the road.......

Last night I was scrolling through Instagram, it's kind of like a bed time story for grown ups right? Anyway, I stopped on a picture of a blogger whose pictures I follow and spied a copy of The Road by Cormac McCarthy. My eyes swung to the pile of books on my bedside, the must read pile that seems to grows bigger every day. And there it was; a copy of The Road.

I slipped it out from its position in the pile, like a crazy game of book jenga, and flipped it over - I always read the blurb before I start reading anything, like I'm looking for clues to what I'm about to experience.

Then I started reading. I stopped about three hours later, somewhere near 1am, and as I closed the last page I felt this unnerving feeling settle over me.

The Road was published in 2006 to critical acclaim and took out the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction in 2007, (yes I'm a little behind in my reading), and I can see why. 

There is something about the simplistic stripped back use of language, the short sharp paragraphs, the dialogue that feels more like thoughts running through someones mind then actual conversation. It's raw and open and it drags you in and along for the ride.

It's also terrifying. The Road, with it's post-apocalyptic world, could almost be a warning. And in a way it is, but for me the warning is not so much about a barren and scorched landscape, as it is about humanity. And love. And tenderness. And needing to not forget what those things mean.

Sometimes I think the power of words, simple words, to elicit emotion is often forgotten. We're so overwhelmed with images and sound and three word slogans, that real words get lost.

They're not lost in The Road.  

If you haven't already, read it.

kb xx

his and her no more.......

I think I might need help.*

Over the past few weeks I’ve bought three new shirts. A blue denim, a black acid wash denim and a red and blue tartan in case you were wondering, and they all came from the menswear department.

What started as a bit of sartorial expression, an over-sized shirt here, some slouchy pants there, has morphed into a outright infatuation. And now I barely give lady-land a cursory glance before pawing through the racks of button up shirts and trousers searching for my new favourite.

It’s even infiltrated what I thought was the untouchable domain of shoes. I want man shoes. I want loafers and brogues and chunky sneakers. We’ve conquered the shirts and the pants, so shoes is the next logical step right?

Where once I stared at the likes of Nicholas Kirkwood and Brain Attwood, (often with a little drool dripping down my chin - hey I’m only human), now I’m more likely to spend my spare time at Mr Porter, with my eyes firmly fixated on the likes of John Lobb. Have you see these patent leather slippers??. Or Armando Cabral. Oh those brushed suede tasselled loafers.

Sigh. 

Maybe it’s the boxy over-sized unisex silhouettes that have stomped down the runways these past few seasons, see Celine, Comme des Garcons, Stella McCartney, Yohji Yamamoto, Loewe - need I go on?

Where once the wearing of menswear may have been a subversive bucking of trends for us women-folk, it’s now made it’s way front and centre and shopping in man land just ain’t no real thing anymore.

Maybe, just maybe, the rules that previously bound us to our respective sexes and the garments assigned to them have become so blurred, thanks in part to those illustrious designers above no doubt, that we don’t have to divide our fashion between his and hers anymore.

Maybe that’s why I’m digging all that shiny patent leather and brushed suede on my feet.

Is this the real democratisation of fashion?

What do you think?

kb xx

*I'm kidding. Seriously.