What was under Kiefer's Kilt at the Dressed to Kilt Gala?

Just in case you weren't aware, we are in the midst of Tartan Week (March 29th-April 10th), and as part of the celebrations the Annual Dressed to Kilt Gala was held last night at the Hammerstein Ballroom right here in New York.

If you're wondering what's so interesting about a bit of plaid, maybe if I mentioned Kiefer Sutherland in a kilt along with Sex and The City star Chris Noth showing the crowd exactly what was under their sporran, well that might get your attention.

The event is the brainchild of Friends of Sotland with the awesome Sir Sean Connery as the Honorary Chair, resulting in big named celebrity attendance each year. This year however Sir Sean pulled out of hosting the event at the last minute leaving the organisers in a fix and worrying about his health. Apparently he is fine and on the golf course...

The idea of the big night is that you wear something tartan, or you in fact are slightly Scottish - as my buddy who attended can atest to by means of her accent and (if pushed) a Glaswegian kiss...

There's a fashion show where established designers, textile houses and aspiring designers get to show their tartan-tastic skills and of course there's a lot of scotch to be drunk.

This year Stacey Kibler took to the runway, Marcus Schenkenberg was shamefully over dressed, whilst the aforementioned Sutherland/Noth duo along with Jason Patric and a few other cast members from their current Broadway revival 'That Championship Season', certainly left their mark on the occasion.

For more info on Dressed to Kilt click here

As for me, I'm happy to say that my (this seasons) red Obi belt travelled to the occasion on the slim waist of my authentic Scottish buddy - which must make it the most well partied belt of the week considering it was only the night before that it attended the NYAA TriBeCa Ball.

Should there be any offers for personal appearances from said Obi belt for the remainder of the week please contact it's agent here...

For more Notes from a Stylist click here...

Notes from a Stylist is currently craving Bande Des Quatres Jewelry...

Not that I'm obsessed with statement rings or anything this season, but I was just penning an article for www.runningwithheels.com about the jewelry line Bande Des Quatres based in New York, and found that there were so many rings I immediately started covetting, I couldn't keep this new label for just the RWH crew.

The brainchild of designer Erin Wahed, who comes up with the concepts and then collaborates with uber chic jeweler Janis Kerman to create the brand, these babies are set to become a 'must-have' on any style savvy fashionista's fingers.

I think I'm also a little bit smitten with the photographer Hugo Arturi who took these images. Anyone who can make these stunning rings even more funky, with the art direction help of Erin and creative direction from Loris Pignoletti, has got to be worth his weight in gold.... or at least the 18Kt yellow and palladium white gold that the pieces are crafted out of.

Prices start from around $425 and are available at www.bandedesquatres.com

The Stepford Wife's Workout Essentials...

Coming up to my 3rd year in Stepford you'd think one might grow accustomed to the foibles of the local inhabitants..

Wifus Stepfordicus is a truly strange breed, not to be confused with the aspirational lesser spotted New Jersey House Wifus, or indeed the more brazen, well documented New York House Wifus... The Stepford Wife spends her day preening and primping, toying and tittilating until the hunter gatherer Prep Man returns with his spoils.

As part of the daily ritual the gym/bikram yoga/personal trainer comes only second to the initial hit of caffeine obtained from Starbucks/LPQ/Insert local french pattiserie of choice. But as the winter months draw in, it's the plumage of the Stepford Wife that begins to decree her standing in the community.

A NJ wife might be happy to spend her morning ritual clad in a Juicy Couture track suit, the Stepford Wife however, is mostly seen in Lululemon - the 'wicking friendly' sports attire that ensures this creature does not look like she's actually breaking a sweat during the observance of calorie burning. In addition, as the frigid weather closes in, full fur seems to be the only accessory of choice to transport this fragile species from one heated leisure facility to another.

This reporter also spotted a power walker in full length fur only yesterday striding through the picket fenced neighborhood, complete with fur ear muffs.... only in Stepford!

Jack Wills hits Boston

I greet the news of Jack Wills opening in Boston with a sigh - what, the preppy wannabe that you can't escape in Surrey is now trying to break America? Puuleeeasse - what's wrong with Rugby, Vineyard Vines, J.Crew, Madewell, Urban Outfitters - do the Jack Wills folk not think that breaking into New England hasn't already been covered?

Apparently it's because their brand is not owned by them it's 'owned by their customers'  - yes right - that would be the teen girls from Guildford High School then have deemed that Boston is the next big nut to crack...

My experience of buying at Jack Wills for said Guildford High school girls is that it's bloody expensive and they should stick to their Aunt bringing Abercrombie back across the pond for half the price and twice the kudos.

Divasgusting

Style is so omnipresent in New York that even the water bottles are intimidatingly fashionable.

Turns out this Missoni/Pelligrino collaboration was the most stylish thing I would see on the day when I take a 'diva' shopping tour of the garment district with my fellow Big Apple Brits blogger Notes by a Stylist. Immediate alarm bells were ringing due to the use of the word diva in the title, being as I am neither a 6 year old girl who shops at Claire's Accessories or living in 1996.

Whenever alarm bells ring they never cease, they just get louder. When we met the tour guide on a Midtown corner, the bells are shaking my very core. She is wearing a waistcoat that was surely fashioned from my bathroom rug, with an iluminous pink nylon handbag. It wasn't like I expected her head to toe in Rodarte, but she looked like she was dressed in the dark by a four year old with A.D.D.

We are told of the excitement and bargains ahead and are quickly herded to an anonymous looking office building around the corner where we all squeeze into a lift and arrive on the 10th floor. When we pile out, I spot the showroom for a cool department store brand and realise I have judged the whole thing too hastily. But no. We're not going there. No. We're going to the showroom of a coat designer, who I've never heard of who. But not to worry, because she has a crumpled copy of an old Oprah magazine, proving firstly that someone at a magazine once liked one of her coats and secondly that they normallyretail at $1000. That's $1000! The showroom assistant shouts this as if she's talking to a group of Primary school children learning basic addition. "That's O-pa-raah! That's one thousand bucks! But for you today, most pieces retail at around... $300. That's a saving of...(nods her head excitably) SEVEN...HUNDRED...BUCKS!"

I have no interest in a new coat costing $300 so I mooch around sulking until I am pounced on by the actual designer. Why is she hawking her own stuff? Doesn't she have better things to do? Like...design something?

"You have to try this on!" she says.

"No thank you" I say looking at a purple boucle wool coat so old fashioned my dead Nanna would have hesitated to wear it to bingo.

"No. You have to try it on!" she persists.

"No thank you."

"I insist."

"Uh...no."

"I'm not taking no for an answer!"

"Sorry, no."

"You know honey? This coat would be great for your with your big boobs, it's really flattering with the shawl collar..."

Yes she did. She really did. She went there. Ok, so it's no secret to the world that I have large breasts, they are right there every day, for all to see- distracting men from what I'm saying and making me look like a hooker in every blouse I wear. They ruin fashion choices, I need a second mortgage every time I buy a bra and I will never stand up entirely straight. So guess what? What I do not need, is this to be shouted out by a woman I just met in front of a group of strangers. I pause. Fix her with a menacing stare, the smile and say:

"I. DON'T LIKE IT. I DON'T LIKE YOUR COAT."

That sort of set the tone from there on in and Sara and I are like bored schoolgirls being dragged around an automotive museum. The depressing cycle of overpriced tat continues for hours, broken up only by the odd bit of cheap tat. At one point we're not allowed in a showroom because a buyer is there and the tour guide whispers.

"The buyers don't know we have these tours..."

Oh reeeeeeally? So the people who work in the industry don't know this goes on? I assume they are not only idiots, but also don't have Internet connections to google 'garment district showroom shopping tours'?

When we are at the point of no more we are taken into another showroom and the designer introduces herself by telling us she's hilarious. That's hilarious with lots of exclamation marks!!! I walk out and Sara follows. We skulk around outside for 15 minutes wondering before Sara has a genius plan. We're going to let everyone know what we think about this, in the most British way possible: We're going to run away.

No complaining, no honesty, no embarrassment. We prod the lift hastily, bolt out of the building and hail a cab on 7th Avenue and head for lunch where we drink to forget our Post Traumatic Dress Disorder.

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Fashion Week - who wore what....

The great thing about a fashion week - and New York is no exception, is that it makes you uber sensitive about what to wear. As part of the press pack, it shouldn't really matter as you can rest assured that by the 8th hour on your feet trudging lemming like from show to show, you are sure to be lookng more like stig of the dump than that papparazzo ready look you were chanelling earlier that morning - when, to be fair, there aren't that many papps around anyway - they're more likely to be nursing a sore head after burning the midnight oil trying to get shots of the late night show arrivals. You can choose to be whoever you want at fashion week - a sleek pulled together media/buyer type, dressed elegantly and efficiently in office attire with this season's twist, who needs to get the show over and done with fast so she can get her copy posted or buying decisions made. Noor Alsabah (buyer) wearing Behnaz Sarafpour dress, Mories statement necklace You could be the quirky arty type who throws a creative look together and hangs around the tents with no ticket but safe in the knowledge that some blogger or other will papp you for a shot for 2 seconds of fame in the blogosphere. Conversley you could be a 'lookeylikey/wannabe' - see previous sentence. You could be working your nuts off as a celebrity stylists right hand man and seat filler... Or you could simply be your own quirky self... The point is it's all about the fashion darling after all... For more Notes from a Stylist take a peek here....

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Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week - The Crowd

Posted: September 15, 2010 - So Fashion Week is upon us and as ever, the crowd are more interesting than the clothes so far. I don't know about you, but armpit hair - male or female is a tad of a turn off. The fabulous Lady Fag hit New York Fashion Week in style - beautiful bangles, tattoo and killer heels - all was going swimmingly well until I spotted the armpit hair - noooooo - it's just morally wrong - or is that just me? Then there was the top chicky chick at Michael Angel - apparently it's Julia Stegner - or that's what celeb blogger Bryan Boy told me and actually posted a better pic than mine. Grace Jones was in town for the Alexander Berardi show - last time I saw her I think it was the 80's and the venue was Brixton Academy and she kept the crowd waiting for 4 hours - I still haven't forgiven her for that. Finally there was Ms J from Project Runway fame who at Ports 1961 was sat front row next to a kid - who I'm sure when I look in the papparazzo press tomorrow will be named as the next big Jodie Foster or Alexa Chung or whatever. But quite frankly both Ms J, Kid & big guy next to her (who am thinking might be the guy from the new A-Team movie) all looked totally bemused by the juxtaposition they were in. Plan for tomorrow - read enough celeb/papparazzo/naff press to be at least in shape to spot who's in the front row next time around.... For more blogtastic news on Fashion Week check out Notes from a Stylist

Posted via email from Big Apple Brits - British Expats, Anglophiles and Brit Culture Lovers New York City

Fashion's Night Out Sept 10th

Posted: September 8, 2010 - Just when you thought there was no earthly reason to continue your downward spiral into credit card debt oblivion, the wonderful world of fashion has come up with a pretty good reason to celebrate shopping and all that is fab about fashion. Yes those clever marketing fashionistas have put together another 'Fashion's Night Out'. With Vogue's Anna Wintour as the lynch pin behind this scheme, the event goes global with a frenzied fashion fest set to kick off from London to Taiwan. Set this year in New York for September 10th, the night is billed as 'Shopping for something good'. Stores stay open till 11pm whilst Designers mingle with staff and celebrity stylists to give the whole thing that authentic block party feel. You can plan ahead if you scope out Fashion's Night Out web site, which gives you a comprehensive blow by blow shake down on which neighborhoods are doing what so you'll be armed with the nouse ready to hit the stores on the 10th. There's also a fab google map gadget that helps you figure out how far and wide your shopping frenzy can stretch - I'm currently optimistically planning on hitting SoHo, Meatpacking, Bowery & Brooklyn...hmmm. Be sure not to forget your best fashionista attitude, your credit card and some blister plasters for those battered tootsies at the end of the night.

Posted via email from Big Apple Brits - British Expats, Anglophiles and Brit Culture Lovers New York City

My route to 66...

Much like Joaquin Phoenix I've had a strange and surreal 12 months.

It's exactly a year since I packed up my life in Cardiff and arrived at JFK with a sobbing Teenager. She shedding tears for the boyfriend she left in Wales, me still in shock at my Dad's death a month previously. At my feet some seriously bulging excess baggage.

The American picked us up in a rented SUV and we drove into Manhattan. I was all broad smiles and endless chat, but with a belly groaning with nerves. This is home now. Excited and scared for what lay ahead. Bye bye Cardiff. A fresh start packed to the brim with hope and blindness to any troubles that may lay ahead.

There was no time to ponder on my grief. No pontificating on the enormity of what I had done-giving up a great job at the BBC, renting out my beloved house to strangers, leaving my recently widowed Mum. I was the project manager of this whole new family life and there was a lot of gluing to do, or things would fall apart.

The work started pretty quickly with enrolling The Teenager in school, which was swiftly followed by finding another school, as she hated the first one. Next, the blistering footwork to find an apartment, followed by ploughing all our savings into securing the right one-which then had to be decorated and furnished. We moved from our temporary digs in Queens to our permanent bijoux box in the West Village and wondered how we were all going to live in harmony in such a tiny space.

There was then the small matter of getting married in Central Park by a naval captain in the freakish hot Autumn sunshine and then a rodent infestation in our perfect apartment in place of a honeymoon. Then began immigration and all the ridiculous, comedy bureaucracy that accompanies it. Have you ever been engaged in vice? Are you planning a coup against the U.S. government? Were you a member of the Nazi party between 1939-1945?

When the excitement wore off and it no longer felt like we were here on a long holiday- the missing came. Missing my Mum, missing my friends, really missing my Dad, missing working, missing Corrie and Cadburys, missing the NHS and missing someone knowing what a wanker is.

I had to find my way around New York and my new family life and there was maps for the first but not for the second, but in both I got lost frequently. Some real personal stuff happened, that even I as a chronic oversharer didn't want to blog about. Winter days got shorter and darker and colder and then snowy. Then there came some even bigger problems which I couldn'tblog about and then there was some money problems due to the stuff I couldn't blog about.

Throughout it all I missed not having girl mates to talk the extra 15 thousand words a day that women need to say. Finding them became my mission and I was horribly desperate at first, a girl's girl starved of female company. But by the time there was spring blossom outside our window the friends came. Then the friendships had to be fostered through NY girl activities like toxic cocktail drinking and $20 manicures from women who bitch about you in Korean. But mostly it was about the drinking. There is little that cannot be forged over a Manhattan mixed Martini.

Summer, the last season in the cycle. (More) Tears (than usual) for my Dad on the anniversary of his death,temperatures of 100 degrees giving birth to an obsession with air cons. Our green cards arriving in the mailbox and the U.S. immigration service using the worse photos I have ever seen of The Teenager and I. A deliberate ploy I believe, so immigrants will not commit crime and end up with an unflattering picture of them on the news.

I blogged about most of what happened over the year here on Welsh Alien. In fact, I wrote so much I didn't actually write my book, but then I have not been writing my book for at least a decade, so at least that's one comfortable consistency to keep me warm at night. I can safely say I penned at least a book's worth of blogs, except none of you paid 12.99 for my hard work on Amazon. Although I'd like to think you would, given the chance.

I have written 66 blogs so far. This one makes 67.

66 would have been nice. An even, rounded number that evokes World Cup wins and famous American roads. But then that's not my number.

My life here is far more of a 67. A lovely, odd imperfection.

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Look who's celebrity stalking...

As if I needed further evidence never to leave the house without a camera in New York, I recently bumped into Helena Christensen in Rite Aid. This is no euphemism, we actually ran into each other at the end of an aisle. She smiled-as technically it was her fault-she was coming around the corner and not paying attention. When we clashed there was skin touching, the brushing of arms as I recall. Which means I have-by association- touched skin with Linda, Christy and Claudia et al. It also means I am just one degree of separation from rolling around on a beach with Chris Isaak: This sighting of a legendary supermodel-turned photographer and humanitarian- is surprising for several reasons: 1) Rite Aid is the most ghetto pharmacy ever. Even though I spotted her in the West Village branch, it doesn't stop them selling two packs of cakes for 99c and having the deodorants under alarmed casing. There is only ever one person serving and there's always a line. Which leads me to point number 2. 2) Helena was actually queuing. After our clash of skin, I spazzed out a bit and ran round and around the shop, shameful of the 99c 'Freeze at home!' ice lollies I was carrying around, that Helena may or may not have seen. Then I went to the till to find myself behind her in line. This gave me adequate time to memorise her outfit; (black boho cotton dress with white tree pattern, black flip flops and a neutral straw bag), the tattoo on the back of her neck (black, small, some kind of symbol) and her hair (twisty up, messy chic up-do) as well as wondering how many pounds I would have to shed to look even vaguely Helena like (rather a lot). 3) She was buying Vitamins. I would imagine a former supermodel turned photographer and humanitarian would have a specific 'Vitamin doc' for such purposes. Actually, they could have been painkillers, I can't be sure, but either way you would imagine a specialist for any matters pertaining to a supermodel body? Her purchase total came to $14.85. A mere $14.85 people, how attainable is that? You or I could have the same total if we were to go into a Rite Aid and buy the same things. 4) I had already seen Helena just days previously at the Bonsignour cafe in the West Village. I was outside on a bench watching the football on their specially erected T.V. and I nearly choked on my lemonade. She was with her son Mingus, who is like the successful result of an Arian superace experiment. Helena eats at the same place as me. Unfortunately our weight is not in the same place, not even the same zip code. Maybe she just drinks the coffee and doesn't hoof the cakes? Two sightings of the same supermodel in close proximity can only mean thus: she lives in my hood. This is enough to send my fickle sensibilities crashing into reasoning overdrive that we should no longer move to Brooklyn for more space and sanity, but stay in our overpriced bijoux box in the West Village. How can I now move from my Manhattan knowing that a supermodel and childhood idol lives a mere amble away? Oh Helena, what a wicked game you play, to make me feel this way. More blogs at http://www.welshalien.blogspot.com/ Even more ramblings at http://twitter.com/WelshAlienNYC

Summer cover ups - the style quest continues....

Posted: June 15, 2010 I'm not sure if it's one of those "cripes this year I really have to hide the stomach flab" things or just a minor obsession, but summer cover ups - I'm sorry, I can't get enough of them. I have a collection of designer ones - ok, not this years, but the ones fenagled off some sale site or other that still had their label slightly attached but were sooo last year that they were below the $200 mark. Then there's the "ok, let's go with urban LA style maxi dress look" moment, where I imagine for one moment that the house boat that I'm spending next week on, is in fact somewhere within a 10 mile radius of the golden city and not 1,000 miles away, as I fear it may be - chalk it up to big sis making the booking again! Followed by the "if I'm out in the wilderness I can channel my inner hiking chick" kind of cover up, which basically means anything warm and unflattering that can pack up really small in my suit case to avoid taking up too much space where my Burberry wedges need to fit. Given I keep buying cover ups with sleeves on for Blighty - which I then end up figuring are completely stupid in New York City's climate as it gets good and humid here in the summer, let alone the Vegas climes which I'm about to hit - my quest this year has been focussed on sleeveless or bandeau styles - and you know what - there's a lot out there! From DVF who knock out beach friendly wear year after year, To the print/luxe specialists Tibi - who have some to die for resort wear not just right now, but quite honestly continuously. So back to the bandeau idea - you know, no strap lines and all that - check out this Topshop number that (thankfully) we can now get in the Big Apple. But then my crazy designer wannabe thing kicks in and "I'm a sucker for any label" and all of a sudden my Marc by Marc Jacobs bell is ringing But hang on, it's only Tuesday - with a flight scheduled to Vegas Saturday, by my slim mathematical brain and my zen like knowledge of fedex/ups overnight shipping standards (due to the slight shopaholic gene I've been bestowed) - that makes me figure I have 3 clear shopping/shipping days to get my beach cover up mojo sorted... If you liked this post, check out some more Notes from a Stylist

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Lose your locks for a good cause...

Posted: May 19, 2010 - When I teetered off for my quarterly chop this morning at my local salon, little did I know that I would in some small way be helping the environment and fighting the current oil spill in the Gulf. Feeling a slightly grubby blonde version of Cousin It, and hoping some kind of salvage operation could be performed to turn me into a Jennifer Aniston lookey likey, I hadn't considered the fact that my coiffeuse is a highly politically charged environmental lobbyist in her spare time. I spotted a bunch of weird green bins around the Salon and when quizzed my Stylist let loose on the benefits of donating all the shorn off strands to this good cause. In the past a trip to the hair dresser may have been deemed a tad selfish (what with children starving in the world and people dealing with natural disaster daily), but when it's time for a hair cut you can now help the oil spill clear up process by having your sheared tresses stuffed in a nylon stocking. At Excess Access, they've been gathering chopped off curls for some time, but it's only recently, with the current crisis unravelling in the Gulf that their program is getting some valid attention. It seems that as our hair gathers oil on our heads, ergo it attracts oil any old place, even when off your bonce - the discarded locks are collected in waste bins in salons, transported to agencies working with Matter of Trust , then fashioned into oil spill containment booms and mats to be used to help thwart the impending environmental disaster. The bad news for me is that my enthusiastic Stylist has turned my locks into more of a pixie crop in her over zealous chop fest... a little less Jen and a little too much Agyness Deyn.... oh well in a good cause. If you liked this post, take a peek here for more from Notes from a Stylist

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Cup Cakes and Tea at Lipsy Launch

Posted: May 11, 2010 - There's nothing a Brit likes more than an afternoon cup of char and a bit of cake - hits that mid afternoon metabolism slump right in the kisser. But when you add cute pastel dresses and sweeties (candy for those of us long since acclimated to these shores) from Blighty - what's not to like? The UK fashion label Lipsy is launching in the USA primarily at Bloomingdales and also online, giving those of us State side a chance to scoop up a little of their London vibe that transfers rather well downtown or whilst cruising around the West Coast. With a devil may care vibe and in ice cream colors - flirty separates, cute cocktail dresses and multi colored maxi's are a fab pick for any Vacay packing. Once this Summer's hot steamy New York nights are upon us, with price points as appealing as the clothing, I'm guessing these pieces will start flying off the shelves. p.s. the candy was a load of Refreshers and Love Hearts that fellow Big Apple Brit blogger Emma Smith managed to purloin into her press pack with the stealth of a practiced Journo on a press junket... If you liked this post, take a peek at more Notes from a Stylist here

Posted via email from Big Apple Brits - British Expats, Anglophiles and Brit Culture Lovers New York City