BRA-VO

I have been away for a while, an impromptu hiatus if you will. So I thought what better way to say 'I'm BAAAAAACK!!!' than a conversation about boobs?

We (that's men and women alike) have been fascinated with breasts since the day, with bleary eyes, we met the world and thus were formally introduced to the nurture giving nipple. It was instinctual in those earlier times but as teenage-dom struck, the fascination with boobs arose again; this time with a preoccupation for our own boobs, or lack thereof. I longed for their development, exuberant at their promise of womanhood and resolute in my desperate need for the supportive discomfort of underwiring to 'hold in' my fried eggs, as they teasingly became known by my Aunties.  

Boobs became central to our mathematical advancement as we demonstrated our calculator dexterity through the power of eight, double zero, eight. Next when the consequences of bosom-hood were fully realised (I'm talking occasional back pain, awkward sleeping positions and the discomfort/weirdly freeing reality of running downstairs) the tetris-like difficulties of lingerie to ensemble placement became the main point of contention regarding any sort of social appearance/life. 

In the age of cleavage baring - that includes though is not limited to, the midriff and belly button - fashion mocks us as we attempt to defy gravity all whilst maintaining the illusion of 'I woke up like this' ease. As ever, the Kardashians' deserve a mention for their seemingly unsupported boobs in their backless and often frontless ensembles. And despite intense scrutiny, I can spy no strings! 

The recent Met Gala saw those fully clothed as the minority on the red carpet, as J Lo, Beyonce and Kim Kardashian-West all took to embodying the 'if you got it, flaunt it' philosophy that Robin Thicke made a (contentious) case for in his infamous 'Blurred Lines' video. 

For a time the side boob became the new toe-cleavage, but it was a way of life that I did not entertain. Too much of a high risk situation. Of course there was always boob tape, and duck tape and cement if desperate, but the alien breeze to the south of my armpit acted as a continual reminder of my all too delicate dalliance with potential full exposure. 

Temperature too factored into my non-negoitiable avoidance to going braless, as who needs a thermostat when you have nipples? Without going into detail, vigorous dance moves are not conducive to keeping stick on bra, well, stuck on. There is no way to make a chicken fillet chic - FACT. And then there is the strapless bra. I see this as the equivalent of riding a rollercoaster with your arms up in the air, for the whole journey. You know that you're strapped in so in theory you should be safe but all sense of reason, not to mention gravity, is screaming for you to hold on for dear life.  

So what is the answer? Well, I am about to propose something radical.  A bra is oftentimes necessary, so why not make it an accessory? It was an idea I have yet to completely warm to - I'm tepid about it at best if I'm totally honest - but Carrie Bradshaw may have just convinced me that backless needn't mean braless. I'm seeing contrasting straps in my future, maybe multiple straps masquerading as some kind of harness looking thing a la agent provocateur, I'm seeing experimentalism (though thong exposure and VPL will not be tolerated under any circumstances). Though what I'm not seeing is any kinda of Regina George/superhero, underwear over outwear appropriation, but as Beiber continues his 360 away from his jack-ass ways, I guess I should 'never say never', just perhaps don't mention it to my dad...  

(Images via: perezhilton.com, hollywoodlife.com, style.catalogs.com, kalifornia-klass.tumblr.com, images.sugarscape.com)

ONE OUTFIT WONDERS

Being considered 'fashionable' is usually accredited with having huge volumes of clothing. Options keep style from veering towards the mundane *or that's what I tell myself...* However, with that being said, versatility may just be the spice of life and the kryptonite of style ruts around the world if you will. You hear of wardrobes condensed down to the bare essentials, the perfect curation of necessity but for most (myself most definitely included) this degree of meticulous organisation (or depravity) remains elusive. 

Despite my inability to withstand multiple purchases of worryingly similar items, I think that there might might be something to this curation lark. Perhaps I should add that my wardrobe actually snapped under the pressure of holding so much weight and this may in part be the driving force behind my interest in downsizing my wears... 

So whilst my wardrobe resembles a cracked egg shell - all broken and pitiful looking - I started to think of the merits behind paired-back dressing. I asked myself the hard hitting questions, like: "do I need nine white t-shirts?" and "is it okay to own numerous items because I like them and not because I actually wear them?" With such thought-provoking, insightful and probing questions as that, I: 

a) debated a career as a news anchor.

b) got lost in a montage-stylee mega reminisce of my formative years, namely the saviour that was my school uniform.

c) stuck sticky tape on my wardrobe pole in a last ditch attempt to ignore my evident hoarder tendencies.

Now, I know that whilst struggling as a tween to 'find myself' and express this ever-changing self through a medium as stringent as a uniform, it was more often an annoyance than a blessing. But with good old hindsight I note that the glorious monotony of pre-picked clothing was conducive to more lie-ins, less early morning 'I have nothing to wear' teen tantrums, and discouraged any kind of comparative bitchiness until after school hours (when your brain was all awake and stuff and could make such critical decisions). And I find that even though we may have left the school halls behind us we never truly leave behind the mentality of uniform dressing. 

As we get older we inform our wardrobes and sense of style with something innately 'us', but it takes time to create and curate this rendition of ourselves. We inadvertently master a persona through our clothing. Like when people say, "this is so you". We become known for a certain 'look' and we ourselves buy into certain looks. For example check out all the Coachella coverage (or faux-chella as coveteur.com called it) to witness the army of people appropriating what it is - or what people en mass think it is - to be at a festival. Uniforms are a comfort, they encourage sameness. Whether you believe that they stifle individuality or function as an equaliser; uniforms sure do take the uncertainty out of getting dressed! With all this said I figured I'd write a rundown of those special few who transform their uniforms into 'one outfit wonders'. Let their commitment to a look inspire you.

Daria

The 90s are cool again. That is probably the most underwhelming statement I have ever made... However, the 90's show Daria had some good things going on, namely her choice outfit. Before Lena Dunham there was acerbic teenager Daria and she did sarcasm in biker boots like no other. Her favoured military jacket was sure to be the sole inspiration behind Marc Jacobs SS15. And Coach's Stuart Vevers proclivity for orange surely stems from Daria's affinity with the colour. Also is it just me or does Leigh Lezark resemble Daria's BFF, Jane Lane? 

Daphne Blake

Scooby Doo informed my growth into adulthood immeasurably. Teaching me that those with a good moral compass will inevitably have the best wardrobes, and crime fighting should always be done in heels, preferably platforms. Scoob himself taught me the power of a statement accessory but Daphne was pictorial proof of what good grooming and colour coordination can do for you. And Michael Kors agrees, or at least the doppelgänger that he sent down the runway would lead one to assume so. Let's all dye our hair purple in honour of the auburn haired damsel in-a-dress. 

Spongebob Square Pants

I do not like SBSP. The jokes are whack, his laugh is annoying and Gary is stupid. But yes, I do realise that it is a show aimed at children so perhaps my disconnect is to be expected somewhat. However, despite all my ranting I guess Jeremy Scott saw something that I clearly didn't with the merging of the Sponge and Moschino, which leads me to at least commend his commitment to a shirt and tie. VB garners huge praise for her pristine attire so why shouldn't SB get the same credit?

Wednesday Addams

Long before Alexa Chung claimed dibs on the Peter Pan collar, Wednesday was accessorising her LBD with starched white tips of the double 'P' variety. With her dead pan 'humour', enviable porcelain skin and cute braids, you'd be forgiven for overlooking her psychotic tendencies. But if Rihanna can market herself as a real life 'bad gal' then I'm sure Miss Addams can riff off her penchant for destruction in babydoll dresses. After all the girl does monochrome like no other...   

Who are your one outfit wonders? Let me know in the comments below :) 

(Images via: coveteur.com, fashiontoast.com, d-a-r-i-a.tumblr.com, themetropolist.com,fanpop.com & pinterest.com) 

HELLA YELLA

Now that Spring has sprung and the promise of Summer is in full bloom our sartorial inclinations tend to lean towards colours that reflect this brighter outlook. All things black are neglected at the back of the wardrobe ready for their annual revival come Autumn, whilst no other colour comes to better represents the season than yellow. 

But here's where I take issue. I don't like yellow. Pale yellow looks sallow, wishy washy as they say, like you've yet to discover Daz. Whilst bright yellow transmits an overbearing sense of happiness. You're wearing yellow, ergo you must be happy, which let's be honest isn't often the case (we're 20-somethings living in recession Britain, we're allowed to be forever furrow browed) Does it mean something that I shy away from a shade synonymous with good feelings, sunshine and cute easter chicks? I'm assuming so but that's a chat I'll save for a professional during my probably quarter-life crisis.

I applaud those who manage to wear yellow and not resemble a living emoticon smiley. Truly I do. Or perhaps I applaud their conviction in wearing yellow regardless of the unfortunate likeness. Whatever my personal proclivities or prejudices, I have decided to embrace the trans-seasonal shift by peppering a little yellow throughout my closet. If you too share my hesitation, then perhaps these pictures will offer some much needed how-to. Let us traverse the yellow brick road together and unite in our uncertainty, and hopefully fabulously colour coordinated outfits.    

Yellow was the go-to colour at Burberry Prorsum SS15, with yellow ensembles refreshingly paired with everything but black. Whilst Ralph Lauren matched sunny yellow with military green, injecting an element of fun into the stalwart sophistication typical of the fashion house.  

The key seems to be to ignore its blinding properties - I find that shades combat the glare nicely - and adopt all manner of textures. Flat colour is somewhat boring, not to mention the resemblance to a bowl of custard is unsightly and according to every fashion book I have ever read, is not a look to be re-appropriated willingly. 

Though I may not have the conviction inherent to Solange and her bold outfit choices yet, I think my subtle yellow jumper is a good place to start. Call it chickening out, call it a compromise, just don't call me Big Bird.

MONDAY MORNING

What does one do when writer's block sets in? 

Rely on pictures of course! Here are a few that conjure up musings of summertime, sparkles, (non-ironic) flowers in your hair, more jewellery than can possibly be worn at once, lie-ins forever, all white ensembles, t-shirts that talk, weekend warriors & shoes that shine.  

(Images: thecoveteur.com, kalifornia-klass.tumblr.com (Kylie Jenner's Tumblr FYI), amlul.com & Unknown)

A MEDITATION ON TOWIE

The Only Way Is Essex (TOWIE) may be a lot of things; however a tool for enriching the mind is probably not immediately synonymous with the show. Or is it? How often does one get to chill out? To truly appreciate the moment and let all materialistic inclinations melt away? Toilet breaks don't count btw. We live in a world inundated with information, making it nigh on impossible to take a respite from all the hubbub of life. To rectify this, might I posit that you  'turn on, tune in and drop off' to... TOWIE. Yes, really.

(So mad that I didn't think up that pun...)

I honestly believe that an episode of TOWIE is just as enlightening and spiritually enriching as a meditation session. On watching the 'reality' show enfold, I feel completely zen. In a word, content. It may sound like I've spent too long in amongst a cloud of hairspray but please, read on. 

I'll begin with the theme tune. The mantra 'the only way is up' instills positive energy from the outset. Whilst the jazzy tune warrants an uncontrollable - though subtle - shoulder bob, which encourages the relaxation of muscles, thus promoting the kind of good posture conducive to reaching that place of inner harmony. Amen. 

As the programme begins you may experience slight sensitivity as your senses adjust to the glaring shades of orange and blinding gnashers staring back at you from the screen. Use this as an exercise to strengthen your mind but as with an eclipse, refrain from looking directly at the florescence. Your optometrist will thank me for this advice. 

Now leave your mind free to wander. Let their droll words wash over you, they will inevitably numb the mind to that of a relative state of comatose. However, fear not the very real possibility of drifting off. Their exclamations of shuu'up will keep you tied to the present, which is what meditation is all about, after all. Relish the distance you have from the onscreen drama, but remain unaffected by it. Rather let it ground you in real reality. Appreciate the luxury that is breathing non-fake tan smelling air. Be thankful that you don't smell like a biscuit and that your hair is not a fire hazard. 

Now let the rolling end credits wipe your mind as you're welcomed back into the room. And take solace in knowing that, whilst your life may not constitute a reality TV show, no one ever said that that was a bad thing. 

P.S What the heck has Charlie done to his hair?!? (The meditation is over so I'm allowed to make superficial comments btw)

(Images via: guykremer.co.uk & fuckyeahtheonlywayisessex.tumblr.com)

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)