Ah Mah Gawd... Paris Fashion Week is upon us! And what better way to re-energise after an exhausting day flitting around town looking impeccable than by shimmying in a boîte de nuit. Don your most excessive order from Spring 2014 Couture and prepare your most steely of Blue Steels to get past the Sphinx-like doorbitches... bon courage!


Designed by David Lynch and named after the eery theatre in 'Mulholland Drive', Silencio opens its doors to non-members after midnight. Put on a blonde wig and feign amnesia for shits and gigs.

Silencio, 142 Rue Montmartre 75002


The contrast between the sex shops and sleaze of Pigalle and the rococo architecture inside this sumptuous hôtel particulier turned nightclub is striking. Whisper sweet nothings to your new lover in the giant birdcage if you are feeling decadent...

Le Carmen 34 Rue Duperré, 75009


Considered even more exclusive than Le Baron, you will probably need to be on the list to get in during FW. (Dear reader, please don't think that I doubt your charm and beauty. You are a magnificent pearl amongst swine.) However, if you are chummy with André or can blag it, enjoy dancing with abandon at a club where Parisians really let their hair down...

Le Montana, 28 rue Saint-Benoît 75006


Located in the stunning Jardins de Bagatelle in the Bois de Boulogne, this is the biggest outdoor club in Paris. Make sure you take a taxi and avoid a long walk through winding park roads known to be a pick-up spot for ladies of the night! Open from June through August, it is often a soirée déguisée (fancy dress).

Bagatelle, 42 Route de Sèvres 75016


Théâtre Comédia, 4 Boulevard de Strasbourg, 75010

As for me, I am seeing the Mugler Follies cabaret tonight! Sure to be a delirious riot of camp bug-women doing the can-can, I am dying with excitement. So as not to be out-shone by a 6ft amazon showgirl in a sexy alien costume, I shall be wearing this  fabulous fuschia coat from AW 14-15 Fyodor Golan ready to wear!


Mon Dieu! Taxis tonight for me, sweetie darling...




One of the nicest things about living in a city that prides itself on being cultured and gastronomic is that sometimes, these things converge in a glorious effusion of FREE SHIT! Yah! In France, getting into a preview is as easy as turning up and helping yourself to wine and canapés. This could be down to a continued respect for Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité or simply because the pavements are too small for a door bitch to handle an eager crowd. (L'Art and La Révolte go hand in hand).

Do a bit of research on the next preview of your favourite galerie, bone-up on the featured artists and enjoy a cheap, charming soirée! (Looking suitably fabulous in Spring 2014 Couture, of course.)


The top gallery in Paris for Bande Dessinées (BDs - comics), Daniel Maghen is collaborating with Christie's for the auction houses' upcoming first sale of Comic Illustrations.

Galerie Daniel Maghen, 47 Quai des Grands Augustins, 75006


This beautiful 400 m2 space is known for showing up-and-coming artist alongside established figures such as Giacometti. It is in a charming part of the 6th that is replete with little galleries. Tool down the Rue de Seine afterwards for a peek.

Galerie Kamel Mennour, 47 Rue Saint-André des Arts, 75006


Pop in to this contemporary art gallery before heading to the Pompidou next door. With two spaces in Paris, one in Brussels and presenting at art fairs in New York, London and Berlin, she represents up-and-coming international artists.

Galerie Nathalie Obadia, 3 rue du Cloître Saint-Merri 75004


Rue Vieille du Temple in the Marais is a popular destination for shops, restos and bars and also features this modern art gallery with a little gem of a bookshop.

Galerie Yvon Lambert, 108 Rue Vieille du Temple, 75003 Paris




FOR LOVERS... (of booze)

Happy Valentine's Day!

Are you happy and in love? (Or just happy, or just in love. It can be hard to be both at the same time.) Are you sad and alone? (An unfair and untrue stereotype.) It doesn't matter, because alcohol is the great equiliser! Allowing us all to forget that the universal mother is the common grave (Lucretius).

Take a delicious cocktail in Paris and glory in the shimmering transience of pleasure!       


Try L'Hotel for a sophisticated ambiance in the stunning, historic building where Oscar Wilde spent his final days. If you're lucky, there might be someone playing jazz on the piano...

L'Hotel, 13 Rue des Beaux-Arts, 75006.


Buzz the unmarked door to descend, like Orpheus, into the underworld. If the underworld was a formerly homosexual club that Jean Cocteau would frequent with his lover Jean Marais.

L'Orphée, 7 Rue Pierre Fontaine, 75009.



Candelaria may look like a taco bar, but walk to the back, find the subtle white door and discover a hidden cocktail lounge with excellent date lighting (dim, baby, dim) and delicious tequila. 

Candelaria, 52 Rue de Saintonge, 75003


Jefrey's has a gentleman's club atmosphere and an excellent range of spirits. Lounge with your lover with a whiskey on leather sofas and pretend to be Bogart and Bacall. 

Jefrey's, 14 rue Saint-Sauveur 75002


God, what faces. My wish for you today is that someone looks at you like that... Happy V Day!

Gros Bisous,





So, here is the grand unveiling of the Low Expectations jacket! The cover art is by Natasha Law, but each chapter starts with a little illustration that I have drawn. It was not always easy to doodle a description of titles such as: 'Apparently, It Was A Musical Vibrator', 'Post-Apocalyptic David Lynch Zombies' and 'Turbans Aren't Deranged'. But I think I pulled it off! 

Low Expectations is an absurdist love story set in the fashion industry of East London. Imagine if VICE wrote chick-lit and you'll have an idea of what to expect! (Don't expect zombies. There are no zombies.) It is out with Quercus Books in July 2014 and you can pre-order a copy on Amazon. Just received my proof copy the other day, they are as shiny, bright and beautiful as a girl could hope!

I have also written a short, illustrated prequel to Low Expectations that will come out in flip-book and ebook form in the lead up to the LE launch. Here are a few illustrations/jokes that got the chop as being too risqué, though I am fond of them. Particularly the monkey! 

'Darling! Don't bite your nails. It’s like Masturbating - In – Public!'


'She was like a love-struck cow, of the Cambodian variety. That is- tied to a tree, blissfully unaware that she was about to be bazooka’d by tourists on a military firing range.' 


So, a bit dark and not very loved up. However, swing by on Valentine's Day for some pure romance! I'll be posting new illustrations of 'DRESS, MEET... COCKTAIL' for Parisian bar suggestions to complete your evening.





The fantastic new magazine Eclectic Society has done a feature on my DRESS, MEET... series of illustrations. Check it out here. The finished collection will include 4 tips on Parisian hotspots: cafés, restaurants, bars, clubs, galleries and picnic spots. They will soon be available to buy in a limited edition deck from Telescope Cards, Little City Guides! These city guides have a handy map on the back and make charming personalised gifts or souvenirs for trips away. More details to follow!


"FUCKZILLA", Or Why We Need More Women in STEM Fields (NSFW)


Ogata: “If we do not defend ourselves from Fuckzilla now, what will become of us?”

Dr. Serizawa: “And what will become of us if a weapon, such as I now have, falls into the wrong hands?”

Ogata: “Then you have a responsibility no man has ever faced. You have your fear, which might become reality. And you have Fuckzilla, which IS reality."

(Godzilla, King of the Monsters! 1956)

When it comes to technology, I am not a visionary, or even competent. I have not played a computer game since a sweaty, contraband session with Zelda aged 9. I was extremely vocal in my belief that interactive mapping on phones would never, ever catch on. I do not know how to turn on my television.

But I do know one thing. The Sex Robots are coming (sorry), and they are not female-friendly.

Take Fuckzilla. Fuckzilla is a creation of the kink.com porn empire and almost certainly did not involve female consultation at any point in the design process. Laura G. Duncan, Robot Sex Expert and candidate for best job title ever, described him in an interview with thoughtcatalog.com as “...like Johnny Five. It has appendages, and one arm is a penetrating dildo. The other is a chainsaw that’s had the chain removed, and it’s been replaced with these silicon moulded tongues that make a circular motion.”

Damn. And I always thought “Fuck me gently with a chainsaw” was a snide, passive-aggressive insult used in excellent 80s black comedies and not, you know, aspirational. Or instructive.

As anyone who has seen Blade Runner knows, the creation of robot sex slaves is fraught with ethical, emotional and physical risk. But at least in Blade Runner, there was some semblance of sexual equality for human consumers, in the form of the delectable Rutger Hauer. The yang to Daryl Hannah’s yin. The balance of nature and aesthetics was respected.


"All those moments will be lost in time... like tears in the rain."

After witnessing the abomination that is Fuckzilla, I am left with serious concerns for our future. Without more women representative in STEM fields, men will be abandoning us for living dolls in droves and we will have only erotically charged Wall-Es armed with dildo-bazookas to comfort us. That is, IF he is programmed to dispense hugs in between pelting us with phallic objects.

In all seriousness, though, the lack of gender-balanced scientific inquiry concerns me. I stumbled upon this disturbing sex aide in the depravity-wormhole that is online research:


So many questions. Is she compressed for speedier foreplay? Are all body parts that do not serve a sexual function extraneous? Is the trend for minimising things like computers and phones extending to sex dolls, now, too? Is she simply more portable, this way? Less likely to arouse suspicion in a duffle than a body bag?

And why, oh why, does her face look like the ultrasound of a foetus?

Gendered decision making in technology could pose serious dangers for women. That may seem hyperbolic, but the porn industry is well known to be at the forefront of technological innovation and has a cultural reach and acceptance like never before. As virtual reality and reality become increasingly interlinked, it is vital that we divest ourselves of sexist behaviours before we let them inform our new normal.

If current female representation trends continue, how can we insist on equality in a world that is developing independent of our input? If you are interested in the whys and wherefores, read this extremely depressing article by Eileen Pollack in the New York Times... It will leave you feeling like this.






Ah, La France. Land of garlic strands and berets, surly waiters and bolshie nuns. A place where masculinity is not diminished with a hearty 'Oh la la, la la, la la, la la!' and the fish vendor will try to seduce you every morning. It is a country where a striped Breton shirt becomes iconic, untouchable, la classe. French, in short. If the striped shirt were to have originated anywhere else, it would be a striped shirt. Plain, mundane, disposable. Un-French.

If, like me, you enjoy your meaty platter served with a soupçonne of lust, disdain or an exciting combination of the two, make your way to these Parisian restos. The delightful menswear-inspired outfits from Pre-Fall 2014 are optional!

The Beef Club- 58 Rue Jean-Jacques Rousseau, 75001dresssteak1

Brainchild of the Experimental Cocktail crew, this chic steakhouse is above the Ballroom du Beef Club bar- an ideal date venue providing dim lighting, comfy sofas and more-ish cocktails. Avoid voicing the words 'Ballroom du Beef Club' as you will sound both absurd and strangely pervy.


La Fidélité- 12 rue de la Fidélité, 75010


Follow the sluttish neon sign down an inauspicious road and enter through thick black curtains into the polished white inner sanctuary. If you fancy a dance afterwards, there is a DJ set up downstairs.


La Table D'Eugène- 18 Rue D'Eugène Sue, 75018dresssteak3

For gourmet cuisine at reasonable set prices, walk down the other side of Sacré-Coeur to discover this delicious, if visually underwhelming, gem. Don't be late- the staff can be prickly, pernickety and poncey.


Le Baron Rouge- 1 Rue Théophile Roussel, 75012 dresssteak4

My ideal Sunday is to go to the marché d'Aligre for the weekly shop and stop at Le Baron Rouge afterwards. Take a glass of wine, a cheese platter and a dozen fresh oysters with bread. Relax, eat and let the wine barrels, convivial crowd and bizarre artwork charm you!





I think we can all agree that Miley Cyrus’ roundly mocked performance at the VMAs was an absurdist horror of epic proportions. The protruding veneers; the slain cow tongue; the arrhythmic hip popping. The random arrival and arse slapping of a woman bearing the proportions of The Hottentot Venus and her subsequent dismissal. Let us not speak of the abused foam finger. It aimed to be provocative but shocked only in its grim lack of artistry and sensuality. This all aligned propitiously to distract us from Miley’s singing, so in one sense it was a great success.

The performance was offensive in its badness but not offensive in the taboo-breaking Madonna-esque fashion Miley is aiming for. Crotch-grabbing, near-nudity and the use of black women as ratchet-props are a longstanding tradition in mainstream culture. They can hardly be said to be avant-guard. What will she do to provoke us in 10 years time? I can hazard a guess.

VMAs 2023- Miley Cyrus and Mr. Twerk make a stand for interspecies love with her new rap 'Prickly Dick'.


I am pro-nudity. The female form can be glorious and I would say aesthetically powerful in a way the male form is incapable of being. Maybe it is the line of beauty or a sense of mystery. To me, objectification is not inherent in depictions of the naked body but rather a failure on the part of the artist to grant multi-faced, inner life to the subject. Initially, I was a surprised about the furore over ‘Blurred Lines’. There are songs with more powerfully degrading lyrics, videos with more overt sexuality and a degree of playfulness in its execution that toed the line between exploitation and the tongue-in-cheek.

None of these subtleties were addressed by Robin Thicke when he responded to criticism with the following:

"People say, 'Hey, do you think this is degrading to women?' I'm like, 'Of course it is. What a pleasure it is to degrade a woman. I've never gotten to do that before. I've always respected women.'"

Either his surname is exceptionally accurate or he is making a pitiable witticism. Whichever, it is clear from his reaction that he is completely dismissive of the larger implications of a video that intentionally ‘plays’ on objectification in its aim to titillate and generate hits. How much further will he go to bravely push the pop-culture envelope?

VMAs 2023: Robin Thicke And Nameless Chick with ‘Split Your Throat In Two’, a musical meditation on the post-post-modern blowjob.


In her latest video, Wrecking Ball, a frequently nude Cyrus straddles and licks an array of phallic demolition equipment in the name of love. I like both the song and the concept of the video- she has never looked better. Because where Wrecking Ball, directed by Terry Richardson, really comes into its own is in the editing. It is cut so as not to allow full rein to Miley’s natural inclination to contort her face into a gurning parody of adult sexuality. He allows her only a few restrained licks and the floppy appendage never reaches its gruesome full potential. The swinging movement of the eponymous ball to which her splayed legs cling grants her a natural undulation. Thus, her usual graceless humping is rendered unnecessary. This lifts the song from the pits of artistic despair her VMA performance reached, true. But I fear a swath of tween girls contracting tetanus from licking their jagged playground equipment as they ape their idol.

I am anti-censorship. However, the ever-moving line of what is acceptable in music videos and the easy access to porn that young people have is very troublesome. A recent NSPCC study revealed that ‘28% of 11-18 year olds said online pornography dictates how they should behave in a relationship and 36% said they get their information about sex from pornography’. We should all at the very least hold ourselves responsible for the content we put into the world. At what point are we empowered women exploring our sexuality and at what point are we indoctrinated sexbots exploited by commercial industries? I cannot fully answer this myself. Can an 11-year-old?




What could be more deliciously decadent than getting all dolled up in your Fall 2013 Couture and plopping your fine ass on the pavements of Paris with a delicious bottle of cheap vino? (Not always a contradiction in terms in France!) Take yourself down to these addresses and enjoy the glorious August heat by the waterside.

Canal Saint-Martin, Quai de Jemmapes, 75010


On fine nights, crowds gather with their picnics, eating and drinking till the early hours. Someone is sure to have a guitar.

Pont des Arts, Quai François-Mitterrand, 75006


You will be harassed for cigarettes. Chat to your neighbour, slather some pungent cheese on a fresh baguette and relish the freedom to drink publicly by an open body of water without police intervention.

Pont Neuf, Quai des Grands Augustins, 75006


Let's try to get it started in London! Flash pique-nique by the Thames, anyone? A drunken sit-in on Millennium Bridge?

Ile Saint-Louis, Quai d'Orléans, 75004






What is so threatening to masculine identity about replacing Darwin with Jane Austen on a £10 note? So threatening that it merits abusive tweets describing rape and murder? At its apex, Caroline Criado-Perez, the campaigner responsible for this menacing spectre of Emasculation In A Bonnet (the worst kind) received ‘about 50 abusive tweets an hour for about 12 hours’. jane

'All right, everybody be cool, this is a robbery!'

So, why are these men so hostile to Jane? Could it be quotes such as, ‘There is nothing like staying at home for real comfort’? This was obviously written in a time before sociopaths on social media could pinpoint and broadcast your home address, as they did to Ms. Criado-Perez. Poorly played, Jane. Bit dated, that. Here she is more on track: ‘A woman, especially if she should have the misfortune of knowing anything, should conceal it as well as she can.’

196 years after her death, the pandering subordination of female intellect to the prickly intransience of masculine identity remains a necessary social tool to avoid violation. These necessary social tools are often defined as ‘womanly wiles’- manipulative, crafty, underhand, ignoble. They are conflated with our sexuality- the only arena in which we can be said to have power over men. Except when that power is taken away from us- through rape. There, we may be said to be at a loss. Gangbangers are notoriously resistant to charm.

Jane Austen is one of the best-loved female authors of all time and thus her work is regularly maligned. One of the criticisms levelled against her is her very innocuousness- the ‘mundane’ descriptions of society and love from a women’s perspective at a time where power and agency rarely went hand-in-hand with having a vagina. This very benign quality, of women navigating their future with only gentle quips and fine eyes to recommend them, should have made Jane a perfect candidate to appease the dastardly feminists while leaving insecure men with a reassuring sense of their own superiority.

It is not enough for a woman to be inoffensive, apparently. Better that we are ignored entirely. The argument that The Queen is on the other side holds no water- she is there as the Monarch, not because of her achievements. So, really, why- why is it threatening? Why is a tiny visual concession to women’s contribution to society a destabilizing force to small-minded, petty, violent misogynists?

There are those that argue that these men have been disenfranchised. That they are probably young, jobless, poor and angry. They no longer have a place in society. This may or may not be true. Due to the anonymity of Twitter, supposition is all we have. The harassment could have come from a financially stable, middle-aged man in Kent who always secretly suspected that all women are gold-digging whores and had his suspicions confirmed when his wife ran off with Lembit Opik. It doesn’t matter. These are excuses. We are coddling. A hateful misogynist is a hateful misogynist in the same way that a hateful bigot is a hateful bigot.

Misogyny is regularly downplayed or side-lined. This dismissiveness, by men and women, denigrates all of humanity. It is a cultural act of gaslighting to say that violence against women, rape culture, sexism in the workplace, street harassment and negative stereotyping is exaggerated, or is only really evident in extreme cases. Most women will not experience a bombardment of twitter abuse threatening rape and death (I speak of privileged women- for the unprivileged, the threat of rape or death can be a part of their daily lives). What they will experience is a death by a thousand cuts in which their concerns, work, effort and opinions are patronized or treated with quiet disdain.

Most men aren’t like this. Most men are lovely. Yet until, as with racism, the behaviour of those men that are Total Shitbags (or Undercover Shitbags) is called out and collectively shunned, the subtle insistence that women are not true equals will continue to pervade society. And it does. Women are not even allowed to claim ownership of this, this regular denigration. ‘We are all equal now’ can be a threat in itself, when it is used to dismiss the personal experiences of women who have not been treated as equals. It negates our concerns and renders us invisible- or worse, high-strung, shrill, aggressive, pettily overreacting.

The Hysterical Woman has been replaced by The Feminazi, her image popularly accessorized with dungarees, a shield of obesity and a coating of unacceptable hair- wielding a vibrator in a call to arms. Is it any wonder that many women, particularly women who associate their personal power with conventionally feminine traits, don’t wish to align themselves with a movement that at its heart only asks that the essential value of the female sex be treated with as much respect and deference as the male? Scared to lose what little power they have, they disassociate. This is very short sighted. Sexual power fades and a life lived in reliance upon it will be a life of dependency at best, subordination at worst.

In millions of little ways, I have made myself small over my lifetime so as not to offend, aggress, accidentally encourage, hurt, belittle or threaten men’s egos. Ways that have become second nature and men are not even parenthetically aware of. I used to consider it good manners, a socially useful tool and a relatively unimportant concession for an easy life. I am starting to think that as a sex, this pandering, this good girl niceness is what causes male rage. More than disenfranchisement. More than joblessness or poverty. Men surrounded by women that have made concessions to them since birth throw their toys out of the pram when their rightful place is threatened. By a face on a ten pound note.

So, ladies, it is our fault, really. We were asking for it. We were too quiet.

‘I do earnestly wish to see the distinction of sex confounded in society, unless where love animates the behaviour.’ – Mary Wollstonecraft.




Ahh... after a clinging, complaining, wet, martyred winter (and there is nothing so frustrating as a martyr who just won't bloody die) the streets are finally drenched in sunshine. The flowers are flinging open their petals to the skies like the free-wheeling sluts we know them to be and I intend to follow suit! However. It can be a bit of a shock to find oneself exposed and layer-less for the first time in months, caught in the unforgiving glare of Natural Lighting- the Unnatural Beauty's most feared nemesis. Rather than recommending lifestyle tips to try to change you- because who the fuck follows them- here are some tips to feel good this summer.

1.) Watch 80's films. Because they are awesome and for the vintage teeth. Never again will you admire your gnashers as so charmingly even and sparklingly white. Nicolas Cage, my future lover, has a particularly shocking set, but Spot-The-Veneers is a fun game to play with some surprising finds (Robert Downey Jr, anyone?).


2) Get an Instant Thigh Gap. The latest trending thinness goal is impossible even for some anorexics, depending on their skeleton. If you don't have one naturally, give up now, please. That isn't to say you can't enjoy this sign of beauty! You must simply endeavour, like Beyonce, never to be caught with your legs parallel and touching. At work you will find you look like a superhero, or possibly whore (or superwhore!) in your spread-eagled power poses. When required to move, side-lunge your way across the room. To mix things up, try the crawl popularised by the girl from The Ring.


3) The "Jolie" Balaclava! For those days when you look and feel like shit and no lying pep-talk can lift you from your pool of self-disgust and spot-popping misery- AND you have run out of milk. AND your Cheating-Ex-You-Hate-Yet-Must-Strike-With-Pained-LustRegret has moved round the corner from you. What to do? Such cosmic conundrums of facial injustice are played out every day in Tesco's across the land. Now, with the screen printed "Late 90s Angelina Balaclava", you have the power to face the day with pride, even at your most exceptionally ugly.


4) Master heat rash forever with "Thigh Slydz: Chafing. Never suffer again." This actually exists. I love that someone was so passionately committed to alleviating the discomfort of sweaty, rolling flesh rubbing together under skirts that they created a very unsexy, beige, pantless, elastic knickerbocker set. The next woman who argues that in a world without men she would still wear extensions, fake nails, short skirts and heels should spend some time in contemplation of the awful-yet-compelling aesthetic of Thigh Slydz, look deep into her soul and ask herself in all honesty if she is not even a little bit intrigued.


Allez, profitez-bien du soleil!




Lady Margaret Thatcher, the longest-serving PM of the 20th century and only woman to have held this office, will be afforded a ceremonial Funeral tomorrow in London. thatcher1

'Margaret Thatcher, Milk Snatcher' will be given the same rights as the Queen Mother and Princess Diana.


Inspirer both of rabid fury and trilling obsequiousness, she remains one of the most contentious figures in British politics.


Thatcherism has permanently transformed the face of British politics, for better or worse. Whatever your personal feelings about her policies, she was a remarkable woman. Articles such as Russell Brand's recent piece in the Guardian, 'I always felt sorry for her children' are depressingly reductive and sexist. When Putin dies, will Russian television personalities publicly declare their pity for his poor, neglected spawn?


Women will never be in a position to wield power effectively if we as a society do not divorce ourselves from the tired archetypes that are limiting us as multi-faceted human beings. They leave us with all the emotional depth and complexity of a Tarot Card. It can seem as if the only way to diverge from the 'Maiden, Mother, Crone' lifecycle is by way of 'Whore' or 'Feminazi'. Thatcher carved herself a new identity as 'The Iron Lady' but lost her humanity in the eyes of the public in the process.

I would say RIP, but I think she might find that rather dull. Rest In Invigorating Conflict, Maggie!



Non! Non! Non!

In France, 'Non' means 'Non', except that the French also have various ways of expressing 'Non' that encompass both complete denial and a certain shock at the effrontery of the cosmos for mildly, momentarily inconveniencing them. Gerard, would you mind please using the airplane toilets and not the aisle?


Ce n'est pas possible! Translation: It is not possible! Exclaimed with genuine incredulity when faced with very common snags in the fabric of reality, such having to wait for the green man at a zebra crossing.

Brigitte, brown people deserve the same love and respect that you show to animals, don't you agree?


C'est pas vrai! Translation: It is not true! Use with sheer horror when you discover a hangnail. On the other hand, you are to greet the news that a probable candidate for the presidency has allegedly raped hotel maids and swings with prostitutes with a Gallic shrug.

Carla, is that a wrinkle I see?


Je rêve ou quoi! Translation: Am I dreaming, or what! If such a question were true, she would have good reason to be upset- slowly morphing yourself into Isabelle Adjani is an expensive endeavour.

Serge, care to join me for a café crème and a croissant?


J'allucine! Translation: I am hallucinating! Indulging in too many drugs during your misspent youth can indeed throw you some emotionally challenging curveballs later on in life, like that hag-pensioner ordering the last almond croissant at your favourite Boulanger.

Don't worry, Serge- next time we will come prepared and bean the bitch with a baguette before she has half a chance!




International Women's Day. What genius started the grand tradition of giving suppressed groups of people a day in patronising mollification? It is the most insubstantial of thrown bones- a shard of femur- this paltry day, in which people say, 'It's IWD' and someone else responds, 'Really? Huh. How about that' and things carry on exactly as before.


Like being given a gift certificate saying you own a star, you know it doesn't really belong to you.


If you want that star to really be yours, you are gonna have to fly there and put down a fuck-off flag and an intergalactic security system.


We don't need a day, we need a revolution! Let's take the whole fucking year, bitches.president4

Vive la résistance!




Take your A/W 13 dress out on the town in Paris and get involved in some delicious desserts at these addresses... dresscake1

Merci, 111 Boulevard Beaumarchais, 73003 Paris


Le Palais de Tokyo, 13 Avenue du Président Wilson, 75116 Paris


Le Boulanger des Invalides, 14 Avenue de Villars, 75007 Paris


Rose Bakery, 30 Rue Debelleyme, 75003 Paris

Bon app!




The Catfish. Swift and deadly predators in water, when removed from their natural habitat and kept in the home, they make ideal companions. They are more easily caught and subdued for petting than their four-legged counterparts and their feisty spirit is dampened by an existential torment, suspecting that they are being mocked by the Gods. A warning, however- if they find their way into your bathtub, be prepared to meet a grisly end. hybrid1

The Birdog. Convivial and loving, this flying, semi-domesticated gremlin will both delight you and exhaust your patience with his mischievous ways. GPS tracking chips, as well as superb aim with a tranquilliser gun and accurate scooping abilities with a net to catch his tumbling, sedated body are recommended if you wish him to live a long injury free life.


If you live in the countryside, The Duckboar is a strangely charming sight wandering around your lawn and is a cheaper, equally effective alternative to a guard dog. The pitbull of tusked poultry, they are liable to suddenly turn on even long-time owners. Not recommended for those with young children.


The Batquirrel. This nocturnal, fiercely ugly creature is both captivating and repulsive to the unprepared eye. Difficult to care for, unless you are prepared to keep a fridge fully stocked with tropical larvae and have holes drilled into your walls with his long middle finger in his futile search for insects should you miss a meal.


Isn't nature weird and wonderful?




In honour of Fashion Week! Designers always create with an idea of their 'Girl' in mind, but give the most boring PR-appropriate descriptions to the press about who she is. This is who I would design my A/W 13 collection for...









Have an idea for an amusing, wildly inappropriate fashion role model? Email it to me at eaaron.writes@gmail.com and I'll illustrate it!





Truly, a terrifying thought. The idea of toothy chickens roaming the countryside is far more sinister than the idea of pigs flying. Though it is not as disturbing as it would be to...


I am very lazy, but have hair-free palms (naturally, darling). Could it be that I am the aberration in a world of hirsute idlers? Is there a secret depilatory market that has not yet been exploited? Unfortunately, I know the next idiom to be false, as I have been stood up before but I never got a damn rabbit for my trouble.


As for this, who knows. I used to be very concerned as a child about my dead grandparents watching and judging me from the dead, but have ceased to care what they think.


In any case, I think a good life is one lived without pandering cosmic concessions, don't you?