#old berluti

[lovefrenchisbetter]

Berluti By Haider Ackermann

#haider ackermann #ha #berluti #old berluti #essentials #chelsea boots #fw18 #rock n roll #dark academia #parisian style #parisian #parisian homme #parisian chic #parisian vibe #runway details #clean #minimalism #minimalist

[sgiandubh]

I want to ship SC, trust me I do and I love them together, but I just can’t fathom how far they stretch a fake relationship (her and T). Like for example the recent picture of them holding hands- now it’s not an insane gesture but definitely one we haven’t seen before. So maybe they truly are just a private couple. But in my heart of hearts I just love her and S together so much, and don’t know what to think because on one hand they are simply everything together and on the other it seems like she really is with T. I’m confused 🥲 what’s your take?

Dear Confused Anon,

I will be brutally honest: no, I do not trust you and I do not care about your crocodile tears. Not a single bit. In fact, once I will be done with my answer to you, you are most probably going to press CTRL+C, then CTRL +V. And run to the nearest Mordor sweatshop, in the hope one of the Three Sopranos will insult me again.

You see, to trust you, I would have to speak with at least a handle, not a coward in disguise. And then, even DMs are neither always safe, nor always honest - I have recently learned it the rough way, despite my best efforts, tried (and up until now failed) to forgive and will never forget.

By now, I suppose everyone got a good look at this splendiferous picture:

Take a long, quiet, hard look at it, Shire.

So organic it could kill a moth colony on the spot.

So heartfelt - she doesn't even look at him.

So sentimental - that icy smile of hers. A happy couple, indeed.

A general round of applause, all across the Nation.

You are very wrong: it is not the first time they are holding hands, I mean, sort of. The much touted London marathon pic immediately comes to mind - although you'd have to admit, I looked and looked and he seemed to be checking her pulse, rather than being lovey-dovey.

A real private couple would never stoop as low as a cheap, laborious retcon, in retaliation for a couple of thousand people speculating on a niche blogging platform.

It took four years, a month and four days after that Remarkable Week-end to see McSideburns clumsily try and claw her hand. Remarkable, indeed.

And are you trying to tell me the MC didn't shake your beliefs and this does?

This perfunctory, formulaic, scripted AF, blip?

Wow. I have no words, Anon.

That unkempt, bland person - for God's sake, mister, tuck that damn shirt in your pants! - looking like the elephant in the china shop at a carefully curated event celebrating the supreme form of French refinement?

This is insulting, to say the least. To her (and her prized image), to Chanel, to this fandom, to S and believe it or not, to himself, too. Granted, the Berluti shoes are showing some improvement and are now clean. Hmph.

So here is what I think, Anon (and I know people are going to shriek and guess what, I do not care, for once):

It's been at least one year this fandom has been asking for this specific pic and for this specific whiplash. A childish tantrum, as she is regularly throwing. Mind you, that doesn't even come close to the painfully slow, monumentally boring Flukenzie Floozy Saga and looks as staged as the Ochoa & S London sighting (ah, patterns!).

This is the reaction to our scriptwriting ineptitude.

This is also the reaction to some underground shenanigans, directly related to a birth certificate apparently being peddled around. I will not discuss this, yet know just that: this is a legal claptrap, right there. I can, and if needed I will prove it. With the cold, surgical precision Mordor is so afraid of.

But she is a mother, for Christ's sake!

A mother!

As I said, I am not a mother and never will be. I do not wish this trial on anyone. But if I know something about life, I can guarantee you a mother would do whatever it takes to protect her child(ren).

Including taking precisely this kind of sad and forgettable pic.

So, there's that. We choose and we choose now: we fall for it once more and let the playbook fiddle with our insecurities once more and post endless trails of old pics once more to soothe the searing indignation.... Or GROW THE FUCK UP and show to whom it may concern we're not buying this shit anymore.

I know what I'll do. You're on your own, Anon: my tough love took you only this far, down the road. Sorry for the length. It was needed.

For the moment, I just booked an appointment with Miss Fotoula (roughly Claire, hehe), my genius hairdresser. I will ask her to refresh my dirty blonde mane.

#anon

[firewoodfigs]

remember, beloved (also on ao3)

In your younger days, your father spoke the gospel, like God himself: how can you know who is evil? How can you know who is good? He starved the kitchen, but his words rang through and true. How can you know anything when you’re just a child?

Years later, you still don’t know. The edges of truth are always jagged, rough and ugly. You wish no one ate that apple. You wish you stayed ignorant. You wish your mind stayed suspended in the wings of make-believe—your only juvenile salvation—like curtains on a traverse rod, cloaking the bleak apertures of unworn socks. One moment you’re playing tag with your ragtag band of friends. The next, their body blown to rags. Only their dog tags returned. And each day barks, like a dog, violent and scared.

Someone out there tags you with a new face, a new name. You wish it were that easy to forget. It’s as the poets said—love is so short, forgetting is so long.

You remember hearing your friends say before, over a game of poker, that most, if not all of life is a gamble. So you wait and wonder if anyone will take their odds on you, when they discover they’ve been stacked against you from the start.

Elsewhere, someone pilfers a win. You sit with your loss, dressing it up in polished Berlutis until it’s time to go. Grief slips away, momentarily; a father in the night with secrets to hide.

By fate, or by chance, or some incredible happenstance, someone does. Someone takes their odds on you. The die rolls. And dawn, like a strained smile, breaks again, but the slant of light that creeps in is tenuous at best.

Morning comes, and with it old ghosts. Your mother’s legacy speaks another truth: to love again is to gift someone a blade. You give them power over you. You give them the power to hurt you. You give them the power to crucify what you tried to bring back to life. You give them your end. What she omitted to say was, you give them your beginnings, too. The genesis is always the most frightening bit, tremulous and unclear in its wake. And how can you have faith, when you’ve grown so cynical? But when you taste the apples in her mouth, you think neither of Eve, nor the snake that doomed us all to hell. You just think it’s sweet. Soft, like a mist. Perfect, like Eden before sin.

Against all odds, it seems, love came knocking. One day your hands are drenched red; the next it's laced in your lover’s. Who claims you as hers. Who writes on your body, a brand new poem; sunshine and salvation.

Now you stand in the kitchen, born anew; an island of love and light stretching beyond all contours of time. Your lover’s words ring through and true. Remember, beloved, that you are dearly loved.

#poetry #twiyor #yes this is about mr forger 😔 psych! #sxf #spy x family #character study?? #don’t mind me i’m just going wild with the religious symbols here #writing

[mysmorgasbordoffantabulosa]

What's up with the boys lately?

So JK released a collab with a slightly detested singer in the fandom... (On a personal note, I think the Puth maybe possibly slightly neurodivergent and therefore a little socially awkward in situations beyond his control and can come across as weird and maybe rude but actually isn't)

Whilst Tae flew halfway round the world for a fashion show and flirted (allegedly) with people (mainly androgynous and possibly queer fashionistas)

So what's the problem?

Most of what happened next was focused on our fashion forward boy...

Some felt like our fashion boy wasn't being supportive of his Dongsaeng, and even downright betraying him by flirting with people.

That he was there to party it up and get sloshed and cheat on JK.

Others thought the whole thing was some sort of cover to allow said fashion boy to go on a romantic weekend with either his female or male companion (or both, I sometimes love a good old throuple!). Even going so far as to suggest the female companion had bought a plane just for the occasion.

....

Okay now that's out of the way...

A business weekend in Paris!

So, as I followed Tae's weekend in Paris, my main thought was... he's being lined up to become a brand ambassador for Celine.

Any person who thinks Tae went to Paris to just party it up and have gay ole time seriously appears to be missing the point of the visit.

First context...

BTS are brand ambassadors for Luis Vuitton

Luis Vuitton is the main high-end brand of LVMH

LVMH owns Celine a ready to wear brand

So Tae was invited by Celine (not Park Bogum or Lisa), to wear their clothes and attend it's main fashion show in Paris.

It's clear that he was mostly there for business because

He had a BTS manager with him

He also appears to have one of HYBE's media team with him too (not the interpreter as some have suggested).

Plus, the only times he was publicly featured with Lisa and Bogum, were at the dressing session, the fashion show and the after party.

Throughout the trip until his return to SK, Tae wore mostly Celine branding.

Tae was generally being the sociable person he always is.

This all makes me think this visit was a testing ground for future involvement in the brand, and I think works well with BTS's own brand commitments with the parent company of Celine.

Sooo I would not be surprised that in a few months time Tae will be announced as a Brand ambassador for Celine.

You get a brand ambassadorship, You get a brand ambassadorship, everyone gets a brand ambassadorship...

Additionally, I could see this being the start of every member becoming a brand ambassador for a LVMH subsidiary. For example:

Kenzo - would fit J Hope

Fendi - for Suga

Off-White - for RM

Berluti - for Jin

Loewe - for JK

JW Anderson - for Jimin

So yeah, stop and think, not everything the boys do professionally related is connected to a ship, or salacious bit of gossip, just because someone is personable and has good interpersonal skills.

As a side note, if this weekend in Paris told us anything, Tae is clearly part of the LGBTQ community.

#taehyung #taekook #kim taehyung #bts #celine #celine fashion show

[obeyfeline]

Hi, just wanted to say I have really enjoyed reading your book (got it for Christmas, finished it this afternoon). My girlfriend (now wife) and I used to visit Paris fairly regularly between 2002 - after my parents moved there - and 2008/9, when our children were born. Usually I didn’t get much further than buying every issue of Monsieur magazine I came across (I still have some standing on a bookshelf) and roaming around the Madelios department store for the odd shirt or belt. Bespoke clothing was and remains way out of my reach, but I remember walking past Arnys after a visit to the Grande Épicerie, and admiring the displays behind those large shop windows (a grey suit? some gloves? a pocket knife?) and that strange light-coloured interior. Your description of it matches what it felt like to stand there and peek inside. Of course I never did have the nerve to enter, same goes for Dimitri Gomez at C&J or Berluti and Cifonelli on rue Marbeuf. Going into Charvet to browse ties and look at dressing gowns or pyjamas alongside other tourists was much easier, I even worked up the courage once to ask if I could see that famous room with the bolts of shirting cloth. My girlfriend and I were taken up in that little old elevator, I don’t even know how long we were there and what we said to each other or to the shop assistant who accompanied us, I was so nervous. But I have a blurred snapshot in my mind of wooden tables in long rows that we walked between, with bolts of colourful cotton on and under them and all around us along the walls. That place was special and reading your book made me remember it. I walked out the shop having bought a RTW shirt a size too big, still dazed I guess, a beautiful silk tie in a woven pattern of gold, bronze and sky blue, and some of their knotted cufflinks. I still have all of those, may have tried to make that shirt work for me once or twice but now it just hangs in my closet, yes wasted and fetishised 🙂 but I know I would have regretted selling it or anything like that. All of this just to say that I’m glad you wrote your book, and to have some confirmation beside my wife’s look of understanding when we talk about that time, that yes, we did catch a glimpse of something rare and beautiful back then. So thank you.

Thank you so much! It means a lot to hear from a reader, especially one who’s expressed himself so thoughtfully. I really appreciate your sharing these memories!

[obeyfeline]

Badly composed shot of a #Lanvin tie of a certain age, a kind gift from a friend, on my old furry #Gelot fedora which yeah I wore today making me a #fedoraguy. “Well actually,” as we’re wont to say, if you want to learn more about all this or educate your friends by the dozen, my book, Swan Songs: Souvenirs of Paris Elegance, has the definitive story of the definitive makers of French elegance, from #ASulkaandCompany, #ArnysParis, #Charvet, #Berluti to #CampsdeLuca and many others, and a little guide for remaining sources of original and elegant things at the back. It is available at the link in my bio, or signed in physical form at only two places on this turbulent and warming planet: @ChatoLufsen, 41, rue de Verneuil, Paris 7, or @NomanWalksAlone in NYC. #swansongsrjdm #madeinfrance #menswear #chapelier #hatmaker #hatter #steez https://www.instagram.com/p/ClUoTa8L47W/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#lanvin #gelot #fedoraguy #asulkaandcompany #arnysparis #charvet #berluti #campsdeluca #swansongsrjdm #madeinfrance #menswear #chapelier #hatmaker #hatter #steez

[lovefrenchisbetter]

Berluti

#berluti #patina #shoes #ss18 #runway #Haider Ackermann #haider ackerman #old berluti #berluti by haider ackerman #minimalist #minimalism #clean #pfw #parisian style #Parisian #parisian vibe #parisian mood #parisian homme

[dandyshoecare]

𝕍𝕖𝕣𝕪 𝕚𝕞𝕡𝕠𝕣𝕥𝕒𝕟𝕥 𝕟𝕖𝕨𝕤 Every year the most beautiful shoes in the world arrive in my atelier and today I have a great announcement! If you own shoes created by the best shoemakers that for some reasons you want to sell, from today you have a great opportunity. I can publish photos of your jewels on my profiles and put you in contact with thousands of the best shoes connoisseurs in the world. From today selling and buying the most beautiful shoes has never been so easy! Write to me now and please remember to share this great new with all your friends!!! #bestseller #bestshoes#wheretobuytheshoes#dandyshoecare #scarpeinvendita#veryimportant

#Dandy Shoe Care #news #how to sale your old shoes #best service #important news #style #dapper #John Lobb #Berluti #Edward Green #Alden #crockett and jones #Yuketen #Santoni #Brioni #george cleverley #Corthay #G&G

[lilmartinimami]

literally my ideal guy is hot young mogul on the Forbes 30 under 30 who’s charismatic and cultured and funny who I meet at the bar of our 5-star hotel in a booming, fast paced business hub city

#like this is my ULTIMATE GOAL #preferably Singapore bc u know #he'd be so hot and business in his $12000 berluti suits #and we'd talk about art and politics while drinking 40 year old whiskey #and we'd have really insane sex #he'd be so cool and classy and sophisticated but a little wild #also he'd probably be a Scorpio bc history suggests I only fucking fall for scorpios #and we'd get married and raise 2 mini moguls #and yeah it's 4:19am and this is my ultimate dream #yup #dream

[nomanwalksalone]

BOOK REVIEW: SIMON CROMPTON’S BESPOKE STYLE

by Réginald-Jérôme de Mans

Simon Crompton’s Bespoke Style is a shout from another period into the void that has been this past year. For the past decade, Crompton has been an infuriatingly disarming voice of intelligence and reason describing his various orders and experiences with makers of custom (and otherwise spousally unpardonably expensive) clothing and accessories. His latest book hit my quarantine bookshelf like a temporally retconned souvenir of Crisis on Infinite Earths, a link to a time that seems from a remote and recalibrated universe.

In that universe, Bespoke Style offered readers the chance to see Crompton make himself the pleasant, bearded and tattooed guinea pig for 25 of the best. Sadistic boarding school masters would be disappointed to learn that said best were not birch switches but some of the most prominent tailors in the world, whose styles, cuts, finishing, prices and proportions Crompton compares as closely as possible in the pages of Bespoke Style. And that’s it.

It’s a concept so simple it’s rather genius, as well as seemingly pointless: in each chapter the author poses in similar garments (generally a single-breasted two-piece suit or jacket and trousers) from each of the 25 houses, describes their styles and cuts and contrasts those with their neighbors’ or competitors’, and provides the same set of measurements for each tailor’s work so that the reader can get a sense of how each house differs from the others and what makes them stand out.

As the book was sponsored by cloth house Vitale Barberis Canonico, the Anderson & Sheppard haberdashery and shoemaker Edward Green, Crompton accessorizes each pose with A&S accessories and nice Green shoes. A particular splayed-leg shot modeling his Anderson & Sheppard clothes through a turned-around open-back chair is perhaps the book’s raciest. Cromton notes that almost all of the garments he wears were ordered in the house style, something clearly on display in his Huntsman jacket, a tweed whose huge check could even have deafened the jacket Roger Moore wears in The Man With The Golden Gun.

Simplicity presumes various absolute. :Here, such presumptions include that the tailors profiled are indeed the best, most prominent or most likely to be of interest to Crompton’s readers; that each house has a consistent style; and that each house will maintain its level of quality. The nature of a book like this, all about comparing details, invites quibbles attacking such presumptions. Out of the 25 tailors profiled, only two (Camps de Luca and Cifonelli) are French, while the book has two separate sections for Italian tailors. No Smalto or Florian Sirven at Berluti, for example. Some of the cutters (scrupulously listed in each chapter) who made the garments Crompton models have retired or move on, causing real changes to house styles or quality at certain prominent tailors who would prefer we continue presuming their perennity.

But this is a book that is the mirror image of quibbles: exhaustive details for the pulling apart, snapshots already fading of past moments. For this simple book captures a tension: it profiles famous tailors at a particular moment in order to memorialize their details and differences, even as many of those houses, and the custom tailoring tradition itself, are being undermined by skyrocketing rents and retail prices (prices are easily double, or more, the full prices I was paying at some of the same houses a decade or so ago), by the retirement or departure of knowledgeable and experienced staff, and all the pressures that mean that a skill that required years of patient, difficult practice and training is now exercised competently by, as well as only available to, a dwindling few who must still believe that what they are making or getting is more than just the Emperor’s New Clothes… even if more and more companies, even some of the most famous, sometimes try to get clients to accept less than what they ordered…

So whether or not the houses that Bespoke Style compares will remain, in some pocket universe, so even if it outlives its practical goal of providing aspirational punters a way of comparing and deciding on what tailors they would use… in their castles in the sky.. it is and will ever more become an interesting artifact, a time capsule like the books Alan Flusser used to write that told men where to find custom tailors (and British clothes) in cities all over the world. Our time-warped, isolated universe, each of us encased in our own Phantom Zone, can already find this book an interesting curiosity. Should time ever move linearly again, whether or not some Monitor realigns the various incarnations of the multiverse so that we actually travel and wear suits, this book will become a reference for sartorial archaeologists the way that old issues of Apparel Arts did, the closest thing to some sort of record of how names that were once meaningful supposedly looked, draped, fit… once upon another time.

#rjman #reginaldjeromedemans #features

[jjbakaloskaiagathos]

Hopefully by the time I work up the courage to send this you'll still be accepting them ;u; Could I please get a lookbook for Mohammed Avdol and my oc Kazeko? She's a children's book author and practised hamon user, so even though she's got a bit of a baby face she's older than she looks and a little old fashioned. She's the gentle and soft hearted type.

Hello @kazekothestrange! Thank you for your request and that you shared your personal oc! 🦊 It was really exciting to match the outfits and we hope that you will like it! (We also added one headcanon which is connected with Avdol, do you mind?)✨

- Love, K&S ❤️

JJBA Lookbook: Mohammed Avdol 🔥

The first look:

Berluti autumn//winter 2017-18 men

Avdol wore the first look when he went to France. Avdol and Polnareff walked along the crowded streets and it was a funny meeting!

The second look:

Neil Barett spring//summer 2017 men

Avdol put on the second outfit when he saw Stardust company. All of them looked perfectly but guys complimented stylish Avdol’s jacket.

The third look:

Berluti autumn//winter 2017-18 men

Avdol chose the third look when Joseph asked him to go to the USA. This coat really suited him!

JJBA Lookbook: Kazeko 📙

The second look:

Chanel autumn//winter 2013-14

Kazeko wore the first outfit when she met with Avdol. Now it is her favourite look because it associates with the soft man’s glance.

The second look:

Chanel autumn//winter 2013-14

The second outfit was inspired by the great Hamon Master Lisa Lisa. It’s an honor for Kazeko to put it on.

The third look:

Chanel autumn//winter 2013-14

Kazeko chooses the third look to read her books to the children. All of them notice Kazeko’s beauty.

#jojo bizarre adventure #jojo no kimyou na bouken #jojo no kimyō na bōken #jjba #jojo part 3 #stardust crusaders #mohammed avdol #mohammed #avdol #jjba lookbook

[tblpress]

The day before James Spader won an Emmy for his portrayal of Alan Shore, the morally dubious lawyer on “The Practice,” the actor was at the Franklin D. Murphy Sculpture Garden at UCLA, admiring the statues -- especially the female forms. “Look at the beautiful curve of her back, right at the base of her spine,” he said, noticing a dancer at the top of Robert Graham’s “Dance Columns.” “It’s the most perfect curve in nature.” Then Spader felt a breeze and started ambling in the other direction. “I just want to walk into it,” he explained. “Oh, my God, that is nice.”

The sculpture garden, a favorite hideaway of Spader’s, brought out in him a charming mix of formality and earthiness. When Gaston Lachaise’s bronze powerhouse “Standing Woman” caught his eye, the memories rushed out. “My sons, when they were growing up, always enjoyed her rather ample” -- here he used a word not proper for this newspaper but that means “derriere” -- “and her rather ample breasts,” he said. The boys, Sebastian, now 15, and Ellijah, 12, would come here with their scooters. “So you come around,” Spader explained, “and lo and behold, you have that beautiful” -- that word again -- “over there. You can hardly resist scootering by and giving her a poke. She has nice calves too. She’s ample everywhere. She’s spectacular.”

James Spader, network TV star: To anyone familiar with the 44-year-old actor and his work, it sounds almost absurd. With the outre air of highbrow naughtiness and deep but slightly distracted intelligence he’s been known for since his 1989 big-screen breakthrough in “sex, lies, and videotape,” Spader could hardly have cooked up a more improbable career move. And yet starting tonight on “Boston Legal,” the new David E. Kelley show spun off from “The Practice,” TV viewers will get a weekly taste of the actor who has specialized in finding an endearing human side to wealthy school bullies, creepy cocaine dealers and sensuous sadomasochists.

Spader headed toward a section of the UCLA campus blanketed by California sycamores that he and his sons, he said, often climb and swing from. “See that?” he asked, pushing a branch down. “This is a perfect perching spot. I’d do it more aggressively, but there’s people around and it makes them nervous.”

Making people nervous is, of course, a Spader trademark.

“When we first went to the network about James, they shrieked in horror,” Kelley said. “James Spader is not a network face. They didn’t think he was the kind of persona American audiences would want to welcome into the living room on a weekly basis. But once we began to focus on him, he was the only choice. What James does so well is there’s a nucleus to this character that is humane and decent. He manages to let that nucleus shine through even when he’s committing egregious, contemptible acts. You don’t know if you like him or not, but you can’t wait to see him next.”

Kelley hired Spader to play the brilliant agitator whose dirty ways forced the firm of Young, Frutt and Berluti on “The Practice” to close its doors last year, after ABC slashed the show’s budget, forcing Kelley to fire half his cast. Spader, whose most recent television appearance had been a guest spot on “Seinfeld” in 1997, was supposed to play Alan Shore only long enough to shake things up.

“The goal in the beginning was to bring new life to the show, and the luxury we had as storytellers was that we didn’t have to protect the character for the sake of a long series run,” Kelley said. “You can only do so many things with a character that are overtly unlikable and still keep him redeeming and a character that people want to tune into and cheer for. Since we didn’t have that burden, we could swing away with him.”

The high-end firm of Crane, Poole and Schmidt might prove a better fit for Shore, who will be surrounded by other conniving legal eagles, including William Shatner as his boss, Denny Crane, and colleagues played by a cast including Rhona Mitra, Lake Bell, Monica Potter and Mark Valley. Alan Shore, Kelley promised, will “defy this law firm as he defies the conventions of regular characters on television.”

“When we watch James, there’s a lot of unknown complicated stuff in his mind, but we don’t know what that stuff is,” said Steve Shainberg, who directed Spader in “Secretary” (2002). “There’s something very unusual about him we can’t put our finger on, but that makes it more intriguing and exciting -- God help us.”

Yet for all the unpredictability that comes across on screen, Spader’s “Boston Legal” co-stars described him as meticulous, exact and particular on set.

“He’s always looking for the truth of the moment, and he gets fidgety when it’s not there,” said Shatner, who won a guest actor Emmy for his portrayal of Crane on “The Practice.” “He becomes as recalcitrant as a donkey until he can find the right way to deliver a line. He never says a word that doesn’t seem to come from the organic character. That’s because James himself is a little weird. But we love him for it.”

The Un-Brat Pack career

Two days after Spader nabbed the top acting award for a drama series, beating out television heavy hitters James Gandolfini, Martin Sheen, Kiefer Sutherland and Anthony LaPaglia, he was on the “Boston Legal” set at Raleigh Studios in Manhattan Beach. Three episodes of the show were being shot simultaneously, and he had found no time yet to contemplate his win. The Emmy, he said, was tucked away in a corner full of boxes as Spader, who recently separated from his wife, Victoria, waited to move into a new house.

“I was surprised at how quickly I lost the feeling of stunned confusion and ignorant bliss and how quickly it turned into work and pragmatism,” Spader said. “The award doesn’t mean anything to me -- and I don’t mean that in a derogatory sense. I just haven’t had time to go there yet. Even when my older son called to congratulate me, we moved rather swiftly on to the subject of an upcoming concert” -- the Pixies at the Greek Theatre -- “and the best way to score tickets, which is a much more constructive conversation for us.”

Like other actors who started taking shape in the ‘80s, Spader could easily have cultivated a Brat Pack aura. Instead, he went for a more original brand of alienation, playing seemingly WASPY characters with a devious air and an anti-WASPY erotic charge to them. The roles he took in movies such as “White Palace” (1990), “The Music of Chance” (1993), “Stargate” (1994) and “Crash” (1996) didn’t always hit big but always set him apart -- none more so than “Secretary,” in which Spader played E. Edward Grey, a lawyer who draws his self-mutilating young secretary into a joyful S&M; relationship.

“James is very formal and specific and respectful,” said Maggie Gyllenhaal, his costar. “I remember when we shot a five-page scene in which Mr. Grey asks me not to cut myself anymore, James noticed and responded to everything I did: every breath I took, every shift of my gaze, every movement of my hand. His work is very specific.”

And that, according to Camryn Manheim, who starred on “The Practice” for eight years, can be intimidating. “After you saw ‘Secretary,’ wouldn’t you be scared to go on a date with him?” Manheim said, laughing.

“I was scared of him,” she added. “He’s weird and strange and eccentric, and I mean a lot of that in the very best way. He plays all of these sexually charged characters. He looks at you too hard, like he’s got your number. But behind all of that, he’s a very simple man who is very thoughtful and insightful about the world and humanity.”

Confronted with the praise of his colleagues, Spader took a deep breath and looked skeptical. “Maybe this thing they are describing is just obsessive-compulsive. It just seems to be what the job is, to just try and get the right intention of whatever ... you’re saying. Who is to say if whether what you end up tumbling toward is the right place when you’re standing on your feet in the middle of it? I’ve had a lot of fun acting, and that’s been the only reason to continue doing it.”

Spader, who dropped out of the 11th grade to pursue acting in New York, attributes his interest in acting to the love of storytelling he inherited from his family. The son of teachers Todd and Jean Spader, the actor grew up with two sisters on the campus of Phillips Academy, a fancy Massachusetts prep school. “My father was an English teacher and he taught literature and poetry, and my parents would read aloud and my grandparents read aloud,” Spader said. “My grandfather would write stories and we would make up little plays to read and perform during the holidays. There was always a tremendous amount of humor in all the households I spent time in.”

But there were other reasons for wanting to become an actor. “I started doing theater when I started thinking of nothing but girls,” he said. “I can’t imagine that the two don’t relate. I don’t mean to be glib. In sports and in many other areas, girls and boys are separated. But in theater, you’re all mixed in together. How can it get any better than that?”

Being an actor, for Spader, has never been about celebrity. The press tent for interviews with winners at the Emmys came as a surprise and an “indignity,” he said jokingly. When someone at the Governors Ball on Emmy night remarked how rare it is that Spader has succeeded at being famous and simultaneously living a private life, the actor was incredulous.

“I don’t try to be mysterious,” Spader explained later. “I just protect my private life very carefully. I don’t go out a great deal. To see and be seen I could care less about. I don’t go to see movies at big premieres. If I go out, I go to a quiet place for a meal or I might go to listen to live music with a whole lot of people who are more interested in listening to the music than who is sitting next to them at the show.”

His new TV world

Spader may be on his way to television stardom, but he has never followed a television show from beginning to end -- the way he hopes viewers of “Boston Legal” will.

“That’s something I had no concept of,” Spader said. “Working on the show, I was experiencing the same anticipation for what was going to happen from week to week as the people who were watching it. When you do a film, you know what is going to happen to your character from start to finish. I knew very little about Alan Shore at the end of last season, and I still don’t. I like that constant shift because what I like the most about all of this is the telling of the story.”

What he likes the least is the fuss. He refused to hire a stylist for Emmy night, picking out his tuxedo and shoes himself. He did not prepare a speech. When his name was announced, Spader charmed the crowd by complimenting the women in the room: “You’ve all made wonderful choices in shoes and dresses tonight, and you all look absolutely beautiful.”

“I realized I was going to have to put together some sentences quickly and I wasn’t going to be yet another person to make a music joke,” Spader said. “It worked so well when the gentleman from ‘Arrested Development’ made the singing reference, but I knew that that couldn’t be used again, and certainly not by me. I really don’t have any idea what ... I was saying. Certainly, during the course of the four hours that I was there I had spent enough time admiring women’s shoes and dresses and how well they filled them.”

But as offhand as he may be about that trophy, it’s fitting somehow that Spader will be in the rare position of starting his new gig already having won an Emmy for the role. To his surprise as much as anyone’s, the TV gods have smiled on him. “Does anybody have any illusions about the fact that the Emmys come at the beginning of the television season? The timing seems precise to me,” he said. “And I think it’s grand.”

#james spader #interview #2004 #james spader quote #la times #boston legal #the practice #alan shore #james spader press #link #article

[imddzha]

Burberry Rejuvenation

In March 2018, Burberry welcomed Riccardo Tisci, their new Chief creative officer.  Half a year later, this Italian designer brought a new logo and TB monogram to this 162-year-old British beauty. Burberry rejuvenated.

Granny chic and reduced design had been trendy since 2015. Luxury brands including YSL, Balenciaga, Berluti, and Calvin Klein all abandoned their Complex logo to embrace the future: Young Trendsetters, who care more about self-recognition.

For almost two decades, Burberry equalizes Royal, Classy, and of course the Burberry Check. The 2019 "KINGDOM" fashion show represented the diversity of Burberry: Gothic, Punk, Rebel, Formal and Elegant. And they are 100% Burberry. The show was a great success and the transformation lead to a 4% increase in global comparable-store revenue.

Actually, before the join of Riccardo Tisci, Burberry had started the strategic transformation in creativity, marketing, digitalizing, and distribution channels. The source of this transformation is the reflection on the stagnant sales performance and the tolerance for diversity.

#2020mitsloanbrandingb

[crispyimagines17]

“GOSSIP GIRL: Summertime Madness“ (Chapter 2).

Summary: Gossip Girl, your one and only social media source into the scandalous lives of Manhattan’s Elite. Things begin to stagger at the Upper East Side with the return of Alana Howarth and the unexpected arrival of Timothée Chalamet, a European handsome boy and rising ruler who has come for Alana; ignoring that NYC already has an heir and prince in its realm, Tom Holland. Secrets, romance, drama and lots of champagne are our daily bread. You know you love me, XOXO.

Originally based on: R’s & CrispyImagines writers’ idea.

Written by:  @crispyimagines17

CAST:

Tom Holland

Timothée Chalamet

Noah Centineo as Noah Humphrey

Kiernan Shipka as Kiernan Archibald

Disclaimer:  This fiction is set on our days (2019). Gossip Girl is now all over social media, Twitter and Instagram being the best sites to find hot tea. Also, for those who may ask what happens with Serena, Blair, Chuck, Dan, Nate and the original cast, they’re now grownups who set the reign and have left it for new generations.

Author’s Note: Just enjoy it while it lasts, guys. Thank you to all those supportive souls who sent their good vibes via ask or DM <3 especially to Napofthesoul, your words really meant a lot, sweetie. 

Previous Chapters: 1: “New York, New York”

Masterpost

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Morning, Upper East Siders. Time to wake up from bad dreams and face a new day. Though, if you’re a queen just arriving at your realm after time abroad and with two royals fighting for you, looks like things could get uglier in the morning.

Her eyelids hesitated to open at the touch of sunrays coming from a window. Her body was paying off yesterday’s red wine glasses. But she didn’t regret it after thinking about the dramatic performance at the terrace. If anything could’ve calmed her late nerves to see the two men in the same city, and much worse in the same place, that was wine.

“Oh shit”

Alana exhaled loudly as she sat up on the bed at a slow pace for not worsen her nausea. Her hand stretched out to reach her phone. The clock read 10 a.m. It was a miracle her mother hadn’t sent Mishka, her maid and Dorota’s nephew, to her bedroom yet.

But as if thinking of her called her up, Mrs. Howarth and Mishka opened the door seconds later.  

“Oh Alana, I almost forgot you were here.”

“Thank you for that, mother.” She rolled her eyes.

Margot eyed from head to toe at her messy daughter for a second before taking her attention back to her smartphone.  

“Dress up. We’re running late for the Holland’s annual golf match”

“Mother. I am not going.”

In a single move, Alana stood up from bed to face her mother with a frown. But the cold woman cut her off.

“You are. End of discussion.”

“I agreed to attend your last night’s party. But this is much more”

Her vibrant blue eyes stared straight into her daughter’s as she kept her phone inside her purse.

“You wanted to be back, don’t you? And your grandma’s Charity Foundation would not rise again if you refuse to attend events and show your deep interest on getting more investors.” Margot made a brief pause, but nothing came out of Alana’s mouth. She smirked at her silence. “I’ll be on the limo. Hurry up”

The Howarth girl did as told unwillingly, not before unlocking her phonescreen; one lost call and 4 messages from Timothée. Nothing from Tom. Alana pursed her lips. Maybe her long-time friend understood the message and made peace.

Or at least that’s what she hoped.

* * * * * * 

The sun shined bright and clear. A perfect Saturday morning for those lucky souls with no strings and ready to live. Veuve Clicquot Garden looked just as she remembered. It felt so Upper East Side. It smelt like money.

As soon as a waiter approached her, she asked him for a glass of wine. It might be 11:00 a.m., but Breakfast at Tiffany’s with orange juice wasn’t a possibility.

“Oh Alana, my dear.”

“Mrs. O’Brien!”

An elegant grandmother with certainly more class than the British Queen herself stared at her and pulled her into an embrace. The woman who, as her godmother Blair Waldorf, had thought her everything she needed to know about life and this sick elite society.

“My darling, you look wonderful!”

“And you look younger, if I may say so.” Alana exclaimed with a joyful smile over her face.

“Oh, enough” She giggled. “So, what have you been up to, Lana?”

“Europe, recently. But I’m back now. What about you?”

“South Sudan. There’s a terrible situation happening for children there.” The old woman briefly fixed her eyes in the ground with a sad expression. “But of course, the Holland’s believe things can get managed with Golf Match so, shall we?”

Both approached the lunch table to pick some fruit and Alana stayed in silence for a couple seconds until Lilian O’Brien spoke again.

“Christ, I used to enjoy these events very much.”

“Now you don’t?”, Alana frowned as she followed her inside the white tent.

“I still do, dear. What changed was that I don’t only care for my social status anymore, I care about others too.”

Alana seemed to be deeply digesting her words as she nodded. But her analysis was interrupted by a curly mass of hair stepping into the garden followed by the Bass family; Chuck and Blair.

“May you excuse me?”

“Go, Lana. Go”, the old woman nodded gently in a soft attempt to encourage the young girl.

“Was truly a pleasure, Mrs. O’Brien”

Until that very instance, Alana hadn’t paid attention to the music playing in the background because her ears were used to Frank Sinatra’s voice. But when Timothée’s eyes met hers, Etta James’ voice invaded her and suddenly, the scene looked taken from a romantic comedy film.

‘This gotta be a fucking joke’, Alana whispered to herself.

Meanwhile, the European man wearing the latest Berluti’s white design walked towards her. Perhaps aware of the song’s effect, because his steps seemed to be perfectly synchronized with the tune.

“Morning, sunshine.” Timothée said with the same charming smile that made her knees weak.

As soon as he stood before her, Alana thought they’d be dancing or passionately kissing as in an Audrey Hepburn’s films. But they didn’t. A helicopter landing sound interrupted the magic moment, bringing both souls back to reality. Etta James’ voice had faded giving way to Nina Simone’s strong classy style.  

‘Am I in Broadway?’

The It-girl frowned sarcastically at the coincidence. The helicopter’s door opened, and Dominic Holland greeted with one hand before helping his wife to step on ground.  

“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the Hollands.”

Claps showered the iconic family. Tom was the last to step down. And for Alana’s surprise, his eyes fixed on hers for a millisecond until he turned his head at the crowd welcoming him. Although she tried not to, a part inside her kind of broke when he looked away this time.

But Timothée noticed it; she had blinked twice and finished the glass of wine in one gulp right after Tom joined his family for the magazine picture.

And Chalamet only scowled at his adversary with pursed lips as he posed for the cameras. 

* * * * *

The golf match had begun with the Holland boys playing the first holes. Tom won every single one of them. He was good at this; polo and golf were his favorite sports.

Alana and Timothée were sitting along the Bass. At first, they sat there because of Blair, but then she learned that Timothée had followed her because of Chuck. Although Chuck Bass wasn’t anything else than just her godmother’s husband, it shocked her the fact that Timothée had never told her he was related to him.

And she wondered why he’d hide it.

“Well, it’s Chuck’s turn to smack golf’s yard”

Blair Waldorf said with that elegant smile of hers as Bass moved the chair to let his wife stood up. She picked her purse and looked at her goddaughter.

“Your godfather Nate is coming, dear. Tell him to wait for us.”

“Sure, Aunt Blair.” Alana nodded forcing a smile.

Alone in the table, the two millionaire youngsters shared a brief moment of awkward silence filled only by the crowd sound and murmurs of polite laughs in near tables.

Timothée doubted on say something but his heart couldn’t bear her strange behavior, making him sip his drink and swallow hard.

“Are you okay, Alana?”, he inquired in a more worried tone than he’d liked.

The Howarth girl frowned nonchalantly as she brought a vegetarian pressed Italian little sandwich into her mouth and chewed on it carefree before answering.

“I am. Perfectly. Just wondering when were you going to tell me you’re a Chalamet-Bass?” She asked still in a nonchalant mode as if talking about the weather, without facing him. “He’s the real reason you’re here, isn’t it?”

He turned his torso and laid his arm over his chair’s back to completely look at her.

“He’s not, they invited me. And I knew you’d be here.”

His voice was softer this time. Alana kept sitting straight as she glanced the garden, whatever but his eyes.

“When you messaged me last night asking to see me and talk, I never expected you’d go for my godmother’s help.”

“Even she can tell why I am in New York.”

“Bass Industries is a good reason.”

Timothée leaned just a few inches closer to her.

“I didn’t mention him because we said ‘the past is in the past’”

Alana shut her eyes in contained frustration for a second before turning her head to meet his eyes.

“But he’s not past. He’s present!”

“So is Tom Holland.” He said in the same calmed velvety tone as before.

Her whole face went pale with the mere mention of his name and her lips parted yet speechless.

“He told me everything at yesterday’s party”, Timothée continued.

Neither of them uttered a word for a few seconds. The sound of applauses and shouts of celebration for the winner echoed from behind.

Alana’s weak expression was replaced by a serious one. She looked away and grabbed her purse.

“Then we’re even.”

“It’s not that”, Chalamet began to elaborate but she cut him off right after standing up from her seat.

“You know? I really wanted this thing between us worked out”

And she walked away of the white tent in that elegant way of hers, praying that he wouldn’t follow her.

But he did, meeting her just halfway to the lavatories. Again, they were face to face. His eyes were almost watery, and the desperation now reflected over his persona.

“What you wanted me to do if not come here? Can you imagine how I felt? You left 2 days after graduation!”

Her eyes almost went watery too at the sound of his broken voice seeking for answers. Though, she swallowed the lump in her throat and crossed her arms over her chest with pursed lips.

“And so, what?”

“Never really got a chance to talk things out”

“We’ve got nothing to say, Timothée.” She responded forcing a smile with pain in her tone as a tear fell down her cheek. “You were always out in parties to ‘find producers’ for your director’s debut in film business”

“When you learned about my crazy past and reputation, I told you I was about to leave it for my Art… And for you”

“And you did?”

“I tried.” Timothée looked away, smoothing his hair back with one hand in an attempt to hold tears inside before locking eyes with Alana again. “But…”

Though, as soon as she heard the same word that had begun past fights between them, Alana exhaled loudly and showed a tired expression.

“Sure, Chalamet. Now please, stop. Let’s be friends and that’s it. Carpe Diem.”

“Don’t come me with the Carpe Diem thing. I’m here because…”

“Timothée, please. We tried a couple of times, and all went to trash. Just…”

But she added no more. Instead, her body turned to follow her heels somewhere far from there.

Timothée sighed as he let her go this time, not being aware that a pair of brown eyes were glued on him with rage injected on them.

****

Tom had won against Chuck Bass. Everyone cheered and congratulated his victory, even some old men in their 60s patted his shoulder after uttering “great match” with a satisfied smile.

In his way to join his family at the white tent, he recognized Alana’s figure walking in the middle of the garden and then being stopped by a man in white suit. Tom had to narrow his eyes to confirm the identity of who his mind already knew; Timothée Chalamet.

He tightened his jaw when he saw Alana leaving the scene with a shadow of pain on her very feature and got to restrain his desire to hit that black wavy head.  

****

Spotted at Veuve Clicquot Garden: Tom Holland lifting a golf club to hit not a ball but a curly head. Current Match Play; Timothée 1 - Tom 0

****

Alana touched-up her eyeliner with a powder shadow and used the corner of the makeup sponge to remove any evidence of the smeared eyeliner made by her late watery eyes. She stared at herself in the mirror as she took a deep encouraging breath. She hated the fact she got to ran into the toilettes and hide there from Timothée. ‘What a child I am’.

The Howarth girl took one last glance at the mirror before opening the door back to the garden.

She hadn’t walked three steps when her chest crashed against someone’s back.

“Sorry, am…”, Alana began to apology.

The young man turned around to face her and a genuine smile crossed his face when he recognized her.

“Lana?”

“Harry?”, she smiled too.

Harry Holland, one of the Tom’s brother twins she used to babysit in the building when their parents were away.

They immediately pulled each other into an embrace.

“God! Good to see you”

“Me too. Look how handsome you look”, she eyed him from head to toe.

“And you, pretty as always”, Harry imitated her.

“Where’s Sam?”, Alana’s eyes looked for the other twin behind Harry’s back.

“Probably eating every dessert available”, he giggled. “Come join us”

****

The table Harry leaded her to was filled with the Holland family and her parents, the Howarth.

Just seconds before Alana took a seat, Chuck and Blair appeared. And while he was excusing for leaving early, Blair approached to Alana close enough for her to hear her warning;

“Drama’s not over, A. Just don’t explode here, darling. For your own sake.”

The elegant couple left. Alana showed a polite smile and nodded, not sure what her godmother referred with ‘drama’. Though, she found out a second later when Margot Howarth, her mother, placed her hand on top of Alana’s over the table.

“Alana, here you’re. We were just talking about you”

Indeed, everyone’s eyes were glued on her with big smiles drawn across their faces. Even the twins and little Patrick were happy.

“Europe must’ve been exciting”, Elizabeth Holland, Tom’s mother, said interlacing her fingers over the table as she genuinely smiled.

“It was great, of course.” Alana answered as she grabbed the glass of wine the waiter offered her.

“We’re glad you’re back, dear.” Elizabeth looked at her husband, Dominic, who nodded graciously.

Mrs. Holland was truly happy for her return because she couldn’t stop smiling. She had always appreciated her.

Margot sighed, imitating everyone’s smiles but with a hint of pride in it because was her daughter the main subject, just as she always loved her to be.

“Can you believe? Harry and Sam’s Cotillion is this Friday as your cousin Cass’”, she said raising her eyebrows as if surprised.

Tom arrived, being welcomed with more cheering from his brothers. He took a seat as far from Alana as possible, which was just two seats difference; Patrick and Sam were in between.

“Remember when Alana and Tom went together to Cotillion?”, Elizabeth added with a nostalgic sigh.

“Time flies isn’t it?”, Margot did the same.

“I know… Just think about it. In a blink of an eye, our sons will be getting married”, Mrs. Howarth gathered her hands as in an applause while raising her eyebrows thus drawing a ‘cannot wait’ expression in her feature.

Dominic Holland, who had been chatting along Marcus Howarth about today’s golf match, joined the conversation.

“Alana would be perfect to wear the family ring”

He patted her wife’s hand joyfully. Margot, Elizabeth and Dominic glanced at them with a satisfied smile given, perhaps, by the picture created in their imagination of a perfect wedding.    

“Oh she will.” Margot stated. “They’ve been friends since childhood”

This was what Blair warned her about. Tom and Alana uncomfortably sipped two or maybe three times their drinks as if a mirror stood between them. She wished her wine was scotch, while he wished his brandy was vodka.

A heavy environment settled between Tom and Alana’s bodies right after their parents celebrated their fantasy. Even Patrick felt a little weird being‘third wheels’ in this situation.

Harry noticed it too. And the twins made everything in their hands to change the subject back into the next season’s event, suggesting a polo match.

Alana only recognized gross sounds of what was discussed next. Her eyes were blank, realizing that her return wouldn’t be as easy as she thought it’d be. The Holland’s comment made her think of her latest nightmare; her life could change so fast if she married Tom. She’d basically sign herself up for the same traditional life she ran away from; she’d become a socialite woman caught up in the system.

So, the It-girl fumbled her phone out of her Cartier purse and dialed a number she knew by heart. Her thumbs moved fast over the keyboard and clicked the ‘send’ icon.

*****

Start buying those dancing shoes, kids. Looks like we’ll be going to the chapel soon.

****

Hours later, New York City lights announced the beginning of nocturnal life affairs. The city that never sleeps. And less if you’re in the Upper East Side.

After Timothée received Alana’s text, he arranged a reservation for what he saw as a special occasion at Le Bernadin, one of the top six most exclusive restaurants in New York.

Alana arrived there on time in an elegant blue dress. He was already waiting for her at the table and helped her seat by holding back the chair like a true gentleman.

“Thought we’d go somewhere more… private”, her eyes traveled around the place.

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. Le Bernadin is excellent”, she slightly frowned.

“Not that. I mean, sorry for today’s”, he cleared his throat and showed her an apological smile.

“I’m sorry too. I was maybe a little too harsh with you about the… Chuck thing”

“But you were right about the hiding thing.” He started in such an honest tone that it sent chills down Alana’s back, freezing her on her seat. “I don’t wanna hide anything from you, Lana. That day before our graduation when we broke up and you told me I never committed to our relationship; I couldn’t sleep trying to see it from your perspective. And you were right. After our lovely summer when road tripping all around Western Europe, I pretended to forget my reputation and begin from scratch when it was clear that could never happen. Then parties came and we split for a month because you weren’t used to that part of me. Art class joined us again, you were my date for several parties more and it seemed to work out this time. I just don’t know where it went wrong…”

Timothée stopped to take a deep breath and calm himself, cause up to this moment his tone had changed revealing the true desperation behind his words.

“That’s why I’m here.”

Alana was perplexed. She never imagined herself in that situation with him; at least not outside her dreams. On the contrary, she prayed not to see him ever again, convincing herself that her decision to leave Europe would make things easier for both. Yet he had found his way back to her quite earlier than expected.

Now she sipped her drink to brush away the lump in her throat when the sudden memory of their fights, the nights alone, and their breakup flooded her mind.  

“You left me no choice.” She looked away and sighed as she tried to hold the tears inside. “Remember one of our first talks when I told you about how it made me sick all the socialite stuff and its hypocrisy? Well, I was so happy you weren’t so involved in that sick game… New York seemed just a far bad dream.”

The mere memory of a hopeful time made her so nostalgic, that her brain got to remind her to take a deep breath. She turned to face him.

“But when your parties began, I said ‘let’s give it a chance’, though something inside didn’t feel good. Even when that wasn’t the socialite, yet there was a similar sensation with my past. And when our Netflix and cuddle nights became YOUR party nights as soon as some old buddies of yours arrived at your flat, leaving me there ALONE… I just couldn’t handle it no more. I wasn’t ready to deal this new thing.”

Tears flooded her eyes inevitably. And she couldn’t help herself on a few tears from sliding down her cheek. Timothée’s heart ached by watching her in that state. A state he promised he’d never be the cause of, yet he was.

He approached her slowly, sitting at the chair right next to her.

“We could’ve sorted it out together”, Timothée whispered as he cupped her face in his hands and wiped away the tears running down her cheek with his thumb.

“You weren’t there. Your friends needed you.” She avoided any eye contact for her own sake.

“Nothing, listen to me, nothing is more important for me than you.”  

Their watery eyes finally met.

“I’m scared. I just don’t…”

But before she could finish her sentence, Timothée passed his hand around her neck and pulled her into a kiss. Her blood ran cold at first but then she succumbed to the moment.

Once they pulled away, both stared deep at each other for an instance before he showed a glint of mixed hope and shyness.

“I’m scared too. I’ve never felt this way for anybody. Didn’t even believe it was possible but seems like Hollywood doesn’t exaggerate.”

“Timothée…”

“I want to try again, please”

“There are no third chances”

“For me, Alana. Do it for me, for us. If you still have feelings for me, even the weakest one, give me a chance, and I’ll prove to you that we aren’t supposed to be apart.”

“I don’t know… How”

“Me neither but we can take a leap of faith, together.”

“A little faith, trust and pixie dust”

Alana giggled and Timothée joined her. The atmosphere between them slightly changed and both hearts felt less heavy. She bit her lip and gave him a slight nod.

“Okay”, she nodded.

“Okay?”

Relief washed over Timothée’s aura, drawing a big smile across his face. One of true happiness.

“We’ll take it slow”, Alana continued as she got contagious with the hopeful ambience between them.

“At our own pace.” Timothée added.

“And won’t let our past get in the way.”

“Promise. I’ve left all behind.”

He stated. And everything seemed as if taken away from a fairy tale the couple had written themselves, making her forget that such a thing cannot be at the Upper East Side.

****

The moment Nate Archibald’s daughter stepped into the Howarth’s penthouse as she had done countless times back in the days, Mishka knew something was going on.  

Kiernan Archibald was Alana’s best friend ever since kindergarten, and she never arrived without a reason.  

It took no time before the girls gathered at Alana’s room, and ate macarons with champagne.  

“You know? When I saw you the day you came back, I almost faint.”

Kiernan had her legs crossed in the air and her abdomen over the bed as she ate another macaron with a smirk.

“Yeah, if it weren’t for Mishka you would’ve hit your head very bad”, Alana giggled while resting her head over her pillow, also on bed.

“Thank heaven I didn’t”, Kiernan joined her giggles and incorporated herself to see her friend better. “Now, tell me about your dinner with that European king.”

“Well, you’re updated with the whole situation”, Alana exhaled loudly as the yesterday scenes came to her mind. “Tom and Timothée already met and my mother is dreaming of her daughter being a Howarth-Holland”

Her friend made an “upps” face as she sipped her champagne glass and bit a strawberry.

“The thing is we decided to give us a new chance.” Alana continued with a hopeful grin drawn across her face.

“Timothée and you?”, Kiernan raised her eyebrows.

“We said we’ll take it slow but-”

Before the Howarth girl could explain, the Archibald heiress cut her off while locking eyes into her friend’s.

“Hey, you like him. If you feel good with him and your gut’s telling you to go for it then go for it”, her hands emphasized her words by opening both as if showing her the answer to her question.

“That’s the matter, Kiki. My gut is out of service or something”

“Wait what?”

Alana took a deep breath, though she knew it was almost impossible to avoid Kiernan’s inquisitive look.

“Listen, what I feel about Timothée is very special. He’s so damn charming and smart and funny. He’s very observant and caring.”

“But?”

“But… That night at my welcoming party when I saw Tom, something inside me kind of winced. And when he spoke to me… Uggh, it sent shivers down my spine”

Kiernan was open-mouthed, processing the situation.

“Oh Lana, you’re in such a trouble.”

Seconds later, she raised her glass at Alana for an impromptu toast in honor of whatever thing came. After both finished the last champagne drop, Kiki added;

“Just give it time. The answer will come to you, A.”  

****

Have you been so busy that you’ve forgotten what time of year it is? Couture, quadrilles and cutthroat competition. That’s right. It’s time for Cotillion. 

****

Cotillion was a just as Alana remembered. If not better, but she doubted that. She got to admit, when she was Queen the rules were fancier.

Harry and Sam Holland walked towards her as soon as they saw her coming inside.

“Hey, Lana”, the twins said at the same time.

“Guys, look how handsome you’re!”, she smiled as her eyebrows raised in surprise.  

“Hugo Boss himself said that too”, Harry added and chuckled.

“So, you’re escoting my cousin Cassandra huh?”

“Yeah”, Harry blushed at the sound of her name.

“Take care of her, Harry. And yourself! The Howarths are not easy girls.”

She patted his shoulder, wishing him good luck.

“That’s a fact”, Harry nodded but went pale as soon as he realized she was a Howarth too.

Sam opened his eyes and glanced at his brother with a “bro, wtf” look. He just screwed it up.

“Well, enjoy your night guys”, Alana blinked and forced a smile before walking somewhere else.

Despite her efforts, she couldn’t help the nostalgia vibe that surrounded her; looking at the prep-school girls excited and nervous for their presentation, the boys wearing tuxedos and trying their best against the current king. Everything reminded her the Cotillion she and Tom attended to; they had been the best couple ever since the legendary Blair and Nate or even the unexpected Jenny and Nate one.

At first, she expected the nostalgia would fade away when her brain noticed this wasn’t her Cotillion. But the more she walked around the place, the more it seemed like time had never passed. Every face around her was a face she was familiar with. And she got a weird feeling that they weren’t because of Cotillion but for her; to see with their own eyeballs she was back in New York.

Kiernan was the bell that saved her from getting an anxiety attack.  

“Ugh, people always sticking their noses where don’t belong”, the Archibald heiress said as if she had read Alana’s mind.

“Did it say on Gossip Girl that I’d be here?”, Alana inquired with a tired expression.

“Uhm, nope. But it did say about Cotillion and cutthroat competition. You know she likes pun, A.”

“What about that clean slate? She should leave me alone”

“New York missed you”, Kiernan shrugged. “No sign of T.H?”

“Not yet and praying to keep that way.” Alana said in a serious and a hint of worried tone.

Both friends were about to sit when something in the crowd caught their attention. Every young soul there began muttering and pulling their phones out.

“What’s going on?”, Kiernan wondered.

The answer appeared just after her words. There were they; Tom Holland accompanied with Serena van der Woodsen and Dan Humphrey’s son, Noah Humphrey.  

Every single phone camera pointed at them.

*******

Spotted: An elite family reunion. Don’t you love Cotillion surprises?

******

Noah Humphrey immediately recognized his friends and walked towards them.

“Look who’s in town!”, he shouted opening his arms.

“Gosh, Noah!”, Alana smiled as both pulled each other into a tight embrace.  

Meanwhile, Kiernan and Tom saluted each other by their last names. “Archibald”, “Holland”. She didn’t like him after what happened with her friend, and he just imitated her attitude. Though, Alana’s best friend sacrificed herself and put her dislike apart to take him as far as possible from the Howarth girl.

“Holland, why don’t you tell me where’s Sam? He’ll be escorting my sister Nicole”, Kiernan hold him from his arm forcing him to follow her.

“Sure, he is. Noah?”, Tom locked eyes briefly with Alana and looked at his best friend.

“I’ll stay here.” Noah nodded.

When their bodies disappeared in the crowd, Noah turned back to face her.

“So… Europe, huh?”, Noah giggled. “Was quite a bomb when you left.”

“I know! Everyone keeps telling me about it”, Alana responded aiming to be sarcastic but instead sounding irritated. “Sorry. It’s just so… overwhelming”

“That’s the UEA… And that guy at the airport didn’t help you with the gossip either”

“What do you mean?”, she narrowed her eyes.

“Well, his presence made your return the big hit wondering who he is? Or what is he doing here?”, he looked at her with inquisitive eyes, almost as powerful as Kiernan’s.

“None of their business.” Alana pursed her lips.

“Seriously, Lana. Do we have to care about him?”

“Wha- No! Clean slate, remember? It’s not like the old times.”

“The good old times”, Noah chuckled by the memory of countless party nights. “So, he won’t be here long?”

“Noah, where’s this coming from?”, Alana frowned and crossed her arms over her chest.

“From a caring friend.”

He said that truly, but she didn’t see it the same way.

“Oh tell that to someone who knows you less than I do, Humphrey.” She scoffed. “If this is one of Tom’s strategy then I don’t care”

No answer came out of Noah’s mouth. Alana rolled her eyes.

“I’ll go for a drink”, she stated walking away from a friend for the second time in that night.

*****

Once at the bar table with a drink in hand, Alana smoothed her hair back with one hand while letting out a frustrated sigh.

“What does a beautiful woman like you alone?”, a voice asked her seductively from her back.

“Timothée, you came”, she turned to see him standing in an elegant black suite.

“Of course, sweetie. As soon as I read your text, I rushed here.”

“Thanks, wanna join me on preparing my cousin?”

“Sure.” He followed her through an aisle. “What’s this Cotillion stuff?”

“Oh, well is like a social presentation party. It was supposed to be symbolic, but girls take it very very seriously. A battle for power.” She raised her eyebrows ironically. “Cass is not quite the Queen, but my mother forced me to be her mentor”

At the end of the aisle, a door leaded to an elegant room with teen girls in expensive dresses and makeup covering every inch of their bodies waited for the moment.

When Alana entered, every teenager gasped and made way for her to walk comfortably. She frowned at their reaction that back in the days would’ve been completely normal for her. Two seconds later, she found her cousin.

“Cass, you’re perfect!”, Alana complimented her.

Cassandra Howarth was three years younger; therefore, three years less experienced and more pretentious.

“C’mon you don’t believe it”, she got her arms over her hips and not noticed the young man standing behind Alana.

“Harry Holland is your escort, and you’re a Howarth. It’ll be enough for these people.”

Cass stared at her outfit in the mirror and took a deep breath.

“You’re right. The odds are on my favor, you’re my mentee, Blair Waldorf was your mentee… I’ll be fine”, saying this more to herself than for Alana.

A bell announced the Elite Women presentation ceremony was about to begin. The teenagers rushed to the door.

“Good luck”, Alana waved a goodbye.

Timothée and her stood near the stage as a good mentor would do.

The rest of the iconic elite group were seated near the bar, waiting for the show to end. Tom was quite edgy, like a caged tiger deciding whether to eat the iron bars and scape or stay in captivity. Kiernan sipped her mojito, and while she did, she saw through the glass how he made up his mind as he clicked once something on his phone and then kept it in his jacket pocket.

Alana saw that too, though turned her gaze at the stage and swallowed hard.

The Archibald heiress narrowed her eyes suspiciously; she didn't like his attitude one bit. But before she’d approach him, another event caught her attention.

Different ringtones echoed at the same time and every young witness grabbed their phones out to check the notification.

It was Gossip Girl.

Did anyone notice something strange when Alana returned? No paparazzi. Apparently, Europe wasn’t aware of who you are, A. But don’t worry, an anonymous soul has proper manners and sent some details about her big little adventures. Please, shall we enjoy the reading? Cause Gossip Girl goes Europe.

First things first. It was true she ran away from that indecent kiss with our King Tom… But our Queen found a new King in those tiding European lands.

Timothée Chalamet, ladies and gentlemen. If Carlo Magno had a successor, that’s definitely Timothée.

He showed her his Empire, and found love while they did. Just look at these wonderful FRANCE and CARIBBEAN magazine covers.

But then, uh oh. Is that Matty Healy and Alana on MUSIC ICON cover? 

Looks like our Queen just expanded her horizons with flying colours. Monte Carlo and Mallorca are her new capitols.

And the party won’t start ‘till New York walks in.  

“Fuck…”, Kiernan muttered under her breath as she looked for Alana’s whereabouts.

But, it took no effort to find her; cause people around her had moved aside, forming a circle with Timothée and her as the center.

Alana was puzzled. It was until Timothée handed her his phone with the Gossip Girl’s latest tweet that she understood what was going on.

For an instance, the whole world fell over her chest impeding her to breath. She stared at Timothée with eyes wide open and a shadow of confusion casted on her very feature as Gossip Girl’s last words resonated in the back of her head.

And that’s when her inner voice reawakened. She clenched her jaw, swallowed the venom she just received and holded Timothée’s hand, walking away from that circle.

Perhaps Alana Howarth returned days ago, but the Queen had just woken up. The bitch Queen was back.

Kiernan recognized that glint in her eyes when she reached her friend halfway from the door. And Noah knew it too. Even Tom knew it.

“We’re leaving, see you K”, Alana brushed past her as the valet boy opened the door for the couple.

Timothée followed her from behind, still holding her hand. He was shocked by her brusque change.

Kiernan just nodded.

And, although Cotillion representatives tried to dissipate the atmosphere, Alana left more open-mouthed witnesses than those in Valentine’s Day.

****

Outside, the show continued.

“That’s fucking it”, Alana shouted with anger cracking her voice. She fumbled her phone out her purse and dialed a number. “Geof, meet me at the front door in 2 minutes please”

“I brought my car”, Timothée interrupted.

“Forget it, go home.” She added before hung up.

The valet boy drove Timothée’s Jaguar and the couple got inside. As soon as they were there, he exhaled loudly and fixed his eyes on her.

“So…”, he started. But received no answer.

Silence reigned in the car for a couple of blocks, when a semaphore made them stop. Alana stared at him with a playful grin across her face.

“You know baby? There’s no need to take it slow. Just…”

But before she added something else, she wrapped her hands around his neck and crashed her lips against his; pulling him closer to deepen the kiss.

“Are you sure?”, Timothée asked in a soft voice.

Both lovers wrapped their hands and stared straight into each other’s eyes.

“More than ever”, she smirked.

Timothée pulled her in for a second kiss but it was brief this time.

A satisfied smile spread across his face and Alana raised her head as only Queens know when a solemn phrase is about to be said.

“If you can't beat them… Join them”

*****

A, you left America a star. But after your exploits in Europe you’ve come back a supernova. And yet nothing explodes without a fuse. I wonder what —or who— lit yours. Perhaps we all know the handsome answer to that.  Just careful with the fire, kids. You might get burned.

You know you love me, XOXO

Gossip Girl.

---------------------

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