BECAUSE SHE WAS ON THE COVER

I remember my first Vogue like it was yesterday. The October 2002 issue. The words in each article were so heavily embossed that they appeared to be dancing on the page. The images, a secret garden for my mind to play in, as I eagerly wondered what pleasures awaited me on each page. The sound of the pages as I flipped through, resembled moments from my childhood, on a sunny afternoon at home under a cool fan. The most romantic moment of my life, was when I was swept off my feet by the styling of the legendary Grace Coddington. This British darling was a river of creativity that flowed straight into the centre of this American fashion bible. Her wavy red wheat hair, whispered elegance and blew fashion onto the covers of Vogue. Each of her eye swallowing pieces charmed and had me secretly playing dress up as a teenager! Models did more than just pose while on set with her, they were constantly moving at the tempo of photographer's camera; a motion sickness for which one would gladly welcome. She helped me rediscover my wardrobe and reminded me of how the colour red could mean more than sexy. Even with shoes, she showed me how to create a romantic view from the waist down. Grace Coddington was the porcelain vase that sat on the shelf of my heart, her genius as a stylist made my eyes smile. The octopussy ink that fills the pages of Vogue would be dull without her; she gave it its signature colour.

FACE PAINT FOR GROWN UPS

The mystique of MAC and the allure of REVLON makes me believe that crayons can come to life in a single stroke! Always one to colour outside the lines, I let the liquid eyeliner stencil black, in the scoop below my eyelid. Soon after, I let the makeup brush perfume my face with colour. Then for the first time, I feel the eye shadow tickle my eyelashes with a bright tint. Ah Foundation, the kind of powder you inhale but with your cheeks! Makeup, a mirrors dream girl, a vision of beauty reflected not only with our faces but with our imaginations.

WHERE MY LIPSTICK SLEEPS AT NIGHT

A handbag is a hanger on a woman's arm that dangles her style and glamour for all to see. Promised with ambitious straps for our shoulders and enticing zippers for our fingers! The satin lining inside, keeps cool the resting spots of our "impress them daily" lipstick and our ever busy blackberry. They are the intimate dressing rooms of our everyday lives. Ultimately, handbags are the confidence that we wear and the flattery that we grip within the palm of our hands.

MY DREAM HOUSE

When I first saw the S/S 2010 collection, I tried to tell myself that I was not impressed and that the designs were simple, almost comic for couture but then when I was done lying to myself, I could confess that the House of Balenciaga was extraordinary and that it could outwit any and all that dared to try! Each show was a spectacle; come forth to indulge the savoury appetites of fashion photographers, editors and admirers alike. Once famously said to have "Audrey Hepburn foaming at the mouth" (Diana Vreeland), Balenciaga soon had me sharing in her mouth watering obsession. But thereafter, it also confirmed the bitter taste I felt from the recent famine in fashion, the lack of originality. Only you could save us I thought. Every night through you tube clips I watched the clever Nicholas Ghesquiere reveal the signature of Balenciaga in each masterpiece. He was unfolding fashion so that it could be boundless, step forward and take its rightful place once more. The House of Balenciaga was a hide and seek game for the followers of fashion, which could only be played one season at a time. Luckily for us all, the eye teething nibbles we took away from each collection was enough to temporarily satisfy our never ending hunger for fashion.

IT WAS ALL IN A NAME

I found her by accident and in the strangest place, my grandmother's handbag. There she was embroidered inside the seam with the initials CC; it was amusing and in some ways embarrassing to think about how I never knew what that stood for, but always the curious kitten I would certainly find out. Coco Chanel, I took a moment to say her name out loud just to feel the soft tremble on my lips. Then suddenly I realised that I knew her, when I was a girl, she was the woman I watched walking on the other side of the street everyday around 3pm when I got out from school, who always wore a pair of spectacular shoes, a knee hugging skirt and a waist clenching blouse that matched the hue of a pastel pink rose petal. In Chanel I felt a little bit braver, she was my Clark Kent: a super hero with a force so divinely feminine that it could make the most grunge loving girl put on heels. On the runway, her haute couture designs were eye swelling delights that could easily inspire the silhouette of any woman. Coco Chanel, was a most fortunate opportunity for fashion and a transcendent reality for women everywhere. A hope unlike any other, she was authentic like the feelings one felt from a first kiss. Chanel was a charming riddle for the fashion world that could not be solved and decidedly so. How perfect was she? A rare recipe whose ingredients were immeasurable. What she possessed could not be taught or replaced; she was that lady in a cardigan that we all requested. Simply said, it was her style and elegance that made me pause.

YSL: THE MAN WANDERING INSIDE YOUR WARDROBE

Seduced by his reclusiveness, enchanted by his designs, one could easily become offended or impressed by him and his elegant refusals within fashion. His refusal to be predictable, his refusal to be forgotten!

"YSL, the perfect bedtime story
for the children of fashion."

Yves Saint Laurent was a paragon who dared to live among the ordinary and unfraid to dress them as well. He might have never told you his story personally, but you could witness his many adventures within his collections, that narrated the tale of his creative genius.

In his S/S 2010 show he gave us hope for the season, with skin complimentary trend colours of moisturising white and bashful blue!

I watched as they cascaded down the vertical runway to the spellbinding sounds of drawn out gasp from admirers. A rhythmic echo of motion.

His collection was perplexing, an embarrassment of beauty that could shame the creative will of some designers and simultaneously move the will of others to blush.