Thursday, May 3, 2012

Blacklog Feature: Old Boys Club by Yasmine Ganley


All photos by Yasmine Ganley

Times are changing and the essence of something being made by hand is returning as a preferred means of consumerism. It's back to basics; hands on the fabrics, the muscle behind the pull and the fingers to control the patternmaking. The idea that an item has been handled and cared for individually has an air of romance surrounding it.

Having studied and practiced shoemaking in Melbourne, Julia Thompson has since been treading her own successful grounds. Her most recent venture sees her designing both men's and women's footwear  for one of New Zealand's biggest fashion brands, Zambesi. Her aesthetic is simple; clean lines, mostly black with longevity at the forefront of her designs. Each pair is handmade on traditional 'old school' shoemaking machinery, carefully crafted by the country's finest shoemakers.

Read on as Thompson tells us in her own words about the creation of her very own, self made 'OLD BOYS CLUB':
I’ve been told that I have an old soul, so I guess it’s kind of fitting that I’ve created an ‘old boys club’ of shoemakers. First I met Ray, then Bruce who introduced me to Tony, who put me in touch with Paul, and then there is Steve, Les, Dave and finally Eugene.


Ray: I met Ray in Melbourne; he was my tutor at RMIT where I studied shoemaking by hand. He’s not really part of the club these days, but I’d call him an honorary member. He was a great tutor, total hard case and pretty willing to let me experiment and do things a little differently from the curriculum. My time in Melbourne gave me a really solid foundation, I learnt the whole process of making a shoe completely by hand from scratch and it has proven to be invaluable. I experienced first hand just how complex shoemaking really is.


Bruce: He's another classic Aussie—we had some good yarns old Bruce and I, mainly taking the mickey out of each other’s respective homeland. He is a last maker, one of the oldest in Australia, still full of passion for the craft. We met when I ventured out to his factory to look at some second-hand lasts he had for sale. He could see my passion for shoes and when I described my desire to make shoes back in New Zealand he was very encouraging and pointed me in the right direction. Since then we've collaborated on a few projects. I consider Bruce a founding member.


Tony: When I got back to New Zealand I cold-called Tony, Bruce had given me his number and assured me he could help. Full of ideas, and with blind ambition, Tony helped me get the integral club together, joining the dots so to speak. We work together every season now; he’s my bottom stock guy.
Tony is good fun, always trying to accommodate my ideas and wants. His typical reaction is to roll his eyes and say “designers”, we always crack up, but he always strives to find a solution to my designs. I love rolling down to his warehouse and scouring the aisles of materials in search of the perfect component or the right combination of materials. When the job is done, and his delivery arrives; the best thing is opening the boxes to see the 'MADE IN NZ' stamp on the bottom of every sole. It makes me proud that Zambesi's shoes are made here.


Paul: (aka Clark Kent) Really help me set the wheels in motion (thanks to Tony’s introduction). Paul is my Executive Director, the founding member that I'd be lost without. At times when people said it couldn’t be done, it's too difficult, or too costly, Paul was backing my vision—ready to go and keen to
build something up again. Some of my favorite times when producing shoes, are the afternoons spent in Paul’s garage. Solid Gold cranking on the Radio the sound of compressed air and the smell of glue the shoes come together. I’ve spent hours in that garage, watching, learning, clicking and boxing the shoes up. I get this amazing sense of accomplishment when I drive home with a car full of beautiful shoes, straight from the craftsmen's hands.


Les: Another fun chap, he is always good value and we always have some sort of running joke. He has been ranking my “frequent flyer” miles ever since we started doing business together… I think I’m up around silver these days. Les could almost be considered the secretary, purely because of his record
keeping, on our frequent flyer competition. Les embosses all the insoles with our Zambesi stamp, and he too has been with us from the onset.


Eugene: He is a recent addition to the club, but I feel he really completes the gang. And he’s probably the most hard case of them all. Super talented and super knowledgeable he has such passion for the craft. I feel like I get 'schooled' every time I work with him. He can be a hard task master, tough, but fun and not afraid to say 'how it is'. He will pick up my patterns…”no, it’s wrong, do it again” then go to rip them up, but he never does, he just laughs; “I almost had ya!” with a wink in his eye. Rolling into Eugene's operation is like being sucked into a vortex, greeted by Iron Maiden (one of Eugene’s workers rocks an Iron Maiden t-shirt under his apron) and Sally, Eugene’s closer. (Her name isn’t actually Sally, and he calls me Jenny… all part of the role you play when you walk through the door) it’s where ANY idea is possible and his knowledge can make it happen. In the short time we have worked together I have learnt and improved so much. Mainly with my patternmaking, but I have also practiced my craft, hand-making prototypes under his masterful eye. Eugene says he is going to write a book one day, and for my sake, I hope he does!


With the decline of the shoe manufacturing industry in New Zealand over the years, I feel lucky to have met and established this 'old boys club’; every member is as passionate and excited about making shoes as I am. And the best part of it is that we always find a way - Yes! we can make that, it can be done. All of our beautiful Zambesi clothes are made here in New Zealand, our shoes are too, and these days that is a pretty mean feat, I reckon.


Written by Julia Thompson and Yasmine Ganley. Photos by Yasmine Ganley. Thanks to Noah Butcher.

Fashion Friday: Double Denim Delights

Sometimes at work we have 'themes'. Well I come up with a theme and then insist that everyone complies. Yesterday afternoon after tossing and turning between 'get flirty with skirty' - or 'double denim' we decided that denim was the way to go.

Here I am, in my husband's chambray shirt, dark denim jeans - who could ever deny the delight that comes from double denim?!

I walk into work, round the corner to my desk, and lo and behold no one else is wearing double denim. They went for a single shot of denim. I'm double-shot, piccolo-mocha-frappuccino whole-heartedly embraced it.

Well hmph!

I feel just like Alex P. Keaton today.

Spin Cycle



A couple of months ago I did a spin class with one of my friends. 


It was at the very height of my exercise binge, and I couldn't wait to hit the pedals and cycle my gluteus maximus into greatness. 


We went after work, got changed with the heady scent of sweat and fitness lingering in the changerooms, and headed into the spin room. 


The walls were painted in black, with neon lighting - remember that from blue light discos? So the lint on my lycra was illuminated. I ain't no Cadel Evans, sisters. 


It was when the instructor came up to me, and commenced adjusting my seat, and then told me that if I couldn't keep up, I should just keep riding, but don't stop, I started to feel the first pangs of fear. 


Then the lights were dimmed and the music (bad music) was cranked up and the disco lights came on. Then I got really worried.


Nevertheless, I forged ahead. I was a warrior. I was like Lance Armstrong meets Fame. 


We started riding. And riding. And riding. After a long period the instructor told us that the warm up was over. There I was thinking the class must be finished. Enough of the pedals. And enough of the damn bike seat. 


The class went on for forty five arduous minutes. The most arduous thing, besides cranking up the dial on the bike, was the bike seat. Cruel beast that it was. 


Why does no one ever talk about that discomfort? 
I felt like John Wayne after a three week horseride. That bike seat bites.


I got home, inspected my property and vowed to never return to spin. 
And I haven't. 


After consulting the interwebz, it turns out us ladies can inflict a lot of damage on our lady parts due to a fraction too much friction from those no-good bike seats. 


The next day the gals at work asked how the class went. I told them it was more painful than childbirth. You know when the baby crowns. Yes. That bit.


I'm not going to beat around the bush. No. I'm talking about what lies beneath the bush. That bike seat hurt. And I'm never going back. Ever. 


Why didn't anyone ever tell me about the cruel beast that is the bike seat? You and me, we need to talk. 


(This article on SMH brought these memories back, bubbling to the surface. That cruel wench of a bike seat.)


image via Somewhere in Seoul

Tuesday, May 1, 2012

Kate Sylvester/Black Magazine Competition!

Photo: Karen Inderbitzen-Waller
We're teaming with our good friends at Kate Sylvester to run a competition throughout May here on Blacklog and on the Black Magazine Facebook page. The competition is open to Kate Sylvester fans anywhere in the world, and can be redeemed either through the Kate Sylvester online store, or, if you live near a Kate Sylvester store in NZ or Australia by taking the winning voucher in.

Competition details: 


  • Send in a picture of yourself wearing your favourite Kate Sylvester piece, and go in to win a NZ$1000 Kate Sylvester wardrobe!  Black Fashion Editor, Rachael Churchward will choose the winner and we will publish the shot on both Blacklog and our Facebook page.



  • Simply email your pictures - no more than 2MB in size - to streetstyle@katesylvester.com by Friday 1st June 2012, the winner will be announced via the email the image was sent in on.


*Image may be published on the Kate Sylvester blog, Facebook page and Black Magazine’s blog and Facebook page. Please include your full name when you submit your photo. Winner will be announced during the week commencing 4th June 2012. Image must be no bigger than 2MB and no smaller than 300KB and supplied as a Jpeg. Kate Sylvester wardrobe cannot be exchanged for cash or credit or used on sale items. Wardrobe will be issued as a voucher to spend at Kate Sylvester stores or at the Kate Sylvester online store.   

Haere Mai Gorman!


Iconic Australian designer Lisa Gorman opened her first New Zealand store recently on Nuffield Street in Newmarket. The poppy-chic label has been wholesaled here for some time but opening a New Zealand store is further indication, following on from the likes of Sass & Bide, that Australian designers are increasingly valuing the New Zealand market as an entirely viable option. Gorman is very much an Australian success story. She launched the label in 1999 in Melbourne's Fat52 boutique and in 13 years has grown the brand to a 16 store operation over the ditch. To celebrate her arrival and the AW 12 collection - inspired by adventurers and dreamers - photographer David K Shields teamed with Black fashion director Rachael Churchward and hair and make-up artist Michelle Hurliman to shoot Casey Lee at Red 11 looking decidedly Grace Kelly-ish in Gorman.

The 'Pants' Talk



Last week I took the Doctor into the dentist to have a filling. But we wont' talk about that right now.


What I want to write about is the fact that I had to have a firm 'pants' talk with Tiny.


My little friend Tiny does not like pants. Too tight. Too 'comfy'. Too too too - too pantish. Tiny doth protest the pant.


The day was long and the day was cold, so I advised Tiny to wear some leggings. In fact, she had some new polka dot leggings and oh my! They look so cute on her. Ridiculous how cute.


Tiny is an advocate for choosing her own outfits - ever since she was a wee babe. So I've come around to it, and mostly let her choose - except when it's inappropriate to weather or place. You can wear that sheer ballet skirt. But not to the supermarket. No one needs to see your knickers.


Sometimes I work out options for her - give her two pieces to choose from, then she's got some independence and feels like she's making that choice. And usually she'll comply. And then return to her bedroom while I am otherwise occupied, strip off and either emerge completely newd, or in another random outfit. Like when it was super chilly this week - she came out in a t-shirt and ballet skirt. Then went outside and told me she was cold - and quite literally turned purple. Funny that. 


So this day last week - she had a complete meltdown after getting dressed. And I felt cranky and fed up with the tussle. The constant tussle. The hussle and bussle of the pants. 


She threw the biggest wobbly (or lobbly as she would say) for at least half an hour. Crying. Screaming. Fluctuating between inconsolable and completely angry with me. I forced her limbs into warm clothes - and she went on. We finally got into the car, and she sobbed throughout the short drive to the train station. We were about to catch our train when I stood in the street with her and pointed out that everyone was wearing pants. Or stockings. Or tights. It was pants-on Wednesday. It would have been a funny conversation to overhear. 


She detests the pants. 
I am pro-pants. 
She detests shoes - and always points out pictures where fairies are barefoot. 
I try and find pro-shoe fairies. It is a constant shift. 
Will she? Won't she? 


She's a funny little person that Tiny. I don't want to quash out her individuality - but I do want her to be warm. It's a quandary.
-------------------
Last night I crawled into bed downbeat and exhausted. Tiny awoke with vomit covering her bed, her pyjamas. Then cried. And cried. And I stripped the bed while Matt put her in the shower. Gastro is a wicked beast. 


PS  - Check out this ace piece I was included in. I didn't know until one of the other ace bloggers let me know. How cool! 

Wrinkles Are Better Than Plastic Surgery

Halleluljah! Monica Bellucci is preaching to the converted over here at Chez PottyMouthMama.

What was it I was banging on about, how almost refreshing it is to see women ageing gracefully a la Dame Judi Dench, Cate Blanchett et al.

I don't want to look at an inflated face that can't express. Not only is it immensely difficult to read facial expressions, but it looks like a fembot meets Stepford Wife.

Emote. Emote. Emote.

I've also been thinking about the message botox sends to our small people. That we value youth. And at any cost, we'll try to cling onto those last moments of youth, by injecting our face with a toxin. That ageing isn't valued in our society.

I'm out on a limb here. Botox for cosmetic use is age-ist. It says: I'm afraid of getting old. I don't want anyone to see me as old.

Ageing can be confronting. And it does sneak up on you. But you're never going to stop it. So you might have a puffy volumised face, but the rest of your body heads south all the same. Sorry, it didn't get the memo.


Read more here.


image via here