new denim

Ok, time for a new pair. You all know how I feel about denim. I've worn the boyfriend all summer and rediscovered my beloved floppy French Connection carpenter jeans. But now I need my new fix. It's autumn and after having sifted through all my old styles and edited out what had no business inside my wardrobe, I am at a serious loss for words and alternatives. I need new denim and here, in Locarno, there is none! How am I meant to operate under these conditions? "You exaggerate!" I hear you exclaim. I don't think so. I'm not asking for Anthropologie, I'm not asking for Topshop and I'm not even asking for The Gap, for goodness sake. All I want is a pair of cool jeans. Globus have dissappointed me profoundly (I won't even give you their link as they're just not worth it) - they're usually my only hope around here but alas, the buyer seems to have had a temporary bout of incompetence and ordered only weird Italian styles boasting about 17 details too many. My search continues. I shall let you know what happens, I know you're all dying to know.
The picture above is courtesy of the current J Brand advertising campaign. J Brand is my denim nirvana.

apron-time

                                  

As the nights draw in and the going back (or is it forward? I'll never get the hang of it I swear, it's just useless, why don't we abolish this custom, who's idea was it anyway? Answers please!) of the clocks looms, we're not out and about so much. Instead we're at home more and generally busying ourselves with indoor activities. Or at least that's what I've been doing. The heating's on and of an evening we're already very well established in our light-the-woodburner-routine. It's kind of nice and you don't feel so guilty for resembling a sloth, as the weather really doesn't entice us to any sort of outdoorsey activity. Heavily engrossed in all these homely thoughts and non-activities, while proudly wearing one of my many aprons (you don't want to know how many cakes I've baked in the last week!), I got to thinking about my kids and how much time, effort and most of all parental love goes into ensuring that theirs are perfect lives. While we are all "of course" individuals, making our mark and making a difference where possible, we all tend to flock together when it's about what we want for our children. We all want the same for them, don't we? Coming from divorced parents I tend to overcompensate for a lot when it comes to my children's wellbeing and happiness but I'm pretty sure that the majority of us parents just want our kids to be as unburdened as possible ie. carefree, happy, stable and most of all safe (incidentally I am pretty sure that both my own parents, divorced or not, still want exactly that for me too). So, with our two sons slowly growing into young men, I'm savouring baking them cakes, cooking them lunches and generally sitting with them during homework-time or telly-time and even just perching on their beds while they sleep (I am hopefully not the only mum that STILL does this). I am of course hoping that all this will stay with them forever and that when they look back at their childhood, they will have warm and happy memories flooding through their heads. At one stage during this thought process I actually asked myself how I would know that they are living a happy childhood now...? "Hi darling, so c'mon, out of 10, how d'you rate your family life?" A blank stare would have been all I deserved for such an irresponsible question, yet I was tempted, if only to give myself a laugh and a pat on the back for having a wicked sense of humour.

Well it won't last forever this childhood thing, and let's face it, after my recent revelation that Patsy Stone's my evil inner twin, the homemaker personality won't last that much longer either as she'll soon be hit over the head with a Marc Jacobs 'Stam' or a bottle of gin. But realistically now, it will have to come to an end eventually as I'm sure the girlfriend or wife won't appreciate waking up to mother-in-law, sat on the end of the bed with a tender look in her eyes...

Maybe it'll be me who needs to let go of the apron.

I have a thing about aprons (vintage aprons, please) and while scouring for a suitable image for this post I came across the one above from a lovely blog dealing in exactly that, vintage aprons! Delightful.

a prime specimen

The blue is "the original Mercedes colour spec" - this being a 1966 SE250 Automatic Coupe. One that has been lovingly restored (as so often is the case) and which regularly sweeps majestically up and down the mountains, engine purring softly. The owner, a neighbour and another one of Signor Belotti's esteemed customers, talks with much enthusiasm and animation about the origin of his car and the painstaking effort and investment it has taken to get it to look this good. After listening appreciatively to our friendly neighbour, there is nothing left to do but collectively sigh and stand back in silence and admiration. Sunday mornings were made for this.

                                        

                                       

                                       

                                       

                                       

pats

One does like to be naughty every now and then, and for me there's nothing naughtier than indulging in my very own particular hero-worship of the ultra-fabulous Patsy Stone. You may scorn and splutter but I think of her as my evil inner twin. Always have done, ever since AbFab appeared on our British screens in 1992. In an age, ie. at my age which is 41 almost 42 actually, when one is fully immersed and floating on that wonderful, soft (or wire wool, depending on what time of the month it is) cloud of motherhood, I do enjoy going right off on a tangent pretending for one long moment that yes, deep deep deep down, I am (still) that glamorous rough tart of a fashion babe JUST back from the shows ("...backstage parties, landminded with bitch fashion editors and Donatella-bloody-Versace...!") smoking at least 40 (but more like 60) a day while guzzling my 5th bottle of Bolly and it's not even 6pm. I love Patsy (almost as much as I love Joanna Lumley) 'cos she reminds me that it's totally ok to be glamorous all the time - and I for one SO need the occasional (it won't kill you, I promise!) glamour injection here, in this quiet backwater. So of late I'm making an extra effort - I am rediscovering the pleasure of wearing heels and doing a lot of wafting around feeling really rather fabulous. I'll probably go back to the old denims and my All-Stars come Friday but for now, this feels pretty damn good, darling!

Do you remember the utter magic of AbFab? Do you? Do you? Well, you may say you do, but click here and here for a refresher course nonetheless. Now might also be a good time to give those pelvic floor exercises another go, ladies.

Cheers yeah thanks.

TheStyleInside aka "Executive Creative Director Chief Buyer and Lifestyle Coordinator"

I cannot believe it's that time again already. Just kissed summer goodbye and our attention drifts swiftly to plans for Christmas. As in many other parts of Continental Europe, we too have a very strong tradition of Christmas markets here. And you will have gathered by now that I do love a good market (be it the Auer Dult in Munich, a good old English carboot sale, my friend's wonderful yardsale or the forthcoming Christmas markets). Here, in our little corner of southern Switzerland, at the foot of the Centovalli, our neighbouring village Tegna organises its own very special, very delightful annual market. A tireless Dutch girl is the organiser and it's because of her that every year people from all over Switzerland return to sell their wares. Last year's event was a great success with over 40 stalls and I was particularly pleased, as I was able to convince my two ceramicist friends to also exhibit their beautiful pieces. Not only did they sell the whole lot, they also took further orders from keen customers. Oh, it was very satisfying.

Now for this year, I have immersed myself even further into the role of  PR and Agent (I'm sure you'll agree that all these wonderfully talented and creative people must be celebrated) and after having words with the said organiser lady (Dutchwomanabroad) to ensure that we are allocated optimal positions, I am ridiculously excited to announce that there will be a really rather delightful corner featuring some of the most exquisite creations you will come across this side of Christmas (amongst the myriad of other exhibitors, of course). So do pop over to Tegna on 6th December to indulge in a good dose of Christmas shopping and admire the simple, beautiful creations of Cri & Domi , Dani & Giovanna and of course Karin.

Whilst Dani is the very creative talent behind Salcottroad, Karin's website is Semplice-k, and both have been featured on The Style Inside, as has the wonderful work of ceramicists Cri & Domi. The work of Giovanna Weber (find it on Salcottroad) also deserves a special mention and I just know that you will delight in her exquisitely delicate creations.

Well, I've put Tegna on the map so if you're local, there's no excuse. Come and get your cup of mulled wine and mooch through the village and the stalls. Can't wait to see you!

keely & louis

He's larger than life, and she just steals the show (click here to see what I mean). They're funny, talented, romantic, sexy and yes, it's all just a bit old-fashioned darling, isnt' it?  But who can do modern/contemporary all the time? Not me. This warms my heart and makes me feel more alive than Justin and Madonna. From the incomparable That Old Black Magic to my own favourite, All Night Long. How can you not love Louis Prima and his gorgeous then-wife Keely Smith?

Goodnight and sweet dreams.
Oh God! I almost forgot THIS one!!!!

charleston

Before moving to Switzerland, we spent many happy years living in Sussex and one of our very favourite spots was Charleston House. This was the home and country meeting place for the writers, painters and intellectuals known as the Bloomsbury Group. The interior was painted by the artists Duncan Grant and Vanessa Bell, and together with their collection forms a unique and wonderful example of their decorative style. The house is open to visitors and if you are ever in the beautiful Sussex countryside, you should pop in. It's absolutely delightful and the minute you set foot inside, you are transported back in time, very atmospheric.
Get a taste for this special place by visiting the website.

dani's bristol

It doesn't take much to get us car people excited round these parts but Mr Belotti sure sets our hearts all aflutter when his clients drop off their darlings for an inspection... If cars are your drug, then he's your dealer. He is The Man for your oldtimer - drivers descend upon him from all over Europe and once they've finished their tour up and over the Simplon, speeding down the narrow serpentines of the Centovalli in a final roar of glory, they make Verscio their pitstop and let Mr Belotti Jr carefully tend to their beauties. Which is great news for my dear friend and anyone else living locally with a weakness for the classic car. So here is today's little trophy - a Bristol, but with a BMW chassis. Whilst he is clearly not a fan, Mr Belotti kindly conceded to inform me, with more than a hint of pride, that this particular specimen (the one stood in front of the workshop as shown in my very mediocre photo above) was made to order by Swiss company Beutler (1945-1987), for the 1951 Geneva Motor show. To find out this and more, simply visit this supercar website.

I was also given permission to take a peek at his handsome black 1956 Mercedes 300 C which is kept very well hidden away in the labyrinth of his workshop. It is in absolute pristine condition and is for sale he tells me...

the london greats

A post on The Women's Room today inspired me and reminded me of some great British institutions. Whilst now, in the harsh glare of 2009 these may seem totally outdated and uncool (some for good reason, while others remain untouchable), I would like to transport you back to a time when they were really rather special and made you feel very, very good indeed. We used to call one of them our 'corner shop', and it was absolutely true, it really was literally round the corner but it didn't occupy a corner in so much as a whole block, as indeed it still does today. I'm talking of course about dear, darling Harrods. Due to its proximity to where we lived, it really became a trusted, huge, red brick friend who was always there, waiting for us with open doors. As a young girl in the seventies I have the most vivid and intense memories of spending endless afternoons with my mother mooching round the Food Halls, the toy department, the pet department, the super groovy Fifth Floor and of course the endless womenswear rooms where I would get lost in a sea of coats, eveningwear and shoes! What I remember most of all about those visits to Harrods are the smells and the sounds. Not sure if it still exists today, but after a particularly taxing shopping spree, my mum would take me to the Juice Bar in the Food Halls, where you could take a seat on a bar stool and choose from a vast selection of fresh fruit to have your very own fresh fruit smoothie created while you watched. It was all the rage and the waiting times were understandably long. Mine was usually some multi-berry concoction, deep, dark pink and a bit tart. So divine. I can still taste and smell the amazing flavours wafting round that corner of the shop. On Saturday mornings I used to wander down, hand in hand with my father and together we would march again and again through our beloved Food Halls and buy wonderful breads and cold meats for lunch. All you could hear in these halls were deafening echoes of people talking - actually no, shouting their orders loudly in those plummy tones - it was all a buzz, full of posh old dears and dashing gentlemen squires buying foie gras for supper. What's not to love about that? Then upstairs it was all hush hush, the sales staff were just as elegently dressed as the shoppers and I was, as in most of my childhood fantasies, swiftly transported into an Alice in Wonderland world as I ran silently on the soft grey carpet between the garment carousels pretending to catch my rabbit.

Walk into Harrods today, and little or none of that old British glamour has survived. It certainly looks the same from the outside, but nothing in its interior atmosphere (nevermind actual interiors) could be further removed from its original splendour and British class. Of course Harrods was always meant to be somewhat otherworldly and exotic, but in a very British way which it just doesn't manage to pull off today - I mean, who needs or wants an Egyptian blimmin' escalator? However I do remain faithful and hopeful that one day some fabulous English eccentric will reclaim it and relaunch it as the glorious, modern and exciting British shopping experience it so clearly deserves to be. I think it's about time, don't you?

Unlike Fortnum's which remains to this day in a class of its own, spinning in the same British fairytale era, never dissappointing, whether you're a Londoner, an out-of-towner or a tourist. I do SO LOVE their gentle dress code reminder which you can find on The Fountain Restaurant page of their website: "We kindly request that both sexes lean more towards elegance"... How utterly charming is that and how wonderful if in general people of both sexes would lean more towards elegance? Then there is of course Liberty where they have cleverly managed to maintain the department store's old and unique charm whilst also keeping up with the times and becoming a very special avantgarde London store. And last but by no means least, Selfridges. Which is so important in terms of London retail that it deserves its own special post.

So you see dear, darling Harrods, it is possible to be cool, cutting edge and totally British...

Click here for a spooky but interesting birdseye view and tour of Harrods...

herb ritts moment

...not quite Herb Ritts but you get my drift. I took this photo of Ben in the summer and when I saw it in black and white I instantly started singing Madonna's 1989 song 'Cherish', much to my husband's intense embarassment. Watch the video to remind yourself of 3 things:

1) how fantastic Madge used to look with some meat on her,

2) what a cool song this is

3) and what an absolute stylemaster Herb Ritts was.

Do you love it?

reflection

Ah, to have time to myself again, what luxury. Not only have the kids gone back to school BIG TIME, but even Mr R has found projects far and beyond which means I have not only time to myself but also the house to myself - 80% of the time - and to me this is having my cake and eating it too. The feeling will probably give way to "routine boredom" after week 3 but for now it'll do nicely. The stillness and the month of September. My friend is right, it's probably the best month - ideal temperatures, splendid colours and the smell of mushrooms, peaches, plums and particularly the vines that are ripening beautifully in the vineyards nearby. And then of course the novelty of having to wear real clothes again, gone's the summer uniform of shorts and flipflops. Now we can rummage through our wardrobes, edit out what really can't be worn again and add what's needed for the new season. I tend to need and like less and less things, the spectrum shrinks to just the one look or better, one style. Thank God! No more experimenting, thank you! I know my (3) colours and I know my shapes. I spent yesterday afternoon sifting through my bulging drawers and shelves and just dumping stuff that's been hanging around for the last 3 years without so much as a glance, let a alone an outing! One good (but also very, very bad) thing about living here, is that I'm just not tempted anymore. No more Topshop, no more Selfridges or countless shoe shops to lure me and trap me into spending ridiculous amounts of money. I couldn't spend it if I tried round here. You wouldn't either, unless you're an ageing German, monied tourist. There are countless benefits to living in this part of the world, and retail therapy ain't one of them. I pretend that "it matters not a jot" but I get so annoyed by the lack of vision of our local retailers and when I visit the Big City (ie. Zurich, London, Munich or Milan) I feel like I might burst as I am just not used to having that much choice anymore. It's sheer hell, you can imagine (please laugh now). But then I remember the good bits and how shopping is now very, very, very, very low down on my list of priorities and I ask myself: is that not how it should be? And I am happy with my answer.

english style

Over the weekend I had the pleasure of serving up copious amounts of Pimm's. And I fear I may have started something. A couple of my guests had a vague idea but the large majority had never heard of the English drink let alone tasted it, which I found astonishing but rather nice, as it gave me the opportunity of introducing the friendly gathering to this great old English summer tradition through grand tales of Wimbledon, the Henley Royal Regatta and Glyndebourne. Alas, now my Pimm's No. 1 Cup is empty and I need to make amends. Nobody seems to sell it round here so I've taken up the kind offer of my friend, whose father and brother are rather well-connected in the gastro-stakes, to make the necessary enquiries as to where one may obtain this fruity tipple without having to board a plane.

In an attempt to extend this glorious summer even further, and in the hope that my dear and well-connected friend returns with good news, I shall host a few more Pimm's No. 1 evenings. News also has it, dear friends, that Pimm's recently relaunched their No. 3 by renaming it Pimm's Winter Cup, and I have a feeling that this could also become a rip-roaring success around these parts once the first snowflakes have fallen. Who knows, in a few years we may have enough followers to present the Seasonal Ticino Pimm's Festival. I say, I think we've got something there!

NEWSFLASH: my friend has returned triumphantly from her quest - she is now the proud owner of a bottle of Pimm's No. 1 which she obtained from Locarno's superb wine store In Vino Veritas aka CANETTI's!

elvis

A tribute that just has to be made today. Elvis was my first big love and I was crushed by the news 32 years ago today. I still remember being at my uncle and aunt's house in Germany on holiday when it happened. I was coming down the stairs and saw the TV; nobody in the household understood my sadness. It was huge. It still is, of course. Soon I'll be 42 years old, too. So much time's gone by yet he's still the greatest, isn't he?
Click here here to remind yourself of the magic.

kiehl's and a panama

I forgot how much I love Kiehl's. On a carefree and very rare solitary wander 'round the Munich shops I couldn't resist going into OBERPOLLINGER where I walked straight into the Kiehl's counter and the very smiley German sales rep. Keeping a lid on it, I managed to buy only the one product, which in fact smells so good that every time I use it I have to restrain myself from drinking it. It's one of their latest products, a body lotion containing Moroccan Argan Oil, so the smiley Fräulein tells me - "and anything containing Argan oil or leaf extract is worth its weight in gold". Right, I'll be needing one then, and make it snappy! White Kiehl's paper bag dangling fetchingly from my arm I suddenly remembered the true purpose of my shopping trip... must not get distracted like this! So, for the occasion of my uncle's 72nd birthday, I swiftly proceeded to the menswear department on the 3rd floor where I successfully acquired a most suitable gift for a gentleman. A Stetson.

munich

I love it not so much for the beer (nor for the Bavarians, for that matter) but for the city itself. Green parks, hugely impressive buildings and architecture, the shops (someone stop me), the open air swimming pools, the warm, soft pretzels (again, someone stop me) and of course the (very) distant, subtle yet reassuring feeling that somehow I belong to that part of the world.

We wondered around Stachus and Marienplatz where our regular haunts awaited us: they are Manufactum, Ludwig Beck, Dallmayr, the Oxfam bookstore, then first the Kaffee Kreutzkamm at Maxburg and second the Literaturhaus for another coffee and a well-deserved session of people-watching with my father. The Hugendubel, bookstore with a fantastic selection of English books, is just across the road. Perfection. No beer garden this time, we were heading for the idyllic Biergarten am Wienerplatz but got hideously sidetracked by our prolongued stroll 'round the Auer Dult, which is, my friends, the markets of all markets and was most definitely the highlight of my stay.

Now seems like an appropriate time for me to admit to my alarming and increasing attraction to the Bavarian traditional costume - "Trachtenmode" or "Dirndl & Lederhosen" to us German lot. I fear that this is proof, if ever proof was needed, of my indelible and undeniable German roots. The beautiful window display above shows the haute couture choice of Dirndls and Lederhosen as selected by the previously mentioned and superbly avantgarde Munich department store Ludwig Beck (and shows that Dirndls can be very cool indeed as well as just a bit sexy). Further down you will see a charming display found at the Auer Dult, a beautiful little tent tastefully filled with authentic and beautifully crafted traditional costumes. So delightful.

supersize

While we're on the subject of adornments, it was a pleasant coincidence when my dear friend D. came over for afternoon tea yesterday sporting amongst her usual stylish pieces, the above rather fabulous oversized ring with an incredible blood red glass droplet. I say coincidence because I've been meaning to post some XL-rings for some time now, especially since they are another one of my style obsessions. The summer sees all my colourful friends coming out of hybernation. So here are a few of them, the ones that have been worn with pleasure this summer (except the blood-red droplet one, alas!). The yellow anemone is a new arrival, some find it ridiculous, I find it divine. They are all wonderfully reliable in that they instantly upgrade and glamourise the dreariest of outfits.

keeping it simple

Some of you may laugh but it's true, I'm a low-maintenance kind of girl. Don't go to Cartier, don't bother with Harry Winston, just head down to Su Giudeu beach where you'll find the simplest, most beautiful pearls on a string. Here is my absolute favourite piece of the moment (cost me all of 8 Euros). It comes from a lovely English lady who lives in Sardinia near the abovementioned beach, and spends her summers strolling along the water's edge with her rather ingenious sandtrolley laden to the hilt with her own very special tiny creations.

basic needs

Just back from 3 weeks in a tent and now I'm wandering 'round the house thinking what to do with all the space and all these rooms? The biggest revelation of all time, was how ridiculously little we need to exist comfortably and happily. There was less of everything; less clothes, less gadgets, less clutter, less THINGS! And it felt good. Incidentally this revelation seems to slip very fittingly into the current mood - a welcome slap in the face to all that dreadful excess we've been subjecting ourselves to recently and the warm and faintly familiar recognition of what it is that really matters to us. Not only do I feel lost in these rooms, but I also feel odd sleeping in them, behind 25 cm thick concrete walls. My flimsy blue Coleman Lakeside 4 was a joy to get into every evening, with it's pale blue sleeping chambers and white mosquito net - listening to the wind, the sea, the birds and the sound of footsteps on eucalyptus leaves. Of course I heard the odd snore, some night-time chatting and countless zips being openend and closed, but they did not bother me as much as I thought they might. All of us co-existed in simple, quiet harmony, taking time to sit down for breakfast (properly), fetching water, sweeping our little patch, making coffee, chatting with other campers about the beauty of our location and which fish to grill for dinner or which beach to go to that day. I doubt whether I will ever feel the same way again about that luxury all-inclusive holiday that I used to dream of. I'm already planning our next camping trip; the only ingredient I simply cannot do without though, is the sun. So we might have to stick to summertime camping. Preferably back in Sardinia or other parts of Italy where the sea is turquoise and the food is seriously good.

My other immense campsite/beachside pleasure were books - just reading whenever and whatever I liked without snatching the pathetic 4 minutes (at most) in bed before nodding off helplessly. On holiday I manage to actually finish a book - this is unheard of at home, where it takes me a minimum of 3 months.

The above photo showing our plastic cups is courtesy of Mr R, who was very inspired by the recurring colour theme of reds and blues throughout our holiday.

a charming man

Today my thoughts drifted as they so often do, to times gone by; I thought of my friend Martin. A style genius - a uniquely talented and generous person with such a refined, natural sense of proportion, colour, cut, time, anything he put his hands on really... I could go on and on. His influence on me was liberating, he gave me a sense of individuality and through his guidance I learnt to trust my own instinct. I was very privileged to have worked for him. An unbelievably accomplished and respected fashion designer based initially in London and subsequently in Brighton, he has now retreated to the picturesque Sussex countryside where he resides to this day with his beloved, beautiful Cocker Spaniel, Susan. Fashion is no longer his game (much to my eternal dissappointment). Instead his time is now taken up with another passion: vintage teddies, lions, tigers, elephants, donkeys and rabbits (Steiff fans will rejoice in his collection)... his website takes you on a sweet journey visiting various windows through which you can admire all these lovely characters (my own personal favourite is Deirdre the Duck, pictured above). A magical world, I urge you to visit it soon.

youth on the other side

Why is it that I always know with absolute certainty that I would appreciate things (more) in my life 20 or so years after they have occured? My youth for example. I would really, truly, fully appreciate just how fabulous it is to be 22 today. I would make a MUCH better 22 year old NOW! I think I would have a better time now. Not back in blimmin' 1990! All this started with a tremendous slap in the face earlier this week when I realised that the heartmelting singer Paolo Nutini is 22 years old. Young enough to be my son, in fact. Don't get me wrong, I don't have a problem being in my forties (much) - it's just that I look incredulously at the vast number of young people around me. There's so many of them. I used to be them. There was a time when nobody was younger than me except babies and schoolchildren. Now 'suddenly' (ha!) pretty much 80% of the people surrounding me are younger than me. And they all look so confident, groovy and sussed (did I ever look like that?) with their entire lives ahead of them. I know, I should just wake up and smell the cigar smoke, but I don't want to. I'm kind of teetering on the edge, not quite ready to take the plunge into mature womanhood, grey hair and all (although I am warming to the idea, what with all the style forecasts pointing in that direction anyway...). I still hanker after those years of carelessness where wrinkle creams existed only in ads, not in my bathroom cabinet. What'll it take for me to get over it and just let go? A few more chromotherapy sessions would help. I'm not so much worried about being old(er), I'm more mourning my youth - I enjoy looking at young people but I also feel a teensy bit sorry for myself because whilst I was their age, I felt immortal and very, very empowered. These days I have a ticking noise in my ear, it's not very loud - in fact some days I can hardly hear it at all - but it's definitely there.

I sympathise with all the ladies that are in this age group - a bit like me teetering on the edge or well and truly over the edge but not able to come to terms with it or embrace that new part of womanhood. Most of my friends are so cool about it and just don't give a damn and that's how it should be. But there are a few that are anxious and feel under quite a bit of pressure to look a certain way. Studying the likes of Überfrau Helen Mirren above, it does become blatantly obvious to me that to be happy with the outside, you need to be happy on the inside. And now, in a final attempt to get things into perspective, please repeat after me: "There's no solution to ageing, because it's just not a problem".

The picture above of Helen Mirren is one of my all-time favourites and speaks for itself, I think.