Gilded Beauty

Fashion is a world that is perceived to be a glamorous and fierce place, dominated by beautiful people.  Indeed, the front rows of the world's major fashion shows back up this image. But the magazine editors who adorn their pages with the likes of Kate Hudson, Mary-Kate Olsen and Kristen Stewart to name but a few, sitting with concerted expressions pondering how they can fit the latest trends into their mammoth wardrobes, fail to mention the other side of fashion.

Fashion weeks see journalists, models and designers practically mainlining coffee, clutching their trusty sunglasses to hide bags a panda would be proud of and avoiding human contact as much as possible for fear of an episode of sleep deprived murder. Such are the effects of sleepless nights. And, yes, these may be but a few weeks a year but there is a constant pressure that is put upon people in the fashion industry to live up to a standard that has been set largely by myth and Photoshop.

Possibly the hardest hit in the general fashion stereotype are the models themselves. There is no denying that eating disorders are rife, enhanced not only by designer's preferences for the slimmer creature (samples are much cheaper to produce in a UK 4) but also though an ever-changing ideal body shape. In the real world, the ideal body shape is a natural one, achieved though a healthy diet and lifestyle with perhaps more than a little influence from photographs of flat stomached celebrities and television (think of the current trend for 1950s clothing that best suits a curvier shape). For a model her body shape is her livelihood. If the clothes don't fit her, she won't be booked. Simples.

Supermodels are a slightly different kettle of fish, but still face the same pressures. Although they can get away with being a little less restrained around the canapés because designers will book them on the basis of their name, their fame means money to the paparazzi.  Celebrity gossip magazines thrive on photographs of supermodels where they are drunk and humiliating themselves or simply have had a late night, haven't worn make up and aren't looking up to their air-brushed perfume ad image.  Have a moment's thought for Lily Cole; a photograph of her stumbling out of a Cambridge club could have a negative impact on her work. She may be rich, she may travel a lot and she may know Karl Lagerfeld and other fashion Demi-Gods   but she can't have the true experience of being a student.

This isn't to say that models should be pitied or felt too sorry for; they choose to stay and it often pays off for them. Modelling gave Natalia Vodianova her fairy tale escape from Russian poverty into a Tom Ford wedding dress at her wedding to the wealthy London property developer, Justin Portman.  Fashion does have its ugly, dark facets but it has a reputation of beauty and glamour and there is never smoke without fire.

Jewels of a Circular Sort

I should be slaving away over an essay, yet I have managed to find time to procrastinate. But after finding this little beauty of a site, I feel my time was well spent.





All from http://www.etsy.com/shop/LaPetiteBoheme?page=1

Love how they all look so individual and special without trying too hard.

Jewellery can be so hard to get right; it should be personal and expressive but at the same time looking tacky is...tacky.
Delicate chains and pendants can sometimes be overshadowed by an outfit yet at other times costume jewellery is just too much.For full impact jewellery should be a part of the outfit, not an afterthought.

A Comfortable Distance

When humans pass one another in the street they instinctively look at one another. They do this for a variety of reasons; personally I check to see if I know them. But what happens when you see someone you know walking towards you from 50 metres away? Far too far to speak without shouting and the other walker may not have even noticed your presence so a wave is out of the question; nothing quite like the rejection of an unrequited wave. 

So, eyes down, you keep walking. But when to look up? Too soon and the smile and acknowledgement will take place but it will be followed by the awkward ten steps as you edge towards a comfortable communication distance. Leave it too late however, and it looks like you're simply trying to ignore them. When did greeting people we know get so complicated? Perhaps staring them out is a solution...would certainly be an ice breaker and a good conversation starter. And better to err on the side of creepy than rude. Sometimes.

Once the comfortable, socially acceptable distance at which acknowledging someone is established the second obstacle arises. What to actually do. Stop, kiss and hug with open arms, enquiring about their health and giving an answer in great detail resulting in a two hour coffee shop conversation? Or smile, say 'hi' and continue walking, even if still exchanging pleasantries? The issue stems from everyone approaching the situation in a different manner with different expectations, based upon their preferences, time availability and mood. There is no easy answer, indeed it is doubtful there even is an answer.

Maybe life would be easier if we all walked around with masks on? 

I Shouldn't Have Bought That...Oops...

When I look in my wardrobe, there are a few pieces that bring a massive smile to my face; sometimes it's because  I have fantastic memories of wearing it but for other pieces it's the memory of actually buying it that makes me smile.
I rarely buy my favourite pieces when I intentionally go on massive shopping trips, indeed the clothes I spend days fantasising about often get relegated fairly quickly. Instead it's what I buy when I don't plan to go shopping, or know I really shouldn't be buying something, that become my favourite pieces. It's something about that guilty decision; the knowledge that it looks amazing and will be thought about for months, if not years afterwards (words of experience here) if it's not bought immediately. Despite only having £37.50 in my bank account. And the oh-so-pretty shoes being reduced to £36. From £70. There just isn't a decision there to made.
I don't know what it is about the impulsive spur of the moment decision and the potential feeling of regret that makes purchasing such pieces so addictive. Perhaps it is emotional roller coaster felt through the handing over of money intended for rent that causes attachment to the clothes that I have bought in this way. Maybe the fondness I feel for them is akin to the unconditional love a mother feels for her new born, 4.30AM screaming baby...I go through hell for those pieces; verbally from my family who think I shop too much, physically from my stomach who complains about the cheap diet I feed it afterwards and emotionally from the fact that the money I spent is rarely mine, instead money given to me for the purpose of surviving. But I have to love those shoes, the jacket, the bag, because it came down to a 'reasoned' decision and I was certainly not wrong in my judgement or justification. The shop shelf is rarely an option on which to keep exquisite things; it's simply not fair.
A small part of me suspects that I impulse buy sometimes simply to make myself feel good. The knowledge that I can go out and spent monstrous amounts of money on unnecessary things (albeit with money intended for another reason entirely) is good. It's rebellious. The purchase becomes the best friend of the moment with whom I break all the rules. Until something else comes along. All the same, I fall in love with it. Although I know I'll move on, it will always have a special place in my heart, no matter what.
Of course there have been times when I've taken home bags of shopping, opened them up and scratched my head, wondering what on earth I was thinking when I bought the flimsy 'dress' that more strongly resembled a night dress that would only be seen on someone over the age of 60 with seriously dwindling eyesight. And yes, that did get a hasty return. But more often than not, my naughty little secrets become my friends for life. 

I Never Knew That About You

Everyone has thousands of things about them that people just don't know. That's what makes getting to know someone so much fun; it's the little things that are interesting. It's the boring stuff that makes someone interesting.

Little Known Fact Number 1:

One of my first words was wine. Which impressed my dad  and should possibly have given an insight into what was to come. Maybe that's something I should tell more people...it's not my fault, a love of wine is clearly innate

Little Known Fact Number 2:

I have never been kissed...outside Europe. Which isn't altogether that surprising when the fact that I've only been out of Europe three times is taken into consideration. It's still true though. 

Little Known Fact Number 3:

I love Mozart. His compositions have life, humour and sadness. Play Mozart and I will be happy. 

Little Known Fact Number 4:

If I am wearing wellies, I will jump in every puddle I see. Even in front of children who are getting told off for doing so. Especially then. Just to reaffirm in their little heads that it is  better to be grown up (sort of). 

Little Known Fact Number 5:

Goats and snakes feature in my favourite animal list. I was once offered a meat parcel by a little old Greek man in his shop in the middle of nowhere (well, Greece somewhere). He was so proud of these because his wife had made them. Sadly they were goat meat and as bad as I felt, I just couldn't eat a goat. Which is strange when I will happily eat/wear rabbit and other cute little animals. Like pigs. 


Little Known Fact Number 6:
I don't like admitting I have gone the wrong way and will certainly not turn around and walk the way I have just come from. To the extreme that I once got on the circle line to go two stops...in the wrong direction. Maybe I should have admitted my mistake, gotten off and jumped on a train in the opposite direction. I didn't. It took about 50 minutes. 


Little Known Fact Number 7: 
I have a fascination with curling up in small spaces, i.e under desks, in wardrobes, cupboards, tumble dryers. I am very claustrophobic when it comes to my head though. Cover my head or touch my neck and I can't be held responsible for my actions. 


There we are. 7 little things about me. Feel free to tell me something about you!

Sumtumn Style

It's that awkward time of year again; too cold for shorts yet still to warm for jumpers. Not quite autumnal but definitely past summer. It's that time of year where every morning poses as a complete and utter style crisis that always results in me having no idea what to wear. Let's set the scene. The sun is shining, so logically I reach for the mini and strappy top, an essential summer combination. Then the clouds decide to emerge. So away goes the skirt and scrap of cotton, out come the skinny jeans and more substantial-yet-definitely-not-a-wooly-jumper top.

Turns out the clouds were just passing. Along with rain that could nearly be defined as monsoon like. But once again the sun reigns supreme, evaporating all trace of water with its healing hot rays. Then the process repeats itself with more torrential rain. (When I was younger I was told that rain happened because God was crying. I used to wonder for hours what made Him so unhappy. But anyway...)

This indecisive weather makes getting dressed an absolute nightmare. Flip flops and a bikini would almost seem logical, if the rain weren't so darned chilly. And walking down the road in said apparel may attract all the wrong kinds of attention.
Designers seem to forget this awkward pause between seasons, deeming it perfectly acceptable to migrate swiftly from S/S to A/W, conveniently avoiding one of the trickiest sartorial four weeks in the calendar. Sumtumn.

As a consequence I am floundering.
Wellies and raincoat? Or shorts and flipflops?

Good Morning Owl

"Good Morning". The two words most likely to make me growl at you in a way no human should be able to. Year after year I have made it my New Year's resolution to get up early, but January 3rd after January 3rd I have failed. I assumed myself lazy and lacking in self discipline. Until today.

Whilst at work I was having a discussion with a couple of my colleagues about getting up in the mornings. One had already hoovered, changed the beds and eaten breakfast before coming into work that morning (this conversation took place at 9:10am). The other, like me, had struggled to poke so much as a toe out of the warm comfort of the duvet. What my fellow night owl told us, however, made my morning-guilt evaporate (nearly) completely. The ability to get up early is genetic.

It's in the DNA.

I get it from my parents...

IT'S NOT MY FAULT!

Keen to verify these facts (I didn't want to let myself off too lightly), I had a quick flick through Google. Indeed, that National Geographic confirmed that some thoughtful researchers in Japan had been plucking people to work out when their body clock gene is most active. Turns out that the late starters have an active gene just after they wake up at the late time they want to, and the larks' genes are mainly active when they wake up at the crack of dawn (a.k.a middle of the night). Which would explain why I feel like I am in a sleep dazed fog before 10AM.

To make the whole thing even more exciting and fantabulous, a fine lady named Dr. Ying-Hui Fu a specialist in micro biology and microchemistry has basically discovered that, summed up, people who naturally wake up early have mutated genes, thus are mutants. There may be slight use of hyperbole there, but you get the gist.
I'm just ecstatic there's nothing wrong with me.



Some interesting websites on the matter...
http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2010/08/100823-sleep-genes-body-clock-science-health/
http://www.neugenes.org/ying-hui_fu.htm
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/health/2996364.stm