scriptgirl
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Bauer Griffin
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MODERATOR'S NOTE: Please can all of theFashionSpot's forum members remind themselves of the Forum Rules. Thank you.
crow_watcher
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^Who can resist 2 women with beautiful eyes
scriptgirl
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outline
crow_watcher
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Noemie's skin is so lustrous. Its what good things are made of.
MicheleIman
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I don't even want to think about it, Noemie still looks stunning. (As usual)
scriptgirl
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marksandspencer
testinofan
███████████████
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Noemi in Frech Revue FW2007 by Terry LeGuoes
terryleguoes.com
terryleguoes.com
scriptgirl
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NL images
crow_watcher
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testinofan- those pics are sizzling!
crow_watcher
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scriptgirl- I cant look at another Marks and Spencer ad without having heart palpitations.
scriptgirl
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crow_watcher
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^^That should have been a solo ad with Noemie.
scriptgirl
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NEXT
scriptgirl
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stylecom
crow_watcher
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^^I have mixed feelings regarding Noemie's extraordinary outfit. Hmm...I have to say she wears it well. Also, love the the color on her.
scriptgirl
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from Chelsea Pies
Yesterday we published a shiny picture of our all time favourite human Noemie Lenoir (her who runs about trains in lingerie in those M&S ads). The pic featured her and a cheetah, and can be seen again with a simple click of our "continue reading" button.
Anyhoo, we wanted you to guess if she was "1) Shaun Wright Phillips hot cousin, Rita Phillips, 2) Claude Makelele's Dorris who is ignoring recent reports in the press, and hanging with her Cheetah, 3) Lusty babe Rose Vital, who has nothing to do with football but does get naked in front of photographers for cash, 4) Kanye West's wife, again nothing to do with Chelsea (sorry), 5) A transsexual named Keith, 6) New bloke Henk ten Cate's girlfriend, 7) New bloke Henk ten Cate's daughter. 8) All of the above, 9) John Obi Mikel's wife Sarah Obi Mikel or 10) One of those Miami Dolphin cheerleader ladies who was hanging around Didier Drogba at some press launch for some pointless game at Wembley, who also turned up at turd-hole Selhurst Park sometime this week."
She was of course Claude Makelele's adorable Dorris. Congrats to any of you who spotted her (get it, get it, we pictured her with a cheetah, oh, forget it...). More on the life and times of Claude and Noemie next week...
Yesterday we published a shiny picture of our all time favourite human Noemie Lenoir (her who runs about trains in lingerie in those M&S ads). The pic featured her and a cheetah, and can be seen again with a simple click of our "continue reading" button.
Anyhoo, we wanted you to guess if she was "1) Shaun Wright Phillips hot cousin, Rita Phillips, 2) Claude Makelele's Dorris who is ignoring recent reports in the press, and hanging with her Cheetah, 3) Lusty babe Rose Vital, who has nothing to do with football but does get naked in front of photographers for cash, 4) Kanye West's wife, again nothing to do with Chelsea (sorry), 5) A transsexual named Keith, 6) New bloke Henk ten Cate's girlfriend, 7) New bloke Henk ten Cate's daughter. 8) All of the above, 9) John Obi Mikel's wife Sarah Obi Mikel or 10) One of those Miami Dolphin cheerleader ladies who was hanging around Didier Drogba at some press launch for some pointless game at Wembley, who also turned up at turd-hole Selhurst Park sometime this week."
She was of course Claude Makelele's adorable Dorris. Congrats to any of you who spotted her (get it, get it, we pictured her with a cheetah, oh, forget it...). More on the life and times of Claude and Noemie next week...
scriptgirl
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from metro.us
One of the most popular soccer teams across the pond is Chelsea, which features 34-year-old star midfielder Claude Makelele. He’s married to a French supermodel (Noemie Lenoir) and has a child, but allegedly cheated on said wife with a stunning model from Belarus.
Check out what his agent told some paper called News of the World: “He’s denying it. But even if it was true, he’s going to deny it. They’re all at it, but when they’re caught they deny it. He’s going to be in trouble, though, because his wife is here and she’s very nice. She’s very sensitive.”
In the long and sordid history of denials — Mark McGwire’s testimony comes to mind — this one is unsurpassed.
One of the most popular soccer teams across the pond is Chelsea, which features 34-year-old star midfielder Claude Makelele. He’s married to a French supermodel (Noemie Lenoir) and has a child, but allegedly cheated on said wife with a stunning model from Belarus.
Check out what his agent told some paper called News of the World: “He’s denying it. But even if it was true, he’s going to deny it. They’re all at it, but when they’re caught they deny it. He’s going to be in trouble, though, because his wife is here and she’s very nice. She’s very sensitive.”
In the long and sordid history of denials — Mark McGwire’s testimony comes to mind — this one is unsurpassed.
scriptgirl
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From timesonline uk
of yourself, dressed in clothes that you might quite like to wear.
Until one’s thirties, the problem in this context is one of pure excess – so many of them, you don’t know what to choose. But after that, the desert: dreary little features called things like “Generation Fashion”, showing how to make a look work in your twenties and thirties, followed by the comfy version for the overforties and fifties. Than which the only thing more depressing is that unspeakable poem beginning, “When I am old I shall wear purple/ With a red hat that doesn’t go and doesn’t suit me”. All very well for Anna Piaggi, but hopeless for the rest of us who would quite like to intimidate (or, better still, disturb) the men in the office . . .
It is traditional at some point in this sort of discussion to recite a list of hot peri- or postmenopausal chicks: Jerry Hall, Tilda Swinton, Joanna Lumley, Chrissie Hynde, Helen Mirren, Jane Birkin, Loulou de la Falaise. And so on. They are, indeed, lovely and I cling to the thought of them as to a spar in a wreck. But it is only too noticeable that in the media, they are invariably described as being marvellous for their age. Fab, indeed, at 40, 50 or 60. Their place is no longer the fashion pages but the features pages (where, like as not, they are represented by an unflattering photograph pointing out that they are either in need or, or have had, some form of cosmetic surgery to turn them into a grim simulacrum of their 20-year-old selves).
Small wonder, really, that so many women past the age of fertility (but not the age of energy, creativity or seduction) find themselves in a muddle when it comes to clothes, retreating into grim knitwear and harsh highlights (as Twigs herself and her fellow model, Laura Bailey, tend to in the M&S adverts, looking respectively mumsy and brassy, while lustrous Noémie Lenoir and Erin O’Connor, who could lend a haunting resonance to a pair of Crimplene slacks, are styled to far greater advantage), and falling easy prey to the TV bodysnatchers – grim queens of the makeover show, including Channel 4’s Nicky Hambleton-Jones (a barely animated shop dummy, like something off Dr Who), and the terrifying What Not to Wear duo of Lisa Butcher and Mica Paris, who appear to have in common with Hambleton-Jones a mission to humiliate as many middle-aged women as possible in the time available. Extraordinary to think that in the heyday of couture – which is to say, in the century between about 1860 and 1960 – the middle-aged client was the darling of the ateliers, for her sophistication and her spending power.
Perhaps Twigs has some amazing secret up her pastel-pink swing cardi sleeve when it comes to the renaissance of middle-aged style in the 21st century. Let’s hope so, for I find myself mourning my lost pleasure in clothes as I climb into my grimly chic daytime uniform of Gap jodhs and discreet cashmere sweater each morning. I don’t want to look 20 again. My taste is more developed, my experience richer, my skin and haircut better, my figure holding up nicely. Above all, I am happier, and (crucial point, this, when it comes to the swing of the fashion pendulum) richer. I’d like some clothes to wear, and some fashion pages to read, that reflect that, instead of lumping me in an undifferentiated mass of invisible old girls past the magic age of 35. Any chance, do you think?
Alas, it really is too late
My colleague Hugo Rifkind, writing about the appearance of Alison Steadman and Sebastian Faulks this Sunday in One Hour More, a fundraiser for Camden, City, Islington and Westminster Bereavement Services, notes with the mildest of satirical tweaks something a bit dim and worthy about the enterprise – which lacks, it is true, the dazzling aspirational chic of, say, breast cancer or HIV fundraising. But there’s nothing like personal experience for making something a bit dim seem vivid and urgent. I find myself attending, separated by only a couple of weeks, the funerals of friends for whose steadfast kindness when I was in dire need I never properly said thank you. “Of course they knew how much they meant to you,” says everyone to whom I’ve told my regret. Well, I hope they did. But it doesn’t stop me wishing that I’d taken that hour to make it plain, while there was still time. When you’re young and unafraid of death (especially other people’s), there is a certain romantic dying fall about the phrase “too late”. But when the regret becomes personal, it’s amazing how the dying fall of “too late” loses its power to intrigue.
Alarm bells ring
Normally I’m resigned to the cycle of the seasons and even relish the spiders’ webs, bare twigs and louring skies over the Thames that signal my urban autumn. This year, having had so little sunshine, I find myself approaching the coming winter with grim apprehension, as though I was sickening for something. Still, it hadn’t struck me that I might need counselling on how to deal with the changing of the clocks at the weekend. But in Another Paper I find the trauma addressed, so I hasten to pass on its advice. Caution: “You may find yourself wide awake before the alarm clock goes off.” Take care, now.
of yourself, dressed in clothes that you might quite like to wear.
Until one’s thirties, the problem in this context is one of pure excess – so many of them, you don’t know what to choose. But after that, the desert: dreary little features called things like “Generation Fashion”, showing how to make a look work in your twenties and thirties, followed by the comfy version for the overforties and fifties. Than which the only thing more depressing is that unspeakable poem beginning, “When I am old I shall wear purple/ With a red hat that doesn’t go and doesn’t suit me”. All very well for Anna Piaggi, but hopeless for the rest of us who would quite like to intimidate (or, better still, disturb) the men in the office . . .
It is traditional at some point in this sort of discussion to recite a list of hot peri- or postmenopausal chicks: Jerry Hall, Tilda Swinton, Joanna Lumley, Chrissie Hynde, Helen Mirren, Jane Birkin, Loulou de la Falaise. And so on. They are, indeed, lovely and I cling to the thought of them as to a spar in a wreck. But it is only too noticeable that in the media, they are invariably described as being marvellous for their age. Fab, indeed, at 40, 50 or 60. Their place is no longer the fashion pages but the features pages (where, like as not, they are represented by an unflattering photograph pointing out that they are either in need or, or have had, some form of cosmetic surgery to turn them into a grim simulacrum of their 20-year-old selves).
Small wonder, really, that so many women past the age of fertility (but not the age of energy, creativity or seduction) find themselves in a muddle when it comes to clothes, retreating into grim knitwear and harsh highlights (as Twigs herself and her fellow model, Laura Bailey, tend to in the M&S adverts, looking respectively mumsy and brassy, while lustrous Noémie Lenoir and Erin O’Connor, who could lend a haunting resonance to a pair of Crimplene slacks, are styled to far greater advantage), and falling easy prey to the TV bodysnatchers – grim queens of the makeover show, including Channel 4’s Nicky Hambleton-Jones (a barely animated shop dummy, like something off Dr Who), and the terrifying What Not to Wear duo of Lisa Butcher and Mica Paris, who appear to have in common with Hambleton-Jones a mission to humiliate as many middle-aged women as possible in the time available. Extraordinary to think that in the heyday of couture – which is to say, in the century between about 1860 and 1960 – the middle-aged client was the darling of the ateliers, for her sophistication and her spending power.
Perhaps Twigs has some amazing secret up her pastel-pink swing cardi sleeve when it comes to the renaissance of middle-aged style in the 21st century. Let’s hope so, for I find myself mourning my lost pleasure in clothes as I climb into my grimly chic daytime uniform of Gap jodhs and discreet cashmere sweater each morning. I don’t want to look 20 again. My taste is more developed, my experience richer, my skin and haircut better, my figure holding up nicely. Above all, I am happier, and (crucial point, this, when it comes to the swing of the fashion pendulum) richer. I’d like some clothes to wear, and some fashion pages to read, that reflect that, instead of lumping me in an undifferentiated mass of invisible old girls past the magic age of 35. Any chance, do you think?
Alas, it really is too late
My colleague Hugo Rifkind, writing about the appearance of Alison Steadman and Sebastian Faulks this Sunday in One Hour More, a fundraiser for Camden, City, Islington and Westminster Bereavement Services, notes with the mildest of satirical tweaks something a bit dim and worthy about the enterprise – which lacks, it is true, the dazzling aspirational chic of, say, breast cancer or HIV fundraising. But there’s nothing like personal experience for making something a bit dim seem vivid and urgent. I find myself attending, separated by only a couple of weeks, the funerals of friends for whose steadfast kindness when I was in dire need I never properly said thank you. “Of course they knew how much they meant to you,” says everyone to whom I’ve told my regret. Well, I hope they did. But it doesn’t stop me wishing that I’d taken that hour to make it plain, while there was still time. When you’re young and unafraid of death (especially other people’s), there is a certain romantic dying fall about the phrase “too late”. But when the regret becomes personal, it’s amazing how the dying fall of “too late” loses its power to intrigue.
Alarm bells ring
Normally I’m resigned to the cycle of the seasons and even relish the spiders’ webs, bare twigs and louring skies over the Thames that signal my urban autumn. This year, having had so little sunshine, I find myself approaching the coming winter with grim apprehension, as though I was sickening for something. Still, it hadn’t struck me that I might need counselling on how to deal with the changing of the clocks at the weekend. But in Another Paper I find the trauma addressed, so I hasten to pass on its advice. Caution: “You may find yourself wide awake before the alarm clock goes off.” Take care, now.
scriptgirl
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credit Womon Sky
The 27-year-old was discovered at the age of sixteen at a post office by a Ford Modeling Agent, but she didn’t begin a serious career until she finished school.
In 1999 she moved to New York and has since worked with some of the most famous photographers in the world on campaigns for Victoria’s Secret, Gap, Next, Tommy Hilfiger, Ann Taylor, Ralph Lauren Jeans, Pantene and Marks and Spencer. She has also appeared in Vogue, ELLE, Marie Claire, and Sports Illustrated and has walked in hundreds of fashion shows.
In 2001 Noémie signed with L’Oréal as their spokesmodel and has also taken a stab at acting. She has appeared in After the Sunset, a few French films and is currently filming Rush Hour 3.
The 27-year-old was discovered at the age of sixteen at a post office by a Ford Modeling Agent, but she didn’t begin a serious career until she finished school.
In 1999 she moved to New York and has since worked with some of the most famous photographers in the world on campaigns for Victoria’s Secret, Gap, Next, Tommy Hilfiger, Ann Taylor, Ralph Lauren Jeans, Pantene and Marks and Spencer. She has also appeared in Vogue, ELLE, Marie Claire, and Sports Illustrated and has walked in hundreds of fashion shows.
In 2001 Noémie signed with L’Oréal as their spokesmodel and has also taken a stab at acting. She has appeared in After the Sunset, a few French films and is currently filming Rush Hour 3.
