Tuesday, 2 November 2010

And hope for the best

Emo, Rocker, Chav, Wannabe, Yah, Goth, Indie, Geek, Gansta, Extremist, Blah, Blah, Blah. The list really could go on. For those of you that have not yet caught on to what I’m talking about, this is a list of style cliques that I’m sure you could recognise yourself belonging to.

What I’m finding at the moment, especially when it comes to my wardrobe, is that the line between style tribes is becoming increasingly thin.

If I wear hoop earrings, does that make me a Chav?

If I wear Ugg boots, does that make me a Yah?

If I wear a shirt, does that make me a Geek?

If I paint my nails black, do I then belong to the Emo crowd, sitting around all day listening to My Chemical Romance and dying my hair a matching shade?

Nope, nope, nope and definitely not.

I really do admire those of you out there who are able to stick to the rules of your ‘gang’ and flaunt the appropriate uniform off like there really is no tomorrow. But when it comes to me I tent to throw on whatever’s clean and hope for the best.

Wednesday, 6 October 2010

The only time a man should wear a skirt is to a stag do

In the news today there was an article about a Brazilian student who had been briefly expelled from university. No, she hadn’t plagiarised her final year dissertation or defaced a picture of her schools principle; she had worn a skirt which was deemed too short by university officials.

Ok, so, they wanted to discipline said student, but kicking her out of uni? Common! I understand that the Brazilian Education Authorities want to show that their institution is a place full of respectable, serious and ambitious students and that they would like them to represent their establishment in an appropriate way. But university is a place to broaden the mind, find one’s voice and gain life experiences: free thinking is encouraged…self expression should be too.

So what’s considered an inappropriate skirt length? When I was in primary school I was given into trouble for having my skirt sit two inches above my knee, then strangely, when I was in secondary school my skirt got longer and I gained self respect for myself. Jokes. Obvs.

Perhaps there ought to be clear, easy-to-follow rules about skirts, like:

O. If the total length of the skirt is less than five inches it is then, in fact, counted as a belt. (Take note, Jordan).

O. Suitable underwear should be worn in case of blustery days or trips and falls (if the skirt sits above the knee).

O. Floor length skirts may only be worn by tall people.

O. The only time a man should wear a skirt is to a stag do.

Friday, 3 September 2010

That's the risk I'll have to take

Don’t you just love it whena topic sparks debate. From serious matters like politics and global warming to flippant questions like ‘what should I have for dinner?’ (Falafal or Quorn) and ‘which boy shall I fancy this week? (that would be telling), its great to have an opinion and discuss said opinion.

Since purchasing The Jacket (see below) a few weeks ago, I’ve had some very varied conversations regarding vintage. So let’s consider it shall we?

I’ll admit myself that it took me a while to be persuaded to ‘like’ what I commonly thought of as someone else’s cast-off’s, but I soon came round to the idea of wearing something with a rich history behind it, thinking up the stories it’s heard and the places it must have seen over the years. Vintage is generally regarded as a piece of clothing or jewellery, a pair of shoes or an accessory made between 1930 and 1980. Anything before then is antique and anything after then is retro.

There are so many reasons as to why vintage has suddenly become a trend is its own right though. Firstly, the environment and economy go hand in hand with the advantages of investing in vintage. It’s promoting the recycling and the reuse of something that is almost certainly now a one off. You can pretty much guarantee it has not been made by a five year old sitting in a dark basement for eighteen hours a day and who has ten thousand more to finish off by the end of the week either. The quality and craftsmanship is usually exquisitely executed and pronounced and you’re probably not going to bump into anyone wearing the same thing in your local on a Friday night.

I think you get the picture? I’m obviously pro-vintage. I’m not obsessed by any means though; you’ll never catch me in something that resembles my Grandmothers nightdress just because it’s vintage. Those that I buy blend into my wardrobe in the form of a jacket, cardigan or bag, shining out as happy and as beautiful as the first day I hung them in there. My friend agrees, “I love the thrill of finding something completely unique”. Me too. I also love the compliments perfect strangers pay me when I flaunt my latest find.

However, I also have friends who utterly oppose the idea of wearing something not ‘new’: “what if someone has died in it though?” Well, that’s the risk I’ll have to take.

Sunday, 22 August 2010

Some getting used to

I’m not much of a jewellery person. In fact, I’m not much of an accessories person either. My general rule of style is ‘less is more’, unless of course I’m faced with an item of clothing that has to be adorned with jewels and gems and the kitchen sink. What was it that Coco Chanel famously said? Always take off the last thing you put on? Yes, something to that extent. I applaud you Mademoiselle Coco. You’re damn right.

Perhaps my weariness of over-doing-it stems from the days when I wanted to be a ‘sk8r chic’ and Avril Lavigne was my style icon. Thankfully that phase lasted only a short while during the holidays one summer. I look back through the photos of 2002 and cringe at the multiple ear piercings and jelly bangles I thought looked cool.

Anyway, back to my main point. Now, in 2010, I’m not much of a jewellery person. I wear the same pieces day in day out because they a) mean something to me – like the necklaces and earings I was given for my 21st, b) they’re simple and I like them – thus complying with Coco’s principles of style and fashion, c) I just don’t suit being overloaded and weighed down by it all. Or maybe I’m boring?


Except, if I think about it and look at my jewellery stand, I actually have quite a lot of the stuff lying around. Necklaces, earings, bangles and bracelets, even headbands. But the one thing that appears to be missing is a sever lack of rings. Sure, I still have my Pocahontas mood ring my BFF got me for my 7th birthday, but other than that my poor fingers must be feeling left out. Sooooo…the other day I bought a ring. A lovely little silver charm ring – it has a star hanging off of it. It’s cute. I like it. It’s just going to take some getting used to.

Tuesday, 17 August 2010

History of history

Ok, so I know I’ve not painted the best portrait of Father Dearest in the past, having described his sense of style as remarkably similar to a 14th century Pagan or something to that extent, but what can I say…he’s obviously been paying attention in recent months. I had a phone call from him yesterday morning to say that while on his way to work he had passed a charity shop with the most interesting jacket in its window and that he had popped in and put it on hold for me. Now, when anyone, myself included, uses the word ‘interesting’ to describe an item of clothing it’s usually not in a positive light. I pushed it a little further, “what do you mean by interesting?”, I asked. “Well, its vintage Frank Usher, covered in gold and brown sequins, medium length sleeves, blah blah blah”. I had stopped listening at ‘Frank Usher’. To cut a long story short, I can reveal to you now avid readers, that I am now the proud owner of the most beautiful, exquisite, dashing jacket in the history of history.

Wednesday, 11 August 2010

A work of art

Great Scott! By Joe! Zara, how you tease me so! Why is it that every store of yours I visit you flaunt the most perfect dress in front of me: so beautifully it sits perched on a hanger just waiting to be bought. Alas – it’s not meant to be, covered in feathers its design rewrites the fairytale and turns this swan into an ugly duckling. Perhaps I should buy it anyway and hang it on my wall in a frame so I can appreciate it as a work of art.

Thursday, 5 August 2010

Oh dear

T: Minus forty eight hundred hours

Mission: Project Hen Party

Objective: Find a dress

Notes: Oxford Street apparently is not the place to go.

Despite being Europe’s busiest shopping street, with an amazing 548 shops (I wikipedia’d that, obvs) and a worldwide reputation for being THE high-street shopping destination, period, you would think that finding a dress would be as easy as A, B, C.

Evidently not.

Even a hop on the Piccadilly Line to Harrods and Harvey Nichols didn’t make much of a difference. In fact if anything, doing so made me confused. The dress I had in mind was black, made from material and be acceptable to wear in public. The shop windows were encouraging me to wear a dress made of clothes pegs, lengthen my legs so I’d appear as tall as the Eiffel Tower or construct an outfit made of hardbacks.

Oh dear.

Thursday, 29 July 2010

A nice day

A habit is something we do with a sense of familiarity and to which we are accustomed. Sometimes hard to break, sometimes bad, occasionally leading to addiction but, for the most part, a habit is something we do without thought and without agenda.

Since living in London this summer I’ve gotten into the most annoying habit. Its quite possible to experience all four seasons in one day in Scotland (I may have exaggerated there, but I'm not far off the truth). Despite the soaring temperatures and constant sunshine (sorry, I don’t mean to make you jealous) I cannot get out of my home regime of always being prepared for all weather eventualities. Here, in London, I will always have a scarf, jacket or umbrella on me…just in case.

I can count on one hand the amount of times I’ve had to use them.

O. For the occasional rain – all two times in eight weeks – my umbrella did come in handy I’ll admit. But it was warm rain and it was quite refreshing to be cooled off by a light drizzle, so it didn’t stay up for all that long.

O. When it looks slightly overcast (a rare sight) I’ll take a jacket with me and maybe wear it if I can’t be bothered carrying it on the tube (or risk it getting crushed in my bag or - worse – having lunch spill on it…again) but this is quite a nuisance.

O. Ahhh, the scarf. So practical at home, yet such an inconvenience here. Yes they do help to accessorise an outfit but really they’re not needed. The longer they are, the longer it takes to get it off, and the longer you stand on a busy platform looking like a complete tool for wearing such a thing on such a nice day.

Monday, 28 June 2010

Happily ever after

I'm going to tell you a little story. It's a tale of love, despair, heartache and above all, one girl's absolute determination to battle through the evils of modern culture.

First let me set the scene and introduce the main character.

Our heroine is a jeans, shorts, leggings, skirts and dresses king of girl. Seldom often does she buy or wear proper trousers, but this one time, not long ago, she saw a pair and quite simple had to have them. They were perfect. Grey, twill woven, harem-style and just lovely to wear.

One day, she wore the trousers to work. A long, hard day at the office later, she was eager to get home and start the weekend. Luckily, a seat was available on a busy train: she sat down unaware that her world was about to come crashing down on her.

"OY, LOVE, YOU'VE GOT GUM ON YER BUM" , a train guard shouted at her as she was making her way through the other passengers during rush hour a short time later.

She ran home as fast as her legs could go, stopping at nothing but the traffic lights. Tears ran down her face as she sat in the kitchen scrubbing away at her trousers until her Fairy Godmother produced a book called "Household Tips for the Modern Day Damsel", which instructed her to put her garment in the freezer overnight and to pour a large vodka to allow time to pass a little faster.

The next morning, with a slight hangover, she was able to pick off the chewing gum with ease and lived happily ever after.

Monday, 21 June 2010

I'd like a brown satchel.

Ah, the joys of joining the nine to five slog of city workers in London. A daily of commute of three hours is, however, a rather exciting experience if, like me, you like to people watch. My favourite part of the whole shebang, is to wait at the Euston station every morning and watch the world go by, everyone scuttling about like ants in a colony. They dodge between people, glued to their i-phones, ignoring the world and missing out on the beautiful fashion show that goes on far beneath the streets in the busy tube tunnels of the underground. What a spectacle.

Everyone looks so sharp and well dressed and smart and well presented and business like, as if they could take over the world in an instant. I stand there looking like the little, timid intern that I am, completely lost in this new, overwhelming environment. I am trying to ‘blend’ in. Gone are the weekdays of slobbing about in jeans and leggings. My work wardrobe consists of tapered and straight-leg trousers and plain tee’s, dresses that sit just above my knee and flat shoes. I put my work outfits together optimistically thinking that they say “please take me seriously”.

I was hoping to tap into the whole ‘geek chic’, but I fear I come across more ‘geek dreich’. Maybe I’m a happy medium in between? Whichever way, I’d like a brown satchel.

Saturday, 12 June 2010

If only I had the time to wait for the delivery

Tomorrow I’ll be embarking on yet another journey. I’ll not drone on again about packing (it’s done, thankfully) but I’d quite like to complain about travel clothes. ‘Urggghhhh’ does not convey the stress, annoyance and sheer effort that goes into the thought behind what on earth I’ll be wearing on the train.

The thing that makes it so difficult about choosing something to wear is that:

O: I’d like to be comfortable (and generally, my version of comfortable is looking like an absolute slob)

O: I’d like to arrive at my destination looking semi-decent (which is hard when I also want to be comfortable)

O: Its going to hot and raining, therefore I must dress appropriately for the multi-season weather.

Gosh darn, I’ve nothing to wear.

Thankfully though, a little trip to net-a-porter.com advises me on my predicament: their link for ‘First Class Style, All you need for long haul chic’ is a real winner. If only I had time to wait for the delivery.

Friday, 11 June 2010

Hat heaven

Its been two years since Carrie and the girls have hit our big screens and what a long two years its been waiting for the friendships, frolics, fun and fashion (not to mention another dirty ‘f’ either). You’ve gotta give it to those New Yorkers, they sure know how to dress, well all thanks to a wonderful stylist who seriously doesn’t get enough credit. Patricia Field I salute you: you manage to make it look so easy – Carrie can get away with a turban or a bird casually perched on her head while the rest of us mere mortals would probably be sectioned for such a thing, which (as the appreciating granddaughter of a milner) is a shame.

If you think about it, headwear really is due a comeback any day soon. Sure, every year the high street regurgitates the straw hat or trilby just in time for festival season and there is always a wedding guest with some kind of illustrious bonnet (but even there, the notorious wedding hat is being phased out by fascinators). But what’s really needed to catapult this soon-to-be-trend into the spotlight is a partnership of sheer brilliance: enter Lady Gaga and Phillip Treacy (which is still to be confirmed officially, but rumour has it that it's a dead cert).

The maverick milliner and avant-garde singer/songwriter have collaborated before: when you’re Lady Gaga, known for your flamboyant and un-orthodox outfit choices, who else do you go to for the accompanying hats? Viewed as someone who sees little, or no, boundary between fashion and art, Gaga truly gets extreme pleasure from style, often seen in un-compromising creations for her captivated fans. So, what better way to move forward and develop her unique and innovative love of original headgear? Apply for an internship at one of the worlds most celebrated and inspirational hat designers of course!

Irish born Treacy began making hats to complete his garments while he was at Fashion College. A spot of work experience with Stephen Jones, renowned friendship with Isabella Blow and international acclaim later, Phillip Treacy has given new meaning to the word ‘hat’. He famously kitted out members of the Royal Family for Charles and Camilla in 2005; designed the exquisite green (2008) and black (2010) creations Sarah Jessica Parker wore for the premier of Sex and the City and not to mention the lightning inspired headwear Lady Gaga showed off at the Grammy Awards this year.

Personally, I’d never go for anything nearly as outlandish as the above, all the hats that hang on my hat-stand are for the winter months only. I have a Russian Imperial Army inspired faux-fur hat, which, despite its ridiculousness, is actually quite cool; I have a cream beanie hat with giant sequins covering the bobble and I have another knitted hat which looks like it was made from one of Father Dearest’s Christmas Jumpers. I love a good metallic, cone-shaped Party Hat too, oh and those crowns that you get in crackers too.

Watch this space though, this dynamic duo could thrust the hat back into the 21st Century where it might just belong. Surely a match made in hat heaven.

Monday, 7 June 2010

Season friendly

Yesterday at the park, with a Pimms and Lemonade in hand, sunglasses on and music sounding out from a nearby boom-box, I looked around at everyone enjoying the glorious sunshine we’ve had of late. Groups of friends lay about laughing and soaking up the rays wearing shorts, t-shirts and summer dresses, sandals and flip-flops. It’s my favourite part of the season when you can sit out all day long without a care in the world and enjoy the atmosphere that builds up as the day progresses.

But, and this is a big ‘but’, I get easily distracted by the little details. It astounds me year upon year that girls are able to walk about looking oh-so-cool yet with ruddy, horrid chipped-off polish on their toenails.

I just don’t get it. Surely, if you’re going to put so much effort into curling your hair and placing your hat on perfectly or even pre-applying factor 30 so that you tan evenly, it wouldn’t take much more effort to look down at your feet and realise that they need re-painting. Right?

Wrong, evidently. Take a look around, once you notice one, you’ll notice it again and again and again. This is not a trend and it should not catch on (like the contagious and equally terrible ‘double-denim’ style, blugh): quite simply, it does not look good.

At the moment I’m favouring Topshop’s newest venture into the world of make-up, or more specifically, their ‘nails’ range:


Rose Royce, Feisty and Art School are the ones I’m sporting at the moment, and although Mother Dearest doesn’t think of this range of colours is entirely appropriate for all occasions (Wedding’s specifically) she does agree that they are, in general, season friendly.

P.S. Wanna hear my joke? Of course you do, how silly of my to even ask!

Q: What do you call a Frenchman wearing sandals?

A: Phillipe-Flop

Tuesday, 1 June 2010

Hangers, how I’ve missed you

There is something so exciting about asking Father Dearest to get my suitcase down from the attic. I get a rush, a pang, a burst of adrenalin knowing that I’ve to pack before I jet-set to somewhere exotic.

In case you’ve not caught on from previous entries, I’m a bit of a saddo. I like packing: I like raking through my clothes pulling items out for the ‘yes’ and ‘maybe’ pile, then neatly rolling my tops (for minimal creasing), folding my knickers and stuffing shoes, electricals and bottles of wine down the sides. Afterwards I look down at my ‘good work’ with a sense of pride, grading myself with an A* for effort, artistic ability and time management.

The initial enthusiasm I got from packing has long gone though, for the last five days I’ve been living out of a suitcase. My grey ‘holdall’ does not ‘hold-all’ it seem. Despite my best efforts, I have failed at maintaining the tidy environment I created last week.

It started off well. I even laid out my travel outfit on the top of my case which was filled with wardrobe gems like my favourite beaded cardigan, shoe boots and my lucky pants. I ruined it all after a drunken scavenger hunt for my pyjamas on the first night though: the suitcase lost all of its original dignity and let it all hang out thereafter. Gutted.com

Right now I’m back home for a day to wash, iron and re-pack my clothes before I live it all again for anther five days. Hangers, how I’ve missed you.

Monday, 24 May 2010


Everybody loves a good wedding. I was lucky enough to attend one this weekend just across the border in a quaint little town in England. The sun was shining spectacularly all day which made for beautiful photo opportunities set against the stunning scenery that surrounded the farm. So lush. So pretty. So country chic.

My friend and I had a ball: the venue was picturesque and atmospheric; the music was so danceable and enjoyable; the food was delicious and the bar was free. My favourite part of a wedding though (after getting caught up in the emotion and merriment) is to see what everyone is wearing – from the bride and groom, to the bridesmaids and ushers, family members and close friends - all that attend such an occasion go that extra step to glam up for the day which is celebration enough to blog about.

So here’s my commentary of the wedding outfits (well, from what I remember anyway…like I said, it was a free bar).

O. The bride wore an elegant, classic, beautiful lace dress. My eyes feasted on it all day long. Its train was just divine, trailing behind her perfectly as she walked up the isle and moving so effortlessly as it too enjoyed the couple’s first dance.

O. The groom looked dashingly hansom in his charcoal and black tail suit. His tie was pale pink and his waistcoat grey. As this was my first wedding not to take place in Scotland, it was a somewhat different, yet pleasant, experience to not see the groom in a kilt.

O. Groomsmen followed ‘suit’ (gettit?) whereas the bridesmaids funked it up a little: all four of them sported the same dress but paired off in teams of bright plum and regal purple.

O. Notable guests included a woman wearing a very lime-green dress with a wild, extravagant, lavish hat – multicoloured strands bounced from a black, mesh, circular base which sat to the side of the supporting hair-band. It scared me a little, but I liked it.

O. Another beautiful guest wore a coral dress which deliciously suited the summer season and made her stand out against the organic skyline. Turquoise heels stood out wonderfully and with her freshly dyed hair she looked like a babe.

O. Between the men there was a fantastic mix of the distinct English and Scottish style heritage. Tweed suits, tails, kilts and tartan trousers were in abundance making the day a true culture clash.

O. My outfit? I wore a bottle green, silk, strapless dress with a black cropped blazer and lace up shoe boots (I finally got a pair, hurrah). My mothers concern though, was that my nail-polish on my toes looked trashy compared to the rest of the outfit. A pink shade of coral would cheekily contrast yet compliment everything else but I was told that a green varnish would ‘coordinate’ more. Obviously I ignored Mother Dearest’s ‘fashion advice’ and received a great many praises on the ‘rebellion’.

Monday, 17 May 2010

I was heartbroken

I almost laughed in a girls face today. A sort of laugh-cough-spluttery noise left my mouth as I passed her in the street and then I continued to look at her, mouth hanging open in sheer disbelief. I don’t mean to sound amazingly bitchy but, really now, was she for real?

I know floral patterns are in this season, it is Spring/Summer after all (how original) but this girl had taken this trend to the extreme and accessorized like there was no tomorrow. Now I’m not saying I know everything about fashion and yes we all know I’ve had a few disasters in the past (read previous entries if you want a re-cap) but let me describe to you what she was wearing:

Floral patterned tights in a grey/orange colour combo. Faded, floral denim hotpants. Brown belt. White tee. Pearl necklace with flower corsage. Headband with flower corsage. Satchel. Brown shoes.

Maybe I’m just a bit sceptical about florals? When I was 14 I bough a skirt from Topshop for my dad’s birthday party. Pink, black and grey brushstrokes swooshed round in little circles that looked like flowers. It was cute. I liked it. Well, I liked it until one of my dad’s friends asked whose curtains I had stolen to make the skirt from? I was heartbroken.

Monday, 10 May 2010

Hence the '55'

Michael Macintyre has this joke where his wife wants to buy a new bag for a night out so she can carry around her essentials in style: the bag she would like is £500. The punch line is that he, being the faithful, devoted husband that he is, would much rather hire someone to walk around behind his wife and carry her stuff for her than buy her this really expensive bag. (Its really pretty funny, you should youtube it).

There’s a couple of bags on net-a-porter.com that I’m rather lusting over at the moment.

O: Pucci’s bean-shaped clutch bag is pretty glam. I don’t think I’d take it on a night out though, I’d just admire it every so often as it would sit on a shelf in my room.

O: Mulberry’s Antony leather cross-body bag. Mmmm, yes please. Thankfully Mother Dearest recently purchased this and I look forward to stealing it when her back is next turned. (Cue evil laugh)

O: THE Valentino Ricamo Shining Flower tote. It’s Valentino people. Valentino!

O: Balmain’s Swaovski clutch. It looks like it would be nice to stroke.

Ok, so maybe that’s more than a couple, but I figured I might have a rich fan out there who might like to buy me one (or more) of the above. Thanks in advanced.

P.S. Found out a fact that I really should have known years ago: Chanel’s famous 2.55 bag was named thus because a) it was being re-launched (hence the ‘2’) and b) it was re-launched in 1955 (hence the ‘55’).

Friday, 7 May 2010

What's cooking, good looking?

While watching ‘Julie and Julia’ today (one of the nicest, most pleasant films I’ve seen in a long time) I began to reminisce about my culinary experiences. This brought me back to one of the first times I wore my UGG boots. I was cooking Tapas (how very cultural of me) and I dropped a slice of courgette which was swimming so much in lemon juice it must have been doing the back-crawl. I watched in slow motion as it fell from my fork, down, down, down, overturning a few times before landing with a light thud on my left boot. Disaster. I could have cried. Thankfully though, as well as being a great cook, writer and joke teller, I’m quite domesticated and was able to remove most of the stain. So I learnt my lesson. Now I cook in slippers or socks with an apron sporting the motto: “What’s cooking, good looking?”

Wednesday, 5 May 2010

Don't express your inner whore too much

This morning when I was reading up on the news (God bless the BBC website), a headline caught my attention:

ASBO ban on showing pants in Bedford dropped: A teenager has avoided being given an anti-social behaviour order banning him from wearing low-slung trousers.

While I hate to see the male youth of today walking around with their jeans so low, sporting an attention grabbing studded belt and exposing way too much of their patterned boxers, they’re just following one of the biggest trends of the season: Underwear as Outerwear.

(Not on the above) It’s sexy, it’s sleek, it’s trashy in a vampish kind of way and its everywhere at the moment: bustiers, sheer bras, star shaped nipple coverings…JOKE, that trend was so over in 2004 courtesy of Janet Jackson.

Underwear is important, it’s the basis of all outfits and let’s not deny that its pretty fun to go shopping for.

The thing that I hate about this whole ‘leaving little to the imagination’ trend are those gigantic, granny pant bloomers. Really they do leave a lot to the imagination: what are you hiding in those, Marc Jocobs Model?

The trick is, you need to do this trend subtly. A white top and black bra combo is ok (although mother dearest wasn’t so convinced when I tried this out…apparently I looked too WAG-like), but leopard print and pink lace bras are a no-go. Similarly, sequin covered hot pants look good on the dancefloor if worn with a plain tee, but anything less and you’ll look like you’re working the streets of Amsterdam.

In the words of Sue Sylvester (Glee much?) embrace Madonna’s “self confidence, body image and sexual magnetism” just don’t express your inner whore too much.

Wednesday, 28 April 2010

I hope not anyway

“You’re not being serious, are you?”


“You cannot leave the house looking like that”.

My mother was not telling me that my skirt was too short or that my top was too low. Nor was she telling me that my shoes were not suitable for the weather. My mother was telling me that I didn't look good enough for the run I was about to do.

I suppose I looked as though I was working the ‘homeless/grunge chic’ look: an old pair of black leggings, my brothers ancient (and therefore oversized) grey track jumper, red tartan socks, battered old running trainers and a black head-band.

The thing is, I’m not some A-list celebrity: It doesn’t really matter what I wear when I’m out for a jog. I’m not going to end up on the front of some trashy magazine because I sweated while wearing Stella McCartney for Adidas or Scarlett Johansson for Reebok.

“But people might see you.”

At this point in the conversation it was 7.09AM, the only people that might see me at this time of day looking so, oh how should I put this…ravishing…would be: dog walkers (probably wearing pyjama bottoms and a Barbour jacket while loosely holding their pet’s excrement); those doing the walk of shame (therefore wearing their clothes from the night before, that spent a few hours lying crumpled on a floor, and thus avoiding all eye contact); and business folk on their way to the office (of course they’ll be dressed sharp and dapper but they wont have had their morning coffee yet, so are still half asleep: they’re not alert and wont be paying attention to anything, let alone me wizzing by).

So really, Mother Dearest, while I appreciate that you want me to look my best at all times in case I happen to meet my future husband, its not going to happen on a run. I hope not anyway.

Monday, 26 April 2010


I fell in love on Saturday. It was a chance encounter. I didn’t expect it. And now the affair is over, just as quickly as it began.

“Time heels all heartaches”, my friends say. But I know this sense of longing will last forever. The one that got away. The stone coloured, boat-neck, tee-shirt sleeved, tiered dress from Topshop. How I wish our romance had blossomed.

It was one of those dresses that you just know would be so dashingly dandy on. Utterly perfect. But this isn’t a perfect world: it would have been had I bought it, but no, I didn’t: it’s not even traceable on their website. Cry.

Thursday, 22 April 2010

Je déteste les clogs

After posting yesterday and taking a quick trip into town today to get shoe boots, shoes are still very much on my mind. However, I had no luck with the gorg black pair I had imagined in my head: instead I was met in every shop and store by clogs. Flat clogs, heeled clogs, black clogs, nude clogs, studded clogs and toe-less clogs. No, no, no. I don’t get this trend. Perhaps it’s because they simple are so gosh darn ugly? Perhaps I don’t like the Netherland’s national dress? Perhaps it’s their association with my old French teacher who wore the same pair of blue clogs everyday - with thick, woollen socks – throughout my time at school? Either way: je déteste les clogs.

Wednesday, 21 April 2010

Hobbits have it easy

There are some things in life that are more important than others. Brushing your hair is more important than going for a spray tan. Wearing matching underwear is more important than painting your nails bright pink. And wearing appropriate shoes that will suit the rest of your outfit is more important than anything and everything else.

Don’t you just hate it when, once the happily ever after of buying new shoes has come along and you find that actually, they don’t go with everything in your wardrobe despite you telling (and convincing) yourself that they will as you walk up to the counter to pay for them. Gosh Darn.

Shoes can, do and will alter your entire appearance, making you appear taller, fatter, thinner, trendier and more prone to compliments (as well as behind the back slagging): you’ve got to get it right.

Remember Lily Allen circa 2006? The prom dress and trainer combo took Britain, sadly, by storm and the ‘Council Estate Chic’ trend was, unfortunately, born. Thankfully, Lily has realised the error of her ways and has the kind and much needed help of Karl Largerfeld: she now looks in the mirror before leaving the house in the morning.

Girls have more of a chance to get it wrong:

Boys, for the most part, can generally get away with wearing jeans and trousers with trainers and smart shoes respectively (just don’t get them mixed up please, or I will chunder…everywhere)

Girls have the spoilt rotten choice of sandals, trainers, smart/casual flats, boots, mid-heels, high-heels and platforms. Oh and shoe boots too, I would quite like to have a pair of them, I feel they would greatly improve my quality of life. Really though, it’s not hard to match the appropriate foot covering to the rest of your outfit; all you have to do is look in the mirror a lá Lily Allen circa 2010.

The one thing I will absolutely, completely, 100% avoid however, is ankle straps. They ought to come with a warning: “CAUTION, will cause great offence to even those with long, toned, slim and seemingly perfect legs (side effects include cankles)”. My dad agrees.

Hobbits have it easy.

Saturday, 17 April 2010

Father would be proud

Last night I sat on my bed and stared blankly at my wardrobe. You’d think that with the amount of time I spent organising it last week that picking out something to wear to hit the local disco on a Thursday night would be easy. Not so much.

A last minute decision to go out meant that I didn’t have all day long to ponder over outfit choices. It meant that I had two whole hours to get dinner, shower, shave my legs, moisturise, tan, try on outfits, do my hair, decide on an outfit, do my make up, organise my bag (total nightmare btw) and practice poses in the mirror.

Miraculously though, I did manage.

I’m pretty awesome that way.

Now, I like to think of myself as a tidy, neat and organised person: although if you were ever to see my bedroom towards the end of term you would disagree. My dad has always enforced the phrase “tidy room, tidy mind” which totally makes sense and when practiced, works. But I feel that I ought to amend it to “tidy bag, tidy life”.

At present, my (sadly wannabe) Marc Jacobs black, quilted Stam bag resembles the inside of a junk shop. It’s a jumble of … stuff. I can’t put a name to half of it: most seems irrelevant, un-necessary and a total hassle to carry around, yet I know that if I was to leave any of it behind I would be lost, helpless and vulnerable.

So, I’ve compiled a check-list of contents. They are in order of priority and bag size (small to big, obvs) and will allow my life to be hassle free. Well, that’s the plan anyway.

O. Keys, purse and phone. Never, ever, ever will I leave the house without these. They are the guardians of my being.

O. Camera, perfume, mirror and lip salve. I like to capture those Kodak moments. I like to smell of Valentino’s Rock and Rose. I like to know how I’m looking. And I like to be kiss ready for when Mike Phillips is around the corner. Because one day he will be.

O. Notebook, pen and diary. For jotting down ideas, thoughts, blog entries, doodles and dates.

O. Chewing gum, hair slides and a comb. Like I said, Mike Phillips will, one day, be around the corner.

P.S. Forgot to mention sunglasses, nail file, nail polish and USB stick. Check, check, check and check.

There you go. Daddy would be proud.