THE CAT'S MEOW

So these days we all know it's undignified and wrong to rob a big cat of his freedom and turn him into a pet, which was all the rage in the roaring 20s (pardon the pun; it was hard to resist) and 30s. But there's no denying Josephine Baker looked marvellous with her leopard friend - that guy was even more even more beautiful than she was.

The Marchesa Luisa Casati (pictured, top) was also a wild cat fan, naughtily filling her garden with the magestic feline beasts - they roamed her rose beds at parties; it's a wonder none of her dinner guests became dinner.

Anyway, it's not all doom and animal rights gloom, because when Australians John Rendall and Ace Bourke invited a lion cub, Christian (pic number 3) into their London gang in the swinging 60s, he apparently had a ball and never wanted to leave. (I know because my friend Constance is mates with them, so there).

Ace and John bought Christian as a baby from Harrod's back when the famed London department store sold more interesting stuff than posh tea. The pair took him about town till he grew too big for their sports car, then released him into the Kenyan wilds. And years later when the boys went back to Africa to see Christian, he came bounding out of the savanna, purring and carrying on like a kitten in love. (Watch the doco, Christian, the Lion at World's End,if you can find it.) I love this story because it proves no matter where you live and what you're up to, you never forget your family. But this week I had reason to wonder if perhaps Ace's perfume helped a little too?

A recently released study by the Wildlife Conservation Society at the Bronx Zoo found that big cats dig designer fragrances. Apparently, the zoo guys have been spritzing Calvin Klein's Obsession and Nina Ricci's L'Air du Temps at their furry friends for years now to calm them down. I always knew cats had impeccable taste (the Bronx bunch wasn't fussed about Revlon's Charlie). Do you reckon Josephine's leopard loved her Lanvin?

Meow xxx

TULLE INTENTIONS

Not every little girl dreamt of being a ballet dancer. (Forget Anna Pavlova; I for one was more interested doing an interpretive dance, with scarves, in a Stevie Nicks video clip.)

And yet, there's something about a tulle skirt that makes grown women swoon with nostalgia, whether it be for for their lost inner tutu-wearing child self; for one-time idle Carrie Bradshaw; or for the romance of old Hollywood.

Tulle speaks of more than just pirouetting centre stage; it says: romance, frivolity, drama and daring! It says: one, two, three, look at me! It says Tim Walker muse up a powder caked ladder; Lara Stone playing bored deb; Lily Donaldson as ice queen on the cover of Vogue.

There are, of course, unshakeable non-tulle types. I can't see Julia Gillard in a froth of net. But even women who live in flat boots and skinny jeans and Viktor & Rolf tuxedos can sometimes be persuaded. There are times when only tulle will do.

IT TAKES ALL SORTS

So I'm staying in this hotel and I'm indulging in my favourite shameful illicit pastime - watching E! News while waiting for Keeping Up With The Kashardians to start - and it's 40 Of The Greatest Most Shocking Ever Crimes Against Fashion! or something like that.

Anyway, it's odd because they keep selecting really wonderful outfits and then clamoring to say how evil and weird and unlovely they are. And the critics themselves are looking evil and weird and unlovely, but no-one mentions that.

One editor who seems to have had her contour blush sprayed on by a car detailer, to form a metallic bronze triangle the top corners of which exactly meet the chevrons of her caterpillar eyebrows. She looks like a New Yorker cartoon of Marissa Tomei, only writ large on the small screen.

Another is sporting a turquoise and emerald faux chiffon painterly floral scarf tossed Women's Institute-style around the shoulders of her faded black cotton drill blazer. Is she Camilla Parker Bowles's second cousin? Is she for real? It's confusing.

So here comes Britney Spears, say #21, skipping down the red carpet in matching denim with former beau Justin whateverhisnameis; then Cher looking like a demented goth, and Lady Gaga being Lady Gaga, as you might you'd expect. So far so predictable.

Then suddenly, in at, say, #12, trots Charlize Theron looking unutterably chic and polished, regal and beautiful in truly stunning Dior couture satin, flaring smartly from a cross-over sash at the hip and iced with a dramatic, oversized bow. She looks like a Cecil Beaton debutante in this dress; she looks her best.

"Oh no!" whines polyester scarf woman. "That bow looks like it weighs a tonne. Why can't she wear something sexy and plunging?"
"Yikes," says some other blind person. "What's that all about? Did she know she was going to be bored so she brought her own inflatable pillow?"

Next up, it's Scarlet Johansson, resplendent in a silk Louis Vuitton prom dress with a structured little bodice that perfectly flatters her ample bosom without encouraging it to spill out all over the place and stop traffic. She looks delectable, and bang on trend (circa 2007 when the snap was snapped).

"Ugh!" cries contour blush lady. "What's with the black eyebrows and blonde hair? Can't she afford to get them dyed?"

Then it's SJP's turn to be lambasted for looking hip and eccentric in tartan McQueen. And accessorised...by a tartan McQueen himself. Oh no! We wouldn't want that now, would we? What was SJP thinking? Was she on crack? Never mind that every woman who's ever read Vogue would eat worms for the chance to stand in the same room as McQueen, never mind be dressed by him and have him turn up on her arm at the Met. Only now she never will because poor McQueen is no more.

So. It got me thinking about this taste thing. What is taste? Why is it so intensely personal? Is there such a thing as good and bad taste? Who decides the bench mark? I suppose if you have to ask you don't have it and all that, but then I look at Helena Bonham Carter wearing a sandwich on her head with a riding crop and a white corset and I think, well, vive la difference!. Life would be boring if we all thought the same way. But, heck that scarf is an abomination - my pick for crime against fashion #1.

Everything's Coming Up Roses and The Slippery Slope...

I used to be cool. It's true. Not that you'd believe it to look at me now. I used to spend the early hours of Sunday morning in bars wearing Halston. Now I spend them contemplating the garden. Yes, I have swapped the rose pink of the dawn against the King's Cross skyline for the rose pink or...er, the rose.

I am becoming weirdly obsessed with gardening books and gardening icons. The other day I re-read The Country Diary of an Edwardian Lady (hello? I've read it before!). I am taking notes on Vita Sackville-West's Garden Book. Oh no! It's a slippery slope! What's next? A very important date with a crochet hook?

Maybe. Or maybe it's time to take up embroidery. As the oil gushes into the Gulf and soldiers continue to be killed in Afghanistan, through the bomb threats and the council upheavals and as Clover-bloody-Moore keeps closing down our parks, the genteel pursuits start to seem like fine escapism, no? Anyway, ladylike is back in fashion. Just ask Louis Vuitton.

Images: Marcel Vertes illustration; cover of my shame; Erte illustration; Linda Rosewall for Mrs. Press

PEARLY QUEENS

It's no secret that I like little buttons, and especially so when they don't serve any practical purpose, and simply exist to adorn and delight - ah, the decadence!! So when UGG Australia asked us to customise a pair of their iconic sheepskin boots to raise money for The Smith Family, the natural choice was to sew them all over with pointless-but-for-pretty tiny mother of pearl buttons. And bows, natch. Because if there's one thing I love more than a button it's a bow. So there you go.

I also love an UGG boot, because my kitchen floor is arctic right now.

My boots, along with treats by designers including Nicola Finetti, Hannah McNicol, The Cassette Society and Life With Bird, will be auctioned off on line on July 14 -15 to raise money for the charity's Learning for Life initiative.

Go to www.uggaustraliaartandsole.com.au for more info.And check out the Art and Sole Facebook page to see fab pics from last year's US version - how good are Manolo Blahnik's pompom boots?!

Museworthy: Vaslav Nijinsky, 1890 - 1950

Even as a child, Vaslav Nijinsky could leap higher than all the other wannabe ballet boys in his St Petersburg class. The brightest male star of Diaghilev's Ballet Russe unwittingly changed the face of fashion as he danced his way through the cataclysmic cultural shift that shook Europe after the Belle Epoche.

As Leon Bakst's costumes ushered in the trends for Orientalism, velvets, embellishments, carnival colours, metallic adornments and diaphanous layers - later taken up by Yves Saint Laurent for his S/S haute couture 1976 Opera-Ballet Russe collection - Nijinsky was doubtless too busy being a tortured genius to care about how his getups impacted on womenswear. But his image certainly left us with a rich style legacy. Scarlets, purples, emeralds and golds - I can see a rainbow.

Images: Top, Saint Laurent sketch, SS 1976 haute couture; look from that collection; Bakst's vision of Nijinsky as the fawn; two images of Nijinsky in "Danse siamoise" from the "Orientales" Copyright © 2000–2010 The Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Mrs. Press's Recipe for a New Flagship Boutique

Serves: all

Ingredients:
Seven shots of toughen-up juice
10 tins of Milk paint from Porter's Paints
3 tins of gloss black enamel
Razor blades, to taste
Sugar soap
Rubber gloves
Mrs. Press Warm Spice hand cream with almond oil
Many buckets
Several strong scrubbing brushes
1 father in law and 2 builder mates of husband's
1 chippie lover of friend's
Magical cast iron staircase in the style of Tim Walker/Lily Cole shoot
A fresh bunch of Helen, Jacqui, Fay, Kevina (or similar)

Method:
1. Rent one knackered but characterful building on posh street with no walls or floor
2. Down six shots of toughen up juice, leaving last for emergencies
3. Scrape off any excess paint from windows with razor blade
4. Attack all remaining old paint and plaster with sandpaper, chisel, finger nails etc until surfaces are smooth (remember to wear particle mask - these come from Bunnings, not Balenciaga - yikes)
5. Scrub said surfaces on hands and knees for several days with sugar soap and buckets of water. Remember to wear rubber gloves else hands peel off
6. Liberally apply hand cream at hourly intervals even if remember to wear gloves
7. Pretend to chippie lover of friend that job is easy, then when his guard is down present him with uneven precious antique doors, sheets of pressed tin, elaborate crystal door handles and hope for best. If he balks - cry (avoid rubbing eyes with gloves)
8. Next, force family members to paint at night in dark for no wage (buy them coffees to help simmer)
9. Finally, write cheques that may bounce for crazy beautiful bits of grand old houses and season liberally.


Serving suggestion:
While tricky to assemble once cooked, this treat is delightful served both hot or cold, day or night. Match with chilled champagne and rose petals. Add peacock or Lily Cole to taste.

For demonstration, chef's tips or simply to ogle, visit: 436 Oxford Street, Paddington, NSW 2021, Australia

Museworthy: Wallis Simpson, 1896 - 1986

She of the memorable one liner ("Never explain, never complain!"; "You can never be too rich or too thin") is most famous for stealing a prince from his throne, but it's the Duchess of Windsor's wardrobe that gets my motor running. With her angular frame and classic art deco profile, she was a fabulous clothes horse, although photographer Cecil Beaton claimed she was no beauty. A fan of blues (to match her eyes) she shopped at Chanel for sportswear and Mainbocher for slinky, bias cut evening looks, but it was in daring Schiaparelli designs that Beaton photographed her for Vogue - don't you just love her lobster dress? Perhaps it was the inspiration for Romance Was Born's recent version - the one with the padded claw sleeves?

SINCERE FORM

I get why the world went gaga over the Balmain shoulder - because it was an easily adoptable buy-in to looking like a Lower East Side hipster with a buzz-worthy art show on that very night. Just add skinny dark denims and studded boots and you were good to go.

Although nice work if you could get it, you didn't really need to lay down four grand to buy the original designer sharp shouldered military jacket, because you could buy semi-plausible knock-offs from chain stores and local designers all over town.

But will Portmans and Dotti embrace the new Louis Vuitton dirndl? It poses a few problems to the "inspired-bys", this one. Not least that trickily deft construction of the wasp-waisted corsetting. But the single biggest turn off to knocking off A/W '10 Louis V? It's not sexy. At least not in the downing-shots-at-2am-in-Kings-Cross-dive-with-the-artists-formerly-known-as-Tsubi sexy. Will girls who sport The Pip don dirndls just because Marc Jacobs says they are gorgeous?

Expect checks and pastels, the odd nod to jacquard and a million contrasting black velvet ribbons, but I bet you any money Cue's version of look #17 won't nail that slightly lowered decolettage and the generous balance of the full skirt - there must be six metres of silk in that puppy! I'm guessing the high street will rest at three.

That's the thing with imitations - they really don't represent the sincerest form of flattering the wearer.

Images from Style.com