The international language of hipster

My relative radio silence of late has been the result of an insane post-orals schedule and traveling...but tonight I'm waiting to laundry to get done, and have a few minutes to catch my breath.

And I'm in London - in the loveliest apartment I've yet seen in England, looking out the window at the London Eye, St. Pauls, and I'm pretty sure, Big Ben & the Houses of Parliament in the distance. It is just what I would want if I lived here, and frankly, is what I want living in New York. (A dishwasher! Fresh paint!) It's quite something, and wonderfully generous of Kolz's former roommates. I'm here for a conference at the end of this week, but no one was bothered with when I arrived and left, so I came over last Friday and Ms. N (of Hamburg) arrived Saturday to meet me. Since then, it's been reunions with old Yorkie friends and more walking around than I've done in a long time, and, improbably, sunshine, daffodils, bargain shopping, and markets galore.

Today we walked down to the market at the Stables in Chalk Farm - literally stalls of clothes, crafts, food, antiques, everything in an old stable and "horse hospital", and then around Whitechapel and Spitalfields with Kolz's cousin Lani. The market at the Stables was a little bit neat imported goods, a little bit trashy dresses and tops, a little bit crazy vintage clothing, and a little bit of antiques. On the edge of Camden, it's not gone commercial & yucky, say the guidebooks, and we had a good time when it wasn't yet too crowded. I have decided that a major component of my style is bold printed dresses, and that I should just embrace it and attempt as much variety as possible. So the collection now includes a sort of leaf print in teal.

Later, in east London, we were wowed by Brick Lane - not for the Bangladeshi food or Monica Ali atmosphere (Kolz has read the book, and Ms. N will buy it tomorrow), but for the wacky ethnic food stalls and the hipster craft fair market. On the former, who knew that Tibetan pot-stickers are called momo's? And that they are served with a spicy sauce not unlike salsa, but somehow better? Or that Lani's invention of cranberry juice and lemonade (which is not like our lemonade, or like our Sprite, as far as I can tell) would prove to bit a hit at the bars, if slightly perplexing to the bartenders? Not I.

On the latter, I was struck by the apparent transnationality, if not internationality, of hipster stuff. Custom printed t-shirts are de rigeur, as is interesting silkscreening and leather goods, found objects. The prints feature bicycles, buses, guns, dragonflies, and cats, as well as the ubiquitous skull motif -- in NY, it was hearts (both anatomical and symbolic) that were big last summer, and that isn't consistent here. But there were also little charming monsters, hand-made stuffed toys that were cute in their not-cuteness, and flouncy funky skirts, and deconstructed clothing made into tank tops or pants or whatever. Precious and ironic cross-stitching, cute little zipper bags, and on and on. It just blew me away that we could've been in Williamsburg at Lau's beloved Renegade Craft Fair. The Tibetan momos were different, sure, and the exchange rate gave me more pause in buying. It's one thing to spend $10 on a neat hand-screened purse; it's entirely another to spend 10 pounds, with today's 2:1 exchange rate. But London scores over Williamsburg for delivering me a neat turquoise and coral necklace for a cheaper price. The London vendors bargain more readily (we only paid the asking price for one thing at all of our markets today), and this was both made by a sweet French girl and interestingly asymmetrical. I was sold. Williamsburg still wins out on pirogies and price, but I will do the markets when I come back here, hands down.

Tonight we also went to see "Becoming Jane," the Jane Austen biopic starring Anne Hathaway and Tom McAvoy, playing a dishy, pitch-perfect Austen hero (from where, I don't know). It was much better than I expected, and written both to connect her life and art, and to give her a bit of flesh and imagination. All of the standard lovely outdoor scenes, meetings in the woods, carriages and balls, and sisterly affection that you'd expect. Bittersweet and noble, though, and being such a susceptible and suggestible romantic, I was so moved as to want to write an impetuously affectionate letter to my man...but isn't that what Austen should do for you?

All in all, it's been a typical Kolz-and-Wabes sort of adventure, except without Kolz, there's been more shopping for dresses and discussing of girl things. Tomorrow Ms. N and I move to Kensington, and will hit the Portabello Road market and probably more traditional parks and royals kinds of things. I have to go to Portabello because I watched "Bedknobs and Broomsticks" like 50 times when I had chickenpox when I was 9, and I still hum the song. And if today's browsing and people-watching was wonderful for its edgy hipness, in Kensington it should be wonderful for its posh fabulosity. On we go...