Men's Fashion Blog to Luxury Brand Consultant.
Wednesday, 14 September 2011
This past uncharacteristically warm September Sunday I was free to do nothing beyond serving my own existence. As an inner London habitat having days without any scheduled commitments can be rare as the British summer itself. Whether it’s enjoying a glass a pimm's with a cone of chips and breaded coley overlooking the Regent's canal or attending a private viewing in Mayfair there is always something to keeping me out on the run.
However on this day my latest book purchase, E.T Bell – Men of Mathematics, finally got picked up from the work desk to be slotted in between Julian Barnes’ charmingly realistic Talking it Over and a slightly worn but well taken care of 1965 copy of One-Upmanship by Stephen Potter. It is a small and short book about how to trump and annoy other men, seduce women and sort of annoy them too.
Nevertheless the shelf was overcrowded. It couldn’t accommodate another book. It was a lighting realisation that in barely 5 months the shelf had graduated from a dust collector to a biblical library of all the 1,300 words of which I have recently consumed in less than 6 month. I’m officially a book worm; An individual who reads literature on Saturdays for recreational pleasure, gets excited over pressing the 1-click button on Amazon and gets anxious when a book has yet to be delivered by the time it’s 13:00am. Admittedly in the past, my attention span for books wasn’t long enough for me to read two pages without my boredom levels rising as I silently sat still, sliding my eye from right to left. An even bigger hurdle than reading was writing. Memories from my years as an 11 year old boy are still clear. Me, sitting there in the classroom, throwing gentle glances over my right and left shoulders to see whether my classmates have exceeded my paltry 3-4 lines of words. Quite often, the ambitious peers had their hands up to ask the teacher for more paper while I was scratching my head and looking out the window in search of sentence fillers that would extend my “essay” past my then magical half a page mark. Putting words onto paper was like trying to squeeze juice out of an organic sundried tomato. I hated writing, it was frustrating. Ambitions of becoming a writer, journalist, essayist or more crucially a blogger were as non-existent as polar bears on the South Pole.
I was a bit tentative about writing this post. It’s sort of like catching up with a friend whom you used to hold dearly 5-10 years ago. Curiosity and nostalgia is telling you to go ahead while a worrisome sense of doubt begs the question whether you both have departed from what once kept your friendship bond so strong. But having been such a pivotal element in my life, the blog has been begging for a rendezvous and a bit more – perhaps a different dialogue without any layers of moisturizer, apricot scrub, Egyptian cotton shirt and wool/mohair suit.
You might be asking why I haven’t resumed blogging if I loved it? Not everything in life need to last forever, somethings are best enjoyed until the right before they risk losing what’s great about. That’s when the time comes is right to tuck away for preservation like a scarlet red gown or a velvet blue blazer with a black silk lapel – best worn and adorned for a few consecutive occasions – and then be stowed away on a wooden hanger and covered by a plastic film. Then, a period there after you open the closet and scroll through the columns of trousers, leather jackets and shirts just grab hold of that one piece you used to be the feat of your life. You bring it close to your nose to smell for scents that can trigger any faded memories, you then give it a snog, take one last 360 degree look and lock it away in the attic.
This post is my peek at all readers, supportive brands and people around the globe. Also it’s a finally dot of ink in Berkley Magazine before I mount another book shelf for a printed and preserved copy of Berkley Magazine to be slotted in between the grand bible of creative and aesthetics, Rudolf Armheim – Art and Visual Perception, and all the heart warming and encouraging letters I’ve been sent via email by you, the readers.
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Nevertheless the shelf was overcrowded. It couldn’t accommodate another book. It was a lighting realisation that in barely 5 months the shelf had graduated from a dust collector to a biblical library of all the 1,300 words of which I have recently consumed in less than 6 month. I’m officially a book worm; An individual who reads literature on Saturdays for recreational pleasure, gets excited over pressing the 1-click button on Amazon and gets anxious when a book has yet to be delivered by the time it’s 13:00am. Admittedly in the past, my attention span for books wasn’t long enough for me to read two pages without my boredom levels rising as I silently sat still, sliding my eye from right to left. An even bigger hurdle than reading was writing. Memories from my years as an 11 year old boy are still clear. Me, sitting there in the classroom, throwing gentle glances over my right and left shoulders to see whether my classmates have exceeded my paltry 3-4 lines of words. Quite often, the ambitious peers had their hands up to ask the teacher for more paper while I was scratching my head and looking out the window in search of sentence fillers that would extend my “essay” past my then magical half a page mark. Putting words onto paper was like trying to squeeze juice out of an organic sundried tomato. I hated writing, it was frustrating. Ambitions of becoming a writer, journalist, essayist or more crucially a blogger were as non-existent as polar bears on the South Pole.
I was a bit tentative about writing this post. It’s sort of like catching up with a friend whom you used to hold dearly 5-10 years ago. Curiosity and nostalgia is telling you to go ahead while a worrisome sense of doubt begs the question whether you both have departed from what once kept your friendship bond so strong. But having been such a pivotal element in my life, the blog has been begging for a rendezvous and a bit more – perhaps a different dialogue without any layers of moisturizer, apricot scrub, Egyptian cotton shirt and wool/mohair suit.Being a dedicated men’s fashion blogger took me on an unforgettable journey and unlocked a priced world. It was a swirly galaxy of champagne with perfect bubbles, delicious canapés with flavours that dance on the taste buds in unimaginable ways – and off course – shoulder rubbing with designers and famous personalities never imagined I would orbit. A fairy tale come true. Despite all the luxury, the shine of living in a polished Swarovski globe began losing its lustre. As a 21-23 year old I most often found myself in the habitat of older people – significantly older. With the exception of my always like-minded +1s, I rarely had any peer under the age of 30 to mingle with. Unlike in France, the fashion blogger community in the UK is surprisingly smaller. Only at 1 out of 6 functions were I in the presence of a fellow men’s fashion blogger, or blogger for that matter. Bidding farewell to the blog liberated me to watch the 2011 World Cup, drink beer and learn how to play FIFA, I am lousy btw, and simply be a guy - a regular dude.
However mentally exhumed and departed from the world of blogging I was, I am still infatuated with fashion – even more than I was during my days of spending 8-10 crafting blog posts until 02:00am. Fashion and design are magnetic to me. My obsession for mating together words and photographs to give blow kisses that help people understand and appreciate aesthetics has led to my new mantra as a Luxury Brand Consultant. That tall and towering title can easily be dispelled as a stylist for brand. I’ve meet quite few committed and deeply passionate entrepreneurs, creative and professionals who radiate with enthusiasm for what they do. Unfortunately there are only 24 hours in a day which quite some hours short for playing jack of all trades. I lend a helping hand and a set of eyes and help style a businesses and their brand messages with the right imagery and words – leaving everyone else to spend 24 hours on what they do best and love most.
However mentally exhumed and departed from the world of blogging I was, I am still infatuated with fashion – even more than I was during my days of spending 8-10 crafting blog posts until 02:00am. Fashion and design are magnetic to me. My obsession for mating together words and photographs to give blow kisses that help people understand and appreciate aesthetics has led to my new mantra as a Luxury Brand Consultant. That tall and towering title can easily be dispelled as a stylist for brand. I’ve meet quite few committed and deeply passionate entrepreneurs, creative and professionals who radiate with enthusiasm for what they do. Unfortunately there are only 24 hours in a day which quite some hours short for playing jack of all trades. I lend a helping hand and a set of eyes and help style a businesses and their brand messages with the right imagery and words – leaving everyone else to spend 24 hours on what they do best and love most.
You might be asking why I haven’t resumed blogging if I loved it? Not everything in life need to last forever, somethings are best enjoyed until the right before they risk losing what’s great about. That’s when the time comes is right to tuck away for preservation like a scarlet red gown or a velvet blue blazer with a black silk lapel – best worn and adorned for a few consecutive occasions – and then be stowed away on a wooden hanger and covered by a plastic film. Then, a period there after you open the closet and scroll through the columns of trousers, leather jackets and shirts just grab hold of that one piece you used to be the feat of your life. You bring it close to your nose to smell for scents that can trigger any faded memories, you then give it a snog, take one last 360 degree look and lock it away in the attic.This post is my peek at all readers, supportive brands and people around the globe. Also it’s a finally dot of ink in Berkley Magazine before I mount another book shelf for a printed and preserved copy of Berkley Magazine to be slotted in between the grand bible of creative and aesthetics, Rudolf Armheim – Art and Visual Perception, and all the heart warming and encouraging letters I’ve been sent via email by you, the readers.
