In the Nineties a three-piece band from Seattle unwittingly created a cultural shift that ensured grunge would be one of the most enduring phenomena of the decade. This September marks twenty years since the release of Nirvana’s seminal album Nevermind. To celebrate The Loading Bay Gallery are hosting and exhibition of the bands work. A hoody worn by Kurt Cobain, tour posters and other memorabilia, it’s all about Teen Spirit and a mark of the ongoing influence Nirvana has with their fans old and new.

Bloom: The Nirvana Nevermind Exhibition is at The Loading Bay Gallery, Brick Lane until 22 September 2011.

Tags: Bloom: The Nirvana Nevermind Exhibition, Brick Lane, Grunge, Kurt Cobain, Nevermind, Nineties, Nirvana, The Loading Bay

Few fashion designers are as uncompromising as Yohji Yamamoto. Guided by strict aesthetic principles, the Japanese radical has spent 30 years perfecting his dark, androgynous style. As he says in a new 30 minute documentary to be released this autumn,  “I’m not interested in fashion…I’m just interested in how to cut the clothing.”

Staunchly private, for a few short months in 2009, Yamamoto let the cameras observe his Y-3 Spring/Summer 2010 collection taking shape, from initial design through to show styling and PR.  With measured gravitas, Yohji Yamamoto: This is My Dream is a portrait of a grand master, whose musings on fashion, creativity and life have fuelled a global empire. Watch and learn.

Yohji Yamamoto: This is My Dream will be released on DVD in September AW11 and is available from Y-3 stores.
thisismydreamthefilm.com

Tags: This is my dream, Y-3, Yohji Yamamoto

This spring isn’t for cleaning. Granta have launched their new issue and it’s all about women wielding pens, not dusters. For The F Word, the magazine has enlisted a posse of female writers to share their thoughts and imaginations on the nature of feminism now and way back when.

From Rachel Cusk on divorce to A.S Byatt on academia in the Sixties and Seventies, it’s clear that while there have been some almighty leaps, there remain some distinct bounds. Jeanette Winterson holds a mirror up to contemporary romance, while Clarisse d’Arcimoles’s photo essay Un-Possible Retour is a lemon-sweet study of girlhood from adult-memory. With stories emerging from Ghana to Great Britain The F Word is alive with love, sex and house-hold chores, but in a post-feminist world the role of women is far from clean-cut.

granta.com

Tags: A.S. Byatt, Clarisse d'Arcimoles, Ghana, Granta, Jeanette Winterson, Rachel Cusk, The F Word

But in twenty-five years she’ll be silver
In fifty, gold
A living doll, everywhere you look.
It can sew, it can cook,
It can talk, talk, talk.
– Sylvia Plath, The Applicant

By Felicity Shaw

Tags: Felicity Shaw, Sylvia Plath, The Applicant

“The thought police would get him just the same. He had committed–would have committed, even if he had never set pen to paper–the essential crime that contained all others in itself. Thoughtcrime, they called it. Thoughtcrime was not a thing that could be concealed forever. You might dodge successfully for a while, even for years, but sooner or later they were bound to get you.”
George Orwell, 1984.

By Felicity Shaw

Tags: Felicity Shaw, George Orwell

“Words! Mere words! How terrible they were! How clear, and vivid, and cruel! One could not escape from them. And yet what a subtle magic there was in them! … Mere words! Was there anything so real as words?”
-Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Grey.

By Felicity Shaw

Tags: Felicity Shaw, Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Grey

Darlings. I’ve abandoned you. But there is a reason for this, quite a sensible one, I’m sure you’ll agree. I decided that to fully live up to my moniker of Ms Shelebridee I had to start acting more like one. I was inspired. And it’s all Mariah Carey’s fault.

I realised that to be a real star I must stop – absolutely stop – actually doing anything at all. Just like her. I wanted an entourage. Entourage equals power, and that, darlings, is something that’s been severely lacking in Ms Shelebridee’s life for a while now. I wanted to be my own very mini-Mariah, right here in my own little corner of West London.

But it didn’t work. It was the tooth-brushing that did it.

I had recruited Gay Boy Number One as my assistant in this noble aim. Ms Shelebridee couldn’t quite afford any new staff, but luckily he thought this would be fantastic fun. So he carried me down the stairs at The Cow in Notting Hill which got us a few raised eyebrows, and he spoke on my behalf during a shopping trip down Sloane Street, while insisting no-one actually look me in the eye. GBNO even guided me around Waitrose and carried all my shopping home, but when I broached the subject of tooth-brushing, the Tiffany rattle was thrown out of the designer buggy.

No matter how much I stamped my feet and tossed my professionally blow-dried hair GBNO refused to brush my teeth for me. Even after I told him that Mariah Carey probably had her teeth brushed, he wouldn’t budge. While he said he’d brush Mariah’s teeth – mine, apparently, aren’t quite the same thing.

Truly, truly hurt I was. I even managed to ruin my new blow-dry. GBNO and I haven’t rowed like that since I said the Sticky and Sweet tour was boring. But true stardom is dependent on such frivolity. If he wouldn’t brush my teeth then the whole noble project had to be sent straight to the recycling bin. Mariah just wouldn’t approve if we tried to do this by halves. Sigh. Maybe in my next life I can develop a true entourage, without having to put up with Gay Boy Number One’s petulance. And if thinks he’s going to be my plus one to the Strictly Final, he’s got another thing coming.

Tags: mariah carey, ms shelebridee, teeth

My life is so completely and utterly unfair. I am supposed to lead this life of blatant excess, big hair and good shoes and yet I am reduced to sitting here – on my sofa by myself on a weekend night – seething. There is no better word for it. Seething because, try as I might, I cannot tear myself away. I am an addict. I want to switch off and go out; show off the new, subtle Botox injections I had last week but nothing works. Nothing.

It is mesmerising. There can be no doubt about that. The drama, the fever pitch of expectation, the knife-edge of excitement. And when it happens – when I see it in all its robust glory – I get a rush. My breathing is shallow and my heart races. I can’t help it.

I’m supposed to be working my way through a list of books that will hopefully make me sound more intelligent at social gatherings, but I cannot wrench myself away from this. I’m even turning down invites, which may be a crass admission, and no-one really turns down a good invite even though they might pretend to. Dinner at Scott’s, a little private launch for a new member’s bar in Chelsea and some art gallery thing were all discarded just so I could satiate the horror of this pure, unadulterated addiction.

And now the withdrawal symptoms start. I start wondering and contemplating, my mind a tormented mass of tangled possibilities. I want to know what will happen next. Not even going through the magazines during my weekly pedicure was enough. I’m counting the days, the hours, the minutes….

I just can’t get enough of the glossiness of it. The way it bounces.

I actually think I would kill to have Cheryl Cole’s hair.

I can’t believe there’s a whole television show built up around it. Well, she is worth it.

Tags: cheryl cole, ms shelebridee

Turns out that it was’t actually, well, you know, it.

More a case of, This Isn’t It but here’s a little something to keep them all in a glove-brandishing, tear-stained collective catharsis for just that little bit longer. But of course, ‘It’ is for the fans and that gives us all licence to speak entirely in vapid cliche for, like, ever.

Those of us fortunate enough to have been invited to the premiere weren’t just given the usual run-of-the-mill chance to get all spangled up to watch a movie; no, we were there to offer support. Now this, I’m sure you will agree, is infinitely more promising.

And challenging. It’s saying something by dressing up and turning up. A whole new perspective. So totally my kind of night.

And you can imagine the conundrum. For us. Showing Support. I mean, the smile-to-pout ratio had to be seriously calculated beforehand. But what to wear? Now that really is it, so to speak.

I think I just about managed to get the balance right. I had a few throw-back eighties touches to a largely black-on-black outfit. The dress said demure, not wanting too much attention on myself, while highlighting my frankly fantastic breasts. While I did smile I think I also managed to pull off thoughtful and maybe even hints of sadness, but not too sad.

I need the fans to know I appreciate, I really do, the chance to publicly show support.

They looked so happy. The fans. Delirious. Like we were all part of something. Together. It was almost emotional. See what I mean about the vapid cliche? It’s impossible to entirely throw off its cashmere-padded shackles.

What’s that? What did I think of the film? Oh I didn’t stick around for that.

Tags: film, MJ, ms shelebridee