Thursday, 11 November 2010

Endless Pajama Party
 Linda in bed, shoes on, waiting for that call
by Mistress Justine Brown

Linda Evangelista and I have much in common. So very much. It's spooky. There's the Canadian thing, and well, all sorts of stuff. Anyway, most importantly, we both refuse to get out of bed for less than $10,000 a day. More with inflation; it's been a while since Linda drew our line in the sand. But since adequate offers have been a bit thin on the ground recently in my neck of the woods-- I swear there's something wrong with my phone-- Mistress Brown has been firmly planted in bed for quite a spell. As the days turn dark, you may feel the need to take up this position as well.

And there's nothing wrong with that! It's not a protest or anything, no sir. I love bed. From a wee girl I have made the hay my home-within-a-home. I sit at the centre of a shifting pile of books, papers, snacks, crafts (I'm into beading at the moment, which has led to quite a few Princess and the Pea moments), moisturisers and plenty of makeup. I have a hand mirror, and try out different looks from time to time.  Even now I am in bed, laptop perched upon my knees. If I have written anything worthy over the years, rest assured (ho ho) it has issued from this humble correspondent's bed.

Young Mistress Brown. Note silk pajamas and bed.

If I tell you that some of my happiest moments have happened between the sheets, will you promise not to smirk or waggle your eyebrows? Life is a perennial pajama party here in Milady's Boudoir. I'm thinking of pajama parties of yore now, proper ones where the pjs stay on and everyone engages in wholesome activities, like playing Monopoly, dyeing their spiky hair and painting their toenails. Cocktails are quaffed, but delicately, because no-one wants to wreck the party place.
pj parties of yore

Of course, stylish pajamas are the key to stylish pajama parties. When I became a punk, I was gratified by the prominence of pajamas among the denizens of that world. Attentive Skoolkids will recall that one of my best friends knocked 'em dead, ravishing the menfolk by staying fully clothed in the sack, shoes and all. She balanced this look off by wearing red paisley pajamas during the day. Sending boys to the store in their pjs became a crucial test: if they weren't willing to do that little thing for us, we wanted nothing more to do with them. I also remember fondly a trend among some guys for sporting silk kimonos over t-shirts and jeans for a languid daytime-into-evening look.
 Just add boy of your dreams

The Chinese have given us the world's best pajamas, those fitted satin ones with embroidery. I am wearing a pair as I write. Head down to your local Chinatown to find them, or, if for some excellent reason you are confined to your bed, simply order them off the net. Now that you are suitably attired, you may be in the mood to socialize. Rather than-- Heaven forfend--don't go getting crazy on me, now-- abandoning the boudoir, why not bring the party to you? Treat your friends in the run-up to Christmas. A lot of spas and salons are offering in-home services these days. Recently I discovered the existence of a fabulous den of femininity, Lost in Beauty (, a lovely salon in London's deeply fashionable Primrose Hill, popular with the feted "Primrose Hill Set". How do I know it's lovely, you ask? I made an exception and went there in a fur-lined cab, all right? It was Hallowe'en, and I fit right in what with my glossy satin pjs and all. The makeup artists were cheerfully at work preparing their alluring customers for costume parties, so there were plenty of glammed-up goths and witches to admire. Lost in Beauty has a vintage look, sort of 1920s luxe, a full range of beauty services, and a selection of tempting products (like the inimitable Rose Day Cream from Dr. Hauschka, which I smooth on to comfort my complexion when I'm not bombarding it with tretinoin and alpha-hydroxy acids.)

With the proper decorations festooning your bed, tinsel streamers and the like, perhaps a yuletide scene on the headboard, you can easily stage your Christmas party from the comfort of that happy spot. Order in a team of these festive experts to pamper your nearest and dearest with pedicures, manicures, makeup, massage, threading; all sorts of things! Plus-- champagne. Yes. Just be ready to lay on breakfast; I don't think their packages include that.

I love a good pedicure. Since I'm not really into bedroom slippers, my feet need to look good all year round, really set off those pjs-- considering the circumstances. (You know, sticking to our bed-bound principles and all.) At the moment, nail polish colours are shall we say counterintuitive. For the last few seasons, Chanel has had the last word on nail colour. Last season it was "greige", a strange but strangely attractive (to women, at least) combo of gray and beige. Here in London it's a mob scene at the Chanel counter once the powers that style have discerned the colour of the season. A moment ago it was jade. Or eggplant. This is all very well, but the fact remains that men like red, and I concur. Red on the toes and something pale on the fingers, though for some reason I feel weird if both sets of my nails are done at the same time. At any rate, that's what some of my pals are getting for Christmas:  pedicures in my glorious bed. With their feel sort of dangling off to save the duvet.

If I send the cab for her, Linda-- you remember Linda-- will doubtless come round for the festivities. She may be busy these days, but surely not too busy to pay her respects to someone with high standards like herself. When she does, I'll walk to the bedroom door on tippy-toes with my Barbie feet, champagne glasses in hand, and invite her in for a night of pajama perfection and girly delights. I just hope we can sync up our calendars.

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