#END OF SEASON CPS CHAPS

[kapowchic-blog]

โปรโมชั่น CPS Chaps ลดกระจาย 50% ไม่ต้องเป็นสมาชิกก็ลดที่ CPS CHAPS ทุกสาขา (วันนี้ -ไม่มีระยะเวลากำหนด)

ลดราคาส่งท้ายฤดูกาล 50% เริ่มตอนนี้เลย สิทธิพิเศษสำหรับสมาชิกบัตร My Card ที่ CPS CHAPS ทุกสาขา รีบคว้ามาเดี๋ยวนี้เลย!

    โดยวันที่ 12 มิ.ย 60 จะเป็นรอบของผู้มีบัตรสมาชิก หยิบแล้วพุ่งตัวไปจ้าาา 

สำหรับผู้ที่ไม่มีบัตร ลูกค้าทั่วไป ลด 50% ตั้งแต่วันอังคาร ที่ 13 มิ.ย เป็นต้นไป พรุ่งนี้ลุย!

  พบกันที่ CPS shop ทุกสาขาเลย โปรนี้ ยังไม่มีระยะเวลากำหนดนะคะ แต่รีบไปก็ดีนะ เพราะคนเยอะมากๆเลย หมดแล้วหมดเลยนะคะ

*ออนไลน์ไม่ได้ร่วมรายการเน้อ

[fahye]

CP bachelor AU: part 13

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11 | part 12

***

Laurent bends his legs, pulling his ankles out of direct sunlight and back into the shade of the poolside umbrella. He's had sunburned feet once in his life, and never plans to repeat it. He throws an annoyed glance at Damen, who is stretched out on the adjacent lounge chair. Damen has spent the last three days turning steadily browner while being very lax about sunscreen.

The villa they've rented on the west coast of Santorini has its own pool as well as its own tiny courtyard complete with mosaic floor and fountain. Sunshine off white stone and white paint makes it feel overbright and otherworldly during the day, shimmering with heat and light. Laurent tried for an hour this morning to go over his notes on the Theran eruption and the formation of the caldera, but the heat snuck into his brain, and he can't make himself mind. He feels looser, and happier, than he ever imagined he could.

The ratings for the show's finale were unprecedented. With the story of Erasmus and Kallias under their belts, the finale was marketed as an even more shocking twist, and Laurent and Damen have become the new faces of unexpected romance. They've been asked to present at the Logies, and to appear on every morning show in the country.

Laurent has never been a celebrity in his own right, nor wanted to. He's... adjusting.

The most obvious benefit is that Damen's stock in the eyes of his PR department has shot way, way up, and his father has--after a long talk with both Damen and Laurent, which left Laurent feeling like he'd run a marathon--agreed that Damen will assume control of the company as planned. Theomedes looked like a man who'd already planned the first three years of his luxury retirement and had one impatient foot out the door; he was ready to throw Damen the reins immediately.

Damen promptly turned around and declared that he was leaving the company in the care of his brother Kastor for six months, extending the leave of absence he'd taken to come on the show.

"To do what?" Theomedes demanded.

"This and that," said Damen, eyes dancing at Laurent. "Expand my horizons. Travel."

Laurent has only met Kastor once. He has a feeling that Damen's decision will come back to bite them later, but right now he can't bring himself to care too much if it means that Damen is here, with him, holding his hand in airports and telling him stories over lunches of bread and olive oil and fava and sun-wilted tomatoes, and kissing Laurent in the night breezes that sweep gladly through the open doors of the villa.

Tomorrow, filming begins in Fira for Laurent's new show.

Two of Laurent's major potential investors pulled out, after the season went to air. They cited various vague reasons but Laurent knew what they meant: that Laurent's uncle had managed to leverage the finale against Laurent, frame it as his unfortunate, inexperienced nephew being selfish; impetuous; unstable and untrustworthy.

Laurent's new network, however, looked at the ratings. They agreed to take the chance on his show.

And Laurent has another investor, now, even though he's been arguing about this with the investor in question for at least six months. And also for the last twenty minutes that they have been lounging here, poolside.

"I should make you take all the money back," he says now.

"What," Damen says, "I can't invest in my own fiancé's company?"

"Don't call me that," Laurent says, automatic.

Damen lifts his hand, and looks pointedly at Laurent's. The ring that had been donated to the show was some enormous, hideous diamond, which Laurent wore for publicity photos and promptly returned to the sponsor. Instead, he wears a plain gold band, and Damen has a matching one. They look like wedding bands, but for the hand they wear them on.

"Trappings," Laurent says, blithely insincere. "We're not engaged. You can't get engaged before you start dating, that's absurd."

"I seem to remember that's what I told someone when they approached me about being on a reality show."

Laurent throws a towel, with precision, at Damen's face.

Damen sets the towel aside and climbs off his lounge chair. He says, grinning, "Let's call it business. I expect a good return on my investment."

"Is that so," says Laurent.

"I'll settle for dividends, in the meantime."

Damen bends down over Laurent and kisses him with sun-chapped lips. Laurent hooks a finger in Damen's shirt and tries to drag him down further, but Damen pulls away and takes off his shirt, instead, ready to dive into the pool.

Laurent waits until Damen is down to just a clinging pair of board shorts, and then snaps a picture on his phone. After a moment's thought he sends the picture to Jokaste.

just sharing the wealth, he adds.

Her answer comes almost at once. just showing off, you mean.

It's late evening in Sydney. Jokaste is probably out somewhere, being sharp and sparkling. She's already been approached to do Dancing with the Stars, has booked a small part on a new TV drama, and appears near-weekly in gossip magazines, paired with various radio personalities and football players.

Three dots resolve themselves into another message.

btw I had coffee with kashel yesterday. do you know who she's seeing??

yes, laurent says.

you're bluffing.

he IS damen's best friend, Laurent points out.

stop being a smug asshole and go peel your bf out of those shorts.

Damen is in the pool by now, swimming aimless half-laps. Laurent watches him, feeling a pleasant heat of anticipation at the thought. Damen swims up to the edge and rests his elbows there; water gleams on the muscles of his arms and plasters his hair to his neck in thick strands. He sweeps a palm through the water, making waves, in an obvious threat.

"I will fucking destroy you," Laurent says. He picks up his phone, to serve as a shield of sorts--their phones are sacred and not to be endangered--then blinks as it starts to vibrate in his hand.

"What is it?" Damen says.

Laurent leans forward and holds out the phone so that Damen can see the name on the screen.

Damen mimes throwing it into the pool, and Laurent smiles. He leans back in his lounge chair. The phone keeps buzzing in his hands. After a moment, he picks up.

"Hello, uncle," he says.

"Laurent," his uncle says. "I'm pleasantly surprised. I thought you'd be buried in work, not taking calls from family."

"I can always make time for you," Laurent says.

"Producing a new format from scratch is a lot more work than taking over an existing show. You must be feeling stretched."

"It's kind of you to worry," Laurent says, "but there's really no need. After all, I learned from the best."

Since Laurent was seventeen, he and his uncle have spoken in code; everything they say aloud to one another, every email or text, is benign and deniable. Everything happens beneath the surface. Laurent imagines how pleased his uncle would be to report to his friends in the industry that he'd spoken to Laurent and the poor boy had sounded so stressed, and admitted to being in over his head.

He'll probably report it anyway. At least it he’ll know it to be a lie.

"I have to say it is a little disappointing, Laurent, that you were so desperate for capital you felt the need to attach yourself to the nearest bank account on legs. It doesn't look good, you must see that. I'm concerned that people won't take this little show of yours seriously."

Laurent lets himself smile. He enjoys arguing this topic with Damen himself, but he won't let anyone else question it. And if his uncle's skirting around calling Laurent a whore, he must be running low on inspiration.

He could come back with the obvious answer that it's hardly any better than everyone thinking he's no more than his uncle's pet project. But it's too obvious to bother saying aloud.

"I think I'll let the finished product speak for itself," he says. "Besides, there are some benefits. Now that everyone knows I'm off the market, there are far fewer people trying to wrangle an AD job by making indecent offers. I know how people gossip in this industry. I wouldn't want anyone to think that I make my personnel decisions in bed."

That is met with silence. Laurent meets Damen's eyes and makes a small face, and Damen starts to laugh.

Nicaise will be having lunch with Aimeric this week. An olive branch, of sorts, and perhaps an offer. Nicaise is far too untrusting to let Aimeric get away with anything; if they can avoid strangling one another in a Potts Point restaurant, Laurent's told Nicaise to extend the hand anyway. Responsibility ends where Laurent decides it ends.

"I'll be following your project with great interest," his uncle says, finally.

Laurent has friends, money, and manpower. He's not struggling just to maintain his footholds any more. This year, they're going on the offensive; if you're going to fight, you might as well do it from a position of strength. He and Damen have two companies between them, and all the influence that comes with a narrative that's grown bigger than them both. Damen is made for it, born to it, expanding and inhabiting the largeness of his life. And Laurent… well, Damen was right. Laurent enjoys a challenge, if he gets to set the terms.

"I'm sure you will," he says pleasantly, and hangs up.

He puts his phone on the table and pulls off his own shirt. Damen sends an inviting splash in his direction, droplets prickling coolly at his ankles.

Laurent dives in to join Damen, and the water folds over him like a second skin.

[setthawutt]

CPS CHAPS “End of Season Sale!” ห้ามพลาด!!! ลด 50% แล้ว... ชั้น 1 ศูนย์การค้าเซ็นทรัลพลาซา นครราชสีมา #CentralPlaza #CentralPlazaNakhonRatchasima #CentralPlazaKorat #NakhonRatchasima #Korat #CPSChaps #ChapsThailand (at CentralPlaza Nakhon Ratchasima)

[gianhovn]

Khuyến mãi 2017 thời trang 31Boutique giảm giá 40% trong tháng 12- 2017

Ghiền Mua sắm

Thời gian khuyến mãi

Thursday, December 7, 2017 – Sunday, December 10, 2017

Giảm giá 40%~50%

Chương trình khuyến mãi thời trang 31Boutique giảm giá 40% trong tháng 12- 2017, đây là khuyến mãi 2017 dành cho tất cả khách hàng.

Chi tiết chương trình khuyến mãi thời trang 31Boutique:

31BOUTIQUE trân trọng gửi tới quý khách hàng chương trình END OF SEASON SALE của thương hiệu CPS – Chaps

Giảm 40% tất cả những sản phẩm trong bst Thu Đông 2017 của CPS (quần áo , túi xách , giầy dép , phụ kiện )

với rất nhiều những sản phẩm quý khách có thể mua trực tiếp tại shop hoặc tham khảo thêm trong những Lookbook của 31Boutique

Nhanh chân đến 31Boutique để chọn cho mình những bộ cánh đẹp với giá vô cùng hấp dẫn khi size số vẫn còn đủ nhé

31Boutique nhà phân phối độc quyền thương hiệu CPS tại Việt Nam với giá bán bằng giá với chính hãng bên Thái Lan

Hãy nhanh chân đến với chương trình khuyến mãi thời trang 31Boutique để hưởng ngay ưu đãi này.

Dành cho tất cả khách hàng mua sản phẩm của thời trang 31Boutique

Thời trang 31Boutique

Xem khuyến mãi Nguồn:

[vdbstore-blog]

New Post has been published on Vintage Designer Handbags Online | Vintage Preowned Chanel Luxury Designer Brands Bags & Accessories

New Post has been published on http://vintagedesignerhandbagsonline.com/it%e2%80%8b%e2%80%8b-is-whats-outside-that-counts-how-northern-style-became-the-quintessence-of-the-british-identity-makeup-fashion/

'It​​ is what’s outside that counts': how northern style became the quintessence of the British identity makeup | Fashion

In 1986, 31 years before the Tory conference set up camp to bury Theresa May alive in its industrial shell, the G-Mex centre in Manchester hosted the Festival of the Tenth Summer. Commemorating the Sex Pistols’ 1976 date at the Lesser Free Trade Hall, the unofficial starter-gun of punk parochialisation, top billing was shared between a royal flush of local heroes: the Smiths, New Order, A Certain Ratio and The Fall. The audience wore a detailed array of micro-tribal uniforms in their honour – tattered Levi’s, national health specs, secondhand car coats, Adidas Gazelles, flicks, quiffs, short back and sides – through which you could identify their record collections, drinking habits, library cards, football clubs and sex drives. All the important stuff.

I was a tatty 15-year-old south Manchester schoolboy at the time, looking among the glorious rabble for an identity that might fit. A couple of mates and I hung around outside in Nike cagoules, breathing in the solemnly euphoric, superior air of northern style, flecked back then with the scent of Breaker lager, Benson & Hedges, Paco Rabanne and deadheaded flower arrangements plucked from the beds of Whitworth Park to slip into back pockets, just like Morrissey. We identified songs by reverberating bass lines and cheer alone. Piling out late into the night, every man looked amazing, in his own tastefully wonky way.

Model and musician Karen Elson in a 2005 image from North: Fashioning Identity. Photograph: Elaine Constantine

In the narky breeze before Madchester’s acid reign, a particular hotbed of northern style subcultures found their forum. It was the first time I had consciously clocked the parochial wardrobe rhythms of the fiercely proud men of my hometown. Everyone who cares about the way northern men dress has their own Damascene equivalent of that afternoon spent sloped on the G-Mex forecourt. If I had been 16 a decade later, no doubt Oasis at Maine Road or DJ Harvey’s first set at the Electric Chair would have provided a similar contrapuntal menswear touchstone of Clark’s Wallabees, 6876 macs and Carhartt workpants. Ten years earlier, it would have been a skinny old-school tie, bleach and pin badges, the Buzzcocks or Magazine at the Russell Club, or a pair of voluminous pleated slacks to accommodate a fleet-footed whizz around the final hours of the Twisted Wheel. Twenty and it might have been something a little snugger and more sartorial at a Salford matinee of A Taste of Honey.

North has opened up an old north/south divide conversation

“When you say northern style to people, they know what you mean straight away,’ says Lou Stoppard, co-curator of the exhibition North: Fashioning Identity, which opens at Somerset House in London this week. “When you say it, they see it, like Paris or Rio.” The exhibition was a word-of-mouth sensation when it opened at Liverpool’s Open Eye gallery last year, attracting over 30,000 visitors. Its shift to the capital is a pleasing reflection of the way British menswear has so often travelled, historically, from a defining moment in the north to the mass market of the south, then out into the world.

Harry in Newcastle, from North: Fashioning Identity. Photograph: Kuba Ryniewicz

North has opened up an old north/south divide conversation – and not just in northern men around the snugs of local boozers. Stoppard and her co-curator, Adam Murray, who once ran the brilliantly titled free publishing initiative Preston Is My Paris, have been tireless in their research in order to deploy and display all that is beautiful and special about the north’s instinctive, often contrary, feel for fashion and its consequential influence on a global fashion stage. They have consciously avoided the potholes of cliche. It is a clever dissection of the influence and repercussions northern style has had on the wider world, taking its pick of original and found work from photographers, stylists and designers whose talent is interwoven with their regional identity. The exhibition feels intelligent, celebratory and in love with its subject matter.

This being the north, little sportswear touches were everywhere, mostly worn on the least sporting

As well it might. Northern style has always rested in its specificity, no matter what individual shapes it might be taking in any given season. The devil is always in the detail. Those details travel. The beauty of northern style is that it all happens a long way away from London, where the industry of fashion can force a persuasive, strict, business-like hand over the divisions of elegance, where those with money are assumed to have more taste than those without. The weather helps counterbalance matters a little. You need clothes up there.

The northern sartorial spectrum on that bracing, sunny afternoon of the Festival of the Tenth Summer ran a particularly pleasing gamut. Northern style often comes twinned with northern poetry, two branches of the same blossoming strain of self-expression. The locally renowned men of words you looked up to seemed to accept their responsibility to look good off page, too. On one hand, the toweringly handsome Membranes singer and part time music writer John Robb’s psychobilly get-up, which looked like a sharper sartorial cousin of everything Malcolm McClaren had achieved with his punk darlings down south. On the other, Paul Morley’s delightfully pretentious fondness for an intellectual Japanese roll neck and horn-rimmed specs, which couldn’t have looked further from it.

Pink lipstick, 1983, from North: Fashioning Identity. Photograph: Tom Wood

Back on that euphoric night in ’86, ecstasy was still a couple of years from changing the night-time shape of the city. New Order were yet to record Technique. Happy Mondays hadn’t celebrated the city’s predisposition for a Loose Fit. The druggiest looks on stage were Mark E Smith’s cantankerous, amphetamine-fuelled Bullseye dad and the hooded lids of Andy Rourke’s conspicuous smack habit, both recognisable northern archetypes of that moment. There were chaps in camel coloured Marks & Sparks cardigans with flat-tops from Dave the Demon Barber on Tib Street. Men feeling their way out of their outre gothic signifiers into something more tastefully arch, perhaps a paisley shirt and a couple of ladies’ bangles. Or Chameleons fans, as we liked to call them.

“Scally” was still a high-water mark conflagration of aggro, humour and pure style, a largely scouse convention. But plenty of those men traipsing in and out of the G-Mex knew their way around the bedrock tropes of the high-end terrace bloke, heritage British brands such as Barbour or Aquascutum and elite Europeans such as CP Company and Stone Island. This being the north, little sportswear touches were everywhere, mostly worn on the least sporting.

Now has never been a better moment to consider the kernel of northern pride and its most obvious physical manifestation

The lifespan of the exhibition has weathered either side of the Brexit vote, arriving in London opportunely when the north/south divide has rarely been at such an optimum brokerage. Because of the shadow Westminster casts over the city, the capital never looks uncooler than under a Tory government. The most famous exponent of the most iconoclastic living London designer, Vivienne Westwood, is Theresa May. North is a reminder of the spirit that informed punk’s queen couturier when Viv was growing up in Tintwistle and had nothing to lean on but her imagination, curiosity and taste. That’s all style really takes.

Every northerner knows that glorious moment when you realise we look and act differently from everybody else and that’s OK. Northern style is the quintessence of the British identity makeup. It is what’s outside that counts. I left North with the same odd, distinct feeling of personal optimism I left the G-Mex steps three decades earlier, to get a 109 bus home along Princess Parkway, amid the mass swell of misfits and ne’er-do-wells that owned northern style then. Now has never been a better moment to consider the kernel of northern pride and its most obvious physical manifestation: what we wear, how we look; that centre of Englishness that blows its own horn loudest because, if we don’t, no one else will.

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[kapowchic-blog]

โปรโมชั่นบัตรเครดิต KTC แลกรับเครดิตเงินคืน 5% Chaps End of Season Sale กับ บัตรเครดิต KTC (วันนี้ -10 ก.ค 60)

ตอนนี้ CPS มีโปรโมชั่นลด 50% อยู่นะคะ รู้ยัง? ฉลาดซื้อย่างเราต้องหยิบบัตรเครดิต KTC ไปจ่ายเพราะเมื่อจ่ายผ่านบัตรเครดิตแลกรับเครดิตเงินคืนได้ 5% ที่ร้าน CPS ทุกสาขา แจ่มไปเลยใช่มั้ยล่ะค่ะ บอกแล้วเป็นแฟนกระเป๋าฉีก งานช้อปทุกงาน คืองานชอบแบบคุ้มๆ

  เมื่อใช้จ่ายผ่านบัตรฯ ครบทุก 3,000 บาท /เซลส์สลิป จำกัดยอดเงินคืนสูงสุด 1,200 บาท

ลงทะเบียนก่อนจ่ายด้วยนะ พิมพ์ “CH” วร��ค ตามด้วยเลขบัตรฯ 16 หลัก ส่งมาที่ 0613845000 จะได้รับข้อความตอบกลับลงทะเบียนสำเร็จ (ค่าส่งครั้งละ 3 บาท)

วันนี้  – 10 ก.ค. 60