Camille Over the Rainbow

Stripey side upMonday, May 22 2017

Coming out of hiding and heading straight for the spotlight (or, you know, my balcony) to soak in a little Milanese sun and share a few sunny MAX&Co stripes with you all.

As always, it’s been too long since my last visit, though for once I have an excuse besides travel: our every growing podcast (which I do hope you have found the time to tune into), has taken over all of my creative brain juices. All for a good cause, but time to get back on the world wide web bandwagon.



Top: Max and Co || Bottom: Max and Co      

Homecoming queenMonday, March 27 2017

The butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker (or as 2017 would have it, the fishmonger, the grocer and the cold press juice maker) have all welcomed my homecoming to Chelsea Green with open arms. Or perhaps, have only batted an eyelid or two as I fall back into the routine of brazenly claiming their storefronts as a scenic prop to better show off my latest acquisitions.

Enter the Delvaux Mutin Mini [applause].

Don’t we look great together? Yeah, we think so too! Though best we get on our way now. Errands to run. Shop owners to appease. Life to perform.

 [End scene.]


La-la-LacosteFriday, March 10 2017

Just as another snowstorm hits NYC (NOT fake news, the all seeing-eye of Insta be our witness), I cannot help but think back fondly at this time four weeks ago, when I was prancing around the big apple, in a Lacoste dress that may not have been weather appropriate, had I not had the presence of mind to convert into a graphic coat (NB: many many invisble thermo layers were worn underneath to make this conversion possible). I certainly  won’t be the first girl so keen to wear the summer collections that she is willing to risk loosing a limb or two to frostbite. In this instance, however, I managed to pull off a silhouette that was the perfect transeasonal compromise between comfortable and photogenic, without so much as turning blue.

Speaking of Lacoste, the show itself turned out to be one of my favourite slots of the week. The French crocodile always delivers when it comes to luxurious sportswear, but this season, it seemed to flirt with a more grown-up silhouette and elevated colour palette: a refined head-to-toe lilac look complete with matching metallic booties really caught my eye.

Haven’t you heard? Tomorrow we have Purple Rain forecasted. How’s that for alternative facts?


PFW 17 – The Final StretchThursday, March 9 2017

And then there was Paris.

Always last; never least. It’s the week I look forward to the most, year after year, season after season. Partly because le fashion is just better here (#pardonmyFrench), but also because I get to come home and see all my nearest and dearest, in between all the hectic show-hopping and showroom-stopping.

Just as well, then, as the City of Lights tested our endurance in more ways than one. Throwing a few curveballs straight at our permanently behind-shades faces (remember, it’s now week 4, and we’re running pretty low on both sleep and Touche Éclat). Truly, it was like the 12 Labours of Hercules—only with more layers and less deaths (though if looks could kill, there would be a hella lot of fashionistas behind bars, corroborating FW17’s claim that orange is, de facto, the new black…).

Labour 1:  sink or swim

So the weather was nice for approx 45 minutes in the afternoon on the first Saturday. Other than that, you would be forgiven for thinking that higher authorities were trying to hold the shows underwater. Betcha that would get a lot of likes. And, tragically, a one-shot-insta-wonder seems like most fashion house’s only concern nowadays. Disguising a bad collection with an ostentatious show seems like the norm. Le sigh. Long of the short of it, we were all very wet, all of the time. On the plus side, the must-have coat of the season was also the warmest. And if Aalto and Balenciaga are anything to go by, the fashion set will continue to be down with puffers for the foreseeable. Or you could get a crystallised Anne-Sofie Madsen trench, if you’re looking to stand out.

Labour 2: march on (just not in front of the Trocadero please) 

The French love a good demonstration. I spent most of my law school years fighting my way into class as protestors barricaded  the university and prevented us from attending mandatory lectures to get their point across. Trying to attend shows while the country is in the run-up to an election felt reminiscent of those days. And while I’m the first to applaud our generation’s lack of apathy for such serious matters, it was bloody inconvenient. Le eye roll. 

Labour 3: food fomo

All those baguettes, no time to eat. Nuff said. Le stomach rumble.

Labour 4: je n’aime rien, je suis parisien

Per usual, the locals (a demographic to which I belong) were not all that welcoming to the try-hard fashion tribe descending upon the fashion capital. Now I’m allowed to say this, because I am French born and bred, but everyone needs to lighten up a bit. I would suggest sprinkling your all-black outfits with Swarovski crystals, as demonstrated particularly well at Yves Saint Laurent and Wanda Nylon, whose disco silhouettes would uplift even the grumpiest Parisian. Go, on then. Give it a go. Those OTK boots were made for walking! Le sparkle. 

Labour 5: Faux policing

Each show came with its own army of bodyguards (not the sexy Kevin Costner type) and trained dogs (that you ain’t allowed to pet). After Valentino, policemen with big black guns barred the exit road because of a suspicious package on the street. Not your average fashion police, and a constant reminder that you could be blown up at any moment. Yes, am being melodramatic, and I do appreciate the lengths to which Paris is trying to keep us safe. But it may kill the IT-bag as tight passport-like control had us sticking to invites-only. Le just-saying.

Labour 6: My eyes

Balmain. Cannot be unseen. Le don’t do it to yourself. 

Labour 7: je t’aime, je t’adior 

The shoes every cool girl seemed to have, in every colourway and heel height, but that you could not seem to locate even if your life depended on it. Why does everyone seem to find their sole mate but me? First world problems at large. New year’s resolution (new year only starts after fashion month finished, obvs): must start using Bumble more or I might have to ask my next Uber driver to marry me. Le heartbreak. 

Labour 8. Cloud 9 (or having to descend from it)

What is the point of staying at your favourite hotel, in one of your favourite neighbourhoods, if you have to pull yourself out from under the plushy duvet, skip the continental breakfast buffet and run out into the rain every morning. Les Bains, you’re so cruel to be kind. Le snooze button

Labour 10: Carpal Tunnel Syndrome

 Too. Much. Instagram. Le scroll

Labour 12: Travel curse

When you have been so good about going to bed early, counting your alcohol-units to keep a level head through all the craziness, and yet you still manage to forget your (non-backed up) computer on the Eurostar home. Worst way possible to end the month. What am I going to do with myself? Le last straw.

Labour 12: See you next season.

Le winky face.


Illustrations by pun genius Angelica HicksIn partnership with the Swarovski Collective.

MFW 17 – Carbfully yoursMonday, February 27 2017

This is the one that is being written with my computer precariously balanced on an overpacked suitcase, sandwiched in between a gargantuan McDonalds (total blasphemy when in Rome—sorry, Milan says geotag), and late boarding at Malpensa airport, so you will have to excuse brevity (/total lack of sense).

Milan really did feel like it was trying to cruise right past me. Perhaps my schedule wasn’t as packed as NY or London, but the city was new to me, so I had some hard driving to do if I was to keep up with the wacky racing fashion set. Fortunately, I had just the shoes for the job. They see me rollin, etc…

The week started as carb-full as it ended. There was rigatoni and gnocchi, garganelli and spaghettisprinkled with parmesan a plenty. And let’s not forget the ravioli… Also accompanying most high fashion courses: a large dollop of your preferred Swarovski crystals, served just the way you like. Covering every inch of the clothing as spotted while nosing around backstage at Vivetta, where a bright red pant suit made me stop right in my tracks! Or shimmering ever so slightly, just here and there, as demonstrated by Arthur Arbesser.

Meanwhile, the millennials clearly have been living on the Atkins diet since birth, if the Dolce show is anything to go by. Obvi carbs are more important to me than oxygen (I actually cried of happiness when my allergy test confirmed that I have zero issues with gluten), so no hard feelings at not having been asked. I’ll take running to get pizza over prancing down the runway Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday and yup, even D&G Sundaywhich coincidentally was the message spelled out by the rainbow finale at Alberta Ferretti. Coincidence? I think not.

I would go on, but my gate is boarding, and I still have a few snacks for the plane to buy. Touchdown in Paris.

Carb-fully yours, Cam.


Coat: Rejina Pyo (this one cool too) || Shoes: J. W. Anderson || Clutch: Loewe || Necklace: Alighieri || Shirt: Jil Sander --- Pics via Tagwalk. In partnership with the Swarovski Collective — Final stop, Paris!