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.

Up All Night.

CLOTHES, CLOTHES AND MORE CLOTHES.

That's been my life lately. I've been immersing myself in all things New York Fashion Week, and I've loved it. What originally started as a mission to get a grip on the key trends for A/W, has turned into a big learning curve for me in terms of designers, events and fashion week veterans. LFW has already kicked off, and I'm ready to get stuck in all over again! Aside from eyeing up the street style, I've been hooked on the styling of the models. Without fail, every one of them perfectly put together - not a hair out of place, not a pose out of sync - until I spied this little livewire from the Rochas show...

They say a picture paints a thousand words. I couldn't possibly guess em all, but I would bet this photo includes the words tequila, dancing and hangover. After finding it online, I went looking for the rest of the collection - hoping to find some party girl runway show with models gettin' on down to Macklemore tunes - but the rest of the girls were decidedly more put together. Had I been there, I probably would have stormed the catwalk, offered this poor lass a cuddle, a cup of tea, and invited her on my next night out. Models seem like such graceful creatures - it had never occurred to me that they could be just as disgraceful as us after a few too many gins.

If there's one trend from fashion week that I hope will be surfacing in the new season - it's this 'haven't-been-home-yet-and-need-a-dominos ' look... after perfecting it for years, I knew the fashion folks would eventually catch on. Lets call it 'Gin Chic', yes?

Just a side note - Marsel Rochas abandoned his career in law to open his first maison du couture just so that he could afford to dress his wife in style. 

*Sigh*

They sure don't make em like Rochas anymore...

Sneaking in to Fashion Week.

Let me tell you a little something about fashion, folks. Fashion is hard. I say that like I’ve faced and conquered it… I have not. I know practically nothing about Fashion Week, but it’s still the most enticing event of the year for me. Whether it’s New York or London, S/S or A/W, I switch from a “well hey! It’s from three seasons ago, but it’s only £4 in the sale so I’m gonna buy it anyway” girl to the “Straight to the ‘New in’ section dahling, no exceptions” fashion follower, almost overnight. It’s quite a sight to behold, let me tell you. And I’m pretty sure my wardrobe has noticed a pattern – my clothes just seem to look sadder whenever Fashion Week comes around.

I take my hat off to the stylish aficionados pounding the pavement all week in their stiletto heels, dicing with death on the streets of New York (newsflash: even Victoria Beckham wears flats now – kick off them heels ladies!) in a bid to hurry themselves along to the next show. I’m pretty sure I’d be the odd ball walking around barefoot, hoping it’d pass off as kitsch and desperately endearing to forego shoes altogether… but would probably ending up looking like some sort of Diana Vickers wannabe. There are literally hundreds of shows to see and digest in such a short space of time. With the music, the models, the set and understanding the overall look of the collection – how much can we really capture?

Sounds pretty stressful, if you ask me. That’s why I’m glad I’m sitting here in the office, spending my lunch hour clicking through endless photos of shows, street style, features and interviews. Glad/bitter – potato potato. But yeah, secretly glad! Can any of those pesky New York show-goers say that they’re catching up on the latest fashion trends while sprawled out on the couch in joggers and a jumper eating nutella out of the jar with a spoon? I thought not. While the likes of me would probably be shunned from the venue, close to the venue that’s close to any of the NYFW shows – I’ve got a seat to every single collection and there’s nothing they can do about it.

Oh contraire, Anna banana. I’m right there next to ya. In fact – I’m almost on your bloomin’ lap! We’re living vicariously through these bloggers and reporters, enjoying an access all areas that we’ve never had before. Between Who What Wear, ManRepeller, The New York Times, Elle, Never Underdressed and numerous Instagram accounts, I can access exclusive content at any time of the day!

 Okay – my work ethic has decreased by about 82% and I’m much more conscious about my thighs – but I now know that after weeks of deliberation, it’s still safe to buy trainers. Because Marc by Marc Jacobs said so.

Are you getting a crash course in Fashion Week?