J Hair, 54 Warren St, London

If you feel like you need me to explain why my hair looks like sushi rolls at one point, let me just tell you none of that was actually planned. I mean, I didn’t wake up with a massive hangover in a random salon chair receiving a haircut while missing a kidney, I just didn’t see the 3-hour PERM happening when I decided on a whim at stupid-o’clock the night before that I was going to hack my hair off. I’m pretty sure if you look up ‘whim’ in the dictionary there’s a picture of a girl with a bob-cut or a massive face tattoo, in fact there’s probably an illustration of me blissfully buying 20 bags of assorted peanuts in Tesco on a whim, and because they were on 2-for-1 sale. (Hubby and I are preparing a zombie apocalypse with our hoarding) I digress. I asked the lovely Mrs Jakki, the founder of J Hair, if she can make me look like that girl in the phone and when she said easy peasy I honestly expected a simple snip-snap 30-minute haircut. She then proceeded to slashing my ponytail in one move while I was distracted taking a call, and of course I looked up and peed a little. She tidied it around here and there, and when it started to take shape I started asking Kit what she wants to eat after this… until an evil-looking cart full of candy-coloured rollers were pulled out and next thing I know chemicals were being squirted on my head.
Three hours later, Kit and I both a little dead from looking at sushi-hair yet faraway from real food, the rolls were taken out and I peed again at the sight of taut little curls. (Yes, yes, lots of peeing) Jakki quickly went about explaining how she’d given me a digital-perm to give natural bounce to an otherwise flat hairstyle, and for the next few minutes saw her blow-dry out the ramen-noodles into exactly what I wanted in the first place. Except of course, I absolutely adored the curls once it stopped looking like wet seaweed. So there you have it, the rant behind my two-for-one haircut!

This is probably the reason why I insist on J Hair, not just because they obviously know how to handle heavy Asian hair, but it’s clear that they want customers to be happy past the first day out of that salon chair. Don’t get me wrong, Jakki did ask if I wanted a digital-perm and I said yes, she didn’t just sneaky-Korean-tiger-mum me into a perm, but clearly it was a great call on her behalf despite it not being the most convenient method and weeks after the cut I’m still making out with the hawt girl in the bathroom mirror.

Thank you Kit for enduring the longest hair-thing of our lives and snapping the process. Thank you J Hair for the wondertastic ‘do! 

Chanel Fall 2012 show, Grand Palais, Paris

The clear glass sand crunch under my feet and my head jolts down to see I’ve passed through the gates (of fashion security, that is) and stepped into the legendary show venue of Chanel. My eyes are drawn up to marvel at the majestic copper-green cage of the Grand Palais, then slide down along the watery purple gradient walls. At the floor a maze of mineral stalagmites create an ambience of hidden power and cryptic weakness; even the white-painted seats look like crystalline overgrowth. Fortress of Solitude? Perhaps, but the fervid show-goer traffic outside seems to disagree, surely Superman would’ve ensured it better hidden.  The stage slowly drains of organic writhing as the audience settle in their hand-labelled seats, and just before the music there is an eerie moment of calm.
The collection trickles out, jewel-encrusted eyebrows and slick ponytails bobbing atop rocky textures – bouclé and heavy wool coats, layered in the most ‘un-Chanel’ like manner (if such manner even exist anymore, as Karl systematically breaks all boundaries each season) one that rewrites Paris street fashion when it involves bare legs. Crystal encrusted sleeves finish a scratchy graphite bouclé jacket,  layered on petrol-slick gathered chiffon… and little boy bags, some painted to resemble guts of agate stones. The shoes too are super-natural, half boot-half mary janes, with transparent stalagmites for heels. Chanel is magic, that has been an undeniable fact since Coco herself sat at the mirrored steps on 31 Rue Cambon and orchestrated her collections, but to be present at a show has truly been a taste of the sorcery behind the designs and philosophy.

Thank you Sarah for being so accommodating even at such late notice.

Ezgi Kiramer (@ezgikiramer) of Turkey

I’m not dead, if you’re wondering, but thanks for the search party – clowns and helium balloons, nice touch! The orange juice tasted like dad’s liquor cabinet though, was it expired? I’m in Paris at the moment running after people that I’m still convinced are fictional and only exist in the likes of Jak & Jil and StreetFSN fairytales, but hey what do you know, when you scream TAYLOR I LOVE YOU!#% she will turn around and also autograph my chesticles with permanent marker. I’ll be right back with full turbo real soon, but in the meantime feel free to check out my streetstyle shots at Editer Tumblr and follow me following Nam around, on Twitter.