Turkish Delight.

Question: Is there an indulgence more scrumptious and enticing then a cube of sticky, nutty fillo goodness that is baklava, paired with the, rich and permeating scent of a fresh, loose leaf, mint tea? The sweet fiend thinks not but I defy anyone to prove otherwise. Sweet tooth, pfff - Sweet teeth, YES!  My taste buds demand the insipid, packed full of menacing sugars and sweeteners. I, like a ferrel child have become dependent on sugary induced highs and fear the very lows a withdrawal may induce. With sobriety not an option but a must (so says the dentist), I look for ways to overcome this o so sweet vice of mine. Umit Benan may have the answer, in the form of his Kombolói (worry beads). This primitive pass time is proving to be far more captivating then the sodomy seen in the form of Alber and Christopher's accessories (Once again, small things amuse small minds). Beads aside, the Turkish born designer brings substance in the form of his exquisite tailoring and opulent fabrics in a benign choice of colour, all draped on a bunch of average Joe's.... Hooray - Average is soon to be the new black, which means that I, in all my average glory can appear from the dark shadows of beauty and perfection. Yet the imperfect still feels the urge to criticise, Just the one I promise... Its just those Carrot pants on steroids - I cant say I understand the reasoning behind them nor its beauty. Opinions please....

Pics courtesy of Vogue

Burberry just got Sinister

Before I bite into Christopher Bailey's latest ensemble, I feel obliged to bore (Sit tight it will only take a few minutes) with a rant of disappointment (A tad of an exaggeration - but you fellow fashion enthusiasts get me, right?) with regards to the collections that have graced Milan thus far. With thanks to Mr Wrigley, I lingered impatiently with bated minty fresh breath awaiting the pictorial delights to digitally emerge as I ferociously harassed the refresh button whilst deceiving colleagues into an illusion of false productivity (Who says men cant multitask - rubbish!). As each collection began to digitally appear, I was left underwhelmed and demanding an immediate reimbursement for the lost hours spent awaiting their sweet arrival. By no means were the collections bare of any substance BUT (there's always a but) they seemed to be vacant of a drive to move menswear forward. However, their were exceptions, Jil Sander and its skittles of colour and Prada's pick and mix of collars. Enough - Rant done!

Lets get back to the post in hand.... The Burberry boy has been transformed from the regimented, trench wearing brigadier to an anarchist clan, clad in string vest bourgeoisie's, intent on chaos not calm. Gone with the trench (well, Almost) and in its place, leather studded biker jackets and a few more studs thrown in for good measure. Christopher, I like, a lot,! Its refreshing to view a Burberry collection that binned the stiff upper lip and ventured into the dark side - Even if only for 6 months. 

Pics courtesy of GQ