Posts Tagged ‘Writing’

Isabella Blow: Fashion Galore! My review for A Shaded View On Fashion.

Sunday, November 24th, 2013

Isabella Blow: Fashion Galore Somerset House 20th November – 2nd March 2014 text and photos by Tamara Cincik

Dear Shaded Viewers,

Interning at Vogue is a rite of passage for a fledgling fashion editor – if they are lucky.

I interned at Vogue, a 3 month stint, when I came back to London, from a several months post-university hippy haze in India.

At the time, my look was more vintage party, than pret a porter Paris: wearing 1930’s ballgowns with Adidas trainers, a velvet turban and a bindi on my forehead, was my go-to uniform for the fashion room.

There I watched, learned and took in what it meant to be from Vogue and in vogue.

Izzy Blow was Fashion Features Editor, we sat next to each other: her with her rolodex, I remember lots of numbers written in red pen (is that a real or imagined memory? is this how memories become myths in the making?), me bagging up returns; her with her daily visits from Detmar and his sister, or Alexander McQueen, who was fresh out of college and still living at his mother’s, me with my dockets and biro.

Between calls (we prepped computer-free), we would have conversations about diverse subjects: from Medieval jewellery to Sir John Soane, whose London house she deemed ‘sexy’, as well as the merits, or not, of having babies and our families.

I knew that her family had had wealth and yet she didn’t have much, I knew she missed her family house and her father. I saw how much she helped so many people, with a passionate vehemence, like a classical patron, a latter-day Medici.

Designers Julien Macdonald, Alexander McQueen, Owen Gaster, Philip Treacy, or models, Stella Tennant, Iris Palmer, Honor Fraser, Liberty Ross, and Sophie Dahl, all started their careers with her support. She cared so much that they were nurtured, supported and encouraged, making connections, push, push, pushing those she believed in, onto her pages at Vogue, Sunday Times Style or Tatler.

Or onto the catwalk, where if she believed in a designer, she would be sitting front row, clapping and twitching excitedly with her support.

Perhaps she would be seated there with a lobster on her head, or a ship, perhaps with red lipstick on her teeth, perhaps an overload of fur, or Manolos with heels scrapped by bus rides.

In the days before the knowing cartoons looks of the bloggerati, I always enjoyed watching Izzy. Sometimes, I felt too shy to join the circus, which surrounded her at fashion shows; sometimes I was right there with her. And each time I was, I was welcomed with a charming clever conversation: be it about clothes, lovers or art.

The last time I saw Isabella, was at an afterparty for the gallery Detmar owned with my friend Pablo De La Barra. Pablo insisted I came to the Blow’s Eaton Square flat. I had come from a yoga class, wearing grey dyed KTZ leggings. Izzy was in a long white gown, about to go onto a party with Bryan Ferry. No one raised an eyebrow at either. The flat was brimming with people, art, clothes and ideas.

This is how I would like to remember Isabella: a social hostess, unjudgmental, elegant and in her element, spinning a web where threads of art, fashion, music wove seamlessly into happy memories.

I had been worried that the exhibition would not show her kindness, her charm, her self-deprecating lack of personal ambition when promoting those she believed in, her ability to overspend in pursuit of an amazing shot, or dress. But it did.

I did worry that a collection of clothes, without a sense of the woman who wore them, might feel empty. But it didn’t.

The charm, the themes of family, of England, of heritage and loss were all there, with each room a triumph.

I would recommend this exhibition to anyone who knew her, as well as those, such as the young man in the amazing triangle hat, I encountered there today who didn’t. Acolytes for whom her name is like that of a Hollywood legend, an inspiration for them to believe in the extraordinary.

Tamara Cincik.

My review of LFW AW13 Published Today On The Luxury Channel.

Wednesday, February 27th, 2013

Magazine > London Fashion Week – A Stylist’s PerspectiveBy Tamara Cincik


27th February 2013

Before London Fashion Week, there is a tipping point where anticipation meets anxiety: the fear that I will have no tickets to any of the shows, despite working hard all season on some killer shoots for some great magazines; and then the universal fashion editor’s fear that I have nothing to wear, despite having numerous wardrobes at home literally spilling open with clothes and shoes on a daily basis.

To off-set the first, the postman’s daily deliveries of a multitude of colourful envelopes displaced any nervousness I might have had; while two timely phone calls- one to the lovely Sara at RMG And Co, the PR for The House of Worth, the other to Lizzie from Mishka Vintage – meant without even dipping into the nether regions of my wardrobes (yes, wardrobes!) other than for some key accessories, I was able to sport some amazing clothes for the endless list of shows and events. As with every season, the gaggle of bloggers and assault course of photographers which meet you when you try to walk, without stumbling, across the cobblestones at Somerset House expands into an army of camera lenses, feeling like you are dressed for the day is ever more important. From a Bill Gibb brown leather coat with silver bee embroidery, so rare that at the Issa show, Zandra Rhodes begged me to donate it to her Fashion Museum, a fantastically chic black lace Worth coat and Peter Pan collared chiffon dress, perfect for a deeply chic fashion party, to a retro double act of a Bus Stop striped suit, teamed with a YSL coat so contemporary in its shape with its raised shoulders and slim cut that I wish Hedi Slimane had seen it for inspiration for this season. Like Cinderella camera-ready for the ball, I felt not only show-appropriate, but allowing myself some fun at the stylist’s best game of all, that of dressing up….

Vauxhall Fashion Scout is hosted at the Freemason’s Hall, a location filled with the best interior styling in London, that often I wonder how the shows will surpass this symbolised vision of stars, pentangles and stained glass. Portia from Pop PR hosts several of her shows there, and it was here I dashed uphill in Gina peep-toed heeled boots from Somerset House (no mean feat, awful pun!), for a selection of shows. One highlight was by newcomer to London, Turkish designer Zeynep Tosun: Elizabethan style leather ruffs, pattern embossed over knee boots, which matched the embroidered sleeves on a slouchy biker jacket, jet beads on black velvet teamed with the sheerest chiffon, fluted pencil skirts and wide legged trousers, all served in a palette of autumnal reds, yellows, browns, black and white. This was a confident collection from a London newcomer and one I feel certain we will hear more from very soon.

London Fashion Week is a fantastic opportunity to catch up with fellow fashion editors: sitting next to me at the Temperley show held in the Dorchester Ballroom was the lovely Tiffany Fraser Steele, whom I interned for at Tatler, and is now Senior Fashion Editor at Marie Claire. The collection was a cool customer of chic, inspired by Hitchcock’s leading lady Tippi Hedren. From a white swing coat, falling open over a chevron patterned black dress, teamed with soft black leather gloves, to Swarovski embellished collars, worn with polo-necked dresses and accessorised with white driving gloves, this was a collection perfect for cocktail hour and off-duty starlets. Bernard Chandran’s show had a similarly Hitchcock sensibility, styled by my friend Karen Binns, with Kim Novak as this show’s ice blonde heroine. Handbags were tightly taut to the elbow, while block coloured satin silhouettes were teamed with matching coloured polo-necked balaclavas (a trend in the making), topped with Oriental-style hats.

At the Osman show, I was seated next to the lovely Virginia, whose collection of vintage gorgeousness has been used by many designers as an inspiration for their collections. Her shop’s basement is an ode to Miss Havisham: visions of the palest pastel chiffon and lace, from virginal white Victorian underwear to delicate deco bias-cut dresses. These vintage clothes are a tutorial in craftsmanship, worthy of any fashion show. The Osman show was softer and somehow sexier than I have seen from him in previous collections. The dropped 90s style sleeve (a strong trend for all the collections) was in evidence: from a short-sleeved grey coat, teamed with brocade trousers and draped blouse, to an assymetrical hemmed gilt-hued dress, or an embroidered cream and gold cape. The coherent palette of winter whites, iridescent metallics and soft tones flowing into a strong black finale felt confident and is certain to sell well.

Roksanda Ilincic designed my wedding dress and very lucky I was too to wear something so fabulously fairy tale designed by a woman who wears her own designs, and therefore knows just where to place a zip or a pleat, to make her customer look as beautiful with as little fuss as possible. It sounds simple, but given the amount of complex designs out there, I can tell you that sadly it isn’t. Roksanda showed at the Savoy Ballroom, conveniently located close to Somerset House, but rather than a simple catwalk, has the feel of a latter-day couture show, with it’s Tiffany blue and gold walls and mirrored panels. For the show however, it was subverted with carpeted walls in pinks and pastels, designed by Gary Card, to hint at the colours in the collection. Pinks and greys were off-set by orange and lurid green. Roksanda is known for her clever colour combinations and this season didn’t disappoint. If the carpets and wood hinted at 70s suburbia, there was a subversion at the centre of this collection, with maroon woollen dresses and wide pleated skirts, teamed with black PVC T-shirts and sports jackets.

While Paul Smith’s evening show was hosted at Tate Britain, a 70s referenced collection of stylish separates, Meadham Kirchhoff’s show was held at The Tate Modern. I walked over from Somerset House across the river with stylist Sasa Thomann, admiring the view and chatting about the season. We entered the Topshop show space to Ravel’s Bolero, which lead me into daydreams of Torville and Dean. I was expecting therefore something dreamy, light and fit for ice-skaters. Whilst their signature, fast-paced, over-all-too-quickly show took each of us by surprise, it was as much for this season’s commercialism as for the beauty of the collection. Gone were the witches and puppets, the painted dolls and raver goddesses; in their place was a subversive take on Marc Jacob’s 60s monochrome SS13 world, with Chanel-style jackets, a PVC apron central panel over a double-breasted white coat and my personal favourite, a black velvet long dress with white chiffon collar and hem of patterned white lace, perfect for the Russian blogger star, oligarch’s wife and fashion big-spender Ulyana Sergeenko in its poetic romance.

My last London show of the season was Ziad Ghanem, which Sasha Lilic urged Tara St Hill and I to come with him to see, after enjoying the beautifully mature collection by Maria Grachvogel (that lady knows how to drape!), and the last-day-on-earth-so-let’s-enjoy-it eccentricity of the Ashish show, styled by my ex-assistant and bridesmaid Anna Trevelyan. Ziad Ghanem clearly has cult and underground in his very DNA; the make-up alone was fantastic: a vision of colour and drama, inspired by transvestites and 50s glamour. The models were a celebration of quirky casting – tattooed, curvaceous drag queens: each one a different, divergent sense of beauty and all cheered along by the buoyant crowd. From a canary yellow cat bowed blouse, worn with a slim cut African printed bold back split skirt, to a lilac taffeta wide-hipped skirt, worn with a poppy embroidered hand-painted blouse and 70s style turban, this was a happy collection, which the audience adored. When the finale came with a soundtrack of Always Look On The Bright Side Of Life, the crowd clapped along smiling, not a fashion pout amongst them.

To see more of Tamara’s work, visit


My Interview with Stephen Jones for Jimon Magazine

Wednesday, June 27th, 2012

Interview with Stephen Jones for Jimon

The Loveliest Mad Hatter of them all: Stephen Jones.

Stand and Deliver! My Interview with Dr Noki for the newly fabulously revamped Esthetica Review.

Wednesday, September 14th, 2011

My dear friends Jessie Brinton and Margot Bowman (bravo on that first from St Martins Margot!), have rejigged, rebranded and reinvigorated Esthetica into something quite, quite beautiful.  I feel proud to be a part of the new world order.

That was a load off my chest! My article for Volt Cafe: Whatever Happened to Counter-Culture?

Friday, April 15th, 2011

Whatever Happened to Counterculture


Posted: April 15th, 2011 ? Filled under: Features ?  No Comments

The Sex Pistols were cited as the voice of the underground: daring to swear on national TV, wearing safety pins and gobbing at the audience, they were the 70’s merry pranksters, hell-bent on pogo-ing their anger into our expletive-shocked consciousness: a reaction to the death of hippie free love and the shell-shocked dawn of Thatcherism. But look again, weren’t they styled to within an inch of their Westwood tees and Malcolm McLaren graphics; the World’s End refrain to punk’s politically angry throes: more boy band hype than voice of a generation?  Perhaps their svengali, Malcolm McLaren was a precursor of Simon Cowell; perhaps the Pistols were nothing more than a manufactured by-product of a maestro on the make.

However, the vital difference is that they celebrated their teenage angst: a half-arsed career, spiralled by bad management and indolence, where shock was the common denominator, they didn’t care who realised how disgusted with the state of the nation they were, indeed I’d argue it’s this for which they are remembered more than their music; while the country waved Union Jacks to celebrate the Silver Jubilee, they dared to ask whether this really was a load of old bollocks…

A generation ago, in 1981, while the world was brimming with excitement over the romance of a Royal Wedding, in a parallel to today: Diana, a teenage virginal shy bride, who blushed into her fringe, the fascinating innocent, was held aloft with our expectations and collective gasps of adoration. We all bought into the myth, millions watched the spectacle and believed in the fairy tale. Sadly, like all fairy tales it had its dark flip side. Perhaps if we had been a little less naïve and more astute, we might have woken up from the fantasy earlier, to realise, that like all mythologised stories, there is always a rite of passage, a big bad wolf, a witch and a sacrifice.  A virgin bride, an older, diffident man who loved another, the innocent, yet aristocratic nursery worker who was bound to grow up and ask questions, the institution of royalty; it is only now with hindsight perhaps that we can see what a recipe for disaster this truly was.

While most of us were fluttering flags at street parties, or watching fireworks explode in red, white and blue celebration, there were already the hints of the anger at Thatcherism’s divisiveness to come. That summer saw the Brixton riots: London literally was burning, people who had lived and worked in this country for over a generation, were no longer simply happy to bow down to institutionalised racism, they took to the streets and dared to answer back.

To come were the Miners’ Strike, the Poll Tax Riots, the St Pauls, Toxteth, Hansworth and Tottenham Riots. While it was the era of yuppy, meritocratic materialism: a glossy sense of grab-it-now excess, where we were told that we too could work hard and reap the benefits, that if our prime minister was a shop keeper’s daughter, we too could rise to the top of the pile through hard work and endurance and even buy our own council house at a heavy discount to gain entrance into the exalted realm of the home owning middle classes. There was the insistent drum beat of the angered anti-voice, those who questioned Tebbit and Thatcher’s political framework, the dawn of a time when Britain morphed from manufacturing global force to banking pleasure isle and dared to fight back.

So what has changed in the past 30 years?

Well, again we are about to celebrate the flag flutterings of another royal wedding: this time not to Diana the hunted, but to Kate the middle class, a proto-icon of discreet taste and astute acceptance, who, let’s hope, is more protected, loved and aware of precisely what the contract she has entered into is.

Again, too, we have a Conservative (albeit in coalition) government, again we are in recession and again we really ought to be angry.  Ought to be…

But are we really? Personally I am furious! I am appalled that the cabinet is made up of the over-privileged and under-qualified; I am disgusted that they are closing schools, libraries, crèches, charities, hospitals and public sector jobs; I am shocked that they propose university fees which will prohibit the majority of students from leaving without a debt so epic they will never be able to pay it back. When Winston Churchill was asked to make cuts in the arts after WWII, his response was that the arts were what they fought for and if you cut these, what you had fought for was worthless.

I never thought that there would be a government worse than Thatcher. I loathed her with the venom of my youth: despising her glib, controlled platitudes. Where I too woke up from the seductive dream of the Blairite New Labour’s Cool Britannia, horrified at the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, at least I felt that my sense of Britain was echoed back in the Labour government’s Thatcherism-lite appropriation of social conscience socialism. One where the state of the nation was tied into a world order of equality and democracy, however hard that might be to implement in reality.

Perhaps as one of the last of the meritocratic generations: a product of a grammar school and the first in my family to go to a university, I was a Thatcher’s child. Certainly I grew up believing that I too could and would do whatever I wanted, if I worked hard, possibly doubly hard than those from a more privileged background, who maintained their sense of collar-up entitlement, but against whom I knew I could play career poker and win the game.

The fashion industry I entered as an assistant stylist was a fascinating secret world and I was intoxicated by its perfume. I worked for the Fashion Editor Anna Cockburn, doyenne of a style called ‘grunge’ (but so much more), who challenged the style status quo, with work which allowed the raw, the beautiful and the damned their place; a fragile voice made strong, which meant fresh air, ruffling the feathers of fashion’s establishment (who else would call in Ann Summers which was then mistaken for Helmut Lang by colleagues at a Vogue shoot?), while we partied to Nirvana and rave and believed love was the way to break down the class barrier.

So here we are 30 years on from 1981 in 2011: another Royal Wedding about to entrance us with the dream of a good girl made good princess; another Tory government telling us they are in this too, while George Osborne, the trust fund tax exile, pushes through a budget so draconian, a generation of children will be tied into debt.

While the 1980’s had the Falkland’s War: a battle for a place which sounded Scottish, but which was actually closer to the South Pole; we have wars of so many fronts, that the war on terror seems an endless, expensive sacrifice.

While the 80’s had the poll tax riots, now they are about to make squatting illegal; while students then lost the right to claim benefits, now they are tied into a £60,000+ debt per BA degree; while then we had Section 28, last month Philip Sallon was seriously attacked while walking in Piccadilly, yet curiously there is no CCTV of the event; while then we saw the closure of mines and factories, of any possibility of Britain maintaining an industrial autonomy, now we sit back while the bankers foreclose on our debt, yet issue themselves with bonuses akin to Third World economies.

Am I alone in thinking the world has turned topsy-turvy???

Am I alone in thinking the world needs to wake up??

Am I alone in wondering why people aren’t taking to the streets?

Am I alone in wondering where is the voice of the counter-culture?

Am I alone in thinking that Lady Gaga and her glossy, veneered ilk are not enough of a reaction and wondering where fashion’s politically expletive voice is in all this?

Am I alone in disbelieving that what we have now is worse than what we had?

Am I alone?

Words by Tamara Cincik


My recent article for Jimon Magazine.

Tuesday, March 1st, 2011

Ellie’s belle bonpoint ballpoint interviews me and muses on Bats, Boleyn and bows…

Friday, March 5th, 2010

My friend Ellie is a writer for magazines as glorious as Lula and Elle.  She recently gave birth to Doris Donne and true Cockney, and like me (and Natasha) a Scorpio.  See below for her recent interview with me for her gorgeous blog, which allows her free-rein for any uncommissioned musings and is a glorious read.


she’s tamtalizing

‘I find the fashion farce hard to take seriously.’

My mind is full of starter notes on things to look up when I have time. A brain full of boxes to come back to. A reading-list to last a lifetime. There are thousands of things in there from my boyfriend that I shall shuffle through in months to come, but another mind that constantly gets my own ticking is that of my friend, the fashion stylist Tamara Cincik.

This was going to be a short visual post; a few questions to Tamara on dressing Bat for Lashes lady-lark Natasha Khan for the Brit Awards, but I took a u-turn when Tamara, an eternal piece of passion cake, sent over a feast festooned with references. I love references, the short summaries of what gets people going. As I’ve said before, anyone with a passionality is interesting to uncover. So instead of cutting out anything ‘non-Natasha,’ I wanted more of Tamara’s take on anything. Her gypsies, 1960’s acid trips and Anne Boleyn. Some more boxes to tick soon. I’ll leave you to do the same.

Tamara’s take on …

… dressing Natasha for the Brits

I wanted it to feel and look like tarnished Hollywood. Natasha [left] had a book about the Hollywood designer Valentina [above] who would go to premieres in the 1940’s looking amazing; so utterly glamorous! I wanted Natasha to look like her own version of this: beyond any trends, dancing to her own rhythm and not at all looking like a generic pop star.

Natasha is very strong on accessories and knows what she likes: she wanted to have the gold sequin bow hat made, which I thought looked adorable and slightly off – which is always cool! And she loves Pamela Love’s jewellery, so we called that in and to be honest that was her choice, but I thought it was totally gorgeous and through pawing over Pamela’s jewellery it is clear she was right!

Jackie Tyson created the rainbow eyelash Natasha wore for the Brits and does her make-up for lots of red carpet events. However Natasha is amazing at make-up and lots of photos you see of her on TV or at festivals, she has created the looks herself.

… enhancing an existing stylish ‘flair’ rather than controlling it

It’s vital to work with Natasha in a collaborative dialogue. Image and style are intrinsic to her, as is how she feels – you can hear in her music that she works from an emotional, uncompromising place and she constantly works at this on all level. We send references back-and-forth and discuss ideas and images and then hone these into a total look design. I’ve recently worked on her tour outfits (she is currently in South America with Coldplay) and for this, I sent her a whole ream of designs and ideas and then we edited them and added her ideas in to create a bunch of looks for her to wear on stage.

… why even stylish stars needs stylists

Natasha has great ideas about how to dress and what to wear, she is very clear about how she likes to look and feel. For me, her style is more individual and quirkily iconic, rather than following fashion trends religiously and I celebrate that. Working with me as her stylist allows me to oversee that side of things for her more easily; she can trust my judgement and I always make sure she is involved and updated. I can access the labels, tailors or pr’s as of course I already know so many people through my other styling work, so in a way I can feed ideas and information through and then we can collaborate without her being bogged down with the admin-side.

…the importance of style in determining the success of a musician today

It’s vital: the world is so media-savvy that unless someone is the new Neil Diamond or Seasick Steve, I think it is kind of key.

… her life ambitions

I always thought I would grow up and become a gypsy, and travel about with my hair catching warmth in it’s curls and wearing broderie anglaise on tanned olive skin, barefoot. Then I did that. Or I thought I would live in Paris with a talented artist. Then I did that too. Then I decided it was time to grow up and become a serious careerist, so now I spend my day playing with clothes, and my summers growing vegetables at our allotment and my evenings reading Tudor history in the bath for hours, trying to work out why Henry V111 seems to have murdered everyone he loved. I find the fashion farce hard to take seriously and the regime of work and self-discipline hard to commit to after years of wriggling out of any form of control. [Tamara, above, on her ‘festival of love’-themed wedding day. No wriggling out of that one.]

… her life guru

Ram Dass is a spiritual teacher from the States who harks back to the time of Ken Keseyand Timothy Leary. He was an academic who took acid in those early Ivy League tests in the 1960’s and the trip totally changed his life: he dropped out of his professorship and began working with the counter-culture leaders of the era. From this he went to India and renounced his material life and lived with his guru for many years, before coming back to the west to teach.

He became one of the first westerners to go to India and try to reason with his life in a non-materialistic way, so his message is totally approachable and yet intelligent, marrying these worlds, yet there is something very Californian-meets-Woody Allen about his delivery, which I enjoy. Totally mesmerised by The Merry Pranksters as a teenager, I did all I could to recreate that life: going to India at 19, falling in love with a San Franciscan biker who taught Tibetan monks English while his mother read tarot back in Berkeley, and later being a huge part of the squat rave scene here and in Goa. Although there is the potential for his work to sound like the naffest kind of psychobabble, he is so intelligent that somehow brilliantly in the ease, there is genius.

… her inspiration

Stylist Karen Binns has this way of engaging with the world and her work which I find utterly captivating: she was a part of 1980’s New York and there is this, combined with 1920’s black cultural glamour-meet- classic Hollywood fantasia and I love it. Through her work you see how fashion is an escape and a message.

… her style icon

I was obsessed with time travel as a child and for some reason Anne Boleyn was my consistent starting point for dreamtime travels: I would oscillate between her, Elizabeth 1 and Mary Queen of Scots as a child at the French court – all very Tudor-specific! Anne was clearly highly intelligent; she grew up in the Burgundian court where women were expected to be well-educated and witty. She brought this finesse back with her from France and through her, England changed religion, changing it’s course forever from medieval to early modern. Anne was stylish in that I love her French hood and ‘b’ chain ensemble. I’ve recently read two books on her and it’s fascinating how each author has their own perspective about what is true and thereby we can see what is true is always subjective.

Princess Tamara [above] with her own prince in their own ‘Pink Tower.’

A Shaded View on Fashion: my piece for Diane’s website about the KTZ show

Friday, October 2nd, 2009


marjan and sacha walk the walk

marjan and sacha walk the walk

Dear Shaded Viewers,

Marjan and Sacha are old dear friends of mine, hours spent discussing silhouettes and windows in their soho shop kokon to zai. I worked with Marjan, styling his beautiful own label and have supported them through shoots and loved wearing his clothes for many years.

KTZ was their reaction to the underground colorful music scene: it hit the nu rave scene a few years back running, with overgrown joggers in mad techno prints, sexy skintight lycra dresses with neon embellishments and cyberzorg boots.

Marjan’s own label meanwhile, has always been slightly whimsical, romantic and in touch with a base note of dark macedonian gypsy earthy glamour, which I adore.

The KTZ show last night felt like a marriage of the two: skintight black catsuits, with copper body hugging beads and cut out knees, walked out ahead of Zoe dressed in a purple holographic huge puffa, with mini printed jogger shorts. Every detail was well considered and thought through: from the embossed socks, the over the knee square toed lace up sex boots, to the giant bauble necklaces. Then there were huge over capelets made from silver beads, knee length hooded woollen shawls in tightknit grey.
This was a collection of pieces which unify the london aesthetic: Bodymap body con-style with their own unique well designed flavour of fun, design and desirability.

Well done

Dean dj’ed the night to it’s pumping conclusion as as I sat back to enjoy the scene, I admit I did feel a little like a mother in a Jane Austen novel, seated at the ball, watching the next generation feel the groove…



The House of Blueeyes Show: a bacchanalian night of sequins and fabulosity

Wednesday, February 25th, 2009

Michael from Blow had warned me that this was the most requested ticket on his roster of
shows this Fashion Week, so to get there early, which given they worked on 13 shows this
week, told me everything i needed to know: get there early! anyone who knows me, knows
this is a rare event in itself; luckily jeremy picked me up in the astra gypsy wagon from
Nazir’s show, where I had been so proud of what Anna (my ex assistant ‘Dolly’) Trevelyan
and Sam Voltage had achieved.
Heading East, Jeremy pointed out that in football terms last night was the ultimate
hotdate: the final of the Championships League, so we popped into the local Owl and the
Pussycat for a beer (him), juice (me) and football update,(0-0) when we left.
Marching through the throng at Beach Blanket Babylon, suddenly I knew what Berlin in the
1920’s must have felt like – the party at the end of the world and the finale of time ( a
huge inspiration for me aesthetically) – and now with the current climate, perhaps even
more relevant.
A visual overload of trannies in cocktail gowns, grannies dressed as Dracula, boys led on
chains and matriarchs in lingerie; glitterball fractals of decadence and revellery hit my
retina in every corner. Jeremy perhaps wondered why he had left the football, but I knew
that this is where the real action was. The stories from the audience fascinated me:
trannie gold medallist Jeanie D with 2 teeth and a spider on his head, Russella with her
glittery Dorothy shoe red lips, Pia naked save some masking tape and a peach fur coat, as
one glamazon told me, we’re a long way from Kansas now…
Jacquie Soliman from Agent Provocateur pronounced this the show we have been waiting for
and in a way she is right: one which announces London’s more underground, underbelly,
intent and content.
We’ll never be Paris, we aren’t couturiers, by showing in the Eastend, Johnny drew on
London’s sleazily Victorian past: opium dens and decadence, sexual freedom and dark
corners and translated these into rock and roll punk undeniable English freewheeling
beauty. A masked duo danced on the bar top, while the shows freely chaotic madness
unfolded: beautiful chiffon grey dresses, Betsy in a cape throwing roses and tarot cards
at the floor, boys in underwear, girls in jewels, Tamer swaying his hips in russet tones.
Patrick Wolff and Jodie Harsh sashayed from the floor onto the catwalk: the audience
became the show, we are all free, we are all theatre, we are all angels. Johnny would
say something like this and I am inclined to agree.
I said to Tamsin and Jessie, I am not sure Jeremy knows what to make of this, it’s
outside his frame of reference, Tamsin (a leading climate change activist) pointed out
that a lot of people want to be here; I replied, ‘Exactly, just as they did in Berlin.’
We laughed, we know, surely it’s better to enjoy the circus, celebrate the chaos, the
painful freedom of these random moments of madness, while the ship sinks, we may as well
enjoy the tunes of the band as we drown?..

Tamara Cincik – words
Jeremy Fusco – photos


Wednesday, January 28th, 2009

Seems like ladies have always enjoyed a bitch'n'stitch!..

Seems like ladies have always enjoyed a bitch'n'stitch!..

Here is a piece I just wrote for the online green glossy magazine ‘Style Will Save Us’.
New years’ resolutions: so well-meaning, so hard to keep…

After enjoying the Christmas Craftacular fair hosted by Bust magazine in December, perusing the cute handcrafted gifts on sale: from  embroidered brooches to knitted hand grenades; all to a DJ soundtrack of feel-good disco, I was inspired to use my Uncle Anthony’s John Lewis Xmas gift voucher to buy needles, a knitting book and 12 balls of grey wool.

My intention was clear: I have the allotment, I have the bike, I make my own hand creams and potions, I am keeping health food stores in credit crunch credit, but now there was another skill I needed to add to my list of DIY ticked boxes.

Knitting on your own is fun. I felt like my Nana, chilling, whilst knitting with one eye on the holiday season roster of film epics; but as I learnt when I went along to the Stitch ‘n’ Bitch event at the Royal Festival Hall, knitting with others is even better.

It was a rather bracing walk across Embankment Bridge and felt very
pleased with myself that I had made it along and not bottled out. 175
other knitters clearly felt the same!

It was such a lovely, nurturing way to spend an evening: there were novices and experts from  punkette students and office workers, to glamazons and grandmas.  Some taking advantage of the 2 for 1 cocktail deal, sipped colourful concoctions whilst sharing skills and smiles, pouring over patterns and needles.

Newcomers, like myself, were made to feel very welcome and could choose between an impromptu masterclass or joining the round table of knitters all happy to chat, ready to include you into the merry band.

With the ‘make do and mend’ mentality being all the more resonant in these economically challenging times, the message of coming together
as an ad hoc community and enjoying making something special and
unique for ourselves, seems the most pleasurable, yet modern way to spend an evening.

TAMARA CINCIK is a fashion stylist, writer and ‘style faculty expert’ at the fabulous new School of Life.