One to watch: CLaer

I know it's still summer, and therefore realistically far too early to be championing a knit-wear brand that specialises in cashmere, that most glorious of warm fabrics. But the magazines are all trumpeting on about how to get the next season's look and outside it is decidedly grey and rainy, so I feel vindicated.
CLaer isn't a typo, it's just another silly label name. But despite it's slightly odd branding (seriously, the twirly wirly typefce they're using isjust not right) CLaer's clothing is serious stuff. After all you don't get much more serious than a knitwear purist who used to be in charge of all things woolen at arch minimalist Jil Sander.

The label's name comes from that of its founder, Hamburg based designer Claudia Laermann, who was creative head anf designer for Jil Sander's knit and jersey collections for 18 years beofre launching her own line in 2009.
On her website, Laermann refers to Cashmere and Marino wool as "noble fibres" that "caress the body" and "contribute to the feel good attitutde of the wearer", which is rather nice.
She also talks about "feminine coolness" which seems like a rather euphemistic phrase better suited to one of those breezy advert about feminine care, but no matter. What's important here is the clothes, and this is cashmere as it's meant to be - stupidly expensive but versatile and covetable and hard to get hold of.
Most of the new collection, which includes a gorgeous fine knit cape and some very, very chuncky cable knits, woudl sit very happily alongside the key autumn winter pieces from Prada, Celine and Chloe, which judging by the September issues of all the fashion magazines, are what we should be wearing at the moment.
But, even I was financially healthy, I'd quite happily not spend all that money on any of those collections, and just buy one piece from CLaer.
Although even the promise of the rarest fibres harvested by hand from wild goats and tiny baby rabbits and then rolled into wool on the thighs of Christina Hendricks in a process overseen by the ghost of Chanel with assitance from Karl Lagerfeld would never get me into an Alpaca playsuit.