Alexandra Shulman’s Notebook
Not revel in Christmas? What was I thinking!
YOU’D have thought by now I would have cracked the annual dilemma of picking the right time to put up the Christmas tree. But it’s never simple.
Most of my working life I have been an office-bound mother, so the decoration ceremony has always taken place on a weekend. We’d wait until darkness fell so we could see whether the lights – always tangled – were working.
Now I’m free to do it any day of the week, but my elf-in-chief – my 26-year-old son – is tied to long work hours. So a weekend it still has to be. But this weekend is a bit too early – or is it?
I’m craving the magical twinkling of the tree in these dank days, but if I had bought one by now I would worry that by Christmas Day it would be a tad limp. And how sad is a tree past its best, shedding needles from balding branches? It’s a common predicament.
At least the tree is one aspect of Christmas that can’t fall victim to Covid restrictions. No matter what is chucked at us, the tree will stand proud and tall, glittering with every bauble we can fit on it.
Out comes that familiar stand and shiny Christmas star, the huge box of random decorations (no colour coding in our house) collected over the decades, the wind-up music-box fairy that plays Silent Night.
Tragically, for the first time in my life, we will have to succumb to white fairy lights. The old-fashioned coloured strings I prefer aren’t available anywhere, and the modern versions seem to add a chill to the room, rather than warmth.
A few weeks back I wrote how this year I didn’t have it in me to be enthusiastic about Christmas. What was I thinking! As the uncertainty over Omicron plays havoc with our plans, anything in our control is more important than ever.
Thank goodness for Christmas cards, front-door wreaths, carols and over-the-top wrapping paper. Although I must admit I’m not completely confident ordering that huge 13lb turkey quite yet.
Glitz is gazumped by shock and awe
LOOKING at pictures of this winter’s red-carpet outfits I’ve been trying to put my finger on precisely when the clothes at gala events began to bear no relationship to anything worn in real life. We used to have gorgeous gowns – think Halle Berry in Elie Saab Couture collecting her 2002 Oscar, Jennifer Lawrence in Dior, or even Gwyneth Paltrow weeping buckets in pink Ralph Lauren. Those were dresses of real beauty.
Looking beautiful is not the aim at events like last week’s British Fashion Awards and September’s Met Gala, where the red carpet has become an exercise in shock and awe.
There’s always been a big difference in the clothes celebrities pose in at A-list events, and how the rest of us would dress for next week’s Christmas party. But never before has the gap been so wide. Unlike catwalk shows, premieres and galas used to be seen as an opportunity for the biggest brands to showcase their most glamorous looks and inspire the rest of us. That’s why they have huge teams in Hollywood to cater for the award season culminating in the Oscars.
Now, though, the likes of Chanel, Giorgio Armani and Ralph Lauren are losing the spotlight to newer names such as the talented Albanian designer Nensi Dojaka, who won this year’s prestigious LVMH fashion prize and whose popular red-carpet clothes are little more than strategically placed scraps of transparent fabric.
In other words, not really an option for the office party.
A massive part of awards dressing has always been the entertainment value. It’s never been a time for the shrinking violet – more a moment for red-hot pokers.
However, we are witnessing a rapid shift away from conventionally glamorous clothes to outfits outrageous enough to garner millions of eyeballs, clicks and likes on social media. Nothing especially wrong with that. All the same, it’s fascinating that so many celebrities are prepared to fling on overthe-top – and often hideous – outfits to play the game.
Are we following the science on vaccines?
I AM no vaccine sceptic. Far from it. However, when we suddenly learn it’s perfectly all right to have three months between doses, rather than six, one does wonder how much of the information we are given about the battle against Covid is based on the science, and how much is about managing vaccine supplies.
Naked pool party is the definition of hell
WE LEARNED at Ghislaine Maxwell’s trial how sex offender Jeffrey Epstein tempted guests to his house by hosting naked pool parties. I assume these were male guests. I don’t know any woman who would find the promise of splashing around with a lot of naked guys anything less than the second circle of hell.
Catch up on Celine’s pitch-perfect brat
ANYONE who missed the BBC1 drama Showtrial should catch up pronto on iPlayer – if only for actress Celine Buckens’s performance as Talitha, who is accused of murdering a fellow student.
Rarely, if ever, have I seen someone capture so pitch-perfectly the mixture of arrogance, vulnerability, cruelty and brittle humour that is a trademark of a certain type of damaged girl from a well-off family. Celine’s emerald-fingernailed, entitled brat haunts long after the telly is switched off.
I need help out of my present predicament
WHEN you no longer have children around, buying presents for them is just as difficult as finding something for the menfolk.
If anyone knows the perfect gift for a seven-year-old boy, please tell me.
I’m currently as lost for ideas as a bloke traipsing through the jewellery department on Christmas Eve.