ad·u·les·cent - 1. n young person, often in their twenties, forced to return to living in a semi-permanent state of suspended adolescence in their parent's home. Often seen in possession of a degree and a staggering overdraft.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
I'm not dead
Contrary to what you may believe from my lack of posts on here, I can confirm that I'm not dead - I just kind of fancied a break from blogging. Okay, more than a break - a sabbatical if you will. Until my break, I'd been blogging continuously for almost a decade in various different forms and I kind of just felt it was time to back away from the computer for a while.
Anyway, there's good news for all of you die hard enthusiasts. While I may not be posting on here very often any more, for the next month I'm doing a little fashion challenge over on tumblr. For thirty days, I will be attempting to wear a different pair of shoes from my collection rather than the same four pairs that I seem to wear over and over. Some of you might remember The Great Shoe Cull of 2009, which will go some way to showcasing my rapid shoe buying habit.
So for the next month, please redirect yourselves over to:
Whoops, I forgot to post my link yesterday, sorry. To make up for it, here is a photo of Anna Wintour that I took at today's Jaeger London show as I sat across the shag pile carpet runway from her:
Until I have time to write up my full round up of the week, head over to the Daily Express website for my daily photo blog of LFW:
You may be puzzled by my disappearance during London Fashion Week. As hardened readers will know, twice a year I relinquish my lacklustre blogging and go hardcore during LFW. However, this year I'm blogging for my work place and unfortunately, I cannot face doing two separate lots of photo editing each night, nor can I write coherently for four hours straight. So I'll make you guys a deal. I'll post links to my official efforts each night and then I'll do a round up of everything next week, when it's all over.
So, my last object of lust may not have been as bank breaking as some others but for today's, I would definitely need many, many more dollars.
Are you ready?
This little beauty from Balmain makes me feel a little funny but in a good way, I hasten to add - it's like the beautiful love child of Balmain and Chanel. The chains! The lambskin! The quilting! Those shoulders! It's almost too much to take in.
But at €8075.00 (£6,943.56 or $11,398 if we're in keeping with the dollar theme), I will have to continue to lust after it from afar. That or start playing the lottery.
In the meantime, I may possibly placate my desire to shop with these cute Marc by Marc Jacobs mouse pumps, currently on sale on brandalley.co.uk for only £79, down from £219.
Just a quick stop in between activities. I got up at the butt crack of dawn for Betty Jackson at the tents. Mistakenly thinking that it started at 9:45, I was being leisurely until I checked my ticket and realised it was actually a 9:15 show. Cue much panicking, running around and then driving like the clappers to make it on time.
I even ran from my car in the world's most umcomfortable shoes. As you all know, I do not run under most circumstances but for this, I well and truly pegged it, trying to ignore the pain from my leopard pumps as they dug in more and more painfully. Upon getting home, I checked my heels and sure enough, I've got blisters the size of pennies. Time to dig out some plasters and comfier shoes methinks.
Anyway, back to the chaos that is LFW. I picked up a copy of The Daily today which is a free paper given out during fashion week and I was quoted in the feature about Twitter. I will scan and post later tonight after the second half of the shows plus parties.
Betty Jackson this morning was fun - once again, it was another show where at first I couldn't help but think more of Spring/Summer than Autumn/Winter with the number of pastels floating down the catwalk but this was quickly rectified by lots of mohair and greys, forest greens and so on. Unfortunately, my camera flipped out on me again and most of my photos are blurry but I'll see what I can do later. Spotted in the front row - Lorraine Kelly, Dawn French, Melanie Blatt (All Saints) Erin O'Connor balancing a small child on her knee and Jade Parfitt. Betty's son Oliver was taking command front of house, making sure the Vogue girls got to their seats and everyone was happy, while looking very dashing (if I do say so myself).
Right. More later, I'm off for a much deserved brunch with some very neglected friends.
So, I know I've been promising to blog for sometime and I do still owe you all a post about the RE:Fashion Awards and that will still come but there is good reasoning behind my lack of posting. The last two weeks have been crazy, prepping for a trip that I'm now on. This blog comes live from Breckenridge Colorado, a little ski town where I'll be based until next Monday, which is coincidentally also my 25th birthday.
After a hellish 20 hours travelling yesterday to get here yesterday, I am now firmly settled in an incredibly retro condo up in the hills. By retro, I mean that everything is made of polyester - my shredded elbows are testament to this, as is the rather scary light show of static energy that I was treated to in bed last night, where every move caused a little spark in the dark. I also get an electric shock from whatever I touch, meaning I currently resemble Einstein a little too much for my liking.
Ooh, and did I mention my other rather exciting little piece of news? I was finally allowed to upgrade my phone and I am not officially an iBore. Oh yes, I blew almost a week's wages on my iPhone and it would've been great, had it not decided to go psycho on me last night when I tried to sync it but it seems far better now.
The above photo ties in nicely to both subjects this evening - these are the rather fabulous snow boots that I bought from Primark for £10 for the express purpose of this trip, taken on my iPhone in six inches of snow. There's currently a blizzard outside, so I will now retreat to the safety of my cheap polyester sheets. More soon.
I think I have shopping on the brain. Despite my current financial situation being absolutely dire following last weekend’s blow out spending spree, I continue to lust after these beautiful Frye boots.
If anyone in the UK knows where I can buy them, please drop me an email and I’ll send you something fabulous in return for this crucial information. Believe me, I’ve pretty much exhausted every route and I think if I email their PR one more time, I may be blacklisted.
Oof, I've just rolled in the door from a crazy day as your intrepid reporter at London Fashion Week, the first of six days of pure peacock watching. I started off the day at Spijkers en Spijkers at Vauxhall Fashion Scout this morning, a very interesting collection: lots of ruffles on everything. While I didn't really warm to the pinks and violets, I loved the dresses in oyster grey and peach and the fabulous ones that were studded all over. The second half heralded lots of leopard print, which the trashy side of me secretly loves just a little too much to be healthy. My favourite piece though was probably the black silk jumpsuit with tiny little hot pant shorts, you can see it in the final walk, unfortunately the quality is quite bad as my camera is pretty old and crappy:
After Spijkers, we jumped on a bus and headed over to Baker Street to go and check out Topshop Unique, one of the hottest tickets in town, in one of the most amazing venues:
Before the actual show started, they had a reception with lots of yummy miniature portions of traditional English grub - prawn cocktail, cod and chips, bubble and squeak, bread and butter pudding, all washed down with champagne. I was starving and grateful for the sustenance and bubbles - who wouldn't be?
Anyway, back to the clothes. The collection was really heavily 80s inspired - lots of bleached denim in the form of candy coloured jumpsuits and fun printed pieces like horse shoes and arrows through hearts on jackets, more jumpsuits and dresses. All of the models had hugely backcombed hair with scarves tied in them. One girl in a rust coloured ensemble had a matching denim jacket tied in her hair - sounds weird but it worked. My favourite pieces though were the backless jersey dresses with low hanging draped fabric. Not screamingly obvious but very sexy none the less.
In the front row, we spotted Alexa Chung, Peaches Geldof, Roisin Murphy and Cory Kennedy. I bumped into Cory after the show during the bottleneck to get out and when I mentioned that I liked her blog, she agreed to pose for a photo for mine. She was very sweet and patient when my camera messed up and waited until I got the snap I was after. I couldn't help noticing that she's also really tiny. We were both in flats and were pretty much eye-to-eye and I'm only 5'3". That just made me love her a little more:
Unfortunately, blogger has decided to mess up uploading videos for this evening, so I'll have to add some of the videos tomorrow. From Topshop (which ran late), we pegged it back across town to the tents for Ossie Clark.
I was amazed to see Alexa Chung in the front row in a completely different outfit to the one she'd worn to Topshop. The fashionistas sitting around me started to snipe about how it was a bit try hard but I bet every one of them would've loved the opportunity to change between shows, although I must admit I did see their point.
Ossie Clark featured lots of beautiful diaphanous dresses in rich jewely colours - pea green, burnt orange and deep purples, as well as his signature bold prints. Oh, and the embellishments. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. He had that stunning girl from the current Topshop ads walking too and for a brief moment, she made me buy into another dreamy beach life. Believe me, if I were built at a height where maxidresses didn't double as a street sweeper-slash-tent on me, I would so be in there, snapping everything up:
[OSSIE VIDEO WILL BE ADDED TOMORROW, HANG TIGHT!]
After Ossie, we had a short break where we had to do some work. I was glad not to be hopping onto any tubes or buses to march off to another destination and was glad just to plonk down for a while and file some copy before it was off to PPQ.
I've never seen the BFC so rammed. We had seats but in the loosest terms of the word. I had one butt cheek precariously balanced on the edge of a bench, legs in the aisle in order to avoid falling to the floor. And the show had started even before the models hit the runway.
Spotted on the front row: Jodie Harsh in amazing gold sequinned leggings, Victoria Hervey sitting with Russell Simmons (yeah, we couldn't figure it out either), Kimberley Stewart (in what appeared to be silver foil), Peaches Geldof (again, still don't like her), Pixie Geldof (interesting new haircut), Roisin Murphy (again) and Cory Kennedy (who had changed outfits), along with lots of people whose faces I knew but names I didn't.
I have a lot of photos from this show but I'll have to post most of them separately as otherwise this will officially be the longest post ever. I didn't love PPQ this season as much as I have in previous ones.
I think I may've been distracted by the elaborate hats. I am a firm believer that accessories should accentuate or make an outfit, not overshadow it. And this was most definitely a case of the latter. A shame really but I'll let you judge for yourselves when I post the videos tomorrow but here's a taster of one of the finer confections:
As I type, the PPQ party is currently kicking off in Piccadilly and I had intended to go but an exhausting day and some none too fresh sushi means that I think it's probably safer that I skip it and recover. I've also just heard that the queue is ridiculously long so I think it was a wise decision. It's another busy day tomorrow and I still need to figure out what I'm wearing. A fashionista's job is never done...
I admit, I'm not always very good at keep this place updated; I've been very busy recently so here's a brief overview of everything from the last four weeks.
I returned the shoes in a moment of sensibility. Good. I then promptly walked next door to Topshop and spent their equivalent and then some on a new pair of jeans and a dress. Not good.
I flew to Dublin for an overnight press trip and during the only spare hour we had, another one of the guests and I went to go and check out the main shopping area. While we were walking around, we came across the Louis Vuitton store. The current window dressings all have a security theme, which I first saw on baglady.tv. Being the loser that I am, I held up our expedition to get a photo on my phone (my camera had generously packed up that morning). Anyway, here you go:
Isn't it awesome?
In other news, we temporarily have three dogs. We're dog sitting a very cute but very energetic sausage called Thandie whilst her mother is away shooting. Our dogs weren't particularly enamoured by the whole experience for the first week but thankfully peace has been brokered. Minus the odd hiccup when Thandie tries to jump on our dogs (who are both a little old and would rather eat, sleep and scratch themselves than run around like lunatics all day), they all get on rather well these days:
Unfortunately for me, our new arrival, although extremely cute, is currently teething and as such, anything chewable must be kept firmly out of her reach. In the five minutes that my new(ish) and favourite nude leather pumps were left sitting on the floor, the darling dog managed to chew clean through the toes of said shoes, leaving them unwearable and me without good day-to-day shoes.
Which leads me to my final point, London Fashion Week, that kicks off bright and early tomorrow morning. This is my first official one, not sneaking in on other peoples' exhibition passes or spare tickets, so I'm doubly excited. I will probably want to crawl into a hole and hibernate by the end of the week but until that moment comes, I'm going to try and enjoy every moment of it, with as many posts as possible.
And on that note, I bid you goodnight. Some of us need our beauty sleep. Yaaawn.
So, I've been promising myself not to shop for the last two weeks. Have I stuck to it? Hell no. On Friday, I went to the My-Wardrobe.com sample sale, where I bought a Tara Jarmon silk balloon top and a great Et Vous Cotton-cashmere knit dress. Both were reduced hugely - the top was originally £256 and I bought it for £40. In girl logic, I saved £210, making it a bargain. In boy logic (as according to my boyfriend), I still spent £40.
So, I said I wasn't going to buy anything else but coming back from a show tonight, I thought I would stick my head in Miss Selfridge and the giant Topshop for a little nosey. Not to buy anything. Oh no.
Well, that lasted all of about 20 minutes and I walked out with two pairs of shoes, one from each store. From Miss Selfridge:
Mmm. They're actually a lot lighter in terms of colour than this photo suggests, far more nude in tone.
As regular readers will know, I can't wear heels but that didn't stop me from buying these. I love little details like buttons and zips on shoes and although I'm still undecided on whether to keep them, I'm erring more to the keep than return frame of mind. Another great example of girl logic.
My other pair of shoes are slightly less exciting - just nude coloured pumps from Topshop for everyday use and also to go with my new TJ top but they'll be the shoes that I will not get told off for buying, so they make me happy too.
Anyway, a whole post about shoes. I promise, the next one will be slightly more interesting - about an altercation in a curry house. Ooh, I bet you're intrigued...
I think I walked somewhere in the region of 8 miles today, pounding the pavements in very thin shoes and fighting my way through the swathes of tourists that inhabit central London during our summer months. As you'll probably know, I don't like tourists, no matter how good they are for our ailing economy.
As a result of my trekking, I'm knackered and my feet hurt something chronic. This does not include the two parties I went to tonight, which have only added to my exhaustion. I'm going to go and lie in a hot bath now. Gossip tomorrow.
So, it's been three weeks since I last posted, the night before I started my new job. I hate to gush but for pretty much all of it, I love it. I'm sorry, I realise that my happiness is probably incredibly boring to the rest of the world so console yourselves that the accounts department at my new employer is crap. I've been driving myself even deeper into debt than my soon-to-be-forcefully-reduced overdraft allows until they finally pay me. It's weird to think that I'm actually getting paid an actual wage rather than expenses or at best, minimum wage. Except, it still hasn't happened so I guess technically I'm still working for free.
I've been forced to studiously avoid all shops and when I wore evil shoes to work the other day, I was in the horrible position of not being able to afford some cheap replacements on my lunch break and had to suffer painful painful shoes all day. I never thought Birkenstocks could drive me to rage but apparently it's possible. Let's just say I won't be wearing those any time soon again.
But if painful shoes is the worst to happen to me this week, I'd like to think it's been a good one. In other news, I went to see John Mayer last week at Brixton Academy. Never have I witness a more placid crowd, all politely sipping Cider, swaying gently and recording the entire thing on their mobiles. As I was too. And as soon as I find all of the appropriate cables, I too will be boring you with the out of focus footage.
I have finally had the first glimmer of hope that spring might actually, er, spring at last. Yesterday, for the first time this year, I wore ballet pumps without my toes turning blue or soggy. Of course, my enthusiasm was short lived when it rained this morning, forcing me back into my boots but by lunchtime the rain had shifted and my legs were baking. Thankfully, I had a random pair of plimsolls under my desk and after sharing my roasted tootsies with everyone, I was relieved of my leather sweat chambers.
I don't want to jinx it but it's meant to be nice for the rest of the week. Fingers crossed - it's about time we had some decent park-dwelling weather and an excuse to break out the spring-summer wardrobes.
Why is it that the one thing you need, you can never find? I can't find my silver sandals, which has put me into a strop, as I had planned my entire wardrobe around these shoes. We're off on holiday today to go and soak up some sun and get out of the rat race for a week. Back next Sunday, hopefully with a tan.
Part one: How not to wear Gladiator Sandals, as demonstrated by Lindsay Lohan
I like gladiator sandals, I really do. But not like this. There are far too many pairs out there that have ankle straps, for which only the skinniest of ankles need apply. For girls not blessed with delicate bones, might I suggest lower straps or going all out with gladiator boots, a la D&G, Balenciaga and Givenchy, as seen below.
For the high street, Topshop's tan leather offerings, with their delicate intertwining straps, which won't be hitting the shelves for another few weeks but are a-mazing! Unfortunately, there are no images yet but take my word for it. As soon as they're out, I'm gonna have me a 300 moment.
So, today I got a call from an Editor of a magazine that I was meant to do work experience with earlier this year. At the time, it all went tits up and I ended up not doing the placement for various reasons. Anyway, she asked me to assist on a shoot tomorrow. I was happy to be asked as it's always good to meet people and said I'd do it if my current boss let me.
Current boss said yes as we're not vastly busy and so I called the Editor back and said I'd be happy to do it. She emails me the call sheet and all's well until I see the call time - 7:30am. I don't even get up on work days at 7:30am! I will have to use all of my will power to force myself out of bed at 5:45am (ouch!) tomorrow and remain chirpy as I repeatedly burn myself with a steamer. Oh boy.
Another one of life's lessons: never agree to a job until you know all of the terms and conditions.
On the plus side, I finally got my sandals today. Yeay! I have been traipsing to various Topshops trying to find them in the dusty pink and size 4 and at last I have succeeded. Hurrah!
Aren't they pretty? What made it doubly sweet was the fact that my gift voucher that was left over from my birthday meant that I paid the bargain price of £2. You really can't get much better than that.
Let me start this posting by explaining one thing; I do not run. I may sprint gingerly to the bus stop as I spy a bus sitting in traffic but I will not actively or willingly peg it down the street without just cause. One of the reasons behind this is that my knees are in very bad shape after three dislocations and an activity such as running may cause another.
Recently, I have found myself frequently sprinting for the bus more than usual. It was actually proving to be a good form of exercise and helping my knees get a little more used to being put through their paces. Then last Tuesday I helped on a shoot on location in a very tall house where I spent a good deal of the day running up and down the stairs. Needless to say, I got a twinge. The next few days as I ran, both of my knees felt weird in very different ways and I was forced to half-run-half-limp after the bus.
And then I did something even sillier. On Saturday night, I wore heels. I can rarely wear heels as my doctor advised against it many years ago due to the state of my knees. However, I had survived the work Christmas party last month with aplomb and I thought I could risk it; there was no public transport involved, it was a very lovely bar and frankly, I was tired of always being eye-to-armpit height to my friends. I had convinced myself to forget until that night how different one feels swishing around in heels. On seeing my legs in a mirror, transformed from cankles to sinewy limbs, I couldn't help but feel affection for the patent torture devices on my feet.
I admit that I am paying the price for it today. Running for the bus tonight my left knee (the bad one) wouldn't straighten properly as I attempted a sprint, making me run in a slightly deranged hop. But you know, occasionally that price is worth paying for that little confidence boost.
[Just so you know, in case you don't, the shoes above as Christian Louboutin Mary Janes. I love them. I have lusted after them from afar for a long time. One day, they shall be mine. Oh Yes. Even just to look at.]
Before, I forget, I would like to post an open comment to the over-styled twats in the queue behind me at Gareth Pugh's show last night. If you want to comment on my shoes, either do it in your own time or if you must verbalise within earshot, do it to my face. Although, it would take some nerve when one of you is wearing Vivienne Westwood 12 inch heels that she can barely walk in and the rest of you have some of the sillies haircuts I've ever seen.
Anyway, Gareth Pugh. But for the grace of god, I managed to acquire some tickets to go and gawk at the V&A after work yesterday. It was a wicked show but unfortunately, I couldn't use flash so the majority of my photos are slightly motiony or dark.
Having experienced what Donny Darko would make given a sewing machine and several metres of black latex, we de-camped to the most anti-fashion-crowd pub we could find within walking distance to balance out the levels of bitchy fashion pretentiousness and for a very large glass of wine each to numb our fury. Grr. I will post a photo of my supposedly 13 year old shoes.
(stands up) My name is Anti and I am a shoe fiend. Today after work some of the girls and I decided to venture up to Oxford Street Primark for a bargain mooch to see if there was anything we could afford on our meagre salaries. After an hour of rummaging through piles of stuff, it took one look at the queues for us to ditch the clothes we'd been lugging and head for the door.
As we disbanded and went our separate ways, my eye was drawn to New Look across the way. For some weeks now, I have been desperate for new shoes. With summer rapidly approaching, my feet have begun sweating in the cheap plastic Primark pumps I've been wearing all winter and the only solution was shoes with natural fabrics. The last pair of leather ballet flats that I bought from New Look were fantastic, so fantastic in fact that I wore them out within weeks from constant wear. So tonight, I absent-mindedly strolled in and before I knew it, I had five pairs in my hands. Now, this may seem excessive to some but I figure that it saves me from coming back again in the not too distant future and buying even more. At least this way, I'm stocked with flats for most of the summer.
I even included a pair of wedges (low ones) to keep under my desk at work for when I need to be in slightly more grown up shoes. I wish I could wear heels every day but when its flat shoes versus high heels and the resulting dislocated knee, its not hard to see why I don't wear heels very often.
As you can see in the picture above, I haven't included the wedges in the photographic evidence of my shoe-aholic habit. First, they need to earn my love, trust and teach me how to walk in them (again). Then I will post about them in all their beautiful metallic leather glory.
I realise I'm putting off posting about the New Cassettes and I really shouldn't. I promise, before the week is out.
The video above is the opening of Primark in Oxford Street last Thursday - the day when Police had to be called, the queues for the tills were 100 deep and the store had to adopt a 'one in, one out' policy.
A girl from work and I decided we would head down to the new giant Primark for a little browse after work, the aim to get our hands on some gold wedges we'd seen in a magazine. We had foolishly presumed that a week after it had opened, the pandemonium would've died down and we'd be able to stroll right in.
Oh, how wrong we were.
The queue just to get in snaked from the corner entrance, down the side of the building, right round the back of the building and back again. Inside, it didn't get much better. It was as though half of Oxford Street had descended in a co-ordinated attack on the Marble Arch end. We had originally planned to divide and conquer but even as a seasoned Primark scrummer (I survived the christmas time sequin dress delivery), I couldn't take it. There were no shoes on the display racks, instead they lay in mock-croc ballet pump puddles, meaning that it became impossible to move upstairs. After twenty minutes of trying to fight past people and witnessing the till queues that wove through the store, I gave up and went home empty handed.
And that almost never happens when there's Primark involved.
i AM: adulescent, 26, londoner. i sold my soul to media industries and as such, am forced to live a suspended adolescence until someone deems me worthy enough to pay a better wage.
i LOVE: driving, writing, movies, taking photographs, tv, magnets, tea, singing loudly, sunglasses, being by the sea, sushi, anything with stars on, the sound of trains rumbling by, my dogs, hunter s thompson and staring into space.
i LIKE: doodling, sitting in the pub, staying in, primark, wearing trackpants on sundays, reading, being in the city at night.
i LOATHE: washing up, rogue cyclists, ken livingstone, working on sunny days, soggy jeans, early starts, lighters running out, screaming children, maid in manhattan, yobs, pop-ups.
