UNLIKELY ICON: BREAKING THE MAGICIAN'S CODE

Who knew that the real magic of the show lay in the wardrobes of the magician's assistants ey?

Netflix fills the void Blockbuster (RIP) sadly left behind, it's also a hole into which I fall headlong most nights. On one such night, I happened upon a show that conjured up such strong feelings of nostalgia that I couldn't not watch it: 'Breaking The Magician's Code'.

I remembered watching the show as a child, awestruck as the magic was performed and then exposed as slight of hand, trick of the eye and/or, incredibly flexible (perhaps boneless?) assistants. 

And it's these very assistants that now inspire me so.

I have no recollection of the assistants' clothing as a child, the magic holding my attention. However, now as a twenty-something, the magic seems secondary to the 90's fashion that distracts from the trickery of the act. The girls are of amazonian proportions and wear mini skirts that emphasise their long, lithe limbs and clothing so tight as to make you wonder if the magic doesn't lie in the fact that they don't pass out every episode.

There is not a feather boa or sequin in sight, as the moodiness of the 90s is captured with shades of plum and charcoal grey, shoes are chunky and lips are dark. It's a revival that we have been riffing off of for a while. 'Non-fashion is the new fashion' could be the slogan of right now, with many citing this as a means of people trying to ground themselves amongst the furore of the socio-political unrest of now. Finding comfort in the mundane and familiar, with 90's fashion being a beacon of that for many, with it's grunge aesthetic, embracement of the everyman staple: the plaid shirt and a decidedly less put-togetherness compared to that of the 80s glam.

For me, I appreciate their goth glam, reminiscent of Winona Ryder at her peak (pre sticky fingers fiasco), 'The Craft' coven's moody aesthetic and Nirvana's grunge dishevelment. It's far removed from the shiny hair, dazzling teeth and general blinding aura of today's TV. You can just imagine that these girls would clock off work, having been cut in half a couple of dozen times, only to head straight to a mosh pit or something equally gritty.

Perhaps it's the bad-assness and all that goes with that, that I have ascribed to these girls and their 'looks', rather than their actual clothing - which when compared to my own is rather dichotomous - that I find appealing. I am an oversized clothing aficionado. Skin tight is just not something that is in my lexicon. So I won't necessarily be replicating the magician's assistants' figure hugging, arse skimming looks on a day-to-day basis. However, it could very well inform my nighttime attire.  

For now I'll try to emulate the mystery, adopt the attitude and perhaps invest in a pair of chunky soled sandals to pacify this acute bout of nostalgia. And if that doesn't work, then I'm going to try out some dark lipstick and maybe a magic class or two...   

(Ed note: Pictures were scarce to support my argument. There seems to have been a series that went into the millennia that featured all such accompanying tack, which is unfortunately the only remnant of the show on the internet, so I suggest watching the  magic on Netflix instead.)

(All images via Netflix)

TOES & THE STRAPPY SANDAL CONUNDRUM

Toes, they are strange things.

Like malformed fingers, tentacles of stability, tiny appendages, their canvases ready to be decorated in a bid to prettify their strange appearance. I doubt that anyone has ever claimed them to be their 'best feature'. I paint their ten little nails and on three separate occasions, I have tried a toe ring. But despite my best efforts, I still find them, uninspiring, too exposing and a bit uncouth.

It's such a shame because I find my aversion to toes, to be a great hindrance in my continued quest for a diversified and all encompassing collection of shoes (except for kitten heels - soz). And thus the strappy, barely-there heels, seen on the entire world circa 2017, go largely unworn due to their inherent toe exposure.

I feel it necessary to note here that I don't have bad feet, as feet go. And anyway, I feel like Victoria Beckham put forth a solid case for shoes over the well-being of feet, taking a stand for women-kind, bunions and all. Also see Kim K West and her commitment to a strappy sandal even when perhaps a croc or birkenstock would have been more practical/comfortable and less intrusive/painful. 

During my acquisition of shoes over the years, I've had my fair share of difficulties. Continually choosing aesthetic value over comfort, convincing myself that love can actually make foot shrinkage possible, opting for a bargain over any practical reasoning whatsoever. I have worn shoes that make my feet bleed just from looking at them. I have had shoes that have betrayed me, breaking in the pouring rain, leaving me sodden and trailing a sad sandal still clasped around my ankle (I never leave a shoe behind). I have been tripped up by my own shoes, as a clasp on either shoe caught the other - it took epic stumbles to realise this inbuilt death trap and yes I did continue to wear them...

I hope this illustrates my resilience in regards to my footwear. However, the strappy sandal is that little bit too much, like wearing something low cut with an arse skimming hemline, or a smokey eye with a red lip.

Maybe it's a side effect of being British? The weather being more conducive to year-round wellie boots and combatting chilblains. We're just not used to seeing a whole foot outside of drying in between our toes after a shower. My feet are perma-socked, in that they're permanently in socks. Is it then, that my obvious discomfort, is not that surprising? 

Perhaps it's just me? A quick scroll through instagram tells me that this could strongly be the case. But because I'm not a quitter, I bought a pair of strappy sandals in a resolute attempt to join this foot baring club. I love them - in the box. They are multicoloured, which I must commend myself on, due to exponential wearability. They are also jewel encrusted, which I realise could be mistaken as tacky, but isn't - trust me. The heel height is moderate which again is another practical plus point and they have a double ankle strap which is very confusing to get on but definitely worth it for 'ze look' - see above for rules of style over substance according to V Beckham (but perhaps don't google pictures).

So far, they've remained in the box, but have had numerous outings around my bedroom. We're getting to know each other. I expect it to be quite a lengthy process, but have bought some sparkley, fishnet and striped socks to ease the transition. I'm estimating that I'll be ready sans socks just in time for the annual three days of summer. And you'll have to take my word for it, as wearing a naked foot is one thing, photographing it is quite another... 

(Picture: Pinterest & Unknown)

MY JOURNEY - A T-SHIRT

Just like denim anything, or a leather jacket, a t-shirt is a staple of any wardrobe. Whether plain, printed, motifed, sloganed or cropped, a t-shirt is a stalwart to be layered over or under, worn to the gym, to bed, on a night out out, a night in, to work, to clean in, to have fun in, to slope around in, befitting all manner of moods, adventures and non-adventures. An outfit that requires no effort, no thought, no drama. The nondescript staple easily overlooked, but often the cornerstone of many a great outfit; a canvas of sorts, an emblem of nonchalance.

 

It was during one of my infrequent 'clear outs' that I noticed an apparent shift in taste, my wears 'then' and 'now', my progression of what I like and what I liked. And it was most notable in the white t-shirts that I have amassed of late, none of which possessed the scoop neck of yore. Despite my 2016 self actually living in low cut tees, the slouchy vibe is just not as practical for day-to-day life in almost permanent sub zero temperatures. I used to feel that they spoke of comfort and ease and framed my layered strands of necklaces with an insouciance revered by all as that 'French girl thing'. However, my current 'me' favours a slightly boxy fit with a crew neckline. 

Perhaps it's my age (groan, eye-roll), but no longer do I enjoy looking a bit 'un-done', the peek of a bra brings a rouge to my cheeks now rather than a twinkle to my eye. I see it as a sign of sartorial growth. My proclivity no longer lies in the oversized t-shirt, worn as a half tuck, now they neatly reach waist band level and are of a more fitted ilk. And there's this thing called forethought that seems to speak more loudly to me the older I get. Living in the UK requires a heat tech vest - permanently. Previously, I may have ignored the draft about my cleavage, whistling down and around my stomach and encircling my back. Now baring anything other than my right hand to exchange money for my morning coffee, sends a literal chill that reverberates about my whole entire body.

Yet, this is not the only reason for my new t-shirt proclivity. It speaks of a classic-ness, up there with breton stripes and red lipstick. The clean aesthetic is smart, chic, no fuss, wear with anything, anywhere, even to work. Though admittedly I do save them for casual Fridays, there is something about pairing a crew neck with a smart pair of straight legged, cropped black trousers and a blazer. A smart/casual look that, with the switch out of brogues with white trainers, can transition to weekend wear, or alternatively pair with a stiletto for after work drinks.    

And so my new fondness for the neatly fitted tee has begun. And though the premise of a clear-out is to actually clear out, I feel this a safe enough space to admit that my proclivity for a crew neck does not seem to be slowing down. Oh well, you can never have too many white t-shirts...right?

(Images via: Pinterest)

THE COMMUTE: WHAT TO WEAR

Coats, they are a necessity that I have tried to ignore for a long time.

However, since starting my new job, I have become part of the throng of peak-time commuters that bustle in and out of the city. Flowing like a school in and out of carriages, snoozing on strangers' shoulders and drifting along in the direction of coffee fumes. 

It has been anxiety inducing, a test of independence, exciting, tiring and absolutely freezing. The latter being of great inconvenience, my shivering a signifier of a newbie to the commuters' ranks. Bare ankles - pfft! No scarf - a mocking eye roll and a tut. And don't even bother to turn up if you're not wearing a coat that at least trebles you in size. 

You have to show them that you're committed to this commuting lark. That you're not only willing to hoist yourself out of bed every morning before sunrise, but that you're prepared, unfazed. Newspaper and magazine, bottle of water and flask of coffee, paperback and kindle, charger to plug into every possible device, battery pack to charge said charger, headphones and a variety of snacks for every potential pang of hunger or inevitable wave of boredom. It's the unspoken survival pack of the initiated. The duffel bag required to fit the contents of such also acts as both pillow and means of innocently barging people out of the way. Smile, shrug and signal to the large mass hung about your body.

(Candy stripes to disguise the bulging bag of commute 'necessities')

However, despite my meticulous kit, I am still yet to master the art of commute dressing. A concept further complicated by my now corporate office. You'll remember my groans of deciding what to wear in an office where 'anything goes', yet corporate wear has its own difficulties, especially when factoring in a two hour long commute.

Take Monday for example. I decided upon a pair of black trousers, tailored and cropped at the ankle. Despite the fact that they pick up fluff more avidly than a Dyson, they're smart and black trousers - the definition of corporate dressing. I paired them with with a crisp white shirt that came to about mid thigh and my patent, leopard print loafers. I strangled myself with a vibrant pink scarf and stuffed my arms into a plaid grey blazer. I felt smart, warm (except for my ankles which I'm pretty sure hate me) and like myself, a difficulty when in a sea of heavily starched shirts.

Once at the office, feeling rather smug with myself, I took off my coat to reveal my outfit, to the rapture of my co-workers (I joke), I made a quick trip to the toilets, where I was met with a shirt so wrinkled as to hasten a double take, this could easily have been mistaken for something plucked straight out of the bottom of the laundry pile. I was heavily judging myself. My pristine shirt was a rumpled mess of failure. I debated writing and wearing a post-it , to explain/defend my dishevelment, but thought that I could not blame the train journey. It was merely a visual of my beginner status in the commute crowd.

(Corporate Barbie - pretty & practical, right?)

I sat on the journey home, still in my crumpled shirt as a badge of dishonour, of my youth and my unpreparedness. I even thought about adding a steamer to my arsenal. I've also listed the pros of an outfit change like the host of an awards ceremony. Yet the margin for error poses too great a risk. I'm sure I don't need to remind everyone of my misfortune at discovering a pair of my unmentionables stuffed into a coat pocket after a mad dash one morning.

I feel that the only answer is trial and error. I have already written off my suede boots after an unfortunate downpour left me worrying if they, or I, would ever be the same again. I now have an umbrella permanently on my person and I'm still in talks with myself as to whether or not I should have a spare pair of trousers in my locker... 

So far, I feel I can battle the cold. My duvet like scarf aids greatly in that. The rain, however, remains my nemesis. So wet and all encompassing with its generous soakings. All fashion bets are off when the clouds release so enthusiastically. If wellie boots were work wear appropriate, I'd wear them to avoid sodden feet and waders in a bid to never have to unstick myself from drenched-through trousers again. Yet, alas, I only know this now after having lived, and sat, through it. I'm wondering if Mercury was in retrograde that day...

I look to my peers during such misfortunes. Most had floor length coats on, one had two coats on, which I thought to be rather grandiose, taunting my sodden self with its plural smugness; all had sensible boots. I knew then that I needed to invest in footwear that was made for walking and running and rain and frost and being late in and waiting around in and looking good in. And a coat, I needed one of those, maybe even two, just for the hell of it.

(Tiny bag, massive coat - to hide an abundance of layers & secret pockets)

And would you believe it, no sooner had I thought it, I had found them. Both heavily discounted, both aesthetically pleasing and most importantly, both worthy of the commute club.

I am now the owner of a commuters uniform. I have been inducted and I have seen the light. A pair of black Chelsea boots with stud detail about the edge of the sole and a grey calf length coat that's svelte in shape to allow nimble navigation of the crowds, yet thick enough to insulate against the perennial cold snap.

Now, though I may look the part, I can't quite claim to be the part just yet. There have been numerous missed trains and almost missed stops and I expect there to be many more. I have yet to find a suitable (read, not ugly) raincoat and am also debating adding a puzzle book to my stash. However, I've never forgotten my snacks. It's all about the priorities... 

(Images via: The Fashion Tag, whowhatwear, pop sugar.com) 

LIST OF LOVES FOR THE UNROMANTIC

It was recently Valentine's Day, as if you didn't know, as if it's even possible not to know, with even the likes of Subway offering deals for twosomes.

Cards and flowers, proclamations of love, copious amounts of chocolate (which I'm not mad about), an influx of engagements strewn about Facebook, shop windows red and pink blurs, adults with renewed like for stuffed animals. In principle, Valentine's Day reminds us of the need for love, though it has become a Hallmark holiday, so commercialised as to eclipse the message of love with its consumerist agenda. But no one can argue that the world could desperately do with more love right now. 

Forgetting the eye-roll, green complexion, sick-to-your-stomach inducing sappiness of the day, I thought that I would compile a list of my current loves and not one will bring on a bout of queasiness...

We All Need Friends

Namely the six-some of nineties mega show of the same name. Twenty minutes of escapism. Bask in the dated jokes, the quaint laughing audience and some inspiration in textbook 90s dressing. Expect also, a renewed envy of The Rachel - so shiny.

It's In The Stars Apparently

So it turns out that the old pick-up line, 'what's your sign?', may have been a genuine question as opposed to a seedy chat-up line. Who knew?

Love Me, Myself & I

Self help and self love are often received negatively, like admitting a need/want for improvement is to admit weakness. Yet, betterment is something for all to strive for. Be the cheerleader for your own life. Start by reading this.

Love Yo'self

Body positivity purports acceptance of all shapes and sizes. Demolishing prescribed 'ideals', instead promoting the individual best self: looking good and feeling good by one's own individual standards. Read here for inclusive body flattering fashions and here for Ericka Hart's powerful runway walk, stance and message.

Fashions' Best Friend

It's New York Fashion Week, expect many a statement, many a popcorn runway, and many a well-dressed...dog. Yes, Gauntlett Cheng cast eight dogs in their latest runway show, fully decked out in canine versions of their main collection. Read here for cuteness incarnate.

Yes Please

An everyday, all day, wear with anything, sandal. Uh, yeah, need. Now. That is all. Good looking out River Island.

Hope you're feeling the love <3

(Images via: Unknown, Metro, unknown, spacetelescope.org & fashionista)

UNLIKELY ICON: ZINNIA WORMWOOD

As unlikely icons go, Zinnia Wormwood of 'Matilda' is perhaps the unlikeliest. 

Though her character is most disagreeable, I would posit her fashion  choices as one of few redeeming qualities (the other being signing Matilda's adoption papers in a rare moment of selflessness). Her commitment to a full face, including a daytime glitter eye, and maintaining permanently bleached roots, is worthy of a blog post in and enough itself. However, her penchant for colour blocking, colour clashing, vinyl and feathers in the am and spandex in the pm, speaks of a refreshing eccentricity, especially when held against today's climate of perma-bland Stan Smiths.

(D&G SS 17 pushing the boundaries of good taste)

In reaction to the Normbore (Normcore) trend that permeated the fashion set a few seasons ago, there has been a considerable change of pace. Dolce & Gabbana encourage a level of extra with their elaborate, 'more is more is more' aesthetic. Though Coco Chanel advised to remove one item before leaving the house, D&G would have you add a crown atop everything, offset with door knocker gold earrings. See also Gucci, who have held the reins of quirky, spinning a cat lady/ librarian chic hybrid, into fashion for quite sometime now. And whilst Miss Honey perhaps is better identified as this librarian/cat lady type, Zinnia speaks of the idiosyncrasies inherent to the quirk that continues to inspire the zeitgeist. She is brash and brazen, defiant in her haphazardness and it isn't unimaginable that she would don a crown to her local bingo hall.

Though Zinnia's outfits speak of chaos - jarring colours, contrasting textures - that's not to say that her outfits aren't meticulously considered, see her commitment to coordination (particularly her bed wear), and attention to accessorising. Practicality is a hindrance, choosing instead to wear her whims rather than worry about them. A sentiment preached by the coolest lady ever, Iris Apfel. 

(Iris - Effervescent cool epitomised)

Apfel is lauded for her eccentric style, describing herself as a 'geriatric starlet' and citing the necessity to stay curious and maintain a sense of humour as priorities in establishing a strong sense of personal style. Every appendage is stacked with necklaces and bangles and various other accoutrements and of course, those iconic sunglasses. Apfel once said that, "fashion you can buy, style you possess". Now Apfel doesn't state whether you possess good style or bad style, just style in its purest sense. And Zinnia definitely has a style, one that is outrageous and full of zest for all occasions, whether befitting or not.

My particular favourite outfit, is the 'running from the speed boat salesmen' outfit, in which a leopard print skirt suit (skin tight of course), is paired with an orange/red body and matching head scarf. Followed in a close second to the 'bingo big win' outfit, in which festive purple cycling shorts are fancied into a skort situation, replete with red accents and matching feather trimmed cardigan (which might I add, is something not unlike what I imagine Bella Hadid to be papped wearing on any given day). As the lady herself says, "I chose looks" and that she did.

Zinnia's outfits are fun, different and the opposite of average, all of which are positive aspirations that speak more of an attitude than a particular penchant for looking a certain, prescribed way. As 2018 begins to pick up pace, I feel a smattering of feathers, vinyl and bold/jarring colour-ways, to be the perfect remedy for the January gloom. Though stick to mimicking her outfit appeal not her questionable morals, fondness for gambling and inclination for con-men. Now that should guarantee you a good start to the new year. 

(Images via: pinterest, wallpaper, WWD, newsweek.com, villains.wikia.com) 

WHAT MAKES A FASHION VICTIM: AB FAB vs SEX & THE CITY

Ahh Netflix, the predecessor of the late Blockbusters, a safe haven of TV gold and shows old. It lulls you in, offering great comfort and then before you know it, your whole day has wasted away and you've still got three episodes to go before the end of the programme and your life. Netflix is a bitch like that.

However, you forgive her because she's there when it's a Friday night and you've got no plans. It was one such Friday evening when I happened upon an old favourite, 'Absolutely Fabulous'.

I watched the entirety of the show, as one does when Netflix binging. But it wasn't until the very end that I thought about the fashion. You may think that an odd thing to see as a secondary, considering the show's premise centring around the chase for relevance and 'It-dom' through social climbing and the clothes that represent this. However, the farcical depiction of fashion renders it somewhat of a prop, rather than a display of enviable wears.

In satirising the materialism intrinsic to fashion and the consumerism necessary to stay 'in', the show acts as a comical critique of the fashion industry. Thus exposing the lunacy of trying to keep up and fit in season after season, regardless of personal taste. Saunders herself told the Guardian, "there is something innately funny about people wearing something that makes you think: ‘What the fuck have you come as?’ until they tell you it’s Gucci or Prada and you go: ‘Oh, it’s wonderful!’”

I find this refreshingly honest. The crux of fashion is about newness, even if it is a redux of fashions' past. Yet often it falls victim to its own attempts at staying ahead of the zeitgeist. Its trendiness being its own undoing, often speaking of a distinct lack of creativity. Take for example the industry's subsequent creation of 'Normcore', an interest in stereotypically basic clothing, a reactionary move against trying to stand out, rather the desire being to fit in. More recently again is an interest in 'anti-fashion', focusing on the typically un-fashionable, with designers embracing bumbags and tracksuits and the now infamous Christopher Kane bejewelled crocs, all of which were embraced by fashion folk en masse. 

The lines of good taste/bad taste are evermore indistinguishable, an anomaly playfully dissected in 'Ab Fab'. Yet, what particularly interested me, was the similarities in the portrayal of 'Ab Fab's' Edina Monsoon and Carrie Bradshaw of 'Sex & The City'. Edina is an archetype of a fashion victim in its purest sense, her personality and clothing are both of proportions so unbelievable as to make her caricature-like both physically and behaviourally. And it is this propensity for outlandish outfits that led me to figure Edina and Carrie comparatively.

Both Eddie and Carrie embrace a more is more aesthetic in their daily outfits. They share a penchant for colour blocking and print clashing, with feathers, sequins and vertiginous heels an everyday stalwart. Eddie strives to be in with the crowd, a desperado in Dolce, her taste in fashion being relative to its price tag. The show revels in her obliviousness to her status as a fashion victim, the clothes being a signifier of her cluelessness. 

Yet little separates Carrie from sharing this title also. She too veers into the costume. See her dog walking attire, or that time she dated a politician (and therefore had to dress like one), or the time she attempted to get married with a bird on her head, or the time she went to stay in the woods... Carrie adopts different characterisations of herself depending on her current situation. This element of dress up is much like the various iterations of Barbie over the years; see 'Beach Barbie' or 'Safari Barbie' as examples. Each outfit being a representation of the environment she finds herself in rather than a relatable outfit of personal style. The impracticality of Carrie's wardrobe is largely ignored, rather we are to praise her daring and her commitment to dressing how she pleases.

Despite the correlation between both characters, the preliminary difference lies in the context of fashion each show is set. 'Ab Fab' offers a self-conscious critique of the fashion landscape, setting out to ridicule the pretence of basing judgements and opinions purely on the material through crazy get-ups. Whereas 'Sex and the City' uses fashion as a vehicle to visually signify the multifaceted nature of female expression, which does also often include some questionable outfits. 

Regardless of practicality, both characters are committed to the outlandish and zany. We are encouraged to explore the surface value, drink in the visual and enjoy the voyeurism of the fantastical outfits of both Eddie and Carrie. Though Carrie may be lauded for her fashion prowess and Eddie laughed at for her blind commitment to labels, I believe both to be depictions of fashion playfully expounded upon, reminding us that little separates good taste from bad taste. It is merely distinguished by personal opinion which is in itself a relative concept. It is the motivation behind a fashion statement that is truly remarkable. The similarities of Eddie and Carrie in relation to this and thus the difference in which each character is received, prove this to be true. It is not what one wears, but why one wears it. Whether it is for fashion's sake or purely personal style.

Though embracing extroversion is not something that most can enact in day to day life, it is not to say that both protagonists cannot inform one's fashion proclivities. Especially during this time of year. When else do sparkles, cowboy hats, fishnet tights and feather boas constitute an outfit, other than at New Year's Eve? Whether it's just for the night or what will come to inform one's New Year's resolution. Personal style should be fun and beneath the layers of fur and neon, that is what both Carrie and Eddie embody (albeit to the extreme). Though whilst letting your fashion flag fly, remember, not to wear your rhinestone thong under your naked dress... 

(Photos: The Telegraph, Netflix, whowhatwear.co.uk & Vogue Australia)