.........are a girls best friend

For a girl who over the years has accumulated some beautiful jewellery, I just don’t wear it enough. My Mum is of the old school variety and has always had a penchant for tennis bracelets, lockets, fobs and solid gold bangles. I even met her in Antwerp earlier this year to scour the city for diamonds. A European trip simply for purchasing jewellery makes her a serious jewellery wearer and buyer (sucks to be my dad, no wonder he keeps putting off retirement). I, on the other hand have not inherited this love of expensive accessories. I wear a very simple pair of pearls every day. Now and then I adorn myself with some glass beads or costume style neck decorations. The real stuff just doesn’t do it for me just yet. At 30 I fear it may never become “my thing”. (Looks like my future spouse is high fiving himself right now!)

I do, however, fancy a pretty vintage ring and have spent hundreds of hours wandering market stalls and browsing antique websites in search of the perfect one. In my travels I came across this gorgeous website owned and operated by the sweetest girl called Raney-Mills. Her company Raney Day Rings is based in Boston, USA. I just had to share it with you. Cute to boot and from what I hear, prices and shipping are extremely reasonable. Start decorating your fingers ladies.

More recently, my most exciting fashion festival discovery was the surprise appearance of boutique jeweller Chelsea De Luca. Antique themed, old world jewels reminiscent of our grandmothers jewellery boxes, swarovski crystal encrusted hair combs, and some gorgeous deep coloured velvet cushions make for a simply delightful store experience. Word on James Street is that De Luca is the next best thing in the Australian jewellery industry. De Luca's frosting is highly sort after for many red carpet appearances with Rose Byrne making the "Unflappable Flapper" her first choice at the Sex and the City premiere. For a girl who prefers the vintage brooch over colour, carat, clarity and cut - De Luca may be just what I've been looking for.

Blow drying, bobs and black

I've donned some of the most fabulous outfits this week as a guest (no longer an usher) at numerous shows during Mercedes-Benz Fashion Festival Brisbane. I lead a standing ovation for the tulled frills and slippery satin at Grbac on Day 1, I've developed a major crush on Paul Hunt (the man as well as the full skirts) and look forward to a little high street love when I attend the Queens Plaza Morning tea on Friday. 

I'm averaging 5 hours sleep a night (6 if I've pre planned the next days outfit). A blow dry in the morning has been limited to Monday and maybe Thursday (thank goodness braids are back and can be resurrected the following day). 

I have a whole new respect for Wintour and company. I now understand why the standard bob and black ensemble is so popular in the front row - bob plus black equals a good 7 hours in the sack. All this time I thought it was lack of creativity when it's actually sheer brilliance. A make over maybe on the cards friends. Stay tuned for outfit stories and fashion week criticism (of the constructive variety). I'm now off to take these tired eyes to bed.

Eureka

At first I was a little nervous that the land down plenty wouldn't fulfil my current hankering and obsession with vintage fashion. It's not that I lacked faith in the style of my predecessors, I'm a huge fan of pre war petticoats and the peter pan collar. I just wasn't quite sure our grand parentals placed enough emphasis on fashion in the early years to horde all of those special “just in case my great great grand daughter fancied this peacock blue velvet hat” style pieces.  I figured they were more concerned with digging for gold than worrying about the style stakes of their future offspring's offspring's.

That was until I stumbled across this sensational true red boucle jacket, complete with black gross grain ribbon detail and so gordy their great gold buttons. To my surprise all of a sudden I was Advancing Australia Fair, vintage style.

As far as my all Australian family were concerned I had nothing to worry about,“the first fleet were totally super stylin' mate stop stressing out about it”.

Drop it like it's hot

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.

I still call Australia home

I'm home. I love my country, I love my Mum, I miss my boyfriend and I hate my dog.

Thanks For The Memories

Today marks the end of an era. The next post I write will be penned (I'm old school) from the great mother land down under. Tomorrow I begin the 24 hour journey back to the lucky country. Here I plan to settle, decorate, shop, drink tropical fruit cocktails and write. 

I leave behind the city that introduced me to the power of Burberry, Harrods, Many A High Street and my first pair of Red Soled Shoes (all deserving capital letters due to the important roles they have played in the story that is "My Life").

It was the great city of London that brought Mud On My Tea Dress to life and in its honour I give you my best effort at encompassing my London style. I present to you....

Everybody's doing it

Sometimes when shopping (especially when on holiday) I tend to become completely consumed and immersed with my surroundings. I've been known to bring back fur trimmed hats from Russia (never to be worn again), Peruvian beanies that cover ones ears (what was I thinking?) and at one point I actually owned a genuine Hawaiian coconut bra (quarantined on arrival - thank god). At the time I think it's a great idea and I guess I kind of go with the "When in Rome......" theory. 

Earlier this week I returned from The Camden Market with this.  I guess for a minute I figured I was way cooler than I actually am.

Adjective: one of a kind (not comparable) 1.being unique, especially when uniformity is expected

The words vintage and one of a kind are often found together. So when your one of a kind/vintage shoes fall apart you sadly accept that replacing them may not be an option - 'ONE' of a kind being the operative word here. That is unless luck is on your side. Within an hour of arriving at The Camden Market this morning it seemed that the fashion gods were looking upon me. I had found, purchased and replaced my one of a kind/vintage (obviously not) granny shoe/boots in just under 60 minutes. Brilliant second hand shopping if I don't say so myself, here's my story in pictures:

(please note: blogger has been emotional this week and stole this post and all lovely comments - apologies to those who took the time to let me know how much they liked my new purchase. xf)

Le chic Français sans effort

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.

A special souvenir

What's a girl to do when her boss slips her a little bit of bonus cash? Treat herself to her first pair of red soles of course.