Real Men Have Mustaches

Peter Sarstedt's "Where Do You Go To My Lovely?" Great song - even better 'stache. And so very Dar Gazelle. If only I could inspire such poetry, or facial hair...

Private Trunk Show - December 12 in Berkeley

Please join us for a glass of champagne and an opportunity to check out some of the beautiful women's clothing and accessories I picked up on recent buying trips to Jaipur and Marrakech. Many of these items are one of a kind and are not available on our website. Unique items, each with a special story, make for perfect holiday presents - all at our special event prices.

Plus we will also be debuting our very first private label capsule collection: silk dresses with delicate beaded necklines, white cotton blouses with french grey embroidery and more.

And remember, shopping is always more fun with friends, so please feel to bring some along!

Sunday, December 12, 2010

1 p.m. to 5:30 p.m.

2400 Dowling Place, Number 7

Berkeley, California

Toujours Plus

My favorite movie is certainly not my favorite movie to watch. Truthfully, it is downright painful to sit through. (And yet, I have subjected many a third date to a viewing). The dialogue is clumsy and the acting is fantastically awkward. But the fashion! And the music! It's too good! The film is 'More' (1969) directed by Barbet Schroeder. It features Mimsy Farmer as an American gamine intent on self destruction. A hapless young German chap follows her to Ibiza where she gets him hooked on heroin (and her).


It's all simply too glamourous to bear: stunning cinematography showcasing the Ibiza of its Hippie-Trail heyday -well before it was taken over by ecstasy, foam parties and sunburnt British holiday makers, and a brilliant, chilled out soundtrack by Pink Floyd. Does it get any cooler? Truly. Though it's evident from the first few frames of the film that it's going to end like a gloomy Russian novel, I always feel deep pangs of regret for not having been alive in 1969. It is quite possibly my biggest life's regret thus far.

The One That Got Away

We met in the Fall of 2006 and it was love at first sight.  I knew we were destined to grow old in each other's arms.  We were inseparable, went on countless adventures together and kept each other warm during chilly nights in the Alps.  Truth be told, it was the most satisfying relationship I'd had in a long time.  And then, without warning, it was over.


You might know it as the "Jezebel" toggle coat from Trovata's "A Mountain Spelled M-U-R-D-E-R" collection, but to me it was perfection. Trovata Coat, did I leave you in a cab?  Did a wayward house guest abscond with you?  Wherever you are, are you happy?


There are some loves that can never be replaced.  I know, I've looked on eBay.

Have you seen this coat?

During happier times...

Shiny Happy People

I must admit, I am a bit of a magpie. While my day-to-day personal style seems to favor minimalism, I have never failed to be dazzled to distraction by shiny things. This was no exception on a recent buying expedition to Marrakech. My traveling companion had two responsibilities on this trip: 1) prevent random adolescent boys from groping this blonde American lass, and 2) prevent me from coming home with armfuls of sparkly treasures. To accomplish the latter, he had only to intone four magical words: “You’re better than that.” These are not words to utter lightly. In fact, he had been instructed to use this phrase only in the event of a true sequin emergency. As valiant as his efforts were, he failed on both accounts. I forever changed the lives of several twelve year old boys, and, I ended up taking home an amazing, bedazzled wonder: a Moroccan wedding blanket, or handira.

My mother, bless her heart, is neither a fan of change nor of hippie décor. She recently visited the Dar Gazelle offices only to find the behemoth white sofa that she often complained about covered in the handira. I could sense her disapproval and tried to explain that Jonathan Adler had achieved extremely chic results with wedding blankets at the Parker Hotel in Palm Springs. To no avail. She simply shook her head and said, “Molly. You’re better than that.”

What do you think? Is my mother right?