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Lily Cole
- Thread starter purplelucrezia
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cournalie_clash
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amazing pictures sarahma!!!
may i ask where they're from?
may i ask where they're from?
jadedomega
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Thanks for sharing that sarahma, I've always been an admirer of Lily.
cournalie_clash
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Lily Cole drops De Beers
JCK-Jewelers Circular Keystone -- 7/13/2005
British supermodel Lily Cole said she is refusing to work for De Beers again over claims that African Bushmen were evicted to make way for future diamond mining in Botswana. "I was unaware of these matters when I was booked for the shoot," Cole said in a press release from Survival International. The human rights group said her statement came after the group lobbied her on behalf of their cause.
"I am delighted that Lily has heeded our advice and understands the human suffering that diamonds are causing the Bushmen," said Stephen Corry, director of Survival International. "I now urge other models not to work for De Beers. De Beers must realize that the only way out of this is for the Bushmen to be given back their land."
Lily Cole is not the first model to quit working for De Beers. Supermodel Iman quit as the face of De Beers after meeting with Survival International. British supermodel Erin O'Connor also distanced herself from De Beers, according to the organization.
While Survival International seems to consider Cole's announcement a victory for its cause, De Beers said previously that most companies don’t use celebrities for long periods of time, according to published reports.
JCK-Jewelers Circular Keystone -- 7/13/2005
British supermodel Lily Cole said she is refusing to work for De Beers again over claims that African Bushmen were evicted to make way for future diamond mining in Botswana. "I was unaware of these matters when I was booked for the shoot," Cole said in a press release from Survival International. The human rights group said her statement came after the group lobbied her on behalf of their cause.
"I am delighted that Lily has heeded our advice and understands the human suffering that diamonds are causing the Bushmen," said Stephen Corry, director of Survival International. "I now urge other models not to work for De Beers. De Beers must realize that the only way out of this is for the Bushmen to be given back their land."
Lily Cole is not the first model to quit working for De Beers. Supermodel Iman quit as the face of De Beers after meeting with Survival International. British supermodel Erin O'Connor also distanced herself from De Beers, according to the organization.
While Survival International seems to consider Cole's announcement a victory for its cause, De Beers said previously that most companies don’t use celebrities for long periods of time, according to published reports.
cournalie_clash
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Ooh la Lily
(Filed: 26/04/2005)
In January, the 17-year-old model Lily Cole took a few days off school to parade the catwalks of Paris Couture week. Between fittings, bistro dinners and writing an essay on Kant for A-level philosophy, she found a few moments to pen a diary of her time with Dior, Gaultier and Lacroix. Illustrations by David Downton
Saturday
4.30pm Arrived in Paris by Eurostar with Victoria Inman, my booker/agent from Storm Model Management. As well as all my clothes and shoes
Lily Cole in Christian LaCroix couture I took my large washbag, a laptop and books for schoolwork (Wuthering Heights and Othello to make notes, and Steven Berkoff's version of Kafka's The Trial to learn lines - I am playing all the female parts in a school production) and for leisure (I'm reading On the Road by Jack Kerouac at the moment).
I used to be a fantastically efficient packer, but now I am permanently running late so I always have to sit on my bag to fit it all in. We settled into our hotel, the simple and modern Pavillon de Paris, not far from Montmartre.
I actually prefer older, more Parisian places with some character, but you end up spending so little time in them anyway, actually a good bed is all that is needed to cut it. Over gin and tonics in the bar, we browsed the Condé Nast Traveller website to work out where to spend our evening.
8.30pm We went to Guy Savoy's Les Bouquinistes and had the most incredible meal (creamed pumpkin and mushrooms, with vegetables sat in butter), and by 2am my 'chaperone' had done her title proud and we were dancing in what Condé Nast Traveller had described as the best club in Paris.
Er… perhaps we chose a bad night. We stuck it out despite the Eurotrashy techno music and the boys who belonged in school discos (I know, I can't talk), compensating with our own good spirits, good dance moves and lots of laughing.
4am Got a lift back to our hotel in a taxi which was equipped with a TV, music system and even a plastic floral display. We bounced along to Bob Marley all the way back.
Sunday
11am Today was gloriously easy. We woke up and walked to the Louvre for lunch. The sunlight was so beautiful and orange that we braved the cold to sit outside Café Marly to have lunch - albeit lunch with mittens on and my feet tucked under my bum. I had a cheese omelette, a hot chocolate, a mushroom and green bean salad followed by a mint tea.
This sort of day does nothing to lessen the belief that a model's life is very easy. But the relaxed pace of Couture week is a twice-annual rarity - you only have one or two shows a day as opposed to up to five during the Prêt-à-Porter shows (on top of fittings). During Prêt-à-Porter I am always late, with producers phoning agents phoning me to find out where on earth I am. In some ways it's nicer to have a degree of rush and stress - it makes it feel more exciting, but at Couture you have time to read, chat and see more of the city.
In Christian LaCroix couture 4pm After a brief stroll through the library at the Louvre, we went to Christian Lacroix's boutique for my fitting. Christian is very fatherly and friendly; his wife was there as well, and Jérôme who produces his shows. When you arrive for a fitting, you never know what you are going to be expected to wear, which is nerve-racking, but exciting too. My hair was braided and piled high on to my head - this is not usually necessary, but they were going to put brooches into my hair for the show.
Christian directed the pinning of the generous rolls of a pink satin dress before they took Polaroids of me. Covering me in diamante jewellery and with heels to make me nearly 7ft tall, Christian had created quite the image of fantasy. It's fun to see myself looking like that, but I feel quite dissociated from the image of me in the many mirrors as I walk up and down the dramatically large boutique. It's an illusion, not really me.
5.30pm Next was the Dior fitting. This was my first time doing Dior couture and I was very nervous about this show. Once before when I had worn Dior couture for a fashion shoot in Numero magazine - a heavy, dark-red velvet dress with a 22in corset, a coat which weighed 45kg, 6in heels and a solid crown - I had to be held up by two people standing behind me.
However, at the fitting I discovered the relative comfort of the red and orange belted dress and flat red boots which had been chosen for me to wear. Ninety-nine per cent of me was relieved that now I would be able to sleep that night, but one per cent was disappointed that bravery would not be required for this show.
It was my first time ever meeting John Galliano and I found him such a fascinating character. I feel so lucky to get to meet such creative people, and luckier still to get a degree of their attention. Sometimes you do feel like a clothes-horse being dressed and poked and prodded, but you are not in a position to take offence when you are being paid a good wage to be a clothes-horse.
8.30pm Victoria and I went out for dinner and drinks at an Italian restaurant near the Seine - a triumph. I had an antipasto of roasted vegetables and mozzarella, then tuna steak and roasted onions, washed down with a delicious sugary cocktail. We walked back to the hotel before midnight, with my iPod playing the (appropriately French) band Gotan Project.
Monday
9am We got up and had a room-service breakfast of scrambled eggs, All-Bran and fruit and then we had to be driven to a polo club in the middle of nowhere for Dior, the first show of the week.
We got there at about noon, over two hours before the show was due to start, to have my ethereal-looking make-up done. I get on well with so many of the make-up artists and hair stylists backstage, even though it's hard to keep up with names. It creates a kind of family unit during fashion weeks - albeit a rather artificial one - and I can't help loving it.
2.30pm The show. There is something particularly thrilling about Dior couture and I felt proud and happy to be a part of it. Backstage was damned eclectic: '60s chicks, pre-Raphaelite girls and what appeared to be pregnant brides all dancing around and pouting.
In Christian LaCroix pink satin 3.30pm After the show my taxi was late and I spent half an hour slipping up and down the frosty road, trying to avoid the press photographers and passionately ruing my choice of clothing from that morning - a pair of ankle-skimming Aladdin pants. This moment felt entirely unglamorous.
4pm Fitting with Jean Paul Gaultier in his shop, where the show was also to be held. He is wonderfully kooky and sweet, always smiling. Every time I go to a fitting with him he has lots of nuts and apricots and things like that to eat - he kept on offering me figs. There were feathers all over the place - the orange dress that I was to wear was made of chiffon and Jean Paul was experimenting with pinning feathers to it. Another girl was being fitted with something that resembled a stole, but made out of wicker. Afterwards Victoria and I holed up in a Paris equivalent of a diner for chocolat chaud.
8pm I met up with a good friend who used to live in London and has moved to live in Paris, and we chose a bistro for dinner, eating tuna steak with courgettes and tomatoes, and drinking gin and tonics. I had already given in the previous night and eaten tuna, bored of menus limited to omelettes - the frustrations of being a vegetarian in this carnivorous city!
I somehow validated eating tuna for the rest of my trip with the knowledge that tuna fish are enormous and I would only be really responsible for the death of one of them. Not knowing the city well enough, we opted for the familiar surroundings of the fashion industry's favourite Hôtel Costes for some Sea Breeze cocktails.
It's an environment I tend to want to avoid at the end of the day mid-Fashion Week - I find it quite intense being with fashion people all the time, and it's often nice to go somewhere and be anonymous. But I do love the Costes's compellingly dark, slightly gothic interior and we stayed there until around 2am.
Tuesday
12 noon I woke up slowly this morning. My 21-year-old big sister Elvie was arriving in Paris today - she is at Manchester University so I was looking forward to seeing her. Victoria and I met Elvie and the illustrator David Downton at the Ritz to try and have lunch there. Lunch at the Ritz, you ask? Don't judge me though - David reckoned it would be the perfect backdrop for his pictures to illustrate the glamour of Couture week.
But without reservations or room keys we were turned away - I guess that's fair comeuppance for trying to be extravagant! So instead we headed for the beautiful, ornate and incredibly Parisian tea salon Ladurée and munched macaroons. I was smitten.
2pm Time to go and prepare for the Lacroix show at the huge Ecole Nationale. The models are always asked to turn up four hours before, but you learn quickly that only means more waiting around, so two to three hours is usually fine. I chatted to my friends who were also in the show, Rianne and Lisa Cant. I also took the opportunity to explore a bit of the Ecole's amazing interior - the art department was incredible.
5pm The show was the fantasy it promised to be with a wonderfully upbeat, mystical feeling about it - although the wires, extensions and jewellery all twisted on to horn-shaped hairpieces left me nearly screaming my head off by the end.
6pm After killing some time in a dodgy little bar on the corner waiting for the rest of the people to arrive from the show, we went to the after-show drinks party held in another part of the Ecole Nationale. Elvie and I spent most of our time scouring the canapé table.
8pm Our choice of dinner establishments had been going downhill each day and tonight we went for burgers at the humble Café Parisien. Mine was tuna (again), and you know what? It was the best tuna I had had all week. Elvie had arranged to meet up with an old friend of hers, and she took us to a quaint jazz bar where we spent the rest of the evening, competing with neighbours for elbow space, in an endearing kind of way. We headed for the hotel at about 12.30am.
Wednesday
6am My alarm clock went off sickeningly early. The call time for the Jean Paul Gaultier show was a massive six and a half hours before the show, which reflected the love and effort required in its preparation. The theme was African and my hair had to be corn-rowed and have extensions braided in which accumulated to form a trumpet-shaped orange afro at the back. It took two people about two hours.
With an afro and African jewellery for Jean Paul Gaultier couture I fell asleep during the process and one of the assistants, bless him, supported my head through it as I nodded in semi-consciousness. The weight was immense, and I had to master the hairdo by rocking my head back and sitting with the flat back of the afro pressed against the wall for support. Balanced like that I caught up with friends (Jaunel, Rianne, Erin), took notes on Othello, on which I am doing my English A-level coursework, and watched in honest wonder while some of the world's most beautiful women had similarly obscure hairdos created, while others were dusted and painted with red pigment.
Half the girls were black and so incredible looking that I really began to question why there aren't more Naomis and Aleks around.
12.30pm The show. I had been asked in a backstage interview earlier in the week what my favourite show ever was, and I had said the Alexander McQueen spring/summer '04 dancing spectacular (based on the film They Shoot Horses, Don't They?) which I was in.
My choice has now been challenged. My orange dress was transformed from when it had been fitted and was now covered in feathers. My wrists were piled with heavy red bangles and my neck with African jewellery which I loved - I wished I could have kept them. The pace was fast, and the clothes were so incredible
I began to begrudge not being able to watch the show myself, as much as I was delighted to be part of it.
2pm The rest of the day Elvie and I wandered between Café Ruc and Café Angelina, eating asparagus and cheesy salad and drinking hot chocolates. I had a work appointment at Balenciaga, but then we had time to go to the Louvre. After a slight detour getting lost amid Italian sculptures, I finally managed to see the Mona Lisa (impressive, if slightly yellow).
8.30pm To the Gare du Nord to catch the Eurostar back to London with Victoria and Elvie, and home to Mum.
Thursday
9am Back to school and it's my fullest day, with double lessons in all my A-level subjects (English, drama, philosophy and history). I took quite a lot of work away with me, but was not so productive about getting it done - I managed one ethics essay on Kant while on the train, and read some Othello and Wuthering Heights, but that was all.
My school (Latymer) is very helpful about my modelling, especially as I get quite ambitious with my academic work. I'm taking on a politics course next year, too - I'll be doing it in one year, rather than two. I am definitely not going to go straight to university from school, but I am thinking of applying to Oxford to do PPE. This weekend, I plan to be relatively unsocial to catch up on work and sleep.
I have had such a great week and it's only sitting down and typing my diary (feeling not dissimilar to Carrie Bradshaw) that I realise how lucky I am to be part of Paris Couture, a playground for some of the fashion world's most talented and eccentric people. I'll leave you with the gossip that two of them fell ill this week after eating a kilo of caviar between them.
from fashion.telegraph (http://www.telegraph.co.uk/fashion/...VCBQ0JVC?xml=/fashion/2005/04/26/eflily22.xml)
(Filed: 26/04/2005)
In January, the 17-year-old model Lily Cole took a few days off school to parade the catwalks of Paris Couture week. Between fittings, bistro dinners and writing an essay on Kant for A-level philosophy, she found a few moments to pen a diary of her time with Dior, Gaultier and Lacroix. Illustrations by David Downton
Saturday
4.30pm Arrived in Paris by Eurostar with Victoria Inman, my booker/agent from Storm Model Management. As well as all my clothes and shoes
Lily Cole in Christian LaCroix couture I took my large washbag, a laptop and books for schoolwork (Wuthering Heights and Othello to make notes, and Steven Berkoff's version of Kafka's The Trial to learn lines - I am playing all the female parts in a school production) and for leisure (I'm reading On the Road by Jack Kerouac at the moment).
I used to be a fantastically efficient packer, but now I am permanently running late so I always have to sit on my bag to fit it all in. We settled into our hotel, the simple and modern Pavillon de Paris, not far from Montmartre.
I actually prefer older, more Parisian places with some character, but you end up spending so little time in them anyway, actually a good bed is all that is needed to cut it. Over gin and tonics in the bar, we browsed the Condé Nast Traveller website to work out where to spend our evening.
8.30pm We went to Guy Savoy's Les Bouquinistes and had the most incredible meal (creamed pumpkin and mushrooms, with vegetables sat in butter), and by 2am my 'chaperone' had done her title proud and we were dancing in what Condé Nast Traveller had described as the best club in Paris.
Er… perhaps we chose a bad night. We stuck it out despite the Eurotrashy techno music and the boys who belonged in school discos (I know, I can't talk), compensating with our own good spirits, good dance moves and lots of laughing.
4am Got a lift back to our hotel in a taxi which was equipped with a TV, music system and even a plastic floral display. We bounced along to Bob Marley all the way back.
Sunday
11am Today was gloriously easy. We woke up and walked to the Louvre for lunch. The sunlight was so beautiful and orange that we braved the cold to sit outside Café Marly to have lunch - albeit lunch with mittens on and my feet tucked under my bum. I had a cheese omelette, a hot chocolate, a mushroom and green bean salad followed by a mint tea.
This sort of day does nothing to lessen the belief that a model's life is very easy. But the relaxed pace of Couture week is a twice-annual rarity - you only have one or two shows a day as opposed to up to five during the Prêt-à-Porter shows (on top of fittings). During Prêt-à-Porter I am always late, with producers phoning agents phoning me to find out where on earth I am. In some ways it's nicer to have a degree of rush and stress - it makes it feel more exciting, but at Couture you have time to read, chat and see more of the city.
In Christian LaCroix couture 4pm After a brief stroll through the library at the Louvre, we went to Christian Lacroix's boutique for my fitting. Christian is very fatherly and friendly; his wife was there as well, and Jérôme who produces his shows. When you arrive for a fitting, you never know what you are going to be expected to wear, which is nerve-racking, but exciting too. My hair was braided and piled high on to my head - this is not usually necessary, but they were going to put brooches into my hair for the show.
Christian directed the pinning of the generous rolls of a pink satin dress before they took Polaroids of me. Covering me in diamante jewellery and with heels to make me nearly 7ft tall, Christian had created quite the image of fantasy. It's fun to see myself looking like that, but I feel quite dissociated from the image of me in the many mirrors as I walk up and down the dramatically large boutique. It's an illusion, not really me.
5.30pm Next was the Dior fitting. This was my first time doing Dior couture and I was very nervous about this show. Once before when I had worn Dior couture for a fashion shoot in Numero magazine - a heavy, dark-red velvet dress with a 22in corset, a coat which weighed 45kg, 6in heels and a solid crown - I had to be held up by two people standing behind me.
However, at the fitting I discovered the relative comfort of the red and orange belted dress and flat red boots which had been chosen for me to wear. Ninety-nine per cent of me was relieved that now I would be able to sleep that night, but one per cent was disappointed that bravery would not be required for this show.
It was my first time ever meeting John Galliano and I found him such a fascinating character. I feel so lucky to get to meet such creative people, and luckier still to get a degree of their attention. Sometimes you do feel like a clothes-horse being dressed and poked and prodded, but you are not in a position to take offence when you are being paid a good wage to be a clothes-horse.
8.30pm Victoria and I went out for dinner and drinks at an Italian restaurant near the Seine - a triumph. I had an antipasto of roasted vegetables and mozzarella, then tuna steak and roasted onions, washed down with a delicious sugary cocktail. We walked back to the hotel before midnight, with my iPod playing the (appropriately French) band Gotan Project.
Monday
9am We got up and had a room-service breakfast of scrambled eggs, All-Bran and fruit and then we had to be driven to a polo club in the middle of nowhere for Dior, the first show of the week.
We got there at about noon, over two hours before the show was due to start, to have my ethereal-looking make-up done. I get on well with so many of the make-up artists and hair stylists backstage, even though it's hard to keep up with names. It creates a kind of family unit during fashion weeks - albeit a rather artificial one - and I can't help loving it.
2.30pm The show. There is something particularly thrilling about Dior couture and I felt proud and happy to be a part of it. Backstage was damned eclectic: '60s chicks, pre-Raphaelite girls and what appeared to be pregnant brides all dancing around and pouting.
In Christian LaCroix pink satin 3.30pm After the show my taxi was late and I spent half an hour slipping up and down the frosty road, trying to avoid the press photographers and passionately ruing my choice of clothing from that morning - a pair of ankle-skimming Aladdin pants. This moment felt entirely unglamorous.
4pm Fitting with Jean Paul Gaultier in his shop, where the show was also to be held. He is wonderfully kooky and sweet, always smiling. Every time I go to a fitting with him he has lots of nuts and apricots and things like that to eat - he kept on offering me figs. There were feathers all over the place - the orange dress that I was to wear was made of chiffon and Jean Paul was experimenting with pinning feathers to it. Another girl was being fitted with something that resembled a stole, but made out of wicker. Afterwards Victoria and I holed up in a Paris equivalent of a diner for chocolat chaud.
8pm I met up with a good friend who used to live in London and has moved to live in Paris, and we chose a bistro for dinner, eating tuna steak with courgettes and tomatoes, and drinking gin and tonics. I had already given in the previous night and eaten tuna, bored of menus limited to omelettes - the frustrations of being a vegetarian in this carnivorous city!
I somehow validated eating tuna for the rest of my trip with the knowledge that tuna fish are enormous and I would only be really responsible for the death of one of them. Not knowing the city well enough, we opted for the familiar surroundings of the fashion industry's favourite Hôtel Costes for some Sea Breeze cocktails.
It's an environment I tend to want to avoid at the end of the day mid-Fashion Week - I find it quite intense being with fashion people all the time, and it's often nice to go somewhere and be anonymous. But I do love the Costes's compellingly dark, slightly gothic interior and we stayed there until around 2am.
Tuesday
12 noon I woke up slowly this morning. My 21-year-old big sister Elvie was arriving in Paris today - she is at Manchester University so I was looking forward to seeing her. Victoria and I met Elvie and the illustrator David Downton at the Ritz to try and have lunch there. Lunch at the Ritz, you ask? Don't judge me though - David reckoned it would be the perfect backdrop for his pictures to illustrate the glamour of Couture week.
But without reservations or room keys we were turned away - I guess that's fair comeuppance for trying to be extravagant! So instead we headed for the beautiful, ornate and incredibly Parisian tea salon Ladurée and munched macaroons. I was smitten.
2pm Time to go and prepare for the Lacroix show at the huge Ecole Nationale. The models are always asked to turn up four hours before, but you learn quickly that only means more waiting around, so two to three hours is usually fine. I chatted to my friends who were also in the show, Rianne and Lisa Cant. I also took the opportunity to explore a bit of the Ecole's amazing interior - the art department was incredible.
5pm The show was the fantasy it promised to be with a wonderfully upbeat, mystical feeling about it - although the wires, extensions and jewellery all twisted on to horn-shaped hairpieces left me nearly screaming my head off by the end.
6pm After killing some time in a dodgy little bar on the corner waiting for the rest of the people to arrive from the show, we went to the after-show drinks party held in another part of the Ecole Nationale. Elvie and I spent most of our time scouring the canapé table.
8pm Our choice of dinner establishments had been going downhill each day and tonight we went for burgers at the humble Café Parisien. Mine was tuna (again), and you know what? It was the best tuna I had had all week. Elvie had arranged to meet up with an old friend of hers, and she took us to a quaint jazz bar where we spent the rest of the evening, competing with neighbours for elbow space, in an endearing kind of way. We headed for the hotel at about 12.30am.
Wednesday
6am My alarm clock went off sickeningly early. The call time for the Jean Paul Gaultier show was a massive six and a half hours before the show, which reflected the love and effort required in its preparation. The theme was African and my hair had to be corn-rowed and have extensions braided in which accumulated to form a trumpet-shaped orange afro at the back. It took two people about two hours.
With an afro and African jewellery for Jean Paul Gaultier couture I fell asleep during the process and one of the assistants, bless him, supported my head through it as I nodded in semi-consciousness. The weight was immense, and I had to master the hairdo by rocking my head back and sitting with the flat back of the afro pressed against the wall for support. Balanced like that I caught up with friends (Jaunel, Rianne, Erin), took notes on Othello, on which I am doing my English A-level coursework, and watched in honest wonder while some of the world's most beautiful women had similarly obscure hairdos created, while others were dusted and painted with red pigment.
Half the girls were black and so incredible looking that I really began to question why there aren't more Naomis and Aleks around.
12.30pm The show. I had been asked in a backstage interview earlier in the week what my favourite show ever was, and I had said the Alexander McQueen spring/summer '04 dancing spectacular (based on the film They Shoot Horses, Don't They?) which I was in.
My choice has now been challenged. My orange dress was transformed from when it had been fitted and was now covered in feathers. My wrists were piled with heavy red bangles and my neck with African jewellery which I loved - I wished I could have kept them. The pace was fast, and the clothes were so incredible
I began to begrudge not being able to watch the show myself, as much as I was delighted to be part of it.
2pm The rest of the day Elvie and I wandered between Café Ruc and Café Angelina, eating asparagus and cheesy salad and drinking hot chocolates. I had a work appointment at Balenciaga, but then we had time to go to the Louvre. After a slight detour getting lost amid Italian sculptures, I finally managed to see the Mona Lisa (impressive, if slightly yellow).
8.30pm To the Gare du Nord to catch the Eurostar back to London with Victoria and Elvie, and home to Mum.
Thursday
9am Back to school and it's my fullest day, with double lessons in all my A-level subjects (English, drama, philosophy and history). I took quite a lot of work away with me, but was not so productive about getting it done - I managed one ethics essay on Kant while on the train, and read some Othello and Wuthering Heights, but that was all.
My school (Latymer) is very helpful about my modelling, especially as I get quite ambitious with my academic work. I'm taking on a politics course next year, too - I'll be doing it in one year, rather than two. I am definitely not going to go straight to university from school, but I am thinking of applying to Oxford to do PPE. This weekend, I plan to be relatively unsocial to catch up on work and sleep.
I have had such a great week and it's only sitting down and typing my diary (feeling not dissimilar to Carrie Bradshaw) that I realise how lucky I am to be part of Paris Couture, a playground for some of the fashion world's most talented and eccentric people. I'll leave you with the gossip that two of them fell ill this week after eating a kilo of caviar between them.
from fashion.telegraph (http://www.telegraph.co.uk/fashion/...VCBQ0JVC?xml=/fashion/2005/04/26/eflily22.xml)
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cournalie_clash
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at the premier of 'the hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy'
cournalie_clash
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i think this has been posted before, but better scans from bwgreyscale.
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cournalie_clash
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ur welcome micaela!
cournalie_clash
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did u guys read her diary? her writing is so eloquent, and i loved the details...i listen to gotan project too!
|PerfectTonight|
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Some of the picture I forgot to post earlier (same editorial).
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marcbymarj
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her writing is so sophisticated i love it
12 July 2005
LILY COLE
LILY COLE
LILY Cole, the flame-haired Londoner touted as the new Kate Moss, has become the latest supermodel to walk away from De Beers.
A year after David Bowie's wife Iman quit as the face of the luxury diamond group, 17-year-old Lily is following suit over human rights concerns.
De Beers is dogged by claims from green-protesters Survival International that native Bushmen were evicted to make way for its mining sites in Botswana, Africa.
Cole was hired by De Beers as its new 'face' in time for the opening of its shop on New York's Fifth Avenue last month before quitting.
Survival's claims are strongly denied by De Beers, but Lily said: "I was unaware of these matters when I was booked for the shoot."
From : mirror.co.uk
A year after David Bowie's wife Iman quit as the face of the luxury diamond group, 17-year-old Lily is following suit over human rights concerns.
De Beers is dogged by claims from green-protesters Survival International that native Bushmen were evicted to make way for its mining sites in Botswana, Africa.
Cole was hired by De Beers as its new 'face' in time for the opening of its shop on New York's Fifth Avenue last month before quitting.
Survival's claims are strongly denied by De Beers, but Lily said: "I was unaware of these matters when I was booked for the shoot."
From : mirror.co.uk
So beautiful!!!!
