go here

I started a new blog. Go here instead.

GOOD BYE!

Dear Marc, or rather dear people who read this, whoever you are, wherever you are and whatever your reason for reading the random ramblings of this beer slut on this page,

I'm taking a break.

Feel free to mail me at emi@lovegun.net if you'd like a mail whenever there's something to read here or somewhere else.

I'm walking into the world as a new woman as I'm shedding the responsibility of writing hundreds of meaningless letters to a celebrated man of fashion.

What next? Who knows? Suggestions are most welcome.

Mark your mail with letsmeetupforscones in the subject line.
That would make me feel great, almost popular.

love
-e

Portia portia portia

Dear Marc, I want the Portia look.
what is she wearing? help me.
Where do I find it all?

love
-e

Updates

Dear Marc, my readers of your letters keep sending me news from your life.
I loved the suits you designed for Will Ferrell's sons demi-Swedish sons Magnus and Mattias.

And your workspace looks great too. Thanks to the web pages of NY Mag, we can all pretend we're sitting by your desk, sharing a joke or two with Robert Duffy.
















Your desk seems so clean, clutter free and organized compared to that of Lewis Kornhaus, NYU School of Law Professor.















Mom, see this? You have nothing to worry about! The NY Mag mentions a new book written for you, Kornhauser and myself.

love
-e

Fifi de copywriting

A sateen silk slip for an exceptional everyday life.

A bra proposing a cleavage of unexpected generosity.

Balloon sleeves top to be a starlet at wake-up !

I love Fifi.

Blog cannibalism

Nothing new from me, just pictures I find on other people's blogs. I love this picture too.
That's me on the right. I love my pinstriped suit and will not go anywhere without my beer.

love
-your own international businessman.

Fat lady sings the blues

Dear Marc, yesterday I was a very fat woman.

I wasn't any bigger than usual, but my heart went out to the overweight fashion lovers of the world.

What we see and love we can not have.
Our bodies stop us from it.

See these platforms? Know how great they look with yellow socks and a blue gingham halterneck dress? And perhaps a little scarf casually tied around my flowing hair?

I might buy them anyway, in the hope that they'll fit post-surgery.
What size should one buy when planning to remove large pieces of bone from the feet?

Should I just buy them and love them for their beauty?
Like the gold and white Marc Jacobs I treat just like real babies?


















You tell me!
You reading this, tell me what to do.

This is what they tell me is OK prior to surgery. Not the same, I tell you, not the same.

















am dreaming about this, which is way too expensive for me, but will look ok with clogs or barefoot.

Les quatre cents...

Dear Marc, this is letter 400. I hope that's ok by you.
By me, it's fine too, only thing is I don't have a single important thing to say to mark such an important day.

This is my life today:

Must write draft for web campaign.

Must find important background on sweet smelling body lotions.

Must remember my brother's upcoming b-day.

Must set date for return to Sweden.

Must finish work to be able to spend an hour in the sun with my man.

I will smell great, but perhaps not exactly the way he'd wish.
The other day, I visited a Bonpoint-store and since Joel wrecked half the store, I felt obliged to buy something, as a gesture of my peaceful nature and mature standing.

I looked around but could only find delicate, expensive pieces of clothing only sleeping children might wear without spoiling.

I might as well eat my cash with a little ketchup on.

In the end though, I found an item that an adult could use, although the bottle stated in contained perfume pour enfants.

It was such an insane thought, I had to buy it. Besides, in the store it had that perfect lemon drop scent I've tried to find for years. But as we returned home, it turned out to smell very much like the Annick Goutal scents I already have. And sure enough, she was the creator of this scent too! Turns out she's the sister of the Bonpoint founders or something like that.

I'll never forget the first time I wore Annick Goutal's Eau de Sud. Anders looked all confused and said "what's that smell? it smells just like that stuff they use to clean the men's room."

Not the reaction you hope for after shelling out whatever you pay for a bottle of French perfume.

And now I've done it again.

I'd better just start cutting a lemon in half and rub myself with it.

And if you run into urinal smelling kids, don't be alarmed. They're probably mine, freshly sprayed with baby cologne to take away that adorable smell of babysoft skin, silky hair and overall goodness that goes with childhood. Who'd want that? Not the French!

love
-e

Chocolate stingray

Now it's here.
Whyred Spring and Summer. For all of us who want to be chocolatey sting rays this season.

Lick me, I'll sting you.
.e

Back from the homeland

Dear Marc, I'm back.
Are you?

I took the plane, which I hate. I am always convinced I will crash and as I board the plane I solemnly look at my co-passengers who will share my sad fate. They always seem happy, bored or busy, never as seriously grave as one should be when having a date with destiny in the skies.

On the good side, I flew SAS, the air line with the oldest stewardesses. To me, this is in itself a reason to fly Scandinavian. Those ladies have been in the air since the days when it was a dreamy, glamorous job to ask strangers if they would like coffee or tea. That's a long time!

Only one bathroom was working.
I'm still cross people did not applaud my speed as I did my business in seconds out of politeness to other passengers also about to crash.

It's difficult even writing about my fear of flying. I feel it might be prophetic and that I will crash and people will point to the blog and say "look, she knew. but wait, if she really knew, would she have bragged about her toilet habits?".

I might, I'm so mysterious.

Come fly the friendly skies with me.

That top picture has nothing to do with this post. I just feel I have to share my kids and the LeGuelaff Breezes.

love
-e

Minute by minute

Dear Marc, in an attempt to make up for the long dry spell when I didn't post a single entry, but instead went to Bath and met up with loved friends (see top pic)I am posting you on the fly.

Like right now, I'm at Heathrow, on my way to Sweden for a brief visit to the IKEA HQ in the deep of Småland.

I'm drinking wine, cause I don't like to fly.
I hope I make it through customs with all these liquids inside.
It's so warm here, I had to strip down to a very flimsy Paul & Joe top. So now I will be perceived as a drunk menopausal woman on her way to the homeland.

Not the way I intended my comeback.

love
-e

ps. Heatrow or Heathrow? At this stage, the facts are hard to remember.

ps.2. those babies are twins. World, are you ready for the magic of Ted & Ruben? The cutest.

hungrig? hungry?

Alla som tycker om glädje och mat måste läsa
"om jag vore din hemmafru".

Read "om jag vore din hemmafru". Teach yourself Swedish if you must in order to understand. It's worth it. As a plus, you'll be able to sing along with ABBA in their native language.

Here's one more reason. to learn Swedish.

Put your freezer to better use.

Matte Stephens freezer. Who needs food?

Cute egg

One more reason to have kids: the oeuf neck-tie.

Art in mid-day

Rica Takada.

Art in the morning

Matte Stephens and his blog.

A great little piece of news

Our national church has finally come to their senses and now tells the world same sex couples are now also welcome to get married under a the roof of a Swedish state church just like any other couple united by love, passion or habit.

love
-e

I may buy this

Dear Marc, having read an appalling doom& gloom article on the potential environmental disasters our children and grand children may have to face unless the world changes its ways, I lay awake questioning myself.

The worst scenario left little to be happy for. The words ”only fungi survive” etched themselves into my mind and I tried to come up with ways I could alter my own contribution to the speedy decay of the planet.

I thought of the buy-nothing-day. It seemed so futile. A buy-nothing-month, or perhaps buy-nothing-year would make more sense. I’ve had my clothes and perfume swapping parties, but here in London I know few people who’d trade their clothes for mine.

Therefore I have decided to cut down on spending instead. Below are the few key items I may buy for the next decade to come.

I may buy:

One pair of sun glasses inexpensive enough not to cause mourning when (not if) I lose them

Two pairs of jeans, since that’s all I really wear and my favourite pair is stuck at the drycleaners after I lost the mending receipt

Tops, since the many machine washes of my few 3 tops is surely harmful to both the environment and my relationship to sound sensitive neighbours

Socks, cause A will soon notice that I’m constantly wearing his (much too big ones, with the heels making unattractive little pouches right above the back of my sneakers)

I may absolutely not buy, at any cost, whatever the circumstances:

Any more fun vintage party dresses in happy colours

Any more LBD’s

Any more nice shoes or boots, since with my feet they’re only a waste of time, money and cobbler talent

Nice sunglasses like everyone in Holland Park wear, (but if I’m lucky and look properly I should be able to find a dropped pair on the ground)

Should not spend money on:

Revolutionary Cinderella-effect haircut, since I should really have learned by now that they do not exist, especially not when offered by magazine in horrible make over seen by every acquaintance, ex and job contact in the country.

May perhaps spend money on:
Environmentally immoral trip to Sweden for haircut and foot assessment by trusted professionals like Hasse.

If failing to follow these rules, remember:

ONLY FUNGI SURVIVE.

Tell me your lists.

Love

-e

Or any other place

Anyone who's got a good idea for a quick escape from London for 2 people, please help. We love taking the train. And enjoy long breakfasts.

Bed, Bath and beyond

Dear Marc, I hear you're in Arizona, hope you're doing fine.
I'll be leaving the city too this weekend, going for a short trip to Bath.
It was decided after Anders uttered the highly unlikely words "Emi, what do you say we go to Bath and check out the Jane Austen museum"?

Have you or anyone reading this been to Bath? Know any good hotels? We'll only be staying for one night.

love

-e, who will soon go see Becoming Jane to get in the spirit. But will an empire cut dress I will not. Did it ever look good on ANYONE? I might run over some dry grass though. Seems that's all they did back in the day, sometimes hurting their ankles. You know I can relate to people with pains below the knees.