On Pencil skirts

Vivienne Westwood Anglomania

RM by Roland Mouret

L'Wren Scott

As I was saying in my ‘Clothes Allowance’ post, yesterday I got a beautiful pencil skirt which fits like a glove. It clings and moulds exactly like it should, and I love it!… Pencil skirts are one of my fashion sins: they give a polished, elegant, womanly appearance that lengthens the silhouette glamorously. I tend to go for high-waisted tight skirts that just cover the knee, and wish I had a velvety jacket cinched at the waist with puffy Victorian sleeves and a cigarette holder to perfect the look. The problem is, when I say it fits like a glove, I mean it: once I slide in it and close the zip, there is no room for anything else, and since there is no vent at the back, I can take 5 centimeters steps at a time. You can imagine the challenge when it comes to walking up the stairs, or running to my boss’ office when I’m called in urgently. Nevertheless, it does make a high and perky bum, so I am still happy with it.

When it comes to buying a pencil skirt, here are a few recommendations: unlike when you try shoes on, it’s something you don’t think of when you’re in the fitting room looking backwards in the mirror to see how it embraces your curves, but DO try walking in it. Match it with a tight top in similar colours, otherwise you’ll break the silhouette, which would be a shame, and if it has a lining, make sure it is amazingly tailored, otherwise you’ll end up with disgraceful pleats on the butt after a few steps.

See above for a selection of the most interesting Fall 2008 interpretations on the matter.

By Champagnista V
Images from Net-a-Porter.com

When a fashionista crushes...

There is nothing more frightening, besides seeing someone in double denim and white stilletos, than crushing on a super cute guy who you are too scared to let know that you like them. I am finding myself in such a predicatment.

The guy I am suffering my kindergarten crush on is super yummy and turns me into a giggling mess whenever he is near. I get the sweats, I cannot look him in the eye and I stutter. This so unlike me damit, because I work in fashion and I have been put under the stress light more times than a "big boned" person has enjoyed hot diners. I work in an industry that chews you up and spits you out with no regard for your feelings or the nervous breakdown you end up suffering due to the harsh rejection of your love from an industry that can be super heartless.

So therefore I am confused why i am constantly finding myself turning into a bowl of jelly whenever he stands next to me, or how I seem to have the need to be near him at all times just so i can feel the thrill he gives me. I rarely crush, being a woman in her late part of the 20's, i thought i left all that back in my late teens, now i am school girl again and my Mister Big Crush takes me back to the boy all the girls fancied in maths class, you remember the cool one that sat at the back of the classroom not doing any work- sigh!!!

What am i to do? I guess i will try and loose myself in Fashion Week and try and to forget my crushes beautiful eyes, hypnotising smile, freckles that scream to be noticed and as for the body.....okay i will stop right there.

Lets get back to fashion, before i go crazy over this guy and find myself screaming repeatedly "save yourself my friends, before your crushes take over you and turn you into the babbling mess that is moi".

So returning back to world of Fashion....

By Champagnista M

Clothes allowance

The much awaited fashion week has reached London and I can't wait for the parties to begin! It's not all year that you can start drinking champagne at 10am. Exhibition road was brimming with gorgeous girls in incredible outfits this afternoon, and I can't believe I forgot my camera. This is the reason why I'll hold on reporting on the Horace new collection till tomorrow, while I wait for the PR to send me pictures to go with the post.

After the show I went on to Knightsbridge because I am working for a brand, and believe it or not, but I just got £1000 to spend in one of their shops... It's called clothes allowance, and I think it is a very clever invention. Of course there are some rules, because it is supposed to provide for staff wear, so that you look all brand-like when you have to cross the ground floor shop to get in the office. So shirts, skirts, dresses, shoes, but no coats, and (DAMMIT!) no accessories... I couldn't buy the killer transparent bag with patent leather piping on all seams that I have been eyeing for the past two months. More like drooling upon... In the end I went for a fitted knee-high beautifully cut pencil skirt, a scoop neck short sleeve wide striped knit and a tailored button front dress and... the allowance had run out.

With this kind of brands £1000 won't buy Peru or half the store, but it bought me two gorgeous outfits all the same, so all in all today was a good day.

By Champagnista V

48 hours later...

'Du monde au balcon'

Flatmates


Trevor Sorbie team

As you probably know, Thursday night was a big night... and a scary night. To give you an idea of the state I was in, I fell asleep out of sheer exhaustion at 3am the night before, woke up and burnt my forehead pretty badly with the hair curler, got lost on the way to my tube station which is 5 minutes away from the house, went to an Excel training in the morning (hey, I'm becoming computer literate, can you believe it?), went out for a ciggarette break half-way through the course, and got back into the wrong building. It took me approximately 15 minutes and two rides to the top floor in the lift to realize that I was definitely not in the right place. You can imagine, when the evening started it hardly got any better, it only got more nerve-wracking, I was craving for a tab of valium.


Contrary to my fellow blogger, I'm not a PR girl, and I don't know how to handle this kind of things: I was stuttering, fidgeting, blushing, looking for the right word and wanting to disappear in a mouse hole. There were people from fashion skycrapers in the room: the head buyer at Harvey Nichols, Silver Film Productions, Trevor Sorbie, London Fashion Week (who offered our guests exclusive tickets to London Fashion Week-end), GQ, Vogue, Harper's Bazaar... And also the people who count on a truly personal level: close friends, my dearest of dear flatmates (who got slightly drunk and on the way back home, picked up a fight in the bus, black eyes and bleeding noses in the morning), my team, everybody got along swimmingly and the atmosphere was beautifully chilled out, everybody dancing on James Roper and Max Vallot's rock'n'roll DJ mix in glamorous outfits. The Burlington club staff -which is one of the best fashion spots in London at the moment with its burlesque ambiance and visitors like Jude Law and the Girls Aloud- couldn't have been sweeter and more accomodating, and the door girl looked like a fashion icon. It was an amazing night. I would have liked to not have to give this impromptu speech, but thank God Champagnista M was here to save the day!!!


Of course, I could have done without waking up in the morning after getting back home at 3am, but professional support goes both ways. And to be honest, I was feeling so good the next day, I don't think I've ever been so productive at work. The evening was a bit of a hassle though. All I wanted to do was go home, curl up in a duvet and sleep 48 hours, but my other Champagnista half promised to go to a house party, and we're friends beyond Champagnista.com, so I accompanied her. At that point of tiredness I have two choices, pass out on one of the flat's beds, or keep my drive on vodka and other 40% alcohol. You can imagine how the night went on.



I know fashion goes hand in hand with money and I should probably be looking for a rich husband, seeing as the industry pays peanuts and I would love the latest pair of YSL tribute shoes, but I just can't get around to being interested in investment bankers. The flat was full of it yesterday night, and not bad looking ones at that. But investment bankers are the ante-Christ! Well, I guess I say that because I don't understand hell about economics, and what interests me in politics is purely social. Anyway, to make a long story short, I carburated on vodka orange until 4am, ended up talking to a guy who sounded so British that I managed to tell him 'Thank God, finally someone who is not a French investment banker, there is noone as boring as a French investment banker in London', realizing half way through the sentence that of course, he was bound to be a French investment banker... Score!... and finished the night on the balcony kissing a New Zealander Economist who looked like Adrian Brody... Well he kissed me and it was easier to not not kiss him back at that point. I tend to do that when I'm drunk... And then I text my ex of course because it is like the cherry on the icing on the cake. You know the pattern.

All in all, I am very very very content to be home in an intimate face to face with my computer.

Here are a few pictures of Thursday night. Thank you so much to all of you who came! The next party will be at the end of November and we hope to see you there again. And we hope to see you people who couldn't make it.

In the meantime, tomorrow is the beginning of London Fashion Week, so watch out for our daily reports!

By Champagnista V

In the words of The Four Seasons....Oh What a Night!!!

When it comes to last night, one had to be there to believe the fabulousness that was the Pre-London Fashion Week cocktail party to toast the launch of Champagnista.com


The fashion world came together in the cosy Burlington Club. With the people from Burberry, the girls from Condenast, the buyers from Harvey Nichols, the fashionistas from my-wardrobe.com and stylebible- it certainly turned out to be a great mix of fashion's movers and shakers.


With attendees sipping vodka based cocktails and munching on M&M's that were in bowls all over the room, networking seemed to be the name of the game, as business cards were swapped and fashion careers were made.


As the DJ spun old great hits of the 70's & 80's the fashionistas soon hit the floor, dancing to the likes of Chaka Khan, Debby Harry and A-Ha. As the drinks flowed and laughter reigned the cocktail party was in full swing we were happy to find the the fashion world toasting the arrival of champagnista.com.


By the end of the night it felt that Champagnista.com had finally arrived, and for those who werent there to see this fashion blogs' debut then i hope the following photographers will give you an idea of how fabulously well the soiree went...

Thank you to all those who attended our launch and for your support, we appreciate it!!!

Gros Bisous-

Champagnista M

Betsey Johnson Spring 09

Gone with the Wind Meets Pirates of the Carribean in Betsey Johnson's Spring 2009 collection

Betsey Johnson is back, frilly and fantasmagoric! There is still a touch of the 60's rock chick of last season, and more than a hint of her trademark sweet blooming shapes, but Spring 09 plunges further in a children's playful universe, expressed in Betsey's catwalk models by their 'effronte' pout and their innocent hands-in-the-back demeanour. Very much young Scarlett O'Hara pretending to be all grown-up.

It's a ready-to-wear collection that will probably have to be adapted to real ready-to-wear, but still, the flowery patterns, the corseted bodices and the gathers and gathers and gathers were to dream for. As Big D, my former editor-in-chief in the Bridal magazine I used to work for, would say (the conversations used to go round and round about her wedding day), there are dresses in her collection that would make you want to go 'shoosh and shoosh' with.

I've always thought if I ever ever wanted to get married, if I had to spend £750 + on a dress, it would be Valentino, metallic red, knee-high, very very much perfectly fitted and elegant and graceful. Then Betsey Johnson arrived, and her final dresses made me think, all avert that I am to the sensation of a ring on my finger, 'well, get me that dress and we'll see'.

Once I get the dress, I can always run away from the altar...

Images by Style.com

By Champagnista V

Marc Jacobs or the Highlight of New York

She got a tattoo of a bracelet on her wrist

The love of strangers on her Christmas list

She ain't sentimental, she don't like to reminisce

She's a champion of action

Rhapsody in blue... What better choice for a soundtrack to Marc Jacobs jazzy Spring Summer 09 designs? I have never seen anything as harmonious and diverse at the same time: a strong unity based on 50's inspired shapes with beautifully long pencil skirts and waspish high waists, and crazily varied fabrics, colours and textures. The little straw hats added a cheeky flavour to this coktail, giving just the right touch of playfulness to this immensely wise collection. The drapes on the final dresses were realized with such a talented craft, they were just goddesslike! The whole show was a sans-faute. I can't comment, I can just applaud, I'm flabbergasted!

Images from Style.com

By Champagnista V

In search of the perfect cocktail dress

Herve Leger by Max Azria SS09

The Champagnista night is arriving fast now, and with it comes the question of the outfit, or what to wear for the perfect official beginning in the London Fashion world... I feel like an ingenue at a bal des debutantes, excited and enthusiastic and (oh my god you wouldn't believe) stressed all at the same time.

This is not any night, it is our first Champagnista night and it calls for a drop-dead gorgeous cocktail dress and Chrysler building high statement heels... If you work in the press office at Chopard, I wouldn't mind borrowing a diamond choker to complete the outfit... Just kidding... Diamonds are so tacky on me!

Ahem... A few rules about the quest for the right cocktail dress: first avoid the 'must-have lace number from Zara' with its cheap Prada look because it's already been featured in every single fashion magazine and you will inevitably find 5 other women dressed just like you when you enter the premises. Second, work out the social meaning of the party: what kind of occasion is it? what kind of guests? can you afford to show up with something that has been worn before? (I know I could, but I decided to ignore reason and my bank statements this time). Third, don't pick bright or flowery fabrics, fuschia daisies are for Ascott, along with enormous straw hats and pink-dotted-with-white oversize girly bows. And at any costs, avoid trends!!!

Cocktail parties are the quintessence of the chic event: what you're looking for is a stylish, well-tailored piece that does not cry out loud and sputter 'trend' everywhere. You want a sober but rich colour (I love this season's dark blue in silky fabrics), or a black dress that plays with textures and layers (think Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman). Maybe not toooo short, but the great thing is that if you have an amazing figure, it is the perfect occasion to wear a sex-on-heels body-conscious dress alla Herve Leger, because you will be able to flirt all you like above the bubbles of your champagne glass... After all, it is a beautifully grown-up event, no kids or dogs around to stick their heads under your skirt. If you refuse to eat two chickpeas for lunch and have not as airy a figure as Paris Hilton, go for a knee-high length, but keep it upbeat by choosing a shape that accentuates your femininity (empire line to hide a little tummy, decollete to show your bust, small sleeves to conceal arms puppy fat, large straps to take the eyes off more sporty shoulders... From there all combinations are possible, and the key is to feel like it is the right choice before you buy it.

But of course you little fashionistas know better than to buy something that you don't 'simply have to have' (don't mistake for shopaholics)...

For me, I was really naughty on saturday on my way to work... In my defence, it is really depressing to go to the office on a saturday, even if it rains and there is nothing better to do (well you know, no man in my life at the moment, no duvet games). When I stopped at Green Park I took Old Bond street, which is usually closed when I arrive at work, and closed when I leave, glanced at my watch and decided that since the office was not closing till later I might as well award myself a little shopping break before office-time. Then I ended up going at MaxMara, then finding myself convinced by a (very talented because usually I hate the customer approach... I know what I want) salesgirl to try a couple of dresses on, and completely fell off-a-cliff-head-over-heels in love with a wraparound dress in the shiniest silk that fit like a glove. That's usually when I take to my heels and flee temptation, but this time the dress was so amazing, I decided to cast a reluctant look at the label, and I was actually suprised to find that the price was not AS expensive as I expected. Not feeling the usual heartpang of a broken style-dream, I decided to take it, and have been so happy since, I've been felling goooood (even if still slightly stressed). So what if I live on bread and water for the rest of the month? I swear it will be my lucky charm on Thursday. There is something magic and really emotional about beautiful beautiful clothes: it's like art, wearing them can be a completely transformative experience.

Image from Style.com

By Champagnista V

Obama's fashion week

New York Fashion Week is in full swing and this year, nobody will deny Fashion is political and proud to advocate its colour. There are Banners at the entrance of Byrant Park, where the shows are hold, reading slogans written in a political style like 'Declare your Style' and 'Accessorize for Democracy'.

Anna Wintour and Sarah Jessica Parter are even hosting a fundraiser for Obama, during which Diane Von Furstenberg, Zac Posen and other big names of the fashion industry will have the occasion to show the designs they created to support his presidential campaign in a special catwalk. Let's hope they are more inspirational than the T-shirts Marc Jacobs designed in support of Hilary a few weeks back.

Michelle Obama will be on the front row of course, taking her place as one of the first ladies of fashion along side Jacqui Kennedy and Carl Bruni. Here is to more democratic votes!

By Champagnista V

The Season of the Witch has arrived

Did you ever go through a wichcraft phase? Weren't these girls in The Craft incredibly sexy? I saw all the movies when I was a teenager, I even bought a beginner's book to cast spells. I stopped trying after spending an evening conjuring the Spirit with friends in a very old house: we all had our index on the foot of a wine glass placed upside-down on a round table, half-giggling, half-scared because the house was dark and whispery, and suddenly the glass goes flying across the room and crashes in a thousand pieces against the wall... It took a friend 12 months to confess he had managed this little trick.

Well, the new Agent Provocateur ad campaign has arrived, steamy and controversial as always, and it comes from old-school witchcraft. Shot by photographer Tim Bret Day, it looks like a Bacchanal right out of a scene of Faust, with girls and boys interwoven in a spectacular tableau vivant Rubens-style in which a red-head witch prepares to sacrifice a virgin in a white dress over a large pentagram.

If you want to celebrate your private little Sabbath with your ring master and a bottle of Earth based wine in the comfort of your own home, you know where to shop the outfit.

By Champagnista V

When will the madness stop…?

I can swear on my copy of Devil Wears Prada and my collection of six seasons worth of SATC that us fashionistas in the business have to keep a particular dress size unless you are either royalty or your mother is of the Anna Wintour of the calibre then the rule need not apply to you.

The majority of my colleagues at work survive on a lettuce leaf and wong-tong soup, knowing that their consolation for surviving on such meagre helpings is that they will continue to look fabulous in their DVF dresses or Chanel jackets.

It was because of this “pressure” to maintain “perfection” that I found myself up at the crack of dawn- 5.30am- so I can get ready to head to gym before work. Dressed in a pair of cute grey shorts and a tight forest green t shirt that I had picked up from Topshop a few weeks earlier, I blew the dust of my never worn trainers and put them on. With a Johnny Loves Rosie bag in hand I was of to the gym in the city near my work.

As I travelled by tube at 6.30am I was amazed to find the world was wide awake and raring to go. Sunglasses at hand I tried to look ultra cool as the suited and booted stared at my short shorts and my AM latte. Once I arrived in the city I exited the tube station at Canon Street with a herd of city folk who were also headed to the gym. We towards the 5* gym and I was amazed to find myself with a bounce of excitement at my determination to get fit but little did I know what lay ahead.

Any who as I made my way in (I have a friend who works there so no membership fees galore to worry about). Once in I tried to locate the ladies locker rooms and instead accidently found myself staring at several men in different states of dress before I noticed I had entered the gentleman’s locker room. Stuttering I apologised profusely whilst giving them all a sly once over as I slowly exited. Finding the ladies locker room I locked up my gym bag and went to the Pump Attack class.

Entering the massive studio I found myself surrounded by women in baggy t-shirts- probably hiding their flabby tummies so I thought- and men who seemed to love Lycra. As the instructor bounded in with the kind of energy that is abnormal at 7.15 am, the class began.

I was happy to find myself leading the class, proud of the fact that I was able to keep up. 10 minutes into the work out I was wheezing and the women who I assumed where fatties with their baggy tickets had removed the t-shirts to reveal sports bras, Lycra shorts, taut tummies and tight butts, damn just when I thought I was the thinnest. I knew then that giving up could not be an option.

Five minutes later my wheezing had turned in to excruciating pain in my chest, I grabbed quickly for my volvic sports bottle- big mistake. That gulp felt fatal and it made me feel worse; I could suddenly feel my legs wanting to buckle- I continued. Twenty minutes into the hour work out I had reached my limit, the instructor's perky voice and the fat guy next to me who seemed determined to show me up soon enough broke me. Damn him I thought as I sneaked out with my bottle in my hand and my head lowered in shame, the fat lady had sung I had come to the end of my gym days just as they had started. I just hope that the fat lady is not me, because surely I had been tortured enough.

So my question still stands, when will themadness stop? Does any size beyond 10 really big. I think not and no amount of promises of tight butts and abs could ever tempt me to torture myself like that again.I think I will just stick to my wong-tong soup and lettuce leaf to keep trim, ok maybe I will add a few crutons- I mean why not spoil myself right?

Image courtesy of- www.cartoonstock.com

By Champagnista M

Hunters are so last season darling...

Boden has launched the cutest wellies that have many fashionistas saying "Hunters. what are they?". No longer a fashion accessory assigned to festival time, it is now cool to compliment your outfit with super cute wellies.

Boden has them available for adults and mini me's making them "the" greatest investment of the season especially for what is proving to be a very wet Autumn.

http://www.boden.co.uk/pressoffice • Boden stockist enquiry no. 0845 677 5000

By Champagnista M

I never thought I would see the day ...

I never thought I would see the day when I am drawn to Marks & Spencer's womenswear section.

This is because M&S to me is all about inexpensive sandwiches, yummy desserts and great crockery. For me it is my Martha Stewart- the go to store (besides waitrose) for all my food needs, and it most certainly has never struck me as a shopping oasis for anyone under 35 years. To say fashionable and M&S in the same sentence was something that I thought impossible. I mean my mother buys her high waisted trousers, button up shirt and twin sets from Marks & Spencer, and those are items of clothing that even Kate Moss cannot pull off- ok maybe the twin set!

Any who, my awe of M&S fashions came about when a work colleague of mine came swarming into the office with an amazing dress that screamed catwalk. After wiping the drool off my mouth- I had moment of dress envy- I asked her where she got her fabulous outfit that seemed to taunt me with its swirls and dancing about on its on accord when she walked. With a knowing smirk that screamed I know something you don’t know she responsed, "this gorgeus dress was from my Local Marks and Spencer". Her reply stopped me cold as I stuttered "what" with that she smiled and walked away with her dress doing a dance as she strutted leaving me flabbergasted as she knew her reply would.

So later on that evening I found myself looking online at their collection. I found a glorious mixture of Bohemian, trend, and classic. The collection was certainly made to catch the eye of any female shopper of any age. Looking at the clothes as modelled by various celebrities I knew that any men dragged along for the shopping adventure by girlfriends, wives, mothers or gay friends then i am sure that with Mylene Klass, Erin O'Connor and Twiggy to look at will sooth their boredom.

The range is amazing for a brand that I had totally written off as a store for the school run mum rather then runaway followers. It is on this note that I congratulate Marks and Spencer for a collection that is less per una and more trendsetting. So will I ever own a piece from their fabulous range, well to be honest probably not, and it is not because i am label whore, far from it, it is just that their clothes will always remind me of my beloved mother's love affair with her high waisted trousers which continues to hold strong to this day but I can confirm that in me Marks and Spencer will always have a lifelong fan of their food hall-I mean that rocket salad is just yummy!

Images courtesy of Marks and Spencer. For more information please visit marksandspencer.com

By Champagnista M

When flirting comes back to bite you in the butt...

I'm a terrible flirt... Give me any man whose company I enjoy and I start cornering smiles, flicking hair, sid(e)-ing looks, e tutti quanti. For my defence, I am French and I won't say it is my raison d'etre, but it is definitely my way of living: I can't help it, I was born and raised in it... In Paris I flirt with the boulanger when I go and buy croissants, I flirt with the postman and the florist and the merchants on Sunday markets: it doesn't lead to anything, it is just a social pattern. There are no expectations, no promises.

The problem is in London, men seem to take things at heart: it gets blown out of proportion, and it seems it has to lead to something in the other person's mind. And yet, I don't feel like I'm doing anything bad. It's too much of a game for me. I like to think that all women should be attractive and seducing. I know it might be old-fashioned, but I don't get the whole feminist battle: I love men, I need men, I couldn't live without their attention or their recognition, and I like to play with them. Not toy with them mind you, I like a fair game, when the ball goes back and forth, and I love being the object of their attention because it can give you the illusion of having so much control over them, it's dizzying. I like to think that all women should be a little Merteuillesque: in Dangerous Liaisons, the Marquise de Merteuil was always my favourite character, so strong, so intelligent, so elegantly flirtatious, a master in sexual politics. Play with them, enthrall them, don't give your heart: as women, it is our strongest power.

Until it comes back to bite you in the butt. See, I'm not writing a Sex and the City column here, because as you will soon find out, I would be at a complete loss if I had to give relationship advice: in the past two months, I have done something that I had never done before, I have been seeing two men at the same time. Or more crossover on and offs: one was on, one was off and vice-versa... The first was Burlington man, my Valmont, exciting, ambitious, amoral -dazzling-, the second was Mr Fair, beautiful and honest in all aspects. And as much as I am enjoying the whole situation, I can't really get my heart into any of them, because my heart is actually entangled elsewhere, beyond the sea, where I lost it in the arms of Mr Olderly man, this dearest of dear fashion photographers whose eyes I desperately try to forget.

Melodrama...

There is a peril when you start flirting at a greater scale: if you don't put all your mind to it... you're screwed. So here is what happened. Burlington man on, then off, Mr Fair on, then off, Burlington man on again (although he was never really 'on') until I see him making out in the street with a girl (you would think London is so big), and things remain shady with both of them, because I don't have the courage, and frankly can't be bothered, to clarify things ... If my mind is across the ocean, it is comforting to keep playing ball here.

And here is how everything unwinds: I am having a heartfelt email conversation with Burlington man, who I happen to be working with on the promotion of a fashion party. Not that I am that hurt, but my self-esteem took a blow from seeing what he never hid... At the end of this long (long) thread, we happen to confirm the DJs for the party, and I forward them the confirmation. And here is the twist, they are not any DJs, they are friends of Mr Fair; and as you can imagine, I do not send them only the last email, no no, I forward the whole thread!...

AND... LIGHT! spot on... Buster busted.

The thing is, I am no Madame de Merteuil, and definitely not Candace Bushnell, so it feels quite nice to have had the chance to come clean and go back to fondling my American dream...

Now I'm just wondering how to slow down the flirting, because I feel like I'm often walking on a tight rope... So if you have advice on that, I'm all ears.

By Champagnista V

It's raining, put on your killer heels!

It's nice to wake up to the sound of the rain tap-tap-tapping on your window on a Sunday morning, when you know you can lay there all curled up under the duvet. But, a little rule that all women abide by in Paris and New York, when the weather is as miserable as it was this morning and, willy-nilly, you have to make it to work, the only way to start the day on the right foot is to put on a pair of killer heels.

Which is precisely what women don't do in London: bad weather seems to be an excuse to go out in your most dreadful outfit - big fat shoes, baggy jeans, hair uncombed because the wind is going to mess it up anyway, and no makeup because your mascara would spill everywhere.

It's a shame because you may feel more comfortable this way, but you won't feel sexy, you won't feel flirty, and therefore you will end up thinking worse about yourself than when you got out of bed feeling depressed by the clouds and the dripping atmosphere outside.

Let's be honest though: it is not just about the rain; the rain is a pretext to a wider excuse women here use too easily... An excuse that is not an excuse but consists in saying 'why should I bother anyway?'. I was out with a GQ friend yesterday, goooood looking boy (especially with the three-day beard on, a pleasure to contemplate), and here is a thought he expressed and that might make you reconsider this defeatist state of mind. He said that women here made an effort to dress up on the first date, the second date, the third date and then suddenly it all went downhill: hoody to meet up at the train station (who needs to dress up to go to the train station?), flats replacing heels (I'm going to need to walk from the bar to the restaurant), shapeless jeans (I'm cold in a skirt) and any other reason that won't excuse the fact that you will stop trying to maintain this particular standard of elegance and feminity men love and a relationship needs.

Girls, we have a duty to look our best at all times. And if you're in a man-hating phase, don't do it for them, do it for yourself. Because when you look beautiful, you feel beautiful, and the sun shines through the rain.

By Champagnista V