THAT IS SO YOU

Some sentiments are to be appreciated, welcomed even. Others not so much. They come with a sense of expectation that sometimes just cannot be fulfilled. Case in point, when someone proudly proclaims: "that is so you!" 

(SATC: Four ladies all with distinguishable fashion troupes that represent not only their personal style, but their individual personalities)

The weight of this statement often results in a long pause, followed by an awkward silence of sorts as the mind races to assess the situation and fathom whether or not this is a joke.

It's difficult when someone, a person who you think knows you, can get you so wrong. You're in shock, your feelings may be hurt. How could they believe this to be a reflection of your style, an extension of you? But amidst all the confusion, you are very aware of their feelings - they may have chosen something for you based on their own fashion predilections. How to sidestep this, think, think...

Life in general is all about labels; good, bad, right, wrong. Fashion is no different; bohemian, minimalistic, alternative... It keeps everything neat and tidy. Categorisation is a means of managing the chaos that is life, but it's all too easy to confuse what is merely a surface perspective as a reflection of the person as a whole. It makes you feel in control, like you've got things/people/life sussed out. Until those fateful words are uttered - 'that is so you' - and it comes to light that your manicured arrangement of a certain person's style and thus them is completely and utterly wrong. 

(Green faux fur makes being memorable a certainty) 

Everyone wants to be memorable and it's often people's quirks that help to define them into these sub-categories. It definitely adds a weight of conviction when present buying. For example, I will forever be grateful of a slogan tee, bonus points if it's witty, or a statement jacket - an outfit maker in itself. For my sister, anything with an element of luxe is a sure winner, whereas the boyfriend finds anything khaki or burgundy particularly appealing. 

When you get it right, it feels so good. Like 'hey you're my friend, I know you so well and to prove this look at this awesome gift I've bought/made/cooked for you'. Everyone's happy and you're a great person/friend. However, when you get it wrong, it sucks. 

It's not about being grateful or ungrateful. The sentiment is always something to be greatly appreciated, but that doesn't stop the tangible awkwardness that comes when you are told that something is 'you to a T' - only that it isn't. It might only be a suggestion, but it does give you an inkling into their thoughts on your personal style. You might see this as a misinterpretation of your style, other times, however, if you're open to it, it might come as a welcome respite from your usual.

(Susie Lau of Susie Bubble's inimitable style)

Having a specific 'look' isn't a bad thing, it's particularly handy first thing on a Monday morning, but it can mean that oftentimes we are blinkered, overlooking green paper bag waist trousers because we typically favour black skinny jeans. When I'm out shopping with my boyfriend he'll point clothes out for me, mostly because they're pre-existent in my closet already - e.g stripes, a constant forever - but I appreciate his attempt at involvement in something that he frankly has no cares about.

Granted, this still doesn't help when one is in the awkward abyss of the 'that is so you' predicament. However, the situation is much like when you ask someone for their opinion on something that you love and just have to have. This happens to me very often. I'll turn to a friend, beaming at the Barbie pink, ruffle necked T-shirt that I can visualise going with everything in my whole wardrobe/the entire world, only to be met with much shuffling of feet and averted eyes. They feel awkward, I feel confused.

And I guess that is personal style being enacted in real life. It is personal. Can I imagine my friends wearing half of the stuff that make up my daily wears?  Absolutely not. Most of my outfits are met with, "only you could wear that" remarks and it's true, only I could wear the things that I wear because it's my personal style. And an outside person no matter how close to you they may be (except my mum, she just gets me) cannot be blamed for sometimes being a bit off with their recommendations, because they are in fact not you. 

Next time your fashion fate is dictated to you, take the time to assess the situation, mull it over, then if need be, use the distraction technique and point to something shiny. Alternatively, if the item sparks intrigue then capitalise on your compadre's style advice. This could be lucrative to the development of your own personal style. After all, this person sees your outfits from all angles, something that unless you're boneless, you cannot. So save your dread over those four little words - 'that is so you' - because who knows, it could be a you that you haven't yet discovered...  

(Photo credits: Pinterest, huffingtonpost, elleuk.co.uk & whowhatwear)

THE REDUX, AGAIN

Fashion is truly confounding.

(Bella or Xtina?)

The zeitgeist is all things 90s and early noughts and seemingly non-fashion. I'll explain. See all of Bella Hadid's recent outfits. The high waist, bootleg jeans; lace-up crotch; dark wash denim; stirrup leggings; cargo pants; wallet chains; fishnet tights; bucket hats; backwards worn flat caps... and this is all in one outfit.

(Yes, you are seeing Crocs on the catwalk)

See also jorts, practical trainers, tracksuits, kitten heels. It's a  rarefied hullabaloo of basically all things the antithesis of good taste. I feel now is a good time to mention Christopher Kane's collab with Crocs. *Pause to let that sink in*.

And herein lies the redux, again. Welcome to the rotational pull of fashion everyone.

It's not that I have a problem per se with any of the above, heck some I've even embraced myself - who knew that fishnet tights looked so good with every shoe made, like ever? However, some things I'm happy to leave in fashion's murky past, like bucket hats maybe, and wallet chains. I figured them a logistical nightmare the first time around, but check in with me in a couple of weeks and I may have done a 180. I guess I'm as fickle as fashion :)

(Plaid, Mom jeans & slip dresses - a veritable 90s cocktail if I've ever seen one)

It's difficult to determine bad taste or good taste, the one only existing in relation and opposition to the other. And of course everything is subject to one's own personal opinion. Yet, there did seem to be an unwritten consensus of those 'trends' that were considered universally undesirable (again, see aforementioned Crocs). It begs the question, what makes something fashion? Or maybe the question is, who? 

Quick quiz: A person is wearing cargo shorts, practical trainers, a white shirt and a bumbag. Is this high fashion, or a middle aged tourist's get-up? Tricky, right? Your guess is truly as good as mine.  

(Bella or Clueless extra?)

The summation of all this has to be 'wear what you like', but I do find myself somewhat surprised by what is mass desired nowadays. Challenging preconceptions and broadening inclinations from your preferred norm is healthy and certainly profitable for personal expression. But how much of any trend is bought into for love of the item and not just as a consequence of the current fashion climate?

Tastes do evolve and as one comes to develop and depend on personalised staples, the unusual can be overlooked. This can sometimes help to vet out fast fashions, but also imposes limitations that hinder the unpredictability of personal style. How many white t-shirts does it take to make a rut? And how many unconventional trends does it take to dig you out of one? 

(It's baaaaack - Much to he delight of Paris Hilton I'm sure)

The flightiness of fashion makes it difficult to decide what is worth trying out and what is worth missing out. As with most trends, you never realise their inherent trendiness until the hype is over and the sale rail becomes a veritable who's who of trends past. I'm not sure I'm about to embrace the 90's redux of Bella Hadid proportions; BUT, revisiting logo-mania or dabbling with a velour tracksuits circa the noughties may be quite fun - or tragic, but I guess I won't know until I try...

(Images via: vogue.com, stylecaster.com & glamour.com)

COULD THESE BE THE MOST HATED TROUSERS EVER?!

Hate is a strong word, reserved more recently for Trump and, for me personally, cheese.

Perhaps misunderstood would be more apt. Though it is true that the trousers in question do stir up violent reactions of utter confusion and complete bewilderment.

It all started in Zara, as so many things do.

Those big glass windows will be my damnation, luring me in with their promise of a post-Christmas sale bargain. I was tantalised with expectation, excited beyond reason of what wonders could possibly await me. I walked my usual route around the store (anti-clockwise FYI) and found myself at a table not unlike those found at Primark- a tanglement of clothes, sprawled haphazardly around the place as to make a former shop girl like me, twitch at the recollection of folding and refolding clothes as quickly as arsehole inconsiderate customers flung them around the place. The mess was such as to make me question my commitment to the shopping cause / life. 

To keep the boyfriend, who was *patiently* trawling behind me, from offing himself with a coat hanger, I reassured him that I was 'only' looking *insert smug smile here*. As all us girls know, there is no such thing as 'just looking' and it wasn't long before I spied a frayed edge so destroyed as to make me wonder whether my little dog had got here first. I fought with the tangled legs of jeans in search of the size tag, and would you believe the number was my own and the price was that of a Starbucks medium vanilla latte and blueberry muffin. For me it was a no brainer. 

However, not so much for the boyfriend. 

The reaction was not dissimilar to that of James Bond grappling with a baddie to get the gun and save the girl. In this situation, the frayed jeans were the gun, I was the girl that needed rescuing and the boyfriend was the hero. The determination in his face, the protective arm flung with such force as to almost knock me off my feet, the adrenaline was palpable.

I was confused. 

In a rather meta moment, I felt like I was looking down on my life, witnessing his one-man action 'saving the world' moment. As far as I could tell we were looking at the same jeans, though one can never be sure what actually goes on in the male brain... Maybe he had been sucked into some time/space continuum thingy? Was he hallucinating? Or a mental breakdown? I stood hypothesising over which of the various maladies he most definitely was suffering with. He ended his saviour moment with a hero speech, something about 'not needing another pair of black jeans' and that I 'wouldn't wear them' and ended with a muffled snigger. I responded to his obvious aversion by immediately buying the jeans. I considered it a sartorial two fingers to the narrow minded, fashionably unimaginative boyfriend.

What I didn't realise at the time, was that this would mark the first of many, less than positive reviews of my jeans. Every outting has thus far been met with witty remarks of faux concern for my safety (did I get stuck in a shredder?) my financial well being (do I need to borrow money to buy a 'full' pair of jeans) or my future endeavours (am I auditioning for Robinson Crusoe? This one did make me LOL).

In spite of their polarising effect on the world, I remain defiant in wearing my jeans. Black needn't be boring and these jeans embody that sentiment, even if they do inspire an ongoing commentary at every wear. I'm encouraged to explore the manifest ways of updating my basic denim. I'm thinking fringing, beading, tassels... I'm not sure what excites me more, the denim diversity that awaits or the inventive ways I'm sure my family, friends and colleagues will find to describe my valiant denim efforts. 

(Images via: The Fashion Spot)

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)