Monday, 29 March 2010

I do not know what style is

I’m in a pickle. I have a dilemma. Gosh, darn, I’ve nothing to wear.

This Saturday I’ll be attending a party. Not just any old party, it’s a ‘Fashion Faux Par-Tay’.

How witty.

While I’ve moaned over the last few blogs about my uninspiring wardrobe and my ability to wear some truly awful garments (ski jacket anyone?), I’m sure you’re sitting there shouting at your screen “You’ve plenty to wear”.

Yes, I agree with you there, I do have plenty to wear, the trouble is I don’t know how to wear them and make them look bad on me (I’m one of those people who could wear a potato sack and still look glam and nice and beautiful even).

Note: that is a lie.

I know the point of a bad taste party is to commit a fashion crime and (hopefully) not be charged with offending the general public’s sense of style, but really I want to still look semi-decent and maintain some sort of self respect and dignity when I leave the house looking like:

a) a) Pat Butcher in her youth

b) b) Miss Piggy, styled by Gok Wan

c) c) Agyness Deyn on a typical day out

I Honestly do think it’s possible. It’s just going to take some serious time and effort to rake though my clothes and find a combination that says “I’ve never heard of the word fashion” and “I do not know what style is”.

Thursday, 25 March 2010

I think it would up my cool factor to 100% and make me fit in more

There’s something quite fascinating about watching other people – not in a creepy, horror movie way, don’t worry. I love to sit and people watch in busy places: watching them out and about, in unfamiliar places, clutching their ‘guide to’ for dear life. It’s my new hobby to tourist watch.

On a recent trip to London, I decided to join these much loved characters. Sadly though, I didn’t wear a cap emblazoned with ‘I Heart LDN’; I didn’t wear my camera on a chord around my neck; and most disappointingly, I didn’t wear socks and sandals. I have not inherited that love and way of dressing from my father. I was one of those cool tourists (note: no such thing existed before me). Wearing my wagalicious sunglasses in the rubbishy weather, posing like a model in the V&A and sporting a scarf as a make-shift umbrella-ella-ella-eh-eh-eeh-eheh.

Walking around Trafalgar Square allows you do see some uhhhhmazing sights. Not just Nelson’s Column and the four Lions guarding it or the grand architecture of the National Portrait Gallery. No, no. There are literally bus loads of tourists swarming around taking photos, pointing about and chasing the pigeons. So imagine if you will all the uhhhhmazing outfits on show. Maybe it’s a rule that if visiting from a far and distant land, you must be fully prepared for all eventualities and look a bit silly: you’re probably imagining a man wearing camel coloured shorts (they might be a bit tight as they’ve been over indulging recently, why not? He is on his holidays); with a white t-shirt (advertising his summer holiday to Athens in 1997, which is tucked in, naturally); and he’s got a ruck sack sitting high on his back, or if he’s feeling adventurous, he’ll be wearing a bum bag.


Actually, I do appreciate and admire the bum-bag/fanny pack/hip belt. I hear the ever useful, unfairly slated, 80’s favourite is making a come back. Horrrah. I wouldn’t mind the Louis Vuitton or Gucci one. I think it would up my cool factor to 100% and make me fit in more (amongst the tourists, obvs).

Sunday, 7 March 2010

It's Been Wonderful

So we’ve all done it I’m sure.

Ever walked down a high street and had a cheeky look into a shop window? There’s a dress on a mannequin, a bag on a shelf (sitting slightly squint I might add, but neatness isn’t everything) and a sign saying “volunteers needed”.

Yes, you’ve just looked into a charity shop.

Now, your facial expression may have just changed, your posture altered or you you’re about to close this window. Don’t, lets talk about this. Lets discuss the stigma so often associated with charity shops. I’ll try to make it semi interesting…deal?

Imagine this if you will. I’m sitting at my desk wearing an oversized Pringle Golf jumper. It’s warm, cosy and outrageously unfashionable. I love it. I wear it when my hair is scraped off my face and I’m wearing odd socks, whose going to see me other than my flatmates? In reality though, I do wish for people to see it: I wish for people to admire it’s hideousness with me. But really, I long for people to celebrate this bargin with me. It cost all of £2.95. “Thanks so much for bringing this into my life, Cancer Research UK”.

Why is it though, that we stick up our noses at charity shops? I’ll admit it myself, I am a snob with certain/a lot of things, but I love to think that the occasional piece of clothing had a ‘life’ before it came to hang in my wardrobe. Plus, I believe in karma, what goes around comes around, right?

There are a few things I have to point out though…

Charity shops smell. Actually lets make that a bit more socially correct. Charity shops could smell better. As soon as you step into one, you’re hit with a wave of nausea brought on by musty, damp and probably B.O. ridden clothes. Nasty. Yet thank goodness for washing machines and fabreeze.

You do have to go in with an open mind. Everyone has heard the story that their ‘mum’s-best friend’s-cousin’s-dog walker’ casually picked up a vintage Pucci scarf/Louis Vitton bag/Jimmy Choo shoe and now pops into their local charity shop every other Wednesday ‘just in case’. Lucky her. (It does happen, honest...occasionally)

We need to remember that a charity shop has a purpose. It’s for a good cause. By spending that £2.95 on a Pringle jumper (that needs a good wash, twice), you’re helping to win the fight against poverty, find a cure for cancer or giving a homeless person a meal and a bed for a night. That’s got to make you feel good about yourself, no? Let us not forget either the environmental impact charity shops have: we’re saving our planet from another bag of out of season garments that get chucked into a landfill. By donating, we’re able to re-use and recycle clothes, giving us the upper hand of having that something a bit different to wear with our high street purchases.

Sorry for the rant, I just felt as though I should show my appreciation of this jumper. It’s been wonderful.

Monday, 1 March 2010

It Depends Who You Wake Up Next To

Fresh, - adjective

. retaining the original properties unimpaired; not stale or spoiled

. not tired or fatigued

. looking youthful and healthy


Why is it that when we aren’t feeling as ‘fresh’ as we could be (or should be), we turn to ‘hangover’ attire? We seek comfort in clothing whether it be pyjamas (my personal favourite); joggies; old, oversized t-shirts; and of course, the hoodie.

It’s expected. It’s necessary. It’s unavoidable. And, it’s amazing.

I love the blissful feeling of waking up after a night out and thinking ‘I don’t have to make an effort today: I can scrape my hair back, throw on whatever, spray some perfume and leave; no one is going to say anything because they sympathise with my hangover’.

But is it acceptable?

I will be forever jealous of the girls that I was out with the night before, who walk into class looking like they’ve been airbrushed, who look unfairly and un-naturally beautiful. How is it they do it? Tell me your secret. I long to be like you. I long to be you.

However, I do take comfort in the image of my beautiful friend who recently admitted to wearing a ‘onesie’. Despite being the “best bloody gift ever, it doesn’t have separate legs, it’s more like a giant bag with holes for your hands and feet”, how terrible. How can she cope being so lush yet confined? Gurrrrrl, you know who you are and I’m-a-gonna need photographic evidence that even you can pull off this look.

My fail safe comforts? Leggings, check. Vest Top, check. Uni Hoodie, check. And if I have to run down to the shops for a loaf of bread and peanut butter (my hangover cure), I'll wear my Uggs, check check. It’s meant to be a ‘thrown-together-kind-of-look’ isn’t it? Urgh. I probably look like a charity shop has been sick on me. So annoying.

I asked another friend how she chooses what she wears. Her reply…

“It depends who you wake up next to”.