Geezers need excitement

I will not know peace until I own a knotted papaya papoose. What will happen the next time I buy a papaya? Will I have to hold it in my hands like a troglodyte? Balance it on my head like Isabella Blow? Put it in my pocket like a pervert who wants a handjob in the monkey enclosure? This bag is a must.

Season’s greetings from fashion month, where these impossible, almost annoyingly impractial, buttons trod the Prada catwalk. People get so caught up in wearability, because life is tough and they have lost their ability to dream. I love my 501s, but I want to bring back fiddliness, and the idea that I still have time for frivolity. Imagine trying to leave the house, running extremely late, and then having to fuck with these buttons. You’d arrive and people would see the buttons and just nod. They would understand. You have an extra 15 minutes grace on any appointment if you’re buttoned up with little clusters of Prada pearls.

I desperately need a long lunch in New York with Freddie Miles, shit-talking Tom Ripley, and eating like XL Bullies.

I heard that during Concorde’s heyday you could nip over the Atlantic for a power lunch, without the rigmarole of Heathrow terminal 5, two wines, two gins, and two Advil PM. I need this to happen for me. Today.

This sheer, a bit glittery, a lot translucent, archive Miu Miu sweater is what Mike Skinner meant when he said geezers need excitement

Stunning oyster-y door handles here. I like the idea that in the distant future my life can feel so genuinely grandiose that I have to sheepishly apologise to visitors for the seeping glamour.

House-wise, I sort of hate adornment for the sake of adornment, a house packed full of eye-catching-but-useless trinkets is just not my thing. Looking nice is nice, but I prefer some ambidexterity, rather than ultimately unfulfilling treats for the eyes.

These handles are handy. The man with these handles takes monthslong holidays and suffers from private jetlag (not commercial flight lag or steerage lag). The man with these handles look effortlessly suave in candis pics. The man with these handles is girl Sia’s singing about in Chandelier. He’s not someone trying to get a book deal with a sampler that says “His dick tasted like a tangfastic”