My 2017 Lust List…

Now that we’re almost a quarter of the way through 2017, I am to put it delicately, testing the boundaries of what is and isn’t socially acceptable in terms of arriving late to a party.  Though the party that fashion bloggers call a ‘wish list’ has slowed to a fizzle, with only the guests that no one knows staying to sup the last dregs of a generic bottle of Baileys.  I have decided to show up, with a Tesco Value packet of Cheese Balls in hand, and a list of this year’s lusts.


Crawling in at number five is the Fendi Peekaboo.  With luxury handbags I believe that women generally ‘oooh and ahover them.  But instead I have found myself ‘umm-ing and ah-ing’ over this one. Yes, I adore the uniqueness of its twist lock opening, and there is little doubt this bag is what happens when Classic and Modernity decide to mate.  My only concern however, is the spectre of ‘Value Holding’.  As long as you don’t drop a Classic Chanel bag off of Niagara Falls, you can pretty much guarantee you’ll get your money back; perhaps more. Unfortunately, I’m not entirely sure you can say the same of Fendi.  But that doesn’t make this bag any less adorable.  Damn you Karl.

pochette metis

Making a bold entrance at number four is the Louis Vuitton Pochette Metis.  Which is strange because I took an oath (the oath of fabric) that I would never, ever purchase a bag in the Monogram Canvas.  Thanks to Nicolas Ghesqiere, I am now being forced to eat a mouthful of my own salted words.  Quite simply the Pochette Mettis is a beauty. It’s a pint sized briefcase with a handy strap and don’t get me started on the interior compartments.  What I’m not totally in love with is the zip opening stitched on the bag’s back, which to my eyes looks like a poorly sewn head wound.  Talk about putting ketchup on a sirloin…

kim k

Taking the midway spot at number three is the Kardashian sartorial stalwart the Balmain blazer.  Where to begin with this jacket, where to begin…  If you are shaped like a Coca-Cola bottle, then this jacket is your best friend.  It is a rare thing to find a jacket that can cover a not so small pair of breasts, cinches in at the waist and flares over your booty.  Making a curvy woman like myself, look like a goddess, rather than a fourth rate drag act is no mean feat.  Hats off to the chef; Olivier Rousteing you did this.  No draw backs here, but be prepared to keep this jacket under lock and key if you perchance have a sister or a mother.


Narrowly missing out on first place is the ‘Working Woman’s’ favourite, the Louis Vuitton Neverfull.  Now that my schizophrenic on again, off again relationship with the House of Vuitton has been brought back into focus, let me tell you why I have decided to include this unremarkable bag.  Chiefly, because it is a workhorse and a throw-around.  The Throw-around bag; every girl needs one.  Or at least that’s how the commercial goes in my head.  But seriously the Neverfull is smart enough for the office, casual enough for the beach and not so luxurious that you don’t mind stashing your vile of hot sauce in it.  What can I say the Neverfull knows how to work it.  If only the PM came with a Rose Ballerine lining…


At number one is a bag that needs no introduction, it is the Chanel Boy.  When it comes to this bag, words fail me.  Only a German could have introduced a handbag like this to the market, because it truly is an example of precision engineering.  Keeping Coco Chanel’s original hallmarks of elegance and utility; Karl Lagerfeld brought quilted leather and conspicuous consumption to a new generation, and we love him all the more for it.  Let’s hear it for Le Boy


Mad about Le Boy…



Presently I am in the deep and lustful throes of an unrequited love.  My object of desire, is certainly guilty of giving me the run-around.  For one I can never ever seem to get a hold of him, and secondly on the rare occasion that we do cross paths, there is a constant line of women waiting around the block for the chance to snap him up.  My prospective lover only frequents the most exclusive parts of town, and frankly I just don’t know if I can afford to take our imaginary liaison any further.


The man in question, is not really a man; but a Boy, sorry, Le Boy.  Which isn’t really a Boy, but a handbag by Chanel.  Got it?  The Boy, like so many of the best relationships, came into my life suddenly and unexpectedly.  Never fearful of commitment, my affection in Chanel bag world had always been fixed on the Classic Flap.  Ever since Karl threw some Cs on that bitch, I had believed myself sure that the battle for my heart had now been won.  That was of course until the day I first cast my infatuated eyes on Le Boy.


They say that love can do strange things to mortals.  Even the most intelligent of our kind find themselves rationalising away the million flaws of their beloved.  In my case I have found myself contemplating the parting of myself from the princely sum of £3480.  Unlike the other inhabitants living in the Metropolitan Borough of Blogging and YouTube; I do not have an inexplicable, inelastic income, which I can whimsically fritter away on designer goods.  I’m always left scratching my head after seeing many a video in which a YouTuber faithfully swears that they are ‘not rich’, ‘they work a normal job’ (If anyone knows of one of these mythical jobs please leave details in the comments section) and that they afford luxury by ‘not going out’.  Despite living a nearly identical lifestyle, I am still sans bag.


A lover’s jealousy is a terrible and dangerous thing.  Left unchecked it can lead to moments of temporary insanity and obsession. The Boy is my laptop, tablet and phone backdrop. I feel now would be a sensible time to seek medical assistance; perhaps a cardiologist might help. For each time I see the glimmering form of two golden Cs centred within a Lego inspired clasp, my heart unmistakably misses a beat.  Is it wrong dear reader, that the murky world of ‘Boy Bag Unboxings’ has become an illicit, late night pornographic treat?


I realise wholeheartedly that this simply cannot go on for much longer.  My paramour and I must declare our love openly, bringing the midnight activity of Pinterest stalking firmly to an end.  Or we must at last go our separate ways. Of our compatibility, I have little doubt.   I have full confidence that you’d be the perfect companion.  Changing weather and seasons could not dull your appeal.  The brightest sun, nor a brilliant moon would detract from your shine.


We’d be great for each other.  There I said it.  I want you more than all of the other useless, over- priced objects of beauty in the world.  I’m willing to pay the cost to make you mine.  After all a wise man once said: ‘You can’t put a price on love.’