CALLING MOTHER NATURE

Previously I expounded upon the benefits of outfitting yourself for YOURSELF. Whilst throwing around self love, glitter and an omph of girl power, I forgot about the one person who will always influence (nay negate) what one will wear: Mother Nature. 

You may not dress to please her but you can definitely dress to appease her. I once wore a flimsy mini on a blustery day which resulted in the world having an impromptu meeting with my cameo-making arse. Needless to say, I never made that mistake again...

Last year I was stressing the difficulties of the early onset of summer, this may merely be a case of 'grass greener' but as I sit here, scarf wrapped thrice around my neck, clinging desperately to the layers swamping my body, whilst I risk permanent scolding from my ever-shrinking proximity to the radiator. I can't help but think how silly the me of last year was.

You'd think that weather promoting layering would be the sartorial equivalent of my personal nirvana and to an extent it is. Layering is a means of showcasing my every fashion fancy, whilst simultaneously increasing their cost per wear value exponentially (nothing justifies expenditures like outfitting them in multiple renditions, dad!) all whilst keeping me shiver-free. Plus the continuation of unseasonable seasons means an extension of the dessert-a-day rule that makes post-Christmas life bearable.

However, the arrival of warmer days causes a change in mindset, not just in wardrobes. Spirits are lifted in correlation to hemlines. Guys parade their pecs in vests stolen from their much younger siblings and all of a sudden it becomes acceptable for the mass release of weird feet. As the frost melts away so does any semblance of modesty. 'Spring Break' becomes a viable excuse for just about all of our bad behaviour, as our bug eyed shades tint the world with vibes of summer lovin' and being young forever. Give it a month and I'll be moaning about over exposure and an overwhelming sense of guilt for displacing my favourite slouchy sweater from heavy rotation.

With Spring time scarves seen in abundance at fashion month - yet another offshoot of 70s mania - and longline layers the new silhouette of summer, perhaps it would be fair to posit that Mother Nature is merely helping us limber up for the season ahead. Rather than dictating our #OOTD it seems that Mother Nature is offering daily reminders as gentle encouragement to keep outfit assemblage creative. And to that end I will do my best! 

(Images: Unknown & ManRepeller)

WHO CARES?

A little girl came into work. She was the epitome of that 90's renaissance thing worn by girls reliving it for the first time, the ones that refer to  that 90s as 'vintage'. You know the ones right? Her Nike high-tops perfectly unmatched her floral tea dress, offset by her unruly hair (which nowadays goes by the synonym 'beach waves'). She was in a word: cool. Which was made even more so by the fact that she had painted her face. She walked around without a care in the world. Forget red in the face, this little one was all shades of pink and purple. I envied that level of assurance. It wasn't confidence, confidence signifies self-awareness. The only thought behind her rainbow face was that she liked it. It got me to thinking, when did we stop not caring? 

I don't want to go all Peter Pan and evince the positives of staying young forever, this isn't a trip down memory lane or a ten step course to full reversion. Heck I wouldn't want to relive the hormonal imbalances, acne eruptions and all those awkward teenage things that we try to forget. But there are certain aspects that I wish could be reawakened, namely a true sense of 'I don't give a f*$k'. 

(This is fashionable face painting don't you know)

That same day I read about an uncle who wore a dress to the cinema so that his niece wouldn't be embarrassed about wearing her princess dress outside too. His selfless act struck a nerve. Surely she was too young to care about what people thought? Perhaps it signified a wider concern, that of the damaging affects such ideals, that society purports as the norm, are having on the youth of today? We're so self-conscious and self-critical and self obsessed, but is it our fault that we're like this? Or is it a collective strain that has been nagging at us, convincing us that skinny isn't skinny enough (to quote Moss, "nothing tastes as good as skinny feels" wonder how she'd feel if someone repeated that mantra to her daughter...) that blondes have more fun, that a nip and tuck is more conducive to self-acceptance and that no matter how great we are, flaws are the loudest thing in the room? 

Did this uncle just give his niece back the gift of childhood? That innocence, that time when you can wear what you want and thus be whoever you want, because, well just because. As we grow up we look for reasons, justifications, continually analysing every minutiae  - mostly internally - like a one man (or woman) game of tennis. It's a battle with yourself just to be yourself. In a society where first impressions are based off of selfies, profile pictures and 140 character summaries, it's almost impossible to believe in anything of substance;- and without sounding too much like an episode of Barney - to believe in ourselves. 

(Ok, it doesn't have to be that bad...)

We all have a veritable 'princess dress' that we refuse to wear because we continually cast ourselves in the role of the pauper; self doubt is a bitch like that. And yes, we may not all have an uncle willing to don a dress for us, but can't we be the champion of our own tale? 

(All images unknown)

THE SHOPPING LIST

In a world that is oversaturated with technological advances on the daily, sometimes it feels refreshing and can I say, a little retro, to just pick up a pen and paper and make a list. Yes an old fashioned list. Do you remember the feeling of accomplishment you once had when you smugly ticked off everything on your to-do list? I know it's a vague, fuzzy memory but stick with me on this recollection. 

(This is me packing away all of my tech gear & a random pair of shoes for good measure)

One day I was feeling particularly nostalgic, plus I had a weirdly large amount of stuff to do so I decided to unload from my weary head and write it all down. Holding an actual pen and having it form legible symbols was tricky at first but the whole exercise was totally therapeutic. The issue however, was actually sticking to said list. 

My list included: milk, bread, cotton pads, wipes, carrots and to post a parcel. Instead I ended up with a mood changing green lipstick, a cream crochet jacket, a pale pink long sleeved top that could possibly be pyjamas (thus making it the best buy this year due to it having doubled its potential wears exponentially), a sleeveless grey polo top, a bag of strawberry pencil sweets, a nude lipstick to add to my other skin-like shades, a new concealer that I don't altogether need and a highly pigmented eyeshadow, which is timely really as I've just had a text confirming that I will be leaving the house this Saturday night. 

(THE most awesome lipstick ever)

BUT I did remember the milk. 

This could merely suggest that I have a severe aversion towards commitment, possible tendencies of flakiness and a brain so sieve-like that I'm confounded (and relieved) that its entire contents doesn't just squirt out altogether. Perhaps setting reminders on my phone would have been slightly more conducive to actually purchasing my intended items, but then again I wouldn't have ended up with a whole load'a cool stuff now would I? The world works in mysterious ways... 

(Images: All my own)

THE GLOSSARY OF FASHION

I'm part of generation X - I think. I have what I consider to be reasonable doubt as to the place I hold among my fellow twenty-somethings. For example, I am more likely to be found reading a book than watching reality TV; heading to the 6am spin class than crawling home in the wee small hours and I'm to be found frequenting  the Bingo hall way more than I care to admit (mostly because I still haven't actually won anything). 

(My collection of Vges, which could also stand for 'vague' which is really quite apt in the scheme of this post ey?)

None of this particularly bothered me, that is until recently, when I realised that I no longer speak the same language as my compadres.  I am foreign to their colloquialisms, overuse of acronyms and incessant, and often non-sensical, addition of 'ies' (e.g. walkies, drinkies). I only recently un-shrouded the mysticism that surrounded 'OOTD' - for the uninitiated it means 'outfit of the day' and is usually prefixed with a hashtag. I felt smugly accomplished, that is until 'LOTD' laughed at me from my computer screen. Was I to remain forever ostracised from this seemingly illusive vernacular? (I later discovered it to mean 'look of the day' but the stress resulted in a week of bed rest nonetheless).  

There are some shortenings that go way back, like all the way to the days of MSN. You remember BRB (be right back) right? It was usually used when a parent was fast approaching and you needed to make a swift exit. Or how about BTW (by the way)? Or what about the contentious LOL (has a decree been made yet upon whether it's 'laugh out loud' or 'lots of love'?) And now theres's TBT (throwback Thursday), which looks set to join these mainstays of the modern, and lets be honest, lazy lexicon of now. 

(The retro emoji)

Magazines now read like a Scrabble board that has been angrily kicked over, letters strewn arbitrarily around the page. Fashion month can be boiled down to a string of seemingly unrelated letters. The culmination of a designer's hard work, minimised into a mere three or four letters. It would seem that the lexicon of fashion is as mutable as the very trends themselves. Which is fine - if everyone is in on the ever changing glossary of fashion and its abbreviated terms. Perhaps it is just a symptom of fashion's notoriously exclusory nature? You can't afford it and now you can't talk about it either. Then again maybe not. 

Whilst reading Miss Vogue, I was informed that 'wavey' now means 'cool'. After a very thorough survey of, well all of my family (including the dog), the consensus was that this definitely was not a widely known 'thing' and thus was likely clique language, like when Gretchen of 'Mean Girls' tried to make 'fetch' work. People of a certain and informed circle may embrace said chosen word but the masses remain ignorant to its new elevation. And what's more, life keeps on going. Knowing exactly what 'IDK' (I don't know) means may enrich the story further; heck yes you might be missing the crux of the piece, but more than likely it will just warrant a minor pause, that shouldn't affect you reaching the end of the piece because like always, the end is nigh. 

(Can you imagine Homer's reaction if the Odyssey were to be transcribed into text speak?)

For a society obsessed with social media we aren't particularly sociable, a fact represented in our estrangement with the very symbols and characters that enable communication. Which is demonstrated more pointedly again with our infatuation with emojis. What does the alien emoticon even mean? I doubt it was intended to mean a feeling of alienation though for the sake of this piece, it is quite apt. Perhaps it was just a cultural reference to E.T? Maybe I should just move with the times, in whatever guise the language takes and embrace the IDGAF attitude that would make scholars loose their mortarboards over? *Insert dancing girls emoji*

(Images via: OJ Creative & booksitting.wordpress.com)

KILLER HEELS

I have a new pair of shoes. For anyone that knows me (or for those that follow me on instagram) this is not news. I always have a new pair of shoes. That is not a brag I might add, this is a problem. Not only for my dwindling savings but for my poor, poor feet. Fashion is pain apparently. In the wise - if not harsh - words of Christian Louboutin, "high heels are pleasure with pain [...] if you can't walk in them, don't wear them". Well said, but I'd just like to point out that he does not actually wear his infamous red soled heels. Words are one thing, worn, blistered heels are quite another. It's not so much 'grin and bear it' as it is 'grin and wear it'. 

(The shoes in question. Yes they are masquerading as school girl sandals but do not be fooled by their shininess!)

Yes for a good while normcore looked set to be the new standard of fashion and also yes, the influx of trainers have purported an element of leisure that is very appealing. Trainers as 'fashion'? Who would have imagined it, and what is even more far fetched, they have reached the upper echelons of high fashion (I'm referring to you, Chanel tweed £700 training shoes). However, in spite of this, fashion has, and probably will always, remain cloistered with a 'suck it up' sentiment, a warning intrinsic in the entire makeup of everything beautiful. Perhaps it's my poor judgement, or maybe it's my complete inability to merge shopping with practical reasoning. 

(Even possible strangulation of the foot wouldn't put me off buying these killer heels)

I like to think of it as a demonstration of my commitment to the cause. The wounds, old and new, make up a patchwork of sorts, the memories of life (and what I've worn whilst making said memories) are permanently etched onto my skin. A narrative of fashion dos and don'ts. Masochistic? Quite probably. But the lure of a good pair of shoes is just too much for me. Like I said it's a problem, but I've heard that admitting it is half the battle, which eases the pain somewhat. To celebrate the honesty I have with myself I might just treat myself to another pair of shoes... I've got the plasters at the ready.  

A DAY IN THE LIFE

So I set myself a challenge, because what else is a girl to do at 7pm on a Thursday night exactly? I currently have 15% battery life on my laptop and I'm giving myself the exact time it takes to reach 0% to write something decent, or perhaps half decent... How am I doing so far?

I'm currently eating cold salmon whilst watching 'Murder She Wrote' because, well you know, refer to above statement: what else is a girl to do? I saw an early showing of Will Smith's - or should I say Margot Robbie's - film 'Focus'. I won't prattle on but yeah, totally cemented my girl crush thing (also please check out her asymmetric booties and tell me how fab they are). Then I saw Kim K's platinum new do which I instantly loved and then, as with all things that inspire such hullabaloo, I wavered, just in time I might add - I was one delve under the kitchen sink away from bleaching the whole lot and waving a big fuck off to my long wished for breast grazing length hair. Thoughts on the remaining raven brows anyone?

Then I read that Lily Cole is pregnant and so is Fearne Cotton and she's also leaving BBC radio 1. And then as if my brain couldn't take anymore (please excuse my exaggeration, I'm feeling dramatic tonight) I hear that Zane Lowe is leaving too. Am I sad that they're putting down their respective mics? Nahh! Music will still play. What I am narked about however, is how I came to miss the advertising of their jobs, whilst avidly (obsessively) perusing the job sites? - which is swiftly becoming a day job in itself. The life of a postgraduate swiftly transgresses from parties, stride of prides and late night library sessions, to dazed and confused non-student living, feigning 'passion' in areas as remote as 'sandwich artistry' and quickly garnering a rep as a stalker of sorts on job sites named as reassuringly as 'Monster'. Oh boy!

Until then I'll alternate between reading The Hobbit and 50 Shades of Grey, because quite frankly, I can. I will look at the stack of magazines that I have amassed and ponder how on earth I am to read them all, whilst simultaneously wondering how I haven't come to read them yet. I will laugh at the memory of bubbles spewing out of the dishwasher after an accidental overload of soap powder yesterday and puzzle over when I will in fact become 'an adult' with responsibilities and wrinkles. 

Will I learn Welsh? And more importantly will I embrace the trend of the ugly trousers, the anti-fashion, that are fast becoming the new girlfriend jeans of SS15? Though minus the weird cowboy crotch situation that hung around the nether regions of the few radicals that deemed the GF jeans 'wearable', the new kick flared, crop jeans bring new definition to bad taste. I fancy I'll be wearing them by April 14th...

Though I wrote about faux fur previously, I'm hesitant as to whether  wearing what is essentially baby Cousin Its masquerading as appropriate footwear is a sound fashion choice... One downpour and you might as well have jumped on the f'UGGs (fake uggs FYI) bandwagon.

One new pair of chain detailed loafers and that pretty much sums up the life of a 23 year old girl, or at least my life as a 23 year old girl, and I bet you feel all the more enriched from reading all about it, right? And all by 3%.

(Images unknown)

OVERHAULING THE OVERALLS

No I'm not about to start making a case for braces, frankly they creep me out and I can't shirk the TGIF's association - I love a badge but the birthday song and fake smiles have irrevocably tainted the trouser holder-uppers. Anyway, back to it, I've written about dungarees before and their use as a visual signifier of sadness in the Buffy The Vampire Slayer series. Buffy is now over, yet the dungarees are still holding fort and with everyone coming over all Penny Lane (as in embracing 70's fashion, not shagging rockstars, although whatever your fancy...) it seems apt to do a little style guide of the revamped chic dungarees.

Firstly however, I want to address the fedora clad elephant in the room. Dungarees have such a bad rep, case in point Boyfriend and his resistance to them. Now I would understand if I was forcing him at stiletto point to wear them himself - just to clarify, I wasn't. By a matter of fate, or bad luck or whatever, he happened to be my shopping partner and I merely asked his opinion as to whether or not he thought I could pull dungarees off. His response, "Do people even wear those nowadays?" The rest was just blah, blah, blah but it ended with an expletive, just to emphasise his distaste. We left minus the dungarees but they remained etched into my mind. Days (and a few imagined outfits) later, the stars aligned and by that I mean that H&M was offering 20% student discount and my sister happens to be a student. 

One swipe of the card later and they were officially mine, in my actual possession and I knew precisely who the first person I wanted to see whilst wearing them was: Boyfriend. I paired them with a plain white tee for their first outing and sauntered on over to Mr 'so over the overalls'. However, I can't say that I single handedly changed his opinion on the dungarees - apparently he'd seen others that had helped with the swayage - yet I felt triumphant, jubilant even. These were good trousers dammit! Their bib like front meant that I could re-wear tops even if I'd previously split on them - laundry is such a drag after all - plus their straps prevent a revival of the early aughts, jewel encrusted thong flash from ever rearing its ugly, er, arse again. 

I later wore them to the cinema (because they're appropriate for all manner of exciting social activities, apart from anything that involves hasty removal of clothing...) and found that the chest pocket was in a prime position for sneaky phone checks and stashing popcorn - just remember to empty it before leaving the darkness to avoid weird lumps and inquisitive stares. 

My top 5 tips to harnessing the trend:

1/ Always wear a top underneath, I'd like to think that this one is a given but perhaps not. Think Alexa Chung not Pam Anderson in some porno hill billy sketch.

2/ Straps up not swinging down around your thighs. This is just a personal preference but in my opinion the only thing that should be hanging low are the jaws of onlookers as they see how good you look.

3/ Don't force others to embrace the lewk, it's not for everyone, plus it leaves more choice for you, which, hello! is always a good thing.

4/  Always, always empty your bladder before putting the dungarees on. This is even more imperative during the winter months, when layers are unavoidably thrown into the mix. 

5/ Opt for a dungaree dress rather than dungaree shorts. Again this is purely personal preference but a skirt is far more forgiving than shorts, coupled with the fact that the bib-like front may add some bulk around the middle (dependent on fit). I'm all for trends, but you want to look good whilst embracing them don't you?

Et voila! And you don't have to feign a baby bump or keep a bunny in your pocket to wear them. Bet Cara Delevingne wishes she'd read this blog before she made those rookie mistakes eh?! 

(Images via: manrepeller.com, my own picture & fashion.telegraph.co.uk) 

  

TAKING TO LOWER CLIMES FOR SS15

High heels, they're great right? Elongating legs, allowing mere mortals the ability to feign Gisele-esque pins - well, sort of anyway. They encourage a strut, a walk of confidence, a stride of power and unfortunately, more often than not, a fair amount of arch ache. 

We can't all be like Carrie Bradshaw, romping around in 6" heels like we're floating on candy floss, yet we all still attempt it - even if that does mean carting around a pair of ballerina pumps for when we just can't go on - and when we think no one is watching. We find ways of stashing our forbidden flats, because heaven forbid anyone discover that we are only human, and that unfortunately does not come with stilts pre-attached. 

The handbag becomes the shoe receptacle. During a toss up between a shoe change - and a choice of shoe change at that - and, I don't know, something useless like, erm, a purse, it's a no brainer, right? We take to hiding them under our desks, in our lockers, I've heard of people clearing out a filing cabinet drawer (the bottom one FYI, more chance of it going unnoticed) and just as the aforementioned Miss Bradshaw kept sweaters in her stove, isn't the glove box of your car made for portable shoe storage?     

However, and yes I do feel like I'm cheating on what has salvaged me from my 5ft 3" normality for the umpteen years of our alliance, but since the world wide domination of the Stan Smiths and the street style pages being overrun with birks (even being matched with woollen socks to increase versatility) appearing your actual height, however diminutive that may be, is now officially O.K. 

This Spring/Summer designers heeded our needs and accessorised their looks with FLATS. Yes flats. Even Queen of vertiginous heels, Victoria Beckham embraced lower climes with white pointed shoe boots. Brogues, pumps, even flatforms are a few inches smaller this season and prepare for some rather questionable tan lines as the return of the gladiator sandals is nigh, whilst Burberry is keeping the trainer trend ongoing (not to mention the recent appointment of Rihanna as creative director at Puma), meaning that the gym shoe sure has got legs.

Will I pack up my beloved heels? Of course not, there'll be no silly talk like that on this blog! But over the years of my borderline unhealthy penchant for shoes of all kinds (except this kind), I have left my flats forlorn and unloved. They deserve some respect, or at least a walk, heck I might even take them for a run.

Want to know more? Check out my article on this season's biggest shoe trends at The Metropolist.

(Images via: My own taken by OJ Creative, The Coveteur & unknown)