The Missing Sisterhood.

If there's one thing that I learnt in Australia (apart from: DO NOT sleep anywhere near a dingo, of course) it was that women can be complete cows to eachother. I realise that I didn't need to travel across the world to come to this shock realisation, but it did inspire me to write about the bitchy middens that we are.

Image: Pinterest

As I melt into my seat on the train at Flinders Street, contemplating whether the stifling heat deems partial nudity on public transport acceptable behaviour, I fan myself with the free newspaper that was thrust into my arms on the way to the platform. I’m feeling dangerous, so I attempt to move my bare leg from the leather seat beneath me, only to realise upon ripping it off that any skin making contact with the seat is now closer to velcro than any sort of human matter it may have resembled earlier this morning. My hair has frizzed, my hands are clammy….my makeup has slid so far off my face my nipples are almost wearing mascara.

Just then, the doors of the train swoosh open, and on struts a beautiful, tall, DRY young woman. Not a drop of moisture on her, I look on in awe as she gracefully makes her way through the train carriage. Thinking back now, it all happened in slow motion. There was a lot of hair swishing. Like some sort of shampoo ad. That’s a severely dazed, sweaty, dehydrated account of what happened though, so don’t quote me on it. As she gazes through the crowds with her big baby blues looking for a seat, it is only then that I take a second to look around at my fellow commuters and realise a pattern; men are either gazing at her open mouthed or silently battling it out with one another to be crowned the most eligible train companion. Women, on the other hand, are unimpressed, hostile, judgmental, even jealous?  I admit it, this broad left me feeling like no treat, but did I hold it against her? No! So it got me thinking…

Confidence is a funny thing; its what we’re told we should have, the thing that some people lack…sometimes confidence is even considered unattractive. Confused? Me too.

We all have days when we feel like we’re not good enough, or even just that we’re not as good as some others. Am I right? But maybe our inner perceptions of ourselves are whats really holding us back. If I’m having a thunder thighs thursday and encounter a tall leggy girl in cut off denims with her legs out to the world, I’m immediately conscious of the size of my legs…quick to criticise my unsuspecting victim in an attempt to lighten the blow my ego has just taken. What kind of logic is there in that sort of thinking? The majority of us seem to have fallen foul to this horrible habit that’s crept up on us and made itself feel right at home in our sub-conscious, only revealing itself when we happen to cross paths with someone we feel inferior to. What if that seemingly perfect woman you were just glaring at was looking right back at you, admiring your hair/clothes/figure/eyes/general loveliness, albeit with the same bitterness you feel towards her. Would you be able to see what she sees?

The media drown us in stories of confident women- the (s)heroics of those who love themselves just enough to be admired, but not so much that they are found intimidating. Where is the fine line? Can Beyoncé be confident because she balances her bootylicious-ness with a strong hatred for her knees? If I’m feeling particularly foxy one day, should I voice how I feel about my bad skin to prevent myself from sounding full of it? With a calculated, but conflicting, pic’n'mix of celebrated curves, eating disorders, fad diets and ‘big is beautiful’ articles narrating popular culture, I find it easier to live my life as a confi -don’t.

x

Today's Rant.

I’ve been an avid user of the internet since the days of dial-up, so not much that the internet has to offer surprises me anymore. Or so I thought.

I logged on this morning to find that ‘Twerk’ has made it into the Oxford dictionary.

Yes, twerk.

This may not seem odd to those who used the word, and did the twerking, back when it originated in the early nineties – but to the majority of people watching Miley bounce around, it may seem completely ridiculous. As I sit here writing this post, I take small comfort in the fact that ‘twerking’ is still being underlined by that jagged red line that usually infuriates me so much. Don’t ever change, Spellcheck…and I promise never to Add twerk to Dictionary.

It got me thinking about other words that have had their dictionary debut in the past year or so. I get it, we are now in a digital age and people are using words like selfie, twerk, totes, yolo – but when I Google the word ‘literally’ and get ‘Used to acknowledge that something is not literally true but is used for emphasis or to express strong feeling’ as a definition – shit just got serious.

I think it speaks for us as a generation when words used so informally are being made so mainstream. ‘Retweet’ is another word to have made it into the Oxfod Dictionary of Anything Goes – but what happens when Twitter disappears and something else takes over? 

With online jargon being spread through music, slogans and fashion, I wonder if the English language is just going to be something future kids read about in their weird little electronic robot books. 

I would LITERALLY die. 

Like, literally.

x

My Wishlist.

Unfortunately - or fortunately depending on how skint I am at the time- my job leads me to many a website I never even knew existed. Websites full of beautiful clothes/bags/shoes/makeup that end up in my infinite Bookmarks list, just sitting idle until I feel reckless enough to purchase one of the little gems. 

I fear what I'm showing you now is less of a Wish List and more of a I'll Give In Sooner Or Later List. I feel like I should have a shopping version of that drunk text app. You know the one? Asking you just in the nick of time, when you're hammered on gin, if you really want to tell that boy exactly how much he means to you. Pick items, add to basket, proceed to checkout:

Computer: WOW. Are you sure about this?

Me: Um, yes... *OK*

Computer: Are you really sure though? Can you afford it?

Me: Yes! *OK*

Computer: FINAL WARNING: YOU CANNOT AFFORD THIS.

Me: Pfft... *clicks to confirm order*

What?

I ain't scared of no computer.

So here is my wish list... I could probably write up one of these every single day, but I'm going to keep it to my favourite bits and pieces because when I do eventually buy all of it in a couple of weeks- you can't shout at me. I'll be all: "This hasn't been some spur of the moment impulse decision...remember I blogged about it a couple of weeks ago?"

First up is the baby blue playsuit from Motel.I love the pattern, the colour is really sweet and it's got long sleeves. As someone who is somewhat of a chubber in the upper arm, sleeves are a godsend!

These heels are from Asos... I'm not going to lie, I saw a Little Mixer wearing them at the One Direction premiere. Minus 100 cool points? Maybe. But it's still a beautiful shoe!

Nike Dunk Sky Hi Paris Trainers. I've had a love hate relationship with trainers for a while now; I like the idea of having them and wearing them as everyday footwear... but don't like sporty looking trainers. Which I thought they all were. Until I saw THESE. I have searched the internet far and wide for these bad boys and the only result I'm getting is an eBay ad charging £230 for them. Surely that should be enough to put me off right? Wrong.

This jumper is a pretty low key item from Lavish Alice. I've never really dabbled in leopard print before but I think I'm going to start from the sleeves and work my way in. It's down to £18, I should just buy it shouldn't I? 

*Enter bossy computer app*

Maybe I'll think about it.

x

Keep, Toss, Maybe...

Now, I am no fashionista - I paint over cracked nails and probably wear too much makeup. I don’t live out my everyday life in heels, I don’t keep up with the couture fashion shows and I’m not one of those uber fashionable girls you see papped in the fashion magazines as ‘high street fashion girls’. I am none of these things…but dammit, I like to look good!

 Somewhere between Monday and Sunday I can be found weaving in and out of the likes of Topshop, H&M, Debenhams, Zara and whichever cutesy boutiques happen to get in my road along the way. On the rare occasions that I emerge from these havens with a purchase, I am quick to love it, wear it, and become bored of it. If I were to imagine that any of these items in my wardrobe had feelings I’d struggle to feel anything less than the worst human being in the world…and would almost definitely be reported to the royal society for the prevention of cruelty to clothes by a number of my friends.

Today was a hard day; a day that no girl likes to go through. It was clear out day in the wardrobe department. As I battled with myself over the worth of numerous dresses, shoes, tops and bags, I could feel them weeping in my arms…some admittedly still with tags on. Nowadays though, we don’t have to send our clothes to that great big wardrobe in the sky or, heaven forbid, charity shops (I’m sorry, they can have old board games and books galore, but I simply can’t hand over a Topshop ’11 leather blazer RRP’ing at £75 and watch it get shelved at £4.50). We have been saved by a boom of online fashion sites dedicated to our ‘pre-loved’ clothes where we can share and share alike; some allow you to simply swap your items, while others offer the space to sell. The very idea of selling all my unwanted clothes and getting back even a small percentage of what I spent on them leaves me nothing short of giddy.

 But wait, shortly after logging onto one of said websites I am surrounded by an entire nations cast-offs, not sure where to look first. Good god…this is just another massive, completely mismatched shop. And I LOVE it. The next few hours are spent sifting through hundreds of pictures; tops, dresses, jewellery, jackets….I’m like a kid in a sweetie shop.

Before long I’ve completely forgotten about the massive pile of clothes next to me waiting to be sent off to new owners and have squandered more money than I care to admit (it rhymes with nixty mounds) on complete strangers’ rejects. I worry about how my clothes will feel about the new arrivals, sitting pretty in the wardrobe so soon after so many of them were discarded. The worry turns into guilt, the guilt turns into sympathy, the sympathy takes over (yes, this is the extensive emotional process we must go through during a wardrobe clear out) and I succumb to the clothes…hanging each and every piece back up on the rail. Where it belongs. I know this time next week some new cigarette pants or printed blouses will have snuck their way in and within a month I’ll have to entertain the idea of  a clear out again, purely due to the issue of storage space. For now though, I appreciate every single item for what it is; mine.

You’ll have to excuse me….I’m off to cuddle my wardrobe.

x

My Mary Poppins Handbag.

I don't have fifty bags hanging in my wardrobe.
I don't carry about large tote bags with nothing but my keys, phone and wallet inside - cos, y'know, I'm très chic.
I stuff everything I possibly can into the bag, break my arm carrying it around all day, and have a panic attack every time I can't find my phone in the black abyss that is my handbag.

Meet crazy bag lady.

I was packing a bag for a weekend away last week, and after emptying the bag and staring at the vast contents spread all over the bed, I decided I had to write a blog about it. I mean, when am I REALLY going to need 30 hair kirbies all at once? How much makeup can I put on my face at the one time? A random bag check somewhere could result in me being confused for a jewellery thief, what with all the bling I've got floating around in there. Got a medical emergency? Arm falling off? Fear not - I've got 60 plasters in a variety of sizes and shapes in my bag...we'll just patch that guy right up!

I always start out with the best intentions. I get very protective of a brand new handbag. I'm much more careful about what I'm putting in it. No food or drink, double check that your lip gloss lid is on tight, train tickets are never thrown into the bag - always the bin. Then BAM! It's a month later and you're fishing through a heap of train tickets, crumbs and eyeshadow residue to find one of 30 kirbies playing hide and seek with you.
 What you can't see in the photo - which I removed to in a bid to save some of my dignity - is the horrific amount of receipts that were found. I hate receipts. They're just horrible reminders of how much money I have unnecessarily spent recently. 
I know what I should do - I should stop filling my bag with clutter. I should maybe invest in a smaller bag. I should have regular clearouts. But I won't. 
Why? ... 'cos I'm crazy bag lady.

x

Spending money I don't have.

Today I'm bringing you a fashion post. I'm not telling you what to buy, or claiming to know what's in fashion...it's simply here to show you what I've squandered my money on this week, and allows me to fake the shoppers guilt I should be feeling - as I sit and stroke all my new purchases.

First up is my floral trousers from Asos - yes, they feel like pyjamas. But they certainly don't LOOK like pyjamas. I still love the floral trend and the grey in these make me feel less silly about wearing them in Autumn.

The Aztec jacket is from H&M. I have no explanation for this purchase other than: I happened to walk past it on my way to the leggings. But I did receive many a compliment when I wore it in to the office on Monday!

My Lost Found tank is an Asos sale beauty by Mango, and the other two are from A Question Of - also from Asos. (YES - that is Mary Kate & Ashley. In da hood.)

Finally! My favourite purchase... the Hermes tote bag. Just about as close as I'll ever come to owning a Hermes - but I don't mind telling people that I intend to buy one someday, it's much cooler than "I will genuinely never be able to afford a Hermes Bag. Boo."

Wait, I think somewhere in there the shoppers guilt was meant to kick in...

Oh well, I won't hold my breath.

x

Friendship.

In any female friendship there will always be a selfless saint. Plain selfish girls paired together will result in nothing but constant clashes to the point of a non existent connection with one another. Two saints paired, well, you’ve struck gold there! Enjoy a happy lifetime of conflict free ‘bezzie mates’ moments. The majority of us though, are a mixed bunch. Bring one of each species together and you have to wonder: do we adopt these titles through our actions or simply our personalities? How long before we ask ourselves when it crosses over the line of friendship to convenience?

It’s 10.30pm on a Saturday night and the eighth time I’ve been to the bar tonight. I’ve had three drinks. I exchange nothing but sympathetic looks with the bartender before heading back to the dance floor. Just as I’m about to wet myself with excitement at the thought of being able to enjoy an entire song uninterrupted, I’m hauled off to the bathroom. As I stand there stationary whilst trying not to become the beginning of a toilet queue I look at myself in the mirror and am disgusted at what I see…perfect focus. Surely by now I should have frizzy hair, panda eyes and twelve extra heads? Clearly all this running around has sobered me up and I can’t help but think, why me?

I will not apologise for claiming to be the saint of this particular friendship; it is not a desirable role. I know it may seem like a hoot, what with all those phone calls about her problems and the constant stories about how hard it is being number one…but its not all glamorous. The last emotion I should feel when my ‘best friend’ calls me is dread, but that is the sad reality of it. I’ve forgotten what its like to discuss how I’m feeling. Forgotten the security of having someone there for me no matter what. I’m always there for my friend. Wherever ‘there’ is….is a lonely place. Don’t get me wrong, I pride myself in being a good friend but sometimes I can’t stop myself from thinking I’m being controlled. Our friendship wasn’t always like this - somewhere along the line the dynamics have changed, and although I’d like to put it all on my ‘best friend’…I may have something to do with it.

x

Hey Good Lookin...

So I've been meaning to bite the bullet and blog for a while now. I have decided on this fine Monday afternoon, after a crap nights sleep, with brand spankin' new spots on my face and my hair sitting ALL WRONG... that it was the perfect time to do it. So, armed with a coffee and a full pack of choccy digestives (Okay...half a pack now), here goes nothing...

First of all; thanks for reading this far. I'm almost sure my blog must be the least interesting looking one out there on the whole of the internet right now- but we all gotta start somewhere, right?

I had a bit of a crisis while I was deciding the style of my blog. I'm certainly not stylish enough to be a fashion blogger, that's fo sho. I can't cook - so we won't even discuss a foodie blog. I like makeup, I wear makeup - but a makeup blogger I am not. I do ramble on about everyday things quite frequently... but as you'll soon find out, there is no rhyme or reason to the subjects I end up writing about.

Then I thought; that's it. That IS the style. A completely unscheduled, inconsistent flow of anything and everything that I love, like, fancy, hate... all tidied up together in one cosy little blog. Like my own little virtual paperweight keeping together all my crazies in one place.

I'll leave it at that. I've got a date with a pack of biscuits...

Come back soon!

x