Take A Bow
I don't know where to start from. I was all hyped up about the article that I was going to write on Isabella Blow but I got lost in the layers of her sad yet magnificent story. She was a woman of great talent and a fantastic vision on fashion. She started off her career as the assistant of Anna Wintour at Vogue then after a few year's of experience in the states, she returned back to her roots in the UK where she spent years carving her way to the top. She got assigned the role of fashion editor for the Tatler.
The editor of Tatler, Geordie Greig, described her as a woman who always wanted to pull the rug out under the establishment because she was never satisfied with the cliche' and the dull; she had no limits when it came to the creativity. She spent 5000£ on the first collection of Alexandar Mcqueen, paying it off in small installments worth of 100£. She searched for talent like "a pig sniffing for truffles in the forest". Given her rebellious and stubborn character, it was no wonder when she convinced the italian Vogue to work with Sophie Dahl (whom she had discovered) although they were not sure about how her voluptous curves would look in a fashion photoshoot.
For the public that had no accurate idea of the turbulences going on with her state of mind, her life was of pure glamour and elegance but as each story has it ups and downs, she had her downs as well. She always fought insecurities about her physical appearance as well as some other psychological problems. Maybe for this very reason, she would always show up in the most extravagant hat wherever she was invited; she said a couple of times that those flamboyant hats were her alternative to plastic surgery.
She attempted suicide more than a couple of times, getting rescued each time and finding herself on the cold hospital sheets, complaining about not having swallowed enough of the pills to kill herself. She had severe changes in her moods; when she was in the mood, she would kill the taxi drivers with laughter, spelling out the street she lived on as: "Theed Street, that's T for tits, H for horny, E for erection..." And when she was down, she was down enough to make continuous but unsuccesful attempts to flee reality.
She was not wealthy, contrary to what the media thought; she always fought the fear of ending up as a bag-lady. She used to text to her close friends, finishing off the message with her nickname chosen by herself: "Miserabelle".
I recently watched the Alexandar Mcqueen 2009 collection with those highly eccentric but truly eerie hats made by Philip Treacy. Philip was one of the closest friends of Isabella; almost all of her hats were designed by him. A hat made of feathers which Isabella would later want to be buried with, was made by Philip especially for her.
All I could do was to write a small article in homage to her. Although I found out about her just recently, I definately don't plan on forgetting her anytime soon. In a few days of time in which I read about her life, she became one of my idols with the eccentric yet marvellous character she had.
Rest in peace, Isabella.
posted by Y. Gina Truth at
9:11 AM
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