Thursday, 30 October 2008
Sunday, 26 October 2008
Saturday, 11 October 2008
Tuesday, 7 October 2008
Saturday, 4 October 2008
Thursday, 25 September 2008
Tuesday, 23 September 2008
In saying so, I didn't cope so well when London Fashion Week decided to come to town. It was like my past reared its not so ugly head and I just wasn't ready for it. I wasn't wearing my best “run into your ex outfit” and I still hadn't lost that extra 3kgs that apparently reminds him of what he's missing out on.
I'd broken up with London a good 6 weeks ago. I'd been through the process. I'd cried, I'd packed my things, I'd had the painful goodbyes and will I ever see you again moments. I was over officially him. However, just when my new city and I were about to move onto the “not just a rebound but significant relationship” stage, LFW had to turn up looking better than he'd ever done before (how do they always manage to do that?). He took me by surprise. I just wasn't prepared for his grand return so soon. Everything looked so nice and shiny, like the new improved version. So edgy, trendsetting and of course so very British.
To cope with this return of the ex situation; I did what every red blooded, once heart broken female would have done. I splurged on an unnecessary item (tights in this case – I'm on a budget). Called my girlfriends for emergency happy hour cocktails. Drowned my sorrows and bored my support group with “why did I leave him again?” style questions. At least I didn't cut my hair.
Friday, 19 September 2008
I'm sure it never really intended to play such an important role in fashion history. Once upon a time it was only seen on Christmas Eve during a terribly drawn out ABC version of The Nut Cracker. Today, it's worn by toddlers worldwide at their fairy and goblin themed birthday parties. The most copied being the “soaked by a bus version” on the opening credits of a stupidly successful television series. It seems these days, if you haven't worn layers of tulle and tried to pass it off as a skirt you're not really 'fashion'.
Personally, I spent a good 80% of my upbringing wearing one (I have the toes to prove it). Therefore, have never been a huge follower in the real world. I tend to believe this soft, romantic, fairytale skirt has its place and that place is the stage. I admit, I was a fan of Carries tiered version but I've never had a hankering to replicate it. I've worn many petticoat versions under full skirts but never felt the need to expose them.
Due to my somewhat dramatic nature and love for quirky over accessorised labels such as Alannah Hill; I often find myself holding back with outfit choices in fear of crossing the line from outfit to costume. A red and white polka dot dress can look sweet; add a patent round toe Mary Jane and I'm getting paid by Walt Disney to have my picture taken with children. The tutu unfortunately falls into this 'costume' like category for me. In a conscious effort not to look like Swan Lake I have always opted to leave the tutu to the professionals rather than risk looking like an overweight version of Margo Fonteyn.
Today, however, in the snaps above, I've decided to push myself over the edge, cross the line and be a little bit crazy (said in sarcastic tone with jazz hands and major eye rolling action). Searching through the ballet cupboard, oh yes ladies this cupboard actually exists in my family home, I took the step, here's my best “tutu for the real world”- best keep an eye out for passing buses.
Wednesday, 17 September 2008
Monday, 15 September 2008
Thursday, 11 September 2008
Wednesday, 10 September 2008
Monday, 8 September 2008
Thursday, 4 September 2008
Ironically the "old world" never really seems to go out of fashion. For some reason vintage (40 years and beyond) and vintage inspired can nearly always make an appearance, be respected and appreciated, even if it's not your thing. A slight nod to the bygone era (genuine article or reflective of our grandmothers wardrobe) and everyone is happy to pass it off as vintage rather than out of date.
Fashion week saw me prance around in this special number. A few observers commented "What a lovely dress - is it vintage?" "That dress is sweet, I bet it's thrifted and from London". Neither actually. It's Australian and brand spankin' new (no busted zips here ladies). It's just designed by a super smart lass who also agrees vintage never goes out of fashion and fortunately always seems to pay her bills.
Saturday, 30 August 2008
Wednesday, 27 August 2008
Sunday, 24 August 2008
Wednesday, 20 August 2008
On the mammoth journey that is London to Brisbane, it's only wise to break it up with a little over night stay. Not even 13 hours, dodgy in-flight entertainment and 8 bags of economy class snack mix could keep me away from the cheaper than chips Hong Kong ladies markets.
My extreme reaction to back street shopping often has me somewhat perplexed. There's something quite exhilarating about being lead to a small room with wall to wall exhibits of designer bags. You know the zips will break as soon as you get back to your hotel room, but the secrecy involved in these covert operations is thrilling. It's not to say I don't get super excited about a good day out on Regent Street or at Queens Plaza, it's just, I don't seem to get the sweaty palms and fast heart rate when browsing the racks of Cos and Jaeger.
Why I get such a kick out of this dirty process when I very rarely purchase anything is anyones guess? I mean, shouldn't the adrenaline and satisfaction come with the transaction and the actual owning of the product? The truth is, purchasing one of these 'copy' bags does not sit well with me at all. Maybe its because I've spent too much time developing a conscious whilst reading fashion magazines and watching documentaries on you tube. Or possibly its the result of being ripped off too many times as a guilt free teenager when my Louis Vuitton Graffiti bag just didn't match up.
What ever the reasoning, I left HK once again with only a sweet little Jade broach (no fake label) and a perfume purchase from the always lovely Lane Crawford department store. At my age its time to leave the copy Chloe and dodgy Diesel for those gap year teenagers who are yet to learn the sadness behind the plastic handbags they will purchase on mass.
So often we read articles on this sad topic and I'm sure we all have strong opinions on why the copy industry should be abolished and how its effected the retail economic situation of many brands. I'm terribly disappointed that the iconic Burberry check is no longer a lusted after fabric and that gone are the days when the LV monogrammed carry all was seen only on business class passengers.
I do admit, however, that I was left in awe when I witnessed the rope and string arrangements displaying copy bags and sunglasses on a recent Spanish mini break. I couldn't help but think - how very clever. The copy items sat on a calico rug which had 4 pieces of rope attached to each corner. At the first sight of local authorities, the 'retailer' pulled the 4 ropes and in a spilt second his 'shop front' turned to a sack and he was off as quick as Santa on Christmas Eve. These guys worked in teams, with a 'look out' that would signal at any sign of police, giving his colleague enough time to close the deal and be off like the wind. With skills such as this I started to wonder how the retailers in question ended up selling tacky plastic Prada bags and scratched Ray Bans for a living when clearly a career in engineering or athletics could have well been on the cards? Economics I guess.
Sunday, 17 August 2008
Monday, 11 August 2008
Friday, 8 August 2008
Tuesday, 5 August 2008
Monday, 4 August 2008
Last night my boyfriend and I played the game ‘If I could be any other nationality in the world what would it be?’. My immediate response was “French of course, the berets, the stripes, the patisseries, the baguettes, the champagne – what’s not to love?" Call me clichéd but I’ve always loved a solid stereotype. The boyfriend’s reaction was a lot simpler, “Argentinean”. I was somewhat perplexed considering he already reigns from the southern parts of the Americas and is already 100% Latin blooded. “Why?” I asked “Football” was his response. Men, so nice and simple.
Enjoy a few terribly contrived snaps of Francis looking somewhat like a French cliché and not so much effortless.