Tuesday, October 12, 2010

Rag and Bone

I love this collection. Interesting take on the midlength hems. And so much chiffon.... loves it. And the harnesses.

images: Elle

Monday, October 11, 2010


Two amazing models, two different blondes.
Britt Maren, exiting Isabel Marant in Paris.
Abbey Lee
images via altamiranyc

Stalking the Fash Pack

I wish I could talk about collections and shows with some semblance of knowledge. But I can't. I love them, I love seeing the pictures. I love reading the commentary on the shows in the paper, and wonder if fashion writers sit there and make up half the stuff they write. What I do like however, is the street style photos that abound of the skinny, the fabulous, the stylish, and the enviable. 
I love especially the details that street snappers capture. Huge tucked and puffed sleeves, ballooning off a beige knit. Leather armour, dull against peacock flashes of a clutch. Sharp shoulders and a careless hairdo from Abbey Lee. Punk-ass hair, wicked piercings, and irridescent sequins. Red leather skinnies (oh, the legs!), zips, and pulled sweaters. Post-show hair in arctic idemaiden coils. Textured and distressed knots.
pictures via carolinesmode

Friday, October 8, 2010

A Little Less Conversation

It's Thursday today. The weather was lovely and crisp. Work was boring, and I'm developing a rather sing-song British flavour to my words as I talk to people in the cafe. Without further ado, here's a snapshot of the contents of my handbag, my camera, and my itttybitttylittlemind.

Listening The National. Like on repeat and neverending. Get amongst it.
Reading Jude the Obscure and Far From the Madding Crowd. Thomas Hardy is incredible... His characters ... though he's not an easy one to read while hungover. Or overtired.
Watching… Hannah Montana. Yeah, beat it. The colours are really bright and pretty.
Buying… Nothing, I'm off to Scotland for a few days so I'm trying to save the pennies. In my imagination I've been buying a Burberry tote. Only 600 quid. Pshaw.

Wearing... Ripped skinnies from Zara. Oversize mustard knit scarf. Scuffed brown boots. Shorts and tights.


Wanting… To go all the way... sounds serious. But I'll show you pictures in the next few days! Don't worry, it's G-rated.

 Tryingto make to-do lists! And not of jobs and chores, but of things I want to see: a production in the West End. More live music. 
Loving…  Felafels from Portobello Road. Frozen yoghurt. Wine in Covent Garden. Rainy walking tours of London. 
Writing here. And happily so.
Fur. Chiffon. Studs. Ankle-swishing. Dense. Heavy. Ethereal. Menacing. Innocent. Anchored. Polka dots. Balloons!
various sources: Vogue, becauseimaddicted, Mr Newton

Tuesday, October 5, 2010


 Two months ago I seismically shifted my life from Sydney to London for No Very Important Reason ('Adventure?' I usually reply, to those asking why). 

Well, it wasn't so much as a seismic shift. I applied for a visa, started saving, tried again to start saving, got my visa approved. Started saving for real. Bought a ticket, and got downhearted at how that depleted my savings. And started saving again. I cut out shopping and drank less beer. I foreswore take-away coffee, my lifeblood and comfort, as a sign of how serious I was. I budgeted, occasionally successfully. I blithely talked of my plans for Arriving In London, and Being In London, and Living The Dream. Usually without thinking too much about what arriving and being and living here would entail. 

It got to the time where I had to pack my bags, and I panicked at fitting all my shoes and clothes in. I enlisted friends who kept me sane and helped me clean my room, and laughed with me at old photos that had slid down from the wall to gather dust beneath my bed. They listened to my quasi-fears about the unknown, and told me, so confidently, that I would be fine and that I would love it, and that London was just So Me. 

And then in the days before I left I celebrated with friends and families at parties and drinks and bbq's. And I loved everyone, and drank wine, and laughed and cried on the outside, all the while sympathising with the 5-year old Girl in my head that felt a little lost and overwhelmed, and who just wanted to hold hands with her mum, and who thought 24-year old Me was crazy to leave these people and my home and everything that I knew. 

And the day came, and it was crazy chaos, and I said some hard goodbyes, and took deep breaths, and listened to advice from the person that knows me best, and I got on that plane.

And now... I've been here for a while, and it's been a whirlwind, and all these things and so many more that I've experiences are written in one of the beautifully bound diaries that was given to me. And maybe one day I'll share those thoughts properly. But tonight, I've realised I'm a little confused and lost and heartsore and homesick. It's hard to find a job, and often lonely, and there is a lot of performance in the making and keeping of new friends. London is big, in a way that Sydney can barely comprehend. 

And in the back of my mind, more often than it should be (acting as its own metaphor, appropriately. Or ironically?) is this blog. Stupid blog, as I sometimes refer to it in my head, because it's not what I want it to be, and it's so small in the huge interwebs world, and there's a lot of performing in the creating of content. I get so caught up worrying about who reads it, and wanting to edit each individual post for every single person whose eyes stumble across it. I feel so trapped between what I want it to be, and what it should be, and what it is. That I do nothing with it, most of the time.

But I read something today that just made me want to write, and have a small tohellwithit moment right here and now. It was a link on twitter, and it said 'anyone interested in social media should read this' and it linked to the Big Pink Heart blog. Which is a great blog, but not directly related to why I'm on this typing frenzy. Carrie, the author, quoted from Desiderata at one point. So I le-google'd that shit, and it was such a fresh reminder to stop worrying and start writing, and just be me for a little bit, because that girl is sometimes ok.

So here it is, for you:
(the emphasis are the big points I'm taking along with me on my day tomorrow - what are yours?)

Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
they are vexatious to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.


Friday, October 1, 2010

We have to look at our own inertia, insecurities, self-hate, fear that, in truth, we have nothing valuable to say. When your writing blooms out of the back of this garbage compost, it is very stable. You are not running from anything. You can have a sense of artistic security. If you are not afraid of the voices inside you, you will not fear the critics outside you." ~Natalie Goldberg
Bambi for maniamania