Showing posts with label A Child of the Jago. Show all posts
Showing posts with label A Child of the Jago. Show all posts

Thursday, September 24, 2009

Group Hug...uuuhhhhhhh!





Jumper!






How sharp are those trousers?
GELRAISER!!



I have kicked myself once a day, every day since last March when I had the opportunity to order a 'Rattus Rattus' jumper from Sibling direct and for some reason I was otherwise engaged. Two two's I reckon the SS one might work better for me.

I would rock this with Orwells.

Blue Suedes.

Blue Suedes.

Red suedes.
Black Levans.

Anything I want with a hoodie that ill.

Holler! White Suede King Tubby.

Give me those trousers!








Gimme those Cazals, Those black velvet, gold studded louboutin slippers and one of everything for my baby.

London Fucken Rocks!

Wednesday, August 20, 2008

A Child of the Jago

If John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester came across the Delorean Time Machine (flux capacitor in perfect working order) and crashed it into the Great Eastern Street, then decided to open a Man's boutique, it might aspire to be like Child of the Jago.

Blood red and grey, one inch striped, silk, no waste band, front pleated, tapered with one inch turn up trousers are what I remember most, but you can also buy a hells angels leg (below) or a cut throat razor, or vintage ceremonial, military and tradesmanswear. The reversible black velvet/silk print bomber jacket depicting orgiastic excess (above) is also pretty spectacular.

Curated by Barnzley Armitage and (Sir) Joseph Corre, you will not have seen anything like it elsewhere. Upstairs features their own designs including the aforementioned badass silk pants (I am size 36, by the way). Descend to the basement and the only thing more authentic than the air of depravity and debauchery the selections exude is the odour of historic Libertine London. 

Mr. Hare champions this kind of pioneering, devil may care retailing. These are shoe men of the highest order and I salute them. 

Call +44(0)207 377 8694 for your own sake.