Kit Haringon’s tousled hair and stubbly beard make him seem better suited for the snowscapes of Westeros — the picturesque mythical setting of HBO’s Game of Thrones — than they do an exclusive members-only bar, bathed in mahogany. But that’s where we find ourselves on a Friday night in London. He signals for the waiter to bring him a second glass of Sauvignon Blanc and a Pinot Grigio for me. The juxtaposition of fantasy universes is heightened by the fact that Harington is disconcertingly similar to his on-screen persona — the sword slinging, leather-and-fur clad, brooding misfit Jon Snow. “He’s not a million miles from me,” Haringon acknowledges. “Jon snow is a very introverted person an an anxious person. I have a lot of similarities, which is probably why I got the part. Though I’m not as emo as he is.”
Harington’s seriousness is one of the first things you notice about him — his dark eyes and slow, steady speech belie his youthful 25 years. Sitting in a well-worn leather armchair, discussing the pitfalls of the acting industry, he transmits a certain level of intensity, which had the converse effect of turning me into an overzealous giggly school girl. “I think, to a large extent, every actor is typecast,” he says. “When you grow your hair and get a beard, which you have to keep for the duration of the series, you suddenly fit certain characters. For example, I’ve done a film recently, The Seventh Son, which is very different from Thrones, but it is another medieval fantasy.”
Harington is the perfect fit for The Seventh Son, the latest in a recent slew of fantasy-novel-turned-film adaptations, in which he stars alongside Jeff Bridges and Julianne Moore. “I got to work with a really amazing cast and crew,” he says. “It’s a weird thing — you’re starstruck for a day or two, but then after that they’re an actor you have to work with. You try to get along with them, and you might even become friends.”
Starring in HBO’s third most popular show of all time and being friends with The Dude himself, Harington must surely feel tempted to pat himself on the back? “If anything I do the opposite. I’m too aware of blowing my own trumpet, and I think I should probably blow it more often,” he explains, his gaze dropping to the table in a way suggesting vulnerability…almost too adeptly. “I’m very self-depricating and sometimes I give myself a little moment of congratulations or a “well done” but then I’m always hunting for the next challenge.”
I notice the couple at the next table silently supping their cocktails in a covert attempt to eavesdrop, so I lean closer to Harington, and in hushed tones, broach the subject I’ve been working up to for the last half-an-hour: sex scenes. Game of Thrones is renowned for its risqué content and with the recent introduction of Ygritte, a potential love interest for Jon Snow, it can’t be long before Harington has to disrobe. “I haven’t yet,” he replies, raising his eyebrows in relief. “But I had to sign a nudity clause when I first got the part, so it was pretty clear that the show was going to be graphic. I came into it knowing what I was getting myself into, signed the paperwork, and just prayed it didn’t happen for a while.”
And if the challenge does present itself? “I’ll go there if it’s justified in the script,” he shrugs. “Apparently the process is very un-sexual. I’ve always said to other actors, ‘Hang on a minute, what if…?,’ and they’ve gone, ‘No, don’t worry dude, that doesn’t happen. It’s fine.”
Perhaps it’s the alcohol kicking in, or the fact that he’s just acknowledged the innermost sanctum of his manhood, but there’s a perceptible shift in Harington’s manner. He offers me a cigarette and we go up to the roof terrace where he starts filling me in on his Camden haunts and summer festival escapades. He’s more relaxed off the record than on, and by the time his cigarette has smoldered all the way to its filter he’s laughing and joking around like we’re old friends. Back inside he picks up the check, politely wishes me a pleasant weekend, and heads off to meet some friends at a nearby Soho pub. I get the distinct feeling that the wild side of Kit Harington has just been awoken, and Friday night has just begun.
Flaunt Magazine, 2012
It’s not every day that a girl gets to meet Prince Charming, but that’s exactly what I’m doing today in London’s Soho. Outside the window of our small white cube of a meeting room, the din of market stall vendors produced an indecipherable Cockney hum.
Seated diagonally across from me in a fortuitous patch of sunlight — his hair waving softly across his forehead and a smile framed by two perfectly symmetrical dimples — is Sam Claflin, the soon-to-be-huge actor who stars as Prince Charming in this month’s Snow White & the Hunstman.
He’s certainly got some regal shoes to fill. The fabled Prince Charming is one that’s instinctively familiar, pregnant with preconception. But then, this telling of the Snow White fable isn’t quite the classic you remember from childhood. Director Rupert Sanders had conjured an altogether darker version with a medieval backdrop, forests full of hallucinogenic mushrooms, and gangs of fierce mercenaries. Kristen Stewart plays Snow White, and if K-Stew’s track record with leading men (Robert Pattinson, Taylor Lautner) is any indication, the quiet calm that the guy opposite me conveys is about to become swept up in a big, big storm.
I ask Claflin how he plans to cope with the fame this role will likely bring and he shuffles awkwardly in his armchair, perhaps also suddenly aware of the deafening quiet in the room, and replies, “I don’t think I’ll ever be that famous; I’ve only been recognized once, [in fact], I was in a pub late on a Friday night and somebody stopped me and said, ‘Are you that guy from X-Factor?’”
Which is to say that celebrity is creeping up on Claflin, and he doesn’t even know it. Playing Kristen Stewart’s love interest in a hotly anticipated blockbuster is not something he could have ever anticipated a few short years ago. Raised in a small town in the U.K’s unremarkable Midlands region, Claflin was on track for a career in professional soccer until an injury altered his trajectory. Acting seems like a surprising, not to mention ambitious, fallback plan, but when Claflin puts his mind to something it doesn’t take long for things to fall into place.
Unlike countless would-be actors whose Hollywood dreams expire quietly after years of fruitless auditions, he landed a job immediately out of drama school — an eight-part TV mini-series in which he played a knight. “As a kid I was obsessed with King Arthur,” he explains, “so when filming wrapped I called my mom and said ‘Childhood aspiration number one fulfilled. Next, I want to play a pirate.’ Weirdly, shortly afterwards, I got a role in Pirates of the Caribbean.” Sounds a little too providential. So does Claflin believe in fate? “Elements of my life have definitely been strangely coincidental.” he says.
I’m more inclined to attribute his good fortune to his face, which induces trust and a sense of inclusion. Claflin talks to you with the warmth and familiarity of an old friend, filling the conversation with jokey asides about the unassuming life he leads — watching Keeping up With the Kardashians reruns in his pajamas — interspersed with animated anecdotes about his “man crush” on soccer star David Beckham and notorious wallflower tendencies: “I’ve been to parties where you’ve got Robert Downey. Jr to your left, Sean Penn to your right, Angelina and Brad over in the corner. It’s insane,” he says. “But I’m not good in crowds of strangers. I tend to just stand by the bar clutching a beer bottle and observing the action.”
Claflin’s aversion to Hollywood celebrity only serves to emphasize his down-to-earth, boy-next-door quality. Perhaps it’s why Claflin is so keen to challenge himself by introducing a grittier element to the archetypal character of Price Charming: “In the initial script the Prince was such a passive role. I remember very openly talking to the director that first meeting and saying, ‘You know what? I’m not really interested in doing this project of that’s what you’re looking for,’ I wanted to do something completely new.
But embodying a persona so different from his own wasn’t without its difficulties. Horse riding for one: “They wanted me and Chris (Hemsworth) to ride into the castle and jump off our horses,” he explains. “I was top-to-toe in armor, which was really restricting and awkward, so when I tried to swing my leg over, my shoe got caught in the stirrup and I fell face-first onto the floor. I was stuck on my back like a turtle.” He cringes and bursts out laughing, visibly reliving his blush-inducing memory for the umpteenth time.
Claflin may be a bit of a klutz in his princely regalia, but if the man’s actual charm is anything to go by, we should see him enchanting audiences for a long, long time.
Flaunt Magazine, 2012
On the day of the interview the sun had slunk behind a cloud. The street was bathed in grey and the cafe’s staff were collecting tables and chairs from the pavement as if the heavens were about to open. Among the hordes of passing Londoners, shivering in their muted trench coats, Fred Bulter was instantly recognizable. Her rainbow-hued top, the hood ascending to an elfin point, looked surreal beside the suit-and-booted businessmen. On her feet, a pair of vivid Nike trainers displayed the words “ButlerStyle” across the heel.
Fred Butler’s style is certainly worthy of such seemingly self-indulgent self-promotion. Her imaginative work – delicately crafted using innovatively-employed materials and lurid colors – aligns itself perfectly with fashion’s long overdue movement towards uniqueness and M.I.Y (Make It Yourself) aesthetics. In fact, her latest accessories line captures the mood of the moment so effectively that it earned Butler British Fashion Council NEWGEN sponsorship. But this isn’t just a case of having jumped on the bandwagon. Butler has been resolutely pioneering this trend for years.
As an undergraduate, she sidestepped the rest of the competition-hungry creatives enrolling at Central Saint Martins, and headed to Brighton – hub of liberal bohemian living and breeding ground for authentic, less-monied artists and designers. During her three years at University she became acquainted with fellow Brighton alumna Shona Heath – an established set designer, who gave Butler her first big career break. “When I finished my degree I interned with Shona and we just clicked. Her work is so diverse and creatively astute, and after the internship finished she offered me a full-time job assisting her.”
After two years of contributing to Heath’s wildly imaginative editorial sets and window displays, Butler was inspired to create an accessories line. “I was working with props and I decided I wanted to put them onto the body,” Butler explains. “To amalgamate all the elements of fashion styling.” This penchant for the theatrical is still beautifully observable in her work. Some pieces look as if they have been lifted from a fantasy-filled production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream – a vision of translucent pearly petals and metallic winged shapes. According to Butler this kaleidoscopic, marvelously eccentric work is a process of creative free-fall: “I don’t plan. It’s always materials I start off with. Then I just start forming things,” she explains, her hands swirling and spiraling – crafting an invisible masterpiece. “I like the accidents that happen. The subconscious things that come out. That’s my favorite way to work.”
Such an organic process has served Butler well, and has culminated in the innovative accessories for which she is now known. One item from the current line, a quilted patchwork bolero awash with effervescent colors and asymmetrical shapes, bridges the gap between fashion and art: “It goes completely flat. You could take it off and hang it on your wall like a real piece of art if you wanted.”
It didn’t take long for this signature fashion-meets-art look to catapult her into the fashion stratosphere. Butler, who is now working from a shared studio in North London, was accepting commissions from editors at every major fashion publication, but was determined never to let her busy schedule compromise the quality of her work. This dedication is evident in the intricacies of her accessories – pom-poms made from scratch and sci-fi origami headdresses created from the foil jogging blankets used by marathon runners. Unlike the ostentatious ‘it’ bags brought out by the big fashion houses season upon leather-clad season, each piece feels meticulously one-of-a-kind. So much so that you can almost envision Butler dedicatedly and lovingly crafting them – a down-to-earth authenticity she strived to retain: “I generally have a problem with buying a label to show wealth rather than because you truly love it,” she explains. “It’s really important to me that everything does take a long time to make. I try to evolve new techniques and take time over it, so it’s really nice if people recognize how much effort I put in.”
All her hard work was deservedly rewarded when she was granted BFC NEWGEn sponsorship for a/w 09, and showcased her work at London Fashion Week in February of this year. Having helped launch the careers of British designers including Alexander McQueen and Matthew Williamson, the Topshop-sponsored scheme gives fresh design talent substantial financial backing and is fiercely competitive. “It’s a lengthy process,” Butler explains. “I had to have a business plan and references. Then they asked me to submit my previous collection and I eventually had to interview with a panel of judges. It was like Dragon’s Den – a table with 11 people and I was on the end.”
Understandably Butler cites this accolade as the highlight of her career thus far, and with acclaim for her work being dishes out in spades, a following of fashion savvy fans has also ensued. Among those ‘ambassadors’ of her work is influential blogging sensation and member of the new fashion elite, Susie Bubble. “I had work displayed in the window of Selfridges and Susie saw my name. She looked me up and wrote about me on StyleBubble, so I emailed her to say thank you and we’ve been in touch ever since.”
Butler’s designs turn their wearers into walking works of art, (a trait beautifully exemplified in her London Fashion Week video featuring elegant dancers in bright lycra onesies and her trademark embellishes headpieces) so it follows that musicians like Paloma Faith and Patrick Wolf are also keen to wear her theatrical accessories. But who else, aside from the creative elite, does she imagine swathed in a Fred Butler design once they make it to stores next month? She takes a sip of her cappuccino and smiles. “People who appreciate something special.” Tenderly made, meticulously elaborate and giddily childlike, it’s clear from her work that special is precisely what Fred Butler does best.
Rococo, 2009
All the components are there: A bight and tenacious young heroine; the pursuit of a dream; strange lands filled with soulless enemies; loneliness, despair and heartbreak. Followed by renewed hope, a fresh start, and, eventually, a shot at happily-ever-after. The fairytale motif feels so familiar and formulaic that it’s hard to believe it really happened. Behind the photo shoots and the fever-pitch hype, behind the sculpted retro hair and the fluttery eyelashes, there’s more to VV Brown than sequins and smiles.
What Brown describes as “a very long and straining journey” began halfway round the work in Los Angeles – the city where dreams either come true in a blaze of flashing paparazzi bulbs, or wilt and expire quietly. Luckily for Brown her American dream became more than the proverbial unfulfilled promise it is for many. Or so it seemed. Twenty-years-old and with a record deal already in pace, her life looked great on paper, but this didn’t translate to reality. “I didn’t enjoy LA at all. I found it shallow and empty,” she explains. “I lost myself when I was over there. It’s like a gas chamber. You cant see it, you can’t small it, but it’s slowly killing you.”
Whatever you might have read about her LA highlife, Brown is adamant that singing backing vocals for Madonna was neither achingly glamorous nor indicative of success: “I was just paying the rent. I was the underdog. I rarely got to meet any of the artists, and when I did it was very much, ‘stay over there, do your thing, then leave’.” Amidst the controlling record execs and the city’s vacuous residents (whom she describes as “prono chic”), Brown knew after two years that it was time to leave. “I was broke. I was depressed and I had a nasty boyfriend. I suppose I felt quite isolated. I was a black British girl who liked really unusual music, and it felt like there was no place for me.” With sneering assertions that she’s never find another record deal still ringing in her ears, Brown headed home to East London, where she began writing new material. “I spent so much time in LA stuck in studios that I had forgotten what it was like to play live,” she explains. “As soon as I got back, I bought a guitar from a charity shop. It has one string, which I used as a bass note, and I went to play gigs. Sometimes there were only three people in the room but I didn’t care.”
This was the start of a particularly dark time, Brown recalls, still fresh with the reverberations of her LA experience. “I remember one day there was a knock on the door. I opened it to find three police, and my parents, standing there. I hadn’t seen or spoken to them in days, so they has reported me missing, which was understandable because I was depressed and on sleeping pills,” she reveals. “I wanted to die because life wasn’t worth living. If your dreams are starting to become real in a very big way, and the, all of a sudden, that rug is pulled out from underneath you – nobody is returning your calls and you have no money, you’re in a city where you don’t love anyone and on top of that your heart is broken…that’s enough to make anyone crumble.”
Her parents were relived to find he was just holed up writing a new song – Crying Blood – which was to be the record that eventually set the ball rolling again. Before long she was signed to a label which finally allowed her the creative freedom she craved: “It was exciting because it was new control over my art. The one thing I promised myself is that I would never be afraid to speak my truth, about who I am and what I want to do.”
This sense of clarity in her work breeds a resolute focus: “I always say to my manager to work me like a dog. I can sleep when I die,” she says. Browns projects are numerous and she’s equally passionate about each and every one. Besides her debut album, Traveling Like the Light, she is also doing the requisite summer festival circuit, working on a graphic novel, dabbling in DJ-ing, and will be opening an online vintage store – VV Vintage – in homage to her love of retro garments. “It’s something I’m doing because it’s a hobby,” she explains. “When I was broke, I would go to vintage shops and try to recreate what was trendy. Then I started to experiment more, and that’s where my signature style sprung from.”
Her style – kooky nostalgia with a sophisticated twist – has earned Brown almost as much media attention as her music, and has helped make her one of the most talked about British artists of 2009.”I think that fashion and music go hand in hand,” she says. “Art is a lifestyle. It’s an identity. Designers need us and we need designers.” Among her favorite designers she lists Ashish, Viktor & Rolf and Manish Arora – people who mirror her fearless sense of style with playfully imaginative creations. When asked how she would define her look she replies simply: “Fusion. I like mixing and matching, which is what keeps things interesting.”
Fusion is a word Brown consistently uses to describe both her look and her diverse streams of work. You get a sense that she knows herself well. There is no publicist censoring her incredibly honest responses. She reveals her eagerness to do a naked photo shoot without batting an eyelid, and requests that I write about her all-consuming crush on T4’s Rick Edwards (“Put that in there. I think he’s my ideal man.”) Brown is very much in control of her own image now, a testament to the lessons learned in LA. “I think good art comes out of pain and desperation. I hope I never lose that sense of hustle.” she says. “When things come too soon or too easily you don’t appreciate it. When you struggle to eventually get small pieces of success it’s all the sweeter.”
It hasn’t been an easy journey or a smooth road, but it looks like VV Brown is finally around the corner from happily-ever-after.
Rococo, 2009