Vintage lace, worn amongst the shadow of the palms with a cigarette in hand, like the white winged dove. In tan suede Saharinennes, Le smoking, mousselines and pussy bows guarded by a wide-brimmed hat. Sensing the occasion a balmy south wind blew through, the salt heavily inhaled. From under soft bangs views of sherbet resonated the nightfall. In jasmine and spicy Neroli she was on the edge of seventeen. For a moment she was the girl she would become. And nothing else mattered.
Bernadette Pascua of Decade
Style.com- Tim Blanks