The weather down under of late is far, far from adorning oneself in faux fur but nonetheless I can't stop ogling the fuzzy sartorial delights online. Curse you Pinterest. All this trawling for fuzzy coats is also making me overly eager for my La-La land soijorn coming up next fortnight.




But let me make one thing clear, I'm talking about the faux kind. I don't know about you guys or where you stand on the matter but for me real fur creeps me out. And aside from the ethical and inhumane practices that transpire behind the scenes draping the skin of a dead animal upon my shoulders is just gross.

via harpers bazaar, vogue uk + the fashion spot

Paris Fashion Week, where minimalism reigns supreme against a backdrop of opulence and limestone grandeur. What may seem as a stark contrast to the untrained eye in reality a bewitching composition and metaphor for life itself inside the City of Light. The amalgamation of fusing conspicuous pieces with clean lines and architectural details with sleek androgyny coalescing with extravagant French Baroque. From monotone ensembles to a melange of prints, sock boots and references to the infamously unconstrained Woodstock and the seventies rock scene. Outerwear seemingly prevalent in various tones and textures with whimsical Moschino bomber's to velvet and flocculant layers.

Indispensably effortless, as always.

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