Worn out for my friend's birthday last night! I so very rarely wear heels so I was somewhat like Bambi learning to walk, however I do think that these chunky platformed characters were the best type of heels to re-initiate myself again. I have been searching high and low for a pair of 90s boots for months now, so I was nearly delirious when I found these lovelies on Etsy. My faith was tested when a £15 customs charge was plonked on me during the first few weeks of coping with being jobless, but nothing was going to taint finding my soul boots. I also wore this outfit with some black lipstick (!!), which I wore into Liverpool city centre on a Saturday night. Never have I felt more out of place.
I didn't mean for it to turn out like this. Honestly, I was thinking of you the whole time. I hope you can find it in your heart to take me back.
After a month of sitting on trains, marvelling at churches and lounging on beaches in Europe turned into moving to Liverpool which turned into the intensity of freshers' week which turned into a pile of work up to my eyeballs, it was December and I had been AWOL for around six months. With a bit more time to write about the things I want to write about, I am hopefully back to fill your screens with postulations and pictures!
It's hard to feel inspired right now, since my life seems to be revolving around exams. Phoebe Philo's resort collection for Celine, however, remedied that. It is just about the only thing in the last couple of weeks that lit my proverbial fire. Floated my boat. Got my juices flowing. You choose your favourite metaphor. It seemed to synthesise all the thoughts that have been floating around in my head for the last few weeks - pink, white, monochrome, flatforms, sheer things, velvet, pointed shoes, shiny things. The accessories were killer - I would do unspeakable things for those gold flatforms. While it has the same polished and 'fashion-y' Celine aesthetic that has become so popular, I couldn't help but feel there was more than a little bit of English eccentricity thrown into the mix, which feels refreshing after a few seasons of things that are all very 'good taste'. After all, our girl Phoebs hails from this green and pleasant land, and you can't deny your roots. Plus, it would have to be an Englishman who pioneered going out in your pyjamas.
What I'd quite like to be wearing this summer. I'm never normally attracted to cut-off denim skirts, let alone white ones, yet I have two in my 'Watching' folder on eBay. And I want to pair them with a white t-shirt. I believe it's referred to by medical professionals as Liz Hurley Syndrome. Happens to the best of us when the sun comes out.
I have been searching high and low for the last two years for the perfect pair of black boots. I'm not looking for a fling, I want the real thing, my boot soulmate. And like the perfect man, the perfect pair of boots has a list as long as your arm of necessary attributes.
5'11" Denim-wearing brunette seeks boots, for walking, dancing and high-kicking. Would like to meet:
Black leather, NO exceptions; suede acceptable, patent definately not. Ankle height, preferably no elastic panels and no statement zips or embellishing. Plain in nature, no laces, buckles or fastenings. Slightly 90s if possible, round-square toe preferred but is willing to meet alternatives. Heel vital - chunky, stilettos not welcome here, although not too high. Ideally will allow daytime weraring but ability to lend themselves to a night out is welcomed. Must withstand clumsy nature of wearer and English weather.
So, okay, I think I might have found my soul-boot.
Dr Marten 8240 eBay
Okay, they mightn't look like much to you, but my heart skipped a beat when I saw them. You know when something is just exactly what you have been searching for? And then I saw the size. Two sizes too small. Lady Fate is a sadist, dangling the perfect pair of boots in front of my eyes, only to take them away. Every time I look in the mirror now I imagine how these boots would look with what I am wearing, meaning that all my other shoes are now not quite good enough. So now, not only do I not have these boots, all my other shoes are inadequate. Thanks eBay, I have no shoes.
In case you hadn't already picked up on it, I am a sucker for sentimental items. Anything with a story or any kind of personal meaning I can't help but fall a little bit in love with. Unconditional love. And like unconditional love, one fails to see the faults in the object of their affection. While I recognise that it cost very little and there is something not quite right about the tacky plastic and fluorescent yellow colour of this bag, it doesn't stop me from treasuring it just as much as my classic and very expensive 2.55. It was bought for me by my parents as a birthday present when I was around ten, and it was the first 'grown-up' piece of clothing I owned. It was Topshop! That was a huge deal back then. I wore it to the pantomime that Christmas, with the same pride as I would wear a Chanel couture gown to the Russian Ballet in Paris today. While it is currently having a 'moment', what with the reign of the 60s last season and colour clashing this summer, I will still love it for years to come, even when fashion doesn't.
Things I've done recently:
Revised - lots, listened to the Grease soundtrack and Patrick Wolf on repeat, bought a Holga 135, finished my book (High Fidelity, if you gave a crap), wished that I knew Nick Grimshaw (forget French or Italian men, I'm a sucker for a Lancashire accent), got my first haircut in 10 months, pined for some Dr Marten 1461s, got outbid on some really nice stuff on eBay, wished I was a Roitfeld.
Asos sunglasses / American Apparel shirt / Casio watch / Levi shorts via Dad
British summer time brings about a number of inevitabilities. Pimms. Threatened hosepipe bans. Andy Murray losing at Wimbledon. Most of all, you can be sure that the British will use even the slightest glimmer of sun to get out their shortest shorts, flip-flops and bikinis. I can't deny my heritage, so naturally I used the sunniest day we've had in a while as an excuse to don 'holiday clothes' and sit around whining about how unbearably hot it is, even though I'd be surprised if the mercury even hit the mid-20s.
Here is me looking like a scruffy urchin after languishing in the back garden all day. I hadn't intended to take pictures tonight, but the way the light fell across my webcam was just too pretty to walk away from. Unfortunately there will be no more garden-languishing for me this weekend since I'm working both tomorrow and Sunday, but I hope the weather is lovely for you for whatever you have planned this weekend!
As I have previously mentioned, my obsession du jour is glitter. Not really on anything specific, just glitter. I recently read an article in the Telegraph on Good Taste (whose poster girls were Anna Wintour, Coco Chanel) vs. Bad Taste (Anna Dello Russo, who else?), which sort of inspired my Summer of Glitter. The article was not intended to criticise the fashion choice of anyone, the Good Taste Bad Taste concept was defined by the timelessness of the clothing involved. Breton tops, I'd hedge my bets that we'll still be wearing them in 50 years, fruits of the forest headdresses, not so much... I'd been stuck in a bit of a fashion rut before reading that article. While my views on motion sickness inducing stripes or banana earrings remain unchanged, sometimes we all need a little reminder to stop overthinking things and wear the stuff we like. And, whether it is tasteful or not, right now I want to roll around in a big old paddling pool full of glitter. Or failing that, a little pair of silver sparkly sunglasses would be the cherry headdress on my cake of an outfit. I particularly liked it at the Prada Menswear show (more men should wear glitter, don't you agree?), paired with camel jackets. Sorta makes it a bit classy. The same way that a hooker is classy if you put her in a trench coat...
What's your favourite 'tacky' thing to wear?
This will be my last wordy post for a little while, exams and whatnot. My life currently revolves around studying economic theories, watching Family Guy and eating buttercream, so my posts are likely to be less of my stream of conciousness ramblings until the end of June.
Chloë Sevigny, looking like a total Betty in this gorgeous Cher Horowitz-y skirt suit. I have dreams about outfits like this. I so wish this was sitting in my wardrobe waiting for me to wear it. But not as much as I wish that this were true. God, imagine the children.
Second-hand dungaree dress / St. Michael via my dad jumper / Casio watch / Topshop shoes / Second-hand rucksack
This bag is something of a novelty to me! Having not worn a rucksack since about year 9 (back when I defiantly put my foot down and demanded a 'cooler' shoulder bag for school) it's weird to have my hands free and not having a satchel banging against my side. It's huuuge as well, so I can carry all my wordly goods around on my back if I really want to. Eat your heart out Mary Poppins. Plus, I'm always cold, so it allows me to put both hands in my pockets. Winner winner chicken dinner.
Things on my mind:
Doc Marten shoes, leather backpacks, the end of the world, Winona Forever, bum bags, homemade peanut butter cups, ankle socks, glitter, glittery ankle socks, glittery lurex, glittery sunglasses, glittery nails, glitter, Carey Mulligan, glitter, Swedish girls, oversized jackets, mens jumpers.
For my generation, I think the concept of denim-on-denim conjures up images of Britney and Justin and awful 90s boy bands with curtains. You definately walk a fine line when dipping your toe in the double denim waters, there is no denying that. The majority, myself included, use denim as a canvas. If you took denim to a party, nine times out of ten it would sit in the corner with a Diet Coke while a pair of shoes or a blouse told jokes and anecdotes. I guess double denim is the equivalent of denim getting drunk on tequila shots at the bar, doing the bus driver dance and showing the whole party its knickers. What I'm trying to say is that it makes a statement out of something that isn't normally the focus. While it is a statement in itself, I think at the same time you need a distraction from the double denim action, like a stripe or a polka dot. Is that right there an admission that double denim is inherently wrong and that you need something to trick the eye into looking at something else? I'm not quite sure. I think like Marmite and Jedward, you either love it or you hate it. And I love all three. So hate me.
What do you think of denim-on-denim, very right or very very wrong?
Vice's 100th issue, 100 girls feauture. Lots of enviable haircuts and outfits that make you go 'why didn't I think of that?'. Especially fond of the St. Michael-style, dad-type t-shirt clashed with the patterned trousers in number 84.
Our house is like a Chinese laundry the majority of the time (none of this minimalist, clutter-free malarky), so I always get a good look at what my respective family members have stashed in their wardrobes. Currently eyeing up this Harvey Nichols cord shirt and a pair of Marks and Sparks boating shoes. It's stuff like this that makes me wish I was a boy - in a non identity crisis kinda way, just so I could show the other boys how to dress.
How was your weekend? I spent mine at work, catching up with my best friend who has just returned from a trip round America and talking about how amazing Liam Neeson is. I also got overly competitive and oddly patriotic while watching Eurovision. It's a dark day when Jedward make me proud to be Irish. Click the link - catchier than the common cold.
If you were to peruse my family album, because you're nosy like that, you wouldn't have to be a gene scientist to work out I was always doomed to have shocking eyesight. Both my parents and all my grandparents wore glasses, so it was inevitable that I would have a similar ability to see long-distance as a fruit bat. What also seems to be hereditary, in addition to being deprived of the chance of going to Top Gun by stupid genetics, is the compulsion to wear ridiculous glasses. Think large, late 80s and pearlised and you're along the right lines. Where I had previously mocked my parents for their choice in specs, my scoffing has been replaced by feelings of jealousy and bitterness that they didn't hang onto them longer.
I haven't been able to get retro glasses out of my head since I visited Paris last summer. I couldn't put my finger on what made the Parisian residents' simple t-shirt/jeans/trench coat ensembles so perfect, until I found myself cooing over a shop dog in Le Marais - who was watching the city go by from the doorway of a glasses shop. A good pair of glasses has the power to elevate an outfit, which was reiterated to me countless times as I wandered around the City of Lights pretending I was a local. Nine months on and I still can't stop thinking about timeless, yet statement, tortoiseshell glasses, green with envy every time I see a picture of Morrissey or Gregory Peck as Atticus Finch. For the first and last time I think this man will receive style snaps, I also genuinely admire Tudor historian David 'rudest man in Britain' Starkey for his choice in eyewear.
I think it was about time I accepted the fact that I need to wear glasses every day. I don't know what I'm so bothered about, gone are the days of 'speccy nerds' and 'never making passes at girls who wear glasses'. Oh, who am I kidding, there is only so many times a person can live with the embarassment of waving at people and realising that you don't actually know the person you are waving at.
Margaret Howell A/W '11 loafers / The Face December '99 / Funny Face 1957 thrills and frills / The Talented Mr. Ripley 1999 / Margaret Howell A/W '11 / Amélie 2001
Things on my mind:
High-waisted black bikinis with clompy men's shoes, red midi skirts with clompy men's shoes, being annoyed at the things you want going out of stock, great glasses, classic summer dressing, top buttons done up on cardigans, the perfect pair of brown loafers, homemade rocky road, The Face's editorials, Jean-Pierre Juenet, men's shirts.
Should have issued an apology in advance for the awful pun in the title. Sorry to any KRS One fans. Or to anyone who hates cheesy wordplay. Actually, I'm sorry for writing it in the first place.
This is one of my favourite skirts, with just the right ratio of granny (the length, the pleats) to modern (sheer with a short underskirt). Or should that read granny to slutty ratio? I might start giving all the clothes in my wardrobe a granny/slutty rating. A 1 to 10 scale or something. Might even get some post-its and dividers involved...
If you were British girl and between the ages of 9 and 13 around the year 2000, it's a pretty safe bet that you read Mizz magazine. For those who weren't lucky enough to have a subscription from Dodgy Dave's newsagents or were simply denied it by geography, it was your typical pre-teen magazine, with celebrity gossip, 'Which member of S Club 7 would be your best friend?' type quizzes and fashion tips.
As well as helping pre-teens find their fashion feet, Mizz also offered advice to clueless girls how to pick up boys that were more interested in Pokemon than they were in the fairer sex. One 'tip' that has stuck in my mind is to wear one colour head-to-toe to a party. Apparantly it makes boys notice you more, and when "your crush" sees that colour again he will associate it with you. Clearly it's not Freudian-level psychology, but the abudance of colour that's around this season has made me very aware of the potential effect that I might be unintentionally having on the opposite sex.
Betty Jackson A/W '11 / Paul & Joe A/W '11 / Charles Anastase A/W '11
I haven't really got on board with head-to-toe paintbox colour trend for spring/summer, but I like that it's sticking around for autumn/winter in my favourite hue. Head-to-toe anything requires a lot of commitment, be it an adult onesie or matching separates of any colour of the rainbow. I myself have always been an all-or-nothing person, so, choosing to ignore Mizz's words of warning and risking leaving broken hearts scattered in my wake, why bother with red nails or lips when I can get away with wearing it from my hair to my heels? What do you think, is monochrome red a good thing or will I end up losing friends because they all get dots on their eyes when they hang out with me?
This is my pop-to-the-shops-for-mango-and-Vogue look. My trench coat is M&S, my dungaree dress is eBay, my t-shirt is Topshop and my old faithful lace-ups are Repetto. I hope you're enjoying your weekend!
Okay, we all know that this spring/summer we're supposed to be ditching our Breton's and donning a migraine-inducing Fruit Pastille lolly ensemble. Muiccia and Jil told us, Vogue from every corner of the globe is telling us, and the high street is screaming it at us so hard I'm surprised it hasn't lost its voice. While I want to embrace The Stripe - I really do, my wardrobe is bursting with them - the rainbow-bumblebee-look looks as if it will be sticking with us for as long as it takes for your '99 to melt. I guess I want something with a little more longevity. Cindy's clashing-but-matching horizontal stripe get-up is just outside of the majority's comfort zone, giving it an edge, yet still manages to look classic over twenty years on.
Like I said, I'm not short of a striped piece or ten, so I'm using this season as an excuse to wear my existing classic pieces all at once. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that these get restocked by the Topshop fairies so I can clash it with one of my million Breton tops, a pair of nice sensible brown sandals and my pasty English legs.
How are you wearing your stripes this year? And does anybody know if zebras can change their stripes?!
I have several failed attempts at starting a blog. I am the blogosphere equivalent of a commit-o-phobe. I will pretend like I am interested but when it starts to take a little effort I won't ever call again. I'd like to think that, in common my real-life commitment fearing counterparts, I leave sobbing women and broken hearts in my wake, but I'm not sure a few pixels and a couple of fashion-related posts has that extreme an effect. While it does feel a little like I am jumping onto an already full bandwagon, here goes nothing. Third time lucky, perhaps?
The pressure of The First Post. Who am I? What do I do? Do I come here often? You can make do with some pictures of my family. The people around you make you who you are. These people have dressed me since I first arrived as a little bundle of screams in 1991, and since I have been old enough to put together my own (sometimes questionable) ensembles, I always seem to subconciously channel them. While many girls and young women look to their mothers for inspiration - and don't get me wrong, mine is one stylish mama - my main style inspiration is my dad. And I'm not the only one. Instead of fighting over designer bags or silk dresses, me and my sister are currently at war over a ratty old Greenpeace t-shirt that my father wore throughout the 80s and 90s. My dad is the most featured in both this collage and in my wardrobe; as I type I am wearing an oversized St. Michael jumper previously belonging to him, rescued from the charity shop pile. This is in addition to the countless scavenged oversized jumpers and t-shirts from his side of the wardrobe. The fact that we are the same size in 501s is a bonus; a nice steady stream of hand-me-down, knee-less Levis. My heart actually sobs a little when I remind myself that neither my dad or any other members of my family, with what appears to be a hereditary compulsion to wear statement specs, have any of their glasses left for me to fit with my lenses.
While I do feel a pang of jealousy after reading 'What's In My Closet?' feautures and wonder why my Daddy wasn't a Stone or my mother wasn't a Chanel muse, I guess I only have to look in the photo drawer to realise that just because he wasn't on tour or she wasn't in Vogue, that is by no means an indicator of how cool they were. Oh, and under my bed. At the time of posting, I'm winning the t-shirt war.