When the 14 year old found out I was on a business trip in NewYork he asked if I could get him a sweat shirt from Supreme. "No problem" I said "but what's Supreme?" He groaned and rolled his eyes. I googled Supreme. A shop on Layfette and Prince street. Couldn't be easier, I had a car and driver, as it was a business trip. In between meetings the car sped me to Supreme. At first I could not see it, because there was a line of people held in place by a gigantic gold chained black bouncer clearly bouncing some crazy nightclub that seemed to be open in the middle of the afternoon. It was only after a minute or two that I realized the line was actually queuing to get into Supreme. A line for a shop, I had never heard of. A long line with Mr. T, from the A team, in charge. My gleaming black sedan slid to a halt, the driver opened my door. The line stared. Mr. T stared. "I only want to buy a sweatshirt " I explained in a nervous voice "Come back in 15" said Mr. T, pitying the fool.
I didn't really have 15 to spare. But 15 minutes later I returned. The line was longer, the tattoo's bigger. Mr T slipped me through.
Inside Supreme there was another line. Yes another line. I texted the 14 year old. Which sweatshirt did he want? "A cool one" he texted back. A cool one? I photographed one and sent him the picture. "That's not cool" the text came back. I tried again. I could sense him eye rolling from 6000 miles. away. Finally we settled on a sweatshirt. I stood in line, worrying about just how late I was now going to be for my meeting.
When I reached the cash register an uninterested yoouuuph rang me up and told me the price. "There's been a mistake" I said "I'm only getting a sweat shirt" He said that was the price, didn't I understand this was Supreme. This sweat shirt was a collector's item. It was the Ferrari of sweat shirts.
Mother's of teenagers understand why animals eat their young.
Could we really not have settled for a set of nice nautical notelets instead? http://buy.indiahicks.com/sntbyo.html
The night before Linda and I left for the Miami Swim Show we went rather berserk at a friends party. I've been traveling too much and have not had a fun night off for sometime. I'm already a cheap date so a couple of glasses of champagne had me rolling around on the floor. I'm ashamed to say that's an actual description, rather than a figure of speech.
More concerning was what on earth would next season look like in our shop if we were off on a buying trip with hangovers?
Nothing to worry about all you Sugar Mill fans .... these glasses fit our low key island gypset feel perfectly. Don't they?
Incidentally the crescent moon around my neck is in the shop right now. The teeny sterling silver Sea Urchin will be available in a few weeks as part of my latest designs for India Hicks Fine Jewelry and the peeking out from behind this is my 'i' Love Letter, already in stock. Go choose your own Love letter and we can ship directly to you.
I suggested to my mother that I take her away for a night to celebrate her birthday. A night away from all those grandchildren. I proposed a country house in the New Forest. It was well reviewed. "Oh no, not there" my mother said "some awful King once lived there" But surely that was hundreds of years ago? Never-the-less I looked around for an alternative.
Barnsley House, built in 1697, with impressive mature trees dating from 1850 and its garden, laid out by the late and extraordinary Rosemary Verey seemed ideal. "Rosemary's home?" my mother quipped "won't it be odd staying there with out Rosemary?"
This is the combined problem of being in your 80's, ferociously well travelled and highly connected. You have met everyone, stayed everywhere and seen everything.
We still went.
Before it became a country house hotel and whilst privately owned, garden lovers from around the world came to Barnsley House, to see Rosemary and her gardens. From the 1950's Rosemary and her inimitable way became an example for other gardeners. Later her friends in America, where gardening was not such a national pastime, greatly valued her inspiration and feted her when she crossed the Atlantic to speak as Ambassador of Gardeners. Her achievements justly won her the Victoria Medal of Honour from the Royal Horticultural Society, and an OBE.
My father, David Hicks, also became a world recognized garden designer. Green gardening in particular, allees and vistas, hedged rooms and grassy labyrinths. The local ladies were mystified at first. Where were all the flowers? And he was surely the first and last to make a hedge of horse chestnut. Growing up in the English countryside surrounded by my father's theatrical green garden I could fully appreciate the gardens of Barnsley House....
Both my father and Rosemary Verey were known for creating 'winter gardens' They wrote books explaining how to have a garden that looks as dramatic on a cold winters day as it does in summer, full bloom.
Home to Grandmamas. And Bun. Who is as yet unnamed. Top Banana calls her Violet. Domino calls her Cotton Tail. The boys think she should have a rap star's name. As a compromise we are working with Violent Cotton Tail.
Bun is not for sale. Domino, on occasion, is a possibility but if you are interested in a similar shirt we can ship directly to you: www.indiahicks.com.