad-temperedly toward the light. I was only really approaching this person so that I could be told off for biking and feel even worse. I was astonished when I heard,
"Oh! Poor drowned cat."
I started to laugh, a real, happy, unglamorous laugh. As true laughter does, it summoned smiles from the others. Margaret leaned toward me, grinning, and I saw Graham catch Arthur's eye and roll his. It was a moment among moments, but everyone was held in it, captured in a small and easy joy. I return again and again to this memory. It's proof, you see. Not everything I did was wrong.
Marni Autumn Winter 2002 as the antidote to early spring styling. Frilly silks with a side of fur.
September 5 directed by Tim Fehlbaum. “During the 1972 Munich Olympics, an American sports broadcasting crew finds itself thrust into covering the hostage crisis involving Israeli athletes.” I guess there are moments in pop culture that somehow hide from your field of intake, and you find yourself at a ripe age completely unaware of the psycho scary events that took place at the 1972 olympics to the Israeli athletes. This was me watching this really great movie in horror, and also me the next day, replaying many scenes in my head and clutching my husband in the night.
That’s it. I’m done not speaking French. Acquisition on my own has been essentially fruitless. Another one of those moments in The Creative’s Plight where output and skill does not match taste!!!!! I have decided to take the Coucou french course beginning with the “debutant” tier and every subsequent french course they offer until I can listen to a Serge Gainsbourg song and have my heart strings plucked on their own accord. Otherwise, I’m moving to France with basic grammar and will learn via chic, intense immersion.
Gainsbourg Postscript:
One of my favorite films —Gainsbourg (Vie Héorïque)— has the word’s greatest opening titles.
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