WHAT TO WEAR WHEN ANYTHING GOES

It's taken me a long time to figure out what is work wear appropriate in an 'anything goes' office.

I've seen shirt and ties, saggy arse joggers, Uggs, there's even an office tale of a mankini... The entire concept of office apropos has been exploited and then some. 

I myself have made some questionable decisions when fumbling around in an attempt to look like a fully functioning - or at least fully dressed - adult, before most (including the sun) have awoken. 

One such time involved the discovery of a strange lump in my skinny jeans. After much cajoling (I was still new at this time so surmise that this is the only reason that no one asked what the bloody hell I was doing making such shapes under my desk...), eventually I was able to extract the mysterious mound, only to discover that it was in fact a pair of knickers. 

I can now attest that they were my own but in the panic of the situation I really couldn't be sure. And yes I did have to check that I hadn't done a Zoolander and unknowingly wriggled out of my underwear in between reading emails and walking to the printer. 

Rest assured this is not what happened, I can only think that this is what my mother meant when she said it was imperative to fold clean laundry. Another win for Team Parents is beautifully exemplified through the retelling of the dire ramifications which no one on earth could have foreseen yet somehow makes its way into the memories of my life. Please learn from my mistakes. Also I'd like to reiterate that my secondary pair of underwear was clean. Damn you tumble dryer, with all your clothes tangling, though conveniently timely, drying ways.

Other incidents have included, well nothing that could top the above story, just the regular bra strap mishaps, the occasional unknowingly see-through top and once, a see-through skirt. At other times my outfits speak of a lack of co-ordination so inexcusable as to make me question my own taste. The only thing that could talk me down from this was taking solace in the fact that I had gotten dressed in a pre-coffee daze, and thus my judgement was irreconcilably hindered. 

(I guess remembering a bra is the first thing...)

Getting dressed is tough. Having sartorial guidelines is helpful, like a dress code at a party. How thoughtful of Diddy to clarify that one is encouraged to wear white to a 'white party'. Whether you abide by them or not is your prerogative, but at least the expectation is outlined. As far as I'm aware there is no dress code for life. Factor in the lightless mornings, the sometimes cold, sometimes not cold mood swings of the British climate and that this is all before breakfast TV even airs, one surely can't be blamed for a few errant bra flashes. Right?   

Modesty is definitely to be aimed for, but mostly it's just wear whatever you want/ is clean. And you think that would be fine, but despite the office consensus being that one need must get dressed out of social expectation, if not common courtesy, it doesn't stop everyone thinking themselves the third, lesser known member of Trinny & Suzannah. 

For example, I have taken to wearing neckerchiefs with pretty much everything. They are the stylistic impulse that I just cannot shirk rn. Yet twice my commitment to the silk scarf has been questioned, nay, mocked. The first time I was mistaken for an air hostess, and yes all exits in the building were motioned to me numerous times. The second time I was asked if I was hiding love bites under there. And though Kenickie eloquently likened a hickie to a hallmark card, I was in fact hiding a dodgy fake tan, not sucker marks.

(When in doubt, wear all black - though perhaps not that much cleavage - & my air hostess get-up)

I am still no closer to devising a steadfast uniform of my own - though jeans and a shirt are fast becoming my go to - however, I remain defiant in attempting to retain an element of fashion even when my meticulous accessorising goes unnoticed, or my print clashing gets a confused double take instead of a round of a applause. I doubt an education in fashion is likely to happen as a team bonding activity, but I could probably do with putting their wear whatever philosophy into practise. I should also try to remember that it's one pair of knickers per outfit. Pass me a sticky note, I think that should go on the office bulletin board...

(None of the above pictures are my own unless stated: harpersbazaar.com, news.com, man repeller.com, angelicablick.se & w_sophia)

UNLIKELY ICONS: ERIN BROCKOVICH

There is nothing that induces self-congratulation quite like having an idea reaffirmed by Vogue. 

Whilst perusing my emails I happened upon an article by Kristen Anderson expounding upon unlikely style icons. At the forefront of their alternative list was Erin Brockovich. The article eschewed the Bardot/Hepburn archetype of that which is classically thought of as style, praising the off-kilter looks championed by the likes of TLC,  Burmese punks and Brockovich as played by Julia Roberts. 

As I wrote in my previous post, I enjoy Bardot's namesake blouse and my trousers are rarely without a crop, however, there is something endearing about the aesthetic overkill of Roberts' Brockovich. She's at once intimidatingly cool yet devastatingly insecure, a dichotomy of character that is manifested in the play with fashion evident throughout the film. It is blatant yet fragile - brash prints on delicate camisoles, arse-grazing leather mini skirts paired with a cardigan set. The jarring contradiction of her look is enticing. 

What opens with an unassuming floral slip dress, denim jacket and mules, segues into a melange of leather (pleather?), structured corsetry (as daywear) and teetering sling-backs. All ensembles are of the carbohydrate repellent, bodycon variety and are accessorised with a baby perched nonchalantly atop hip. Outfits are unashamedly brash in their blatant disregard for co-ordination as Brockovich's style is all inclusive, showing no prejudice towards any colour, fabric or pattern. More is definitely more.

At her most 'corporate', Roberts' Brockovich dons a Barbie pink skirt suit, replete with side splits for full leg exposure for her already exposed legs. On the topic of which, how short is too short? Is there such a thing? Her look has single handedly dismantled my pretty solid belief in legs or chest being an either/ or thing. Heck, channelling the Erin Brockovich style of life, I might even throw in a slash of midriff while I'm at it. 

The dichotomy of exposure and concealment is constantly at play and becomes a powerful motif for owning ones' body and unique sartorial perspective. The clothes might be miniature in length and fit but they are impactful in their 'I-dont-give-an-eff' insouciance. Her hair is almost as big as her attitude and her one-liners are the sassy accoutrement that ground her eclectic style in the true grit of real life (or movie real life at least).

The chaos of Brockovich's style is visually provocative, the panache of her look is disarming, a visual overload that is almost too much to process. Perhaps that's what is enticing, you never quite figure her out. Her style is not a movie gimmick, it's a material display of a complicated character. Her IDGAF attitude is clearly manifested in her stylistic proclivities and is just as much a tribute to the IRL Erin Brockovich as it is a display of creative stylings. 

Whilst I'm not sure leather vests and 24/7 corsetry will feature in my workwear rotation, my homage will be far less literal, more a harnessing of the Brockovich spirit. "I think that I look nice and as long as I have one ass instead of two, I'll wear what I like" (Julia Roberts as Erin Brockovich). Now you can't argue with that.

(None of the images are my own: rogerebert.com, bustle.com, nydailynews.com, telegraph.co.uk)

THE BARDOT BLOUSE - TWINNING WITH THE ENTIRE POPULATION

I like what I like. I can say that *pretty* confidently. 

(The woman who launched a thousand shivering shoulders - welcome to British summertime)

Not many people understand the necessity of sequin leggings to a 9am lecture but I am ever committed to following my every fashion whim and that I continue to do. 

Of course pop culture affects my sartorial proclivities in that it permeates the high street and thus what is readily available to me. And though I can't say that I seek to look like any particular person other than myself, there are times that individuality conflates with imitation. Despite your darnedest attempts to stay authentic to your personal view point, mass production and fast fashion aid in the contagion of sameness.  

Other times, it is a conscious choice that I adopt a 'look' in spite of it being what is basically the uniform of the zeitgeist. And whilst, as stated earlier, I have conviction in my tastes, I can't deny that upon seeing myself as a mere doppelgänger of my entire generation, the reality usually derails any commitment that I once felt to said look, acting to underscore that I was in fact seduced into a trend. Yuck!

(Off the shoulder & yellow - two of my new favourite things/ Distressed denim & what I originally thought was a crate of beer - the perfect accoutrements)

The whole process may unfold something like this; I see an item, - perhaps on another person; I like the item; I set out to find said item or similar; I find and purchase; I wear the item and inevitably see others wearing something similar. On validation that the item I like is too liked by others, I am immediately put-off. I was not autonomous in my choice. I feel 'trendy' and therefore try-hard. 

I tried the tie-front blouse and the button up suede skirts of 2015 but both with much trepidation and a self-consciousness that left them, for the majority, unworn. These items were so ingrained in the fashion of the time that marrying them up with myself felt forced, on the surface we were a match, but the 'look' quarrelled with my personal style and ultimately we had to consciously uncouple. It was better for the both of us.  

(Leandra Medine showcasing the joys of living the off-the-shoulder life)

Then 'Summer' (can we even call it that?!) 2016 appeared and with it the Bardot blouse (or off-the-shoulder top), and I really, really liked it. My previous aversion to that which is trendy forced me to do some real soul searching (JK), but could I handle twinning with the masses? Should this even be a debate? If I like something, should it really matter if anyone else shares my opinion? Really I should be congratulating their good taste. 

With that said, if I could overcome my hesitancy and integrate with the wardrobe of society, when the Bardot blouse were to eventually fall out of trend, would I have the confidence to remain committed to the look purely out of love and thereafter face being labelled, shock horror, 'un-trendy'? Would people assume I was just late to the party? However, with Brigitte Bardot as the brand ambassador of the trend, surely the rest of us, despite our best attempts, remain eclipsed by her immortal image (see above), going unnoticed as unknowns wearing clothes with shoulders exposed to the affects of sun damage. There's nothing radical here, so should we even give an eff where we fall on the spectrum of 'in fashion' or 'out of fashion' or 'on trend' or 'off trend'?

With the pace at which fashion recycles itself, inevitably I will be ahead of the trend at some point. Alas that is the fickleness of fashion. Just as one should never be forced into following a trend, one should never be forced out of a trend either. As the saying that overtook YOLO goes, you do you. So when the flock has officially given the Bardot blouse the cold shoulder, I swear on the sanctity of Wintour's bob that my shoulders will remain defiantly bare until the end ... of summer that is and then I'll add more layers than a 'My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding' wedding cake. 

(According to the Medine life of style, the off-the-shoulder blouse is winter appropriate too)

(None of the above images are my own: fusty.com, pinterest, manrepeller.com)

YELLOW OR BUST?

I am not a yellow person. 

I'm not exactly sure what a 'yellow person' looks like (I guess there'd be some yellow somewhere?) but I'm 78% positive that I'm not one.

Though in true contrary Karen Smith form, I make this declaration whilst in fact wearing yellow. She always was my favourite Mean Girl.

I realise that I have written about my aversion to yellow before, but I feel it important to remain authentic to my current sartorial dilemmas and this one just will not quit. Just as water is wet, sunshine is yellow and as we all know, sunshine invigorates all feelings of happiness. Now, who am I to condemn happiness? 

But the stylistic quandaries of yellow still abound. The question that continues to arise is this: what on earth does one pair with yellow?

Does one need to dilute a yellow outfit with contrasting accents? According to the rules of style by Solange Knowles, no, one definitely does not (see Google search if further proof is needed). However, few are bold enough to attempt a head to toe look that resembles Big Bird so closely. Sesame Street twinning aside Big Bird's commitment to yellow has outlasted many marriages. Despite this I feel that my introduction into the yellow cartel need be more subtle. No orange knee-highs or blue eye shadow for me just yet. 

Then there's Cher Horowitz who embraced yellow plaid with the ease that most people slip on their sweats after the daily grind. Yellow plaid was hereafter so intertwined with Cher Horowitz the character that any adopters of the look appear now as mere imitators of a costume that was constructed to epitomise the ridiculousness (and fun) of fashion (See also Dion's Cat in the Hat outfit and the girl's gym class attire). But I feel the probability of looking "ensemble-y challenged" is just too great.

And so I turn to Olivia Palermo as I do so often in times of true sartorial disillusionment. And I can't help but exclaim, "OF COURSE! Why didn't I think of that?!"  Pairing fuchsia with canary yellow? Duh! And greeny-yellow with blue denim and red accessories? I'm face-planting into my palm right now. My fears of seeming like a human bumble bee evaporate as I see Olivia offsetting her vibrant yellow overcoat with black leather trousers and a chunky black knit jumper. It's so simple. Never fussy. I feel like the Churchill dog as my head shakes continuously in disbelief. Maybe I'm making this yellow aversion into a thing that isn't actually a thing?

Clearly I'm drawn to yellow so maybe I'm missing the point in that yellow connotes fun, ergo wearing it should be fun also. Though coercing yourself into having fun is no fun at all, a little reminder to lighten up is always much appreciated. And so as the sun comes out so does the lighter side of me and my wardrobe. I know that Solange would be proud.  

(Images via: independent.co.uk, gurls.com, ew.com, whowhatwear.com, thefashionspot.com, luxelookbook, stylechi, celebs.allwomenstalk.com & my Instagram (@w_sophia)

TURNING BACK TO FACE YOU ALL

Though I may be back I refuse to preface this post with such a lofty statement. The premise of which is so often compelled with genuine intention, but more often crumples forlorn under the weight of such pressure. 

The fact is I love clothes. And as I've said before, it is more than material deep. I know one is limited in making any profound statements when the very thing itself is so tied up in materialism and surface value, but throughout my life clothing has been my chosen medium of communication, my coping mechanism, my jumping off board into conversation. It was often much easier to tell the story of myself through the seams of fabric that abounded my body, rather than the words that bumbled from my mouth. 

I was, and still very much to this day, am a contradiction - so quiet in myself, yet so bold in my sartorial choices. It was innate, thought went into every outfit I have ever worn, yet it was never a choice, always a compulsion. 

Then I got stuck. Reading fashion bored me, I impatiently skipped words, then sentences then whole stories altogether. The blogs I had (non-stalkerishly) come to view as friends - one-sided pen-pals if you will - fell from my computer history. My clothes became about comfort and ease rather than creativity and me. I felt implored to take on a new me and in spite of the fit not being quite right, I ignored the snugness and discomfort. 

The early mornings of my new 'grown-up' job left my eyes blurry and my mind focused on adult concerns like 'brush hair - remember matching shoes - don't be late for morning meeting'. Suddenly discerning whether sequin leggings where appropriate daytime attire didn't quite seem like a feasible problem to have when you're existing off of printer toner fumes and mainlining coffee. 

The blog never left my mind, but the content that kept floating into my brain felt stale, like I was plagiarising my former, more creatively adept, self. 

Christmas came and I had no juice to fuel words, the New Year exploded into life and yet no amount of party poppers and paper hat wearing could razzle dazzle a story out of me. I was stunted, but then I realised that this blog has always been grounded in the personal musings of me, my whims, my moods, my concerns, my opinions. Of course the same issues may appear on this blog, but I believe enough in my own voice, that those very things will never be rehashed and always have new verve, every single time they register enough within my conscience to warrant me writing about them. 

I live in Wales, so of course the weather will play a determining factor in my outfit construction almost daily, and shoes will forever remain a love of mine. This is after all a blog about me, myself and I, and slowly  all three of us are realising that to not fit the mould is ok, but to force yourself into the semblance of someone other than you, is not. So instead of saying 'I'm back', how about I welcome you back into the fold. 

(None of the above pictures are my own and I do not claim responsibility for them)