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Thursday Fashion

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This week, BurdaStyle celebrates Parisian perversity. FASHION THE NEW GARDE

Paris is home to so many of the world’s most resourceful brands and best designers that it seems churlish to demand more. Yet people do ask for more, and constantly, and they ask because in Paris, there is always more. The city is a magnet for minds of invention, ones that dream of better-yet jeans, or baubles luminous and strange, or couture like an orgy of organza and feathers. Many of the brightest minds become famous, justly so; some of them are famous by the time they arrive, and then become legendary. The really famous ones are too big to be Parisian; they and their designs are citizens of the world. But there are designers who belong to Paris, still. Here are a few.

Wednesday Beauty

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This week, BurdaStyle celebrates Parisian perversity. BEAUTY UN POISON VIOLENT, C’EST CA L’AMOUR

The first perfume I ever purchased for myself was L’Air du Temps, by Nina Ricci. I was thirteen; I liked the winged, froufy bottle and the notes of musk and gardenia redolent of my grandparents. I bought it with Bat Mitzvah money. My mother, who hates perfume, smelled it once and tossed it out, along with the Jane’s Addiction CD that had been my other indulgence at the mall that day.

Tuesday Icon

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This week, BurdaStyle celebrates Parisian perversity.

ICON BELLE DE JOUR

The summer before my junior year of college, I moved to New York City with my then-ex-boyfriend. I had come to the city to be a lousy waitress and for an internship that never actually panned out; among the other things that didn’t pan out that summer were our break-up, and then eventually our relationship. He was taking classes at NYU, which gave him access to NYU housing, but in an act of what I now recognize as generosity, maybe even love, he threw his lot in with me and together we sublet the world’s tiniest studio in Alphabet City. It was a sixth floor walk-up; coming home one night, I saw someone shoot up for the first time, right there on our stoop. I loved it. My then-ex hated it. Further details: I vaguely recall a schedule of days when he got the bed, and I got the sofa, and vice versabut soon his plan worked and I relented and we were a couple again, sharing the twin mattress.

French Disconnection

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This week, BurdaStyle celebrates Parisian perversity.

Jean Luc Godard once said that all you need to make a movie is a girl and a gun. Not true: You need a camera. Anyway, I’ve been thinking about Godard’s bon mot as I’ve been thinking about Paris, and about fashion, and I’ve decided that the girl + gun equation is really primary when it comes to understanding the City of Lights.

Saturday Trend

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This week, Burdastyle lives la maschile vita.

Man O Man

Marc Jacobs is a superstar not because he makes beautiful clothes many designers do that but because of his remarkable ability to put a finger on the pulse of a budding look. There was a certain sobriety to the clothes he showed for Fall 2007, different from the well-nigh apocalyptic aesthetic of his previous fall collection, but discernible in the way the proportions and accessories hearkened back to such previously gloomy eras as the Depression ‘30s and the stagflation ‘70s.

Friday Playlist

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This week, Burdastyle lives la maschile vita.

FUTBOL

; Food and fashion may be Italy’s most successful exports, but the two truest Italian passions are soccer and scandal. For futbol the natives are genuinely mad, crazy for the national team that won last year’s World Cup with a head-butt, and crazier yet for their local league teams. Two of the most famous of these are Milan’s long-dueling Inter and A.C. squads, and no trip to the city is really complete until you’ve watched one team or the other play San Siro stadium. Seeing them play each other is a dangerous game, however: Italy has had an uptick of English-style soccer hooliganism, with the rioting at one recent match resulting in the death of a cop trying to break up the crowd. Scandal! And doppe scandal now that the Italian Cabinet has voted to make many teams Milan’s included play behind closed doors until their stadiums are up to security snuff. If the Italians seems a little down this fashion season, now you know why.

Thrusday Designers: The Renaissance?

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Italy has a fashion problem. Though Milan is home to some of the world’s most enduring brands Prada, Armani, Versace and Valentino, to name but a few the city has birthed no breakthrough designers since Dolce & Gabbana teamed up and Consuelo Castiglioni came to Marni. And the last real creative jolt to hit Italy was imported: In many ways, Milan is still figuring out how to get out of the Tom Ford era of blockbuster fashion.

Wednesday Beauty: The Kindest Cut

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BEAUTY THE KINDEST CUT

What with the glut of beauty products catering to women, it seems ungenerous to horn in on the few good things made for men. But, you know, whatever. Any girl who’s had a boyfriend snake her lip balm, or condition his hair with her Terax Crema, or sheepishly borrow concealer, well, that girl knows that in a relationship, vanity is share and share alike.

DIY: Make a Travel Tissue Cozy!

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We are happy to feature a great BurdaStyle member How-To: Erin (user name erinbord) is explaining how to make a travel tissue cozy – see our featured How Tos on the home page! You can make it yourself or buy it from Erin in her Etsy Shop! Also, have a look at her profile to see what kind of other beautiful creations she posted.

Tuesday Icon: Oriana Fallaci

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Blame Fellini, though Fellini isn’t really to blame. For a long time now, the paradigmatic Italian woman has been a vixen summoned straight from the great director’s id, all curves and fecund sex. Gina Lollabrigida. Sophia Loren. Monica Bellucci. Gentle creatures, in their way, modern Mary Magdalenes seemingly unaware that they give men hard attacks every time they sashay past. Fellini himself knew this kind of woman was a fantasy, one honed in fear of the flintier intimacies of that other, less celebrated Italian woman, the kind of woman for whom Miuccia Prada designs: The Oriana Fallaci type.

La Not-So Dolce Vita

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Let me begin by extolling the virtues of Italy. The Tuscan hills, the Dolomites, the Mediterranean. Pasta, buffa mozzarella, a thousand inscrutable things made from pig. Da Vinci, Dante, Michelangelo, practially the whole freaking Renaissance. Italo Calvino, 10 Corso Como, Marni and Prada, Marcello Mastroianni, the Trevi Fountain, L’Avventura and the Vespa. Italy, it would seem, is a superabundance of pleasure.

Saturday Trend: Chain, Chain, Chain

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TREND CHAIN, CHAIN, CHAIN

London will always and forever be a rock ‘n’ roll town. In sound and style and spirit, however, rock is a notorious shapeshifterand it thrives best in Blighty when there’s some other kind of music around to bounce off of, and absorb. Beatles loved bhangra. The Clash was basically a reggae band. Everyone in Radiohead was a rave kid. And so on. Current Brit it girl Lily Allen owes very little, sonically, to rockshe sounds like the Spice Girls on vacation in Jamaica but the sneer in her songs descends directly from Sid Vicious. The Lily Allen look, meanwhile, is haute hip-hopand style-wise, that’s where the action is on the English street these days. Bling is everywhere: Chunky chains and rhinestone-studded sunglasses finish the new look of youthful revolt, one mixed liberally with the ripped tees, Westwood plaids and painted-on jeans of rebellions past. East London jeweller Lara Bohinc makes the ghetto-punk aesthetic literal in her work, laser-cutting mega hoops with mohawked points and giving thuggish pendants a goth makeover in oxidized silver. Fashion darling Tom Binns adds gemmed studs and skeletons to XXXL necklaces and gangsta rings. It may look like rap, but this look rocks.

Friday Playlist: The Good, the Bad & the Queen

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I once spent an hour alone in a bedroom with Damon Albarn. That’s not as racy as it soundsit was a motel in a gray suburb of London near the BBC studios, and I was interviewing him about the Blur album 13 while his publicist waited just outside the door. Damon himself was in a bit of a state, curled up on the bed with his fists clenched, rehashing the bad breakup that had inspired the record. I felt like his therapist. I felt like a therapist who’d been in love with her patient from afar and who now found herself alone with him, letting the tape run on the conversation while her mind played a loop of I am alone in a bedroom with Damon Albarn, I am alone in a bedroom with Damon Albarn, I am alone in a bedroom with Damon Albarn. I’d been in proximity to him before, seen him making his way down Portobello with his parka hood over his head, then at a party for some band, then downing pints with a few friends after a Chelsea match, but I’d never had the chance to observe that he was slighter and older than I’d pictured him, and watchful, and that he had a mole over one brow. He didn’t like making eye contact much, but all of a sudden, he did. Damon sat up on the bed, leaned toward me, and took my tape recorder in his hands. “I’m shutting this off,” he said.

Designers: Rule Britannia, Redux

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London was slumping for a while. McCartney, McQueen, Galliano and the rest of the Cool Britannia crew decamped for Paris a long time ago, urged on by high-profile gigs at storied houses, and the back bench of young talent that London had always nurtured seemed to disappear, en masse, only to turn up in New York. But the tide is turning: Marc Jacobs is celebrating the opening of his UK flagship by presenting his Marc by Marc line in London this season, English designer Sophia Kokosalaki has taken up the challenge of relaunching Vionnet, and Nathan Jenden, the man behind Diane von Furstenburg’s line, is moving his eponymous collection to London after several seasons fighting the crowds in New York. And in the meantime, a whole new generation of designers is making London a mandatory fashion stop once again. Here are a few of the best.

Beauty: Rock the Line

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Jemma Kidd is the kind of woman you want to hate. Ex-model, married to some kind of prince or aristocrat, it girl, mom, entrepreneur. Vomit. For real. She makes it all seem effortless. But give Kidd credit for letting the hoi polloi peek behind the curtain: Her make up school in London aims to educate women on effortless beauty, while Kidd’s Make Up School cosmetics line, launched Stateside last year, tidies up all those tricks into a few key products. One palette takes care of color for the whole face, a lipstick comes with balm attached, and minimalists can rid themselves of clumpy mascara for good by means of Kidd’s cult Eyelash Tint.

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