J.B. Taylor

Bloggers have the power!

I was going to post something totally amazing and visually inspiring, but in protest of the upcoming votes on the horrific SOPA & PIPA bills, I'm urging you to go HERE instead, and sign the most important petition of your creatively free life.

Now go spread the good word! 

Herr Judit (Stockholm, Sweden)

When in Stockholm we visited the fantastisk butiken, Herr Judit, which offers a stellar selection of vintage European and American men's garb, as well as canvas bags, leather accessories, classic boots and brogues. New independent designers are also featured in the shop, and the general vibe of the stock is either rustic-'50s-workwear, or slick mod suiting. You'll never see shop-keeps dressed in cooler preppy '80s gear, taking cues from Absolute Beginners with a bit of Dexy's Midnight Runners thrown in. We were assisted by a ridiculously good-looking lad with a perfect blonde pompadour, bleachy Levi's rolled up (no socks), and a classic oxford button-down. There is no doubt he was created in Morrissey's dreams, and had walked straight out of this video. Had the The Sartorialist seen him, he would've just passed out.

Above and below: The shop's cool decor, and me, falling in love with a crazy-heavy, square-shaped old leather suitcase that wouldn't have been a practical purchase at the beginning of a sightseeing trip. It was hard to pass up, but perhaps my magic invisibility spell worked, and it awaits me until my next Svenska visit.

Mister Taylor found the green M-65 U.S. military jacket of his dreams, and we were laughing that after all his searching in the states, he finally found the perfect one in Sweden. Further proof that all the coolest American vintage has been taken overseas. Bummer for today, but a happy surprise when you take a vacation : ) Judit also has a vintage home décor shop nearby, called Brandstationen (due to its location in an old fire station), that was tragically closed the day we visited. We can't wait to return and do some damage to our credit.

Above: Mr. Taylor in his beloved field jacket, which he wears nearly everyday, offering me the very first Swedish raspberry I've ever tasted right off the bush. It was the the most heavenly berry I've ever tasted.

Herr Judit

Hornsgatan 65, Stockholm

Tel. 08/658 30 37

Photos: J.B. Taylor

Take La Chance on Me.

When last in Paris, upon the suggestion of a friend, we strolled over to the Village St. Paul (in the Marais), to visit the absolutely addictive boutique, Au Petit Bonheur La Chance. It is one of those magical places where to walk out empty handed, you'd have to be missing a heart.

La Chance is filled to the rafters with the perfect French brocante goods of your dreams! It will tempt all the Euros out of your pocket with French striped kitchen linens, Art Deco latté cups, large antique enameled display letters, embroidered monogram ribbons, '60s teen postcards, and whimsical wind-up toys. Most of the inventory is deadstock vintage, and it's the best place to find arm-fulls of cheapy yet charming little items to bring back as souvenirs gifts for friends. We spent hours combing through wooden cabinets for inspirational paper ephemera, and blissfully acquired a bounty of Belle Epoque menus, 1930s patisserie bags (see below), school notebooks and wooden stencils.

Though if you're totally claustro like me, you'll want to wait until the shop is devoid of crowds, to avoid frantic tourists breathing down your neck (the "petit" in the the name isn't an understatement). So, to ensure good vibes, we would exit the shop when mobbed, and re-enter when the coast was clear.

This visit also made me realize that we have a total illness . . . I had planned to arrive home from France with new ballet slippers, perfumes, macarons and fancy face creams, but all we purchased was old paper. So much in fact, that we adopted another suitcase in which to bring it on the plane, in addition to the huge boxes we shipped home. I'm still kicking myself that I passed up perfect brown leather brogues at Le Bon Marché to save moolah for more obscure ol' typefaces, but c'est la vie, and vive la papier!

Au Petit Bonheur La Chance

13 Rue St. Paul (Marais)

01 42 74 36 38

Call for hours, as they are precarious.

Photos: J.B. + Nic Taylor

Darling (1965)

I just had a blast re-visiting John Schlesinger's cinematic classic, Darling . . . the 1965 film that launched Julie Christie into Swinging '60s super-stardom, granting her an Academy Award for Best Actress along the way.

It's jazzy and slick, with pitch perfect early-mod style, my favorite example of which occurs in a scene where Christie strips down at a Parisian-Beatnik party, and after many cocktails, winds-up in only a polka-dot hair bow, white Courrèges booties, and a gentleman's shirt & tie. There's also a moment where she's undressing to be with her lover, and as she removes the prim white button-down shirt she's tucked into her pleated plaid wool skirt, she reveals a wild leopard negligee. Now a legendary fashion moment for me.

The soap-opera-esque drama tells the tale of a social-climbing tart, who slides through life on her charm and gorgeous looks, wreaking havoc on the men who attempt to love her. And though she eventually gains all the fame and fortune she could ever dream of, she ends up a prisoner of her own chronic dissatisfaction, leading to a shallow life, lived as an ungrounded bird locked in a gilded cage.

Laurence Harvey plays one of Christie's paramours with sinister aplomb, making me feel a bit melty in a scene where he dances up to Christie in a nightclub, with a devilish smirk and naughty glimmer in his dark eyes. His character's bachelor penthouse is accessorized with Fornasetti, he wears Saville Row like a dream, and I'm considering placing a glossy 8x10 of him on my wall. Christie's other co-star, Dirk Bogarde, ain't so shabby either.

I'm rating this film: 4 Mary Quant lipsticks.

Cecil Takes Manhattan.

Cecil Beaton arrived to NYC in 1928 with a sketchbook under his arm, a camera in his bag, and a mission to woo Manhattan's upper crust in the same whimsical fashion that he dazzled his native England's ritziest regals.

I've been in love with Beaton's eclectic body of work ever since first viewing his glittering portraits of socialite Paula Gellibrand (Aka; Marquesa de Casa Maury) as a teen. His work felt so modern to me, that I wouldn't have been surprised if you told me he invented Glam Rock. The theatricality and decadence of his creative vision will inspire bright young things for ages to come.

Above: The photo that started my fascination . . . Paula Gellibrand as photographed by Beaton in 1928. Below: Yours truly in front of the whimsically hand-painted entrance mural.

During his years hotel-hopping in Manhattan (from the 1920s through the '60s), he created visual poems for Vreeland at Vogue, wardrobed the Metropolitan Opera, designed book jackets to swoon over, styled Broadway musicals, befriended Warhol, champagned with Monroe, and romanced Garbo. He became creative director of the social-set . . . slaying the city's elite with his lyrical watercolors and sumptuous photography. Beaton was a Renaissance soul of the highest order, deeply inspired by the city's metropolitan razzle-dazzle.

Now through Feb. 20th at the Museum of the City of New York, there is a wonderful collection of Cecil's New York oeuvre on display. Beautifully curated by Donald Albrecht (an acquaintance, as he is a board member of Manitoga, which is across the road from our studio, and a place dear to our hearts), the exhibit is a visual love-letter to Beaton, told through rare photographs, 1st edition books, set design and wardrobe sketches, watercolors, magazine layouts and original costumes. It is an absolute feast for the peepers.

Above: Beaton's colorful apartment in the storied Plaza Hotel, c.1946 (as captured by Dmitri Kessel). Below: My favorite piece in the exhibit . . . Broadway phenomenon, Tallulah Bankhead in watercolor and pencil, c.1932. Beaton later designed her costumes for a production of Antony and Cleopatra in 1937.

Ghost Flower.

I've been reading Portrait of an Artist, Laurie Lisle's inspiring biography of Georgia O'Keeffe, who was born on this day in 1887.

So, wherever you are Georgia, up in that pink and turquoise Southwestern sky, I'd like to thank you for all the organic artistry you've inspired us with, and wish you a peaceful birthday. Here's hoping that you and Stieglitz are together, setting up the ultimate art gallery in the clouds.

Above: O'Keeffe inside her beloved Ghost Ranch home in Abiquiu, New Mexico, as photographed by Karsh, 1957.

Farewell, Mon Ami.

I'm very blue, to bid adieu, to my friend, the revolutionary costume designer, Theadora Van Runkle. She has been an inspiring force to lovers of vintage design for decades, whether they know it or not. With her film debut, Bonnie and Clyde (1967), she single-handedly brought a level of cool to films that hadn't been seen before, and lived her life with a glittering élan.

Above: Portrait outtake from my book, Vintage LA, as photographed by Jeaneen Lund.

Theadora started her career as a young advertising illustrator for May Co., and went on to become one of Hollywood's most talented costumers, garnering three Oscar noms (Bonnie and Clyde, The Godfather Part II, Peggy Sue Got Married), as well as being awarded with an Emmy, and a Costume Designers Guild Lifetime Achievement Award.

I first met Theadora in 2003, at a screening of I Love you Alice B. Toklas (a film she lovingly costumed) at the American Cinematheque in Hollywood, and after much gushing about Leigh Taylor-Young’s lace mini-dresses in the film, we bonded over a mutual adoration for embroidered piano shawls, and my deep love for her was born. Five years later, I spent the day sipping tea in her dreamy, ivy-covered Laurel Canyon cottage, as I interviewed her for my book Vintage LA (HarperCollins). After our chat-sesh, we had several long talks, where she told me delicious stories about Hollywood’s golden era . . . about her regular Friday night movie parties with Edith Head in the ‘60s, Cary Grant’s secret love affairs (I’m sworn to secrecy), and tips on how to be irresistible to men (most of which are too risque to publish!).

She was magical, talented, ever-inspired, and positively glowing from within. With her platinum bob, smiling red lips, and dramatic flirtatiousness, she still attracted sexy young suitors. One beau of which (a producer in his 20s) was so obsessed after cocktails with Thea, he sent her a strand of pearls.

Observing Theadora’s beautiful daily routine: watching the way she adjusted the antique textiles strewn about her boudoir, obsessing over finding the perfect vintage brooch to wear on her velvet kimono, and delicately painting portraits of her beloved cat, Hazel, showed me that you can live a creatively free and decadently bohemian life, even in your eighth decade. I'd been telling my husband about her for years, and dreamt of having them meet next time we were in L.A., so he could experience her illuminating energy. I'm incredibly sad that I'll never get the chance to visit with her one last time.

You can read all about her amazing career here, but you can also read the interview I did with her for Vintage LA below. There were so many hours of wonderful material, it should have been a book in itself . . .

Above: My photo of lovely Theadora in her vintage finery, taken the night we met in 2003 at the American Cinematheque (L.A.), for a screening of I Love you, Alice B. Toklas (1968).

Adieu, Loulou.

How very sorry I was to hear that Yves Saint Laurent's iconic muse, Loulou de la Falaise, passed on  this week, to the glittering Le Sept-style nightclub in the sky.

Along with her duty of inspiring YSL on a daily basis (she was the catalyst behind Le Tuxedo) and designing bijoux for his collections,  she was also a favorite model of Richard Avedon and David Bailey's throughout the 1970s, and created accessories for Oscar de la Renta, as well as her own signature line of ethnic beaded pieces.

It was wonderful to know that such a chic bohemian woman was living on this Earth, inspiring others with her creativity and Parisian beauty. She will be greatly missed by the thousands of fashionettes who admired her, including moi. 

From top: Shot by Avedon for the Sept. issue of Vogue c.1970, in signature ethnic beads and turban (featured on WWD), and again by Avedon for Sept. 1970 American Vogue.

I was a teen-age goth.

Each and every October, when Vincent Price movies are projected at midnight in local revival theatres, Siouxsie & the Banshees songs slink out of the radio, and historic cemeteries begin to give spooky night-time tours . . . I'm reminded that I was once a 15 year-old, clove cigarette-smoking, Munsters lunch-box carrying, kohl eyeliner addicted, goth.

During this chilly time of year, whenever I wake to a rainy grey sky, I'm filled with nostalgia for lazy days spent lying on my bed in tattered '30s silk-velvet gowns (once so cheap and easy to find), listening to Love and Rockets LPs, drawing spiderwebs on my school notebook, and talking on the phone to my vintage hearse-driving, Robert Smith look-a-like beau.

So, when I spotted Tabitha Simmons's perfect pointy death-rock booties, it took me back to a day, circa the early-90s, when I sold a garbage bag full of dresses at Claudia's Boutique in the Valley, and hopped in a cab to a rock n' roll supply shop on Hollywood Blvd., so I could hand the Nikki Sixx wannabe behind the counter $100, and buy a long-coveted pair of black patent stilettos with skull buckles (photographic evidence above).

My parents would have keeled-over at first glance of these treacherous heels, so I kept them hidden in my Mary Poppins needlepoint doctors bag, and the moment I was in the clear, out they came, ready to ghost-dance the night away to Sisters of Mercy.

So, in homage to my inappropriately dramatique after-school shopping ensemb's of spike-heels and floor-length velvet gowns, here are some stylish vintage finds to achieve this sinister Fall look . . .

 

Above: Antique handcrafted diamond and ruby snake bracelet, Tabitha Simmons Early boots ($1,130), me at age 15 browsing on Hollywood Blvd. in my skull buckle stilettos, rare antique sterling lion claw necklace ($3,950) c.1900

  

Above: Victorian Whitby jet and silver buckle bracelet ($850) c.1860s, Dova needlepoint handbag c.1950s ($99), blood red silk velvet and chiffon déshabillé coat c.1920s, Radley of London moss crepe and satin gown c.1970s ($825), midnight blue silk velvet bias cut gown ($1,250) c.1930s

Pirates of The Stockholm, Sweden.

On a recent trip to Stockholm's historic Gamla Stan (Old Town), we wandered into a little antique shop in the town square, and though I hardly purchased anything during the visit (I was much too distracted by the charming architecture), I did adopt a very special piece of art that will happily remind me of my lovely Svenska-time, forever.

It's a costume sketch done in pencil and watercolors, c.1930s, with text in Swedish that translates to "Composition for pirate fantasy outfit", signed by the sweet, young artist in the bottom corner. It was love at first spot, and though I was determined not to buy anything that would prove difficult to carry home in my duffel, I couldn't whip out my 86 krona ($13) fast enough. It now hangs on the wall above my bed, yet my only wish is that I could find "Brita" and tell her just how much I adore her work.

Perhaps I've also just found the perfect Halloween costume.