Wednesday, 12 September 2012


A boy's girl, something I continually attempt to convince people that I in fact am. Just this morning I spent several rapid text messages reinforcing my belief to a certain male of my acquaintance. His response was a resounding disagreement followed by the statement "You're a girls, girl. You just don't realise you are". He's wrong of course. Now while I've began by confirming my place in society, I will not get what some may call the "bloody point". As avid readers of this blog (if they in fact actually exist) will know, I border from devout minimalist to occasional advocate of androgyny. Fussy, prissy, girlie-tat just ain't my bag. Hot pink accessories with bejeweled and lace detailing can literally send me heading for the hills, declaring my love of all things simple and uncomplicated. Apart from a contemporary, clean personal style I'm also a rather energetic fan of high-end menswear. Sharp tailoring, dapper heritage accessories and brogues that shiny facial features can be seen, yes I get a little bit excited by such things. Personally the latest shocking tangerine ridden ensemble from the cast of Towie isn't what I would refer to as 'news-worthy' or remotely interesting, however Gregory Peck's catalogue of style supremacy or Christopher Bailey's latest sartorial debuts, the now we're cooking with gas.

Moving me swiftly onto today's fine post topic, GQ's Men of Year Awards 2012. GQ the bible of all things masculine cool, rad, epic and dazzlingly dapper, names a set of men (and one woman, the vivacious Miss Rey) each year, revered as icons of their fields. From actors, to journalists, writers to musicians, the 2012 honours list is all terribly smooth, intellectually challenging and female swoon-inducing. Now personally I don't read GQ to check out the talent, that would be rather pathetic and slightly sad, but I can imagine certain demographics of the female readership (which is quite substantial) would see the hallowed pages of Gentleman's Quarterly as a playground for the finest specimens of the male species. Michael Fassbender, John Slattery and Alex Skarsgard, I trust you catch my drift? Having been a fully fledged subscriber since last December, GQ is undoubtedly my favourite magazine. Yes I like and obviously read Vogue, Dazed, Tatler and Wonderland, but GQ (swiftly followed by Esquire) is the magazine I eagerly await month after month. Aside from the amazing visuals, Jo Levin (Creative Fashion Director) you never fail to impress, the editorial is top notch. I like the honest, plain as day approach to journalism, tinged with an electrifying sense of dark humour and over-whelming presence of intelligence, reading a GQ article is like kicking back with an old friend. Entertaining, natural and with the potent ability to shock your little cotton socks off.

Check out the simply perfect limited edition covers for the October issue. My favourite? Gotta be John Slattery, the silver fox of American dramatic excellence. Michael Fassbender is a close second, just because he's very pretty and extremely talented, plus no-one quite rocks Tom Ford like him.



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