The dog behind THE CLOTHES WHISPERER blog
Bonjour bow wow. I'm Butters "the Fashion Dog" Knox, a nearly three year old teacup Pomeranian and I live with my Mom (aka "The Clothes Whisperer") in Notting Hill. I drive a hot pink Ferrari purchased from Harrods bearing the license plate "SPOILED." So pull over if you see me peeling down Bayswater Road.
Since I couldn't be vaccinated until I was 4 months old (2 months after I came home with mommy), I spent the first 60 odd days of my existence as Butters combing the city by subway, exploring its shops/bars/and restaurants from inside the comfort of one of mommy's many bags. To this day, I prefer to take in the shows and oversee shoots from inside mommy's Louis Vuitton Neverfull. Why walk when I can make her carry me?
|Auntie Zas! Be sure to check out her blog...Ni Hao Grandma|
But sooner or later, after a good long period of eight or so months (hello puppy passport, ixnay on the quarantine!), I was finally collected, packed into a pink puppy crate and shipped from JFK to London Heathrow. Yes, it was expensive. Yes, I was miserable stuck down there with the luggage in the darkness. Yes, it was a huge hassle. However, it had to be done.
|Soaking up the sun on one of my last days in my hometown|
At last, after about twelve hours of thinking I'd died and gone to doggy hell, there was mommy, waiting on the other side of more jabs, a bit of disgusting stale airport dog food and a scan of my microchip later. I'd officially arrived in the UK. First it was off to my new home in Oxford, where I gleefully delighted in sniffing out the greenery, frolicking through the cavernous medieval halls of mommy's college and riding around, tucked away safe and sound, in the cliche wicker bike basket. Beaming in my new yellow rainjacket I was ready to settle into this famous English country life those bulldogs and collies back at Tompkins Square Dog Park were always going on about that. Or so I thought.
It had only been a month or so of quaint strolls through the meadows of summertime Oxfordshire when we packed up once again, thank god not in that horrible crate this time, and made our way to Londontown, where Mommy was starting an internship at the Financial Times Style Desk.
The rest, as they say, is fashion history. One month later, we hit our first ever runway sesh, London Fashion Week Spring/Summer 2009 and a doginista was truly born.
Since that time, I have been the only canine to twice in a row grace a Matthew Williamson show, learned to smize with my tail, werk a catwalk or two and bring a new meaning to the word "fierce" at photoshoots.
It's like I said. I have a hot pink doggy Ferrari bed, but I prefer to sleep on the tippy top of Mommy's pillow. I eat organic chicken, fresh boiled, daily. My wardrobe is probably bigger than yours. If I don't get front row at a show, I won't walk out, but I may just leave you a wee gift as an afterthought.
I am Butters and I am a doggy diva: the ultimate Doginista.
Nota Puppia: I accept sticks, smelly street lamp posts and gift certificates to Harrods Pet Kingdom.