Stefan Campbell Presents: Lyndell Mansfield, the Pink Lady-Girl

This is Lyndell Mansfield, a high voltage tornado of an "It" girl from London via Austraila who you can imagine holding court at Boombox on a typical Sunday night. But when I say "holding court," I mean "ruling the joint," stimulating fun and outrageousness through telekinesis or some sort of Jedi mind trickery. She's the kind of good time girl that makes you smile the moment you see her but at the same time makes you wish you had put a little more effort into your own look. When I first met Lyndell a while back, she was wearing a 1920s sheer beaded flapper slip dress, worn and torn, black, high-heeled mary-janes with Pepto-Bismol pink opaque tights and explosive pink hair, which instantly brought to mind "Beauty School Drop-Out."

She looked like something that could have stumbled out of Baz Luhrmann's attic. And she just happens to be one of the most soughtafter hair geniuses in the fashion business.

I spotted Lyndell, who was in town to create the hair for the Erin Fetherson show, at an intimite birthday dinner for super producer Richard Villani of Vanity Fair (check him out at villaniproductions.net) on February 6th at 8:38 p.m. after going to a private listening party for Janet Jackson's new album earlier in the night. When I saw her standing (more like posing) in a corner at Provence in SoHo, talking on her "powder pink" Blackberry with a miniature pink Monchichi figurine dangling off the side, I thought she was a present, all wrapped up in a giant black acetate, wannabe silk taffeta, Dynasty-era bow (please note the headband… GORGEOUS). In many ways she was a gift -- like a "surprise for the eyes," which were getting lazy from resting on overly-downtown cool hipster types who took over the city for Fashion Week.

Not only was her "cocktail" dress (which I'm certain she wore front to back) graced with a ginourmous stiff bow, it also had her signature pink, in a St. John's style heavy knit on the bodice and sleeves. This dress reminded me of the whimsical early '90s Marc Jacobs collections (when girls were sent down the runway in polka-dotted mini-rompers and Minnie Mouse ears) meets Roxy club kids carrying lunch boxes. When I asked her where she got her dress she responded: "Some vintage shop in Brooklyn… I can't recall the name." Of course I did not believe her. She went on about the dress, saying, "When I saw her in that shop I was like: 'You are fucking kidding me.' What is she doing here?!" It was as if she had reconnected with a sister from whom she was separated at birth.

But what's with all this pink on a grown-ass woman? It was all a bit fairy princess on a MILF. Her pink love affair, naturally, included pink shu uemura lip gloss that tasted like strawberries (she says it tastes better than ice cream), pink calf-length socks with her pointy black booties… and a pre-teen pink Polaroid camera. But her hair was platinum, not bleached, thank you very much. It's usually pastel pink, that she colors herself using only old fashioned setting lotions. Her skin was very pinkish blush all over. When questioned about her pink obsession, she told a lovely story about her nanny (who started calling her "Stinky Pinky") who gave her a "wondrous pink negligee" trimmed in flamingo-pink-colored feathers, when she was just the tender age of five.

It sounds very Priscilla Queen of the Desert meets Auntie Mame. "With that nightie in pink, it was love at first sight," Lyndell said. Lucky for her, that negligee was not the color caca d'enfant!