Word: greene
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With its dark furniture, high-tech gadgets and model jet plane, Philip Green's London office feels like the work space of an investment banker or hedge-fund manager. On the wall behind his enormous desk, there's even a photograph of Wall Street antihero Gordon Gekko. But on this May morning, the daytime television show flickering on his sleek, flat-screen set betrays his role as a master of an entirely different universe: women's fashion...
...Green, the billionaire owner of the Arcadia Group, which controls a clutch of British clothing chains including Miss Selfridge and Wallis, is watching a spot about the latest fashion collection to hit Topshop, the jewel in Arcadia's crown. The much ballyhooed line inspired by Kate Moss--the supermodel's wardrobe formed the basis of the designs--went on sale the previous night at the chain's flagship store in London. Basking in the nonstop Moss-fueled coverage, Green can't help smiling: "You couldn't dream for a better start," he says. On May 9, the hype crossed...
...Karpinski found him to be in a similar state at a scheduled weekly meeting that she attended with Pappas and others in Baghdad's Green Zone soon after. "He wasn't making any sense ... he was disoriented. The only thing he could focus on was the memorial service [for those killed in the mortar attack] - on that he had clarity...
Aberra, 53, came to the U.S. from Addis Ababa in 1973 to study commercial art at Green Mountain College in Vermont. Four months after she arrived, the Ethiopian government collapsed, and her diplomat father was imprisoned, leaving Aberra without any financial resources. She moved to Boston to live with her half sister and took a job waitressing in a hamburger joint. After she was fired for speaking too softly, Aberra found another gig, as a cashier at a small coffee shop at the Harvard Science Center, but dreamed of becoming a clothing designer. "I always made my own clothes when...
Even under the most hopeful scenarios, it's doubtful that Mansour and places like it will ever be the same. Pulling out of Kuehl's headquarters, our humvee drives through several inches of dark green sludge that has been seeping out of a broken sewage pipe for a week. We turn toward the center of Mansour, driving along a familiar set of railroad tracks. Looking across the gravel berms, I can see our old street. I see the empty corner where a group of brothers used to grill giant splayed carp, called masgouf, over open coals every evening. Down farther...