Scarier than Halloween

Blogs all around the fashion blogosphere have recently been inundated with Halloween posts; it really is the perfect formula if you think about it. Fashion bloggers love to dress up. Halloween is the festival for dressing up. What could be more perfect?

However I haven't dressed up for Halloween since I was a witch at the age of 10 (with some pretty awesome black lipstick and gothic necklaces) but anyway... it's just not my thing. In fact, as Halloween has come round this year, I've been frightened by far more scary thoughts than zombies, witches and even gory movies.

It was around the beginning of October that I fell in love with, and bought my very most favourite leather jacket. It was in a concession called Numph in Fenwicks and as soon as I tried it on, I knew that it would have to be mine despite it costing more than £100. This may not sound like much for a leather jacket, and indeed it really isn't. But for someone living on babysitting money it's pretty much as expensive as clothing gets. But I never regretted this purchase, as I have regretted many almost-as-expensive purchases. It has a beautiful lining (it's in the top picture) it's in my most favourite colour and wear it very frequently.

Doesn't looking at it just make you feel happy?

Me and my jacket on the Eiffel Tower

I, maybe foolishly, imagined that this would be the kind of item which would last me many years. So when it started showing some signs of wear and tear, I was very distressed. The zip is a little creaky, but more worryingly the leather is fading at the seams, and is quite flaky. I don't know if this is just what I should expect from a jacket. Or was its relatively low price to blame - so should I just resign myself to the fact that it is slowly dying? Or can I do something to revive it, like buying some protector spray or cream. Google, normally my saviour, isn't throwing up anything other than information on how to protect shoes, or bags. Doesn't google care about my jacket???

So, I leave you with this. I hope that you can spare a moment from your frightening Halloween celebrations and help me in my scarier situation. Thank you.

Getting Shirty

I don't often wear shirts out of choice, having to wear ill-fitting and cheap ones for the majority of my days. However I was inspired to break out my limited collection, when the other day at the snowboarding and skiing show I made this origami shirt:

I find that, when worn correctly, a shirt embodies all that I love in fashion: that ironic, prim look which can reveal as much, or as little as one chooses. It can hint at preppy, which I am often partial to, or at smart, which is always useful, geek chic or even at sexy in a naughty secretary sort of way...

Good shirts always have that little detail which makes them feel special to wear. One of mine, which is old and faded black still receives compliments for its pretty frills and subtley puffed sleeves. High-end designers love that whole intricate-detail thing; in fact, origami detailing can look far more couture than my origami shirt. Take this Marc Jacobs Origami blouse.

Contrastingly, a checked or lumberjack stylee shirt like this gorgeous Paul and Joe shirt can give off a fabulously nonchalant aura which is so ridiculously un-me and therefore doubly appealing.And equally importantly, a good full-length shirt is perfect in chilly weather. Today, I wore out my shabby purple H&M shirt under a black woollen vest. I like to think I was rocking an androgynous/preppy/nonchalant/smart vibe.

Snow

Tonight it's been snowing - a rare feat in permanently wet London. Moreover, the snow is actually settling. Everyone always seems to idealise snow; it conjures images of delicious porridge, cosy fires and wonderfully warm cashmere and knitted cardigans. Whenever winter comes round, I start craving things from Brora. More fairisle, please!

Reindeers suddenly become chic and cute, like this Topshop cardigan and a reindeer-invaded grey number I almost purchased from H&M yesterday (randomly I found a blogger posing in it for her daily wear picture here). I want to drown myself in seas of sheepskin rugs and beautiful slippers. When shopping, sexy little party dresses seem ridiculous and I get drawn to the socks and tights section. Today, I splurged on woolly tights.

All so picturesque.

Yet, in reality right now I'm bundled up in an ill-fitting t-shirt, a couple of hoodies and a pashmina stuffed down them which does nothing other than make me look inproportionately large. My slippers are several years old, and the once glorious purple fluff which adorned them is slowly shedding. And tomorrow morning, no doubt, I'll most definitely not feel like running and come afternoon, the shoe dilemma will start... which shoes do you wear when it snows?

Still quite so picturesque?

Detected!

Well, after this weekend's grizzly brush with detection, I was delighted to come across a wonderful thriller which not only satisfied my love for mystery but was absolutely beautiful too. Brick is subtitled 'a detective movie by Rian Johnson' but I've never seen a detective story filmed so stunningly. In one pivotal scene, a series of images help our hot protagonist to join the dots together and figure out one part of the mystery.

The gorgeous detective (it always helps, doesn't it?) is supported by a cast of brilliantly portrayed characters, who although all in high school, fit well into the archetypal film-noir moulds which it was inspired by.

The Femme Fatale

The Thug

The Heart-throb Avenger

The Brain

The Old Flame

The One Calling the Shots (how cool are his mis-matched shoes??!?)

As the film came to a close, I was left wishing that all detective stories could be so beautiful.

Loving and living in London

Sometimes, living in London, I start to get bored. It's the only city I've lived in, and whenever I go abroad or to the countryside I am always left wondering how it would be to permanently leave London. I don't like the idea of getting too patriotic or attached to places, but there are some things about London which make me love it so much.

Today was a wonderful example of why I couldn't imagine not living in a capital city which simply buzzes and overflows with energy. There is just always something to do. Yesterday, a quick google search revealed that London seems to have a skiing and snowboarding weekend in October similar to the Art Fairs which took over the city last weekend. Although I have never touched a pair of skis or a snowboard in my life, today saw me and a friend decide to visit 'The World's Largest Ski and Snowboard Show'.

When we first entered, stall upon stall of skiing and snowboarding 'fashion' confronted us, but I soon started feeling right at home. There was a gigloo (a gig in an igloo!) and plenty of freebies; sweets, cereal bars, pens and t-shirts galore. We were determined to milk every last penny of the entry fee. At one point, whilst queueing to get a photo taken with some huskies, and replenishing with some maple syrup flavoured taffy courtesy of a ski chalet in Quebec, the following dialogue took place:

'So, where do you normally go to ski?'
A moment's awkward silence.
'I don't ski'
'Right - what are you doing here, then?'
'Just having fun!'
'Cool'

And so we moved on, to a skiing and snowboarding demonstration, where several young men dressed in outrageous 'fashion' battled it out to win a £50 prize. The comentator was an over-excited man in lime green skinny jeans and a propensity to exclaim 'oh my days!'. Random balls, t-shirts and stickers were thrown at the crowd; I caught a ball, and almost wrestled a t-shirt from a genuine snowboarding fan before remembering my dignity.

Further seemingly irrelevent and free activities awaited. A rodeo competition, ice curling and ice skating and ice carving all seemed to be linked by the idea of 'snow' - but the highlight of the day may have just been the origami. A Japanese lady taught us how to make paper shirts at the 'snowboarding in Japan' stall.

I don't think skiing or snowboarding could ever be more fun, than at a freebie-filled convention in West London.

Detective Pretty Face Returns

I've just finished watching a scary movie with a friend and now I'm alone in an empty house. I don't want to go to sleep quite yet, and so I've turned to thinking about how long it's been since I last wrote an 'off-to-bed' post. I think this one must be some sort of late record; it's 13 minutes past midnight at the time of writing this sentence. I don't normally feel like blogging when I'm having a late night which may explain that.

But I'm not sure I'm ready to sleep just yet!

Anyway - so we watched Saw. I was quite proud of myself whenever I figured something out ahead of time, in a smug sort of way. Although it's probably just an indicator of spending too much time watching CSI.

Another thing which struck me was Cary Elwes' grand decline. When I saw that he starred, I got super-excited, expecting to see this:

I was instead greeted with this (he's on the left):

There's something odd about scary movies; they can have the power to scare you, render you incapable of turning out the lights and going to bed. But sometimes, they just make you laugh. I couldn't keep a straight face at the end of Psycho (and no, I wasn't screaming...)

Neat

According to my mother's standards, I will always be infinitely disorganised, untidy and chaotic, whilst compared to the majority of my friends, my bedroom is as neat as a pin. Perhaps, I am now beginning to think, my mother's 'minimalistic' approach has actually rubbed off on me, and whilst not quite permeated my soul in the same way (yet) means that I am actually relatively tidy.

However, whilst I have become programmed to preferring as little clutter as possible on show, my personality clashes when it comes to hoarding versus ruthlessness. For example: I can mercilessly throw away several t-shirts and last season's much loved dress, much to some people's horror. But when it comes to a birthday card, or a beaded necklace I seem to switch into forager mode. I've never in my life thrown away a safety pin, of which I have many despite also never having spent a penny on one. And thus I have accumulated a whole lot of crafty stuff over the years, despite spending very little time doing crafts. And so although on the surface, everything looks awfully dreamy, chaos bubbles all too near the surface.

It was all getting a bit much. Yesterday, when searching for some sequins in the many, many places they could be, my sister upturned several boxes. Today when in a bout of efficiency I organised all my work I couldn't find any labels. It was then that I decided to do tidy up - properly. No half-hearted sweeping all the surfaces clean, or even focusing on one chaotic section. I absolutely blitzed the room, starting with the 1000000000001 pens, pencils, graphite sticks, felt tips, gel pens, highlighters and crayons littering the room. I put all my sequins, ribbons and material in one place and my card somewhere else. A whole drawer became devoted to paper, and another to stationary. Then to the pile of bags, hats, gloves and six year old make-up lurking at the bottom of my drawer; here I stopped and polished the dust-ridden floor before moving on. I even sewed up all the holey gloves whilst my efficiency was still in full-blast.

The best part was all the things I found, which I'd forgotten I had. First came a free DVD I got last Halloween buried under stacks of cardboard, shopping bags, receipts and a big red net. Then I found a Statement of Results for an exam which I'd thought I'd promptly lost back in August fallen down the back of the drawers. Next it was an old purple cardigan in the forgotten in the DIY pile under several bags. Best of all was a pound coin lurking in the pocket of a messenger bag which I definitely haven't used in the last 12 months.

I love my newfound neatness. Despite my still littered desk, and clothes-covered bed, I feel tidy on the inside. In the same way as a food detox, I feel cleansed because I know that behind those gleaming drawers and wardrobe doors are my equally beautiful and organised things. I am proud of myself, and rightly so, because the very first day of my holiday has been so very productive. That is, until I realise that however extreme a method, I've yet again resorted to procrastination in the face of proper work.

Pretty as a Picture

Mindlessly chatting to my friend on the phone as we tried to think of something to do, I flicked through 5 or so years worth of photos on my computer. Amongst exclamations of 'god, denim sandals?!?', 'did I lose my tweezers?!?', 'wow I was skinny!!' and 'oooh that's a pretty landscape' I started to think about my favourite photos. I am by no means a talented photographer, but I love to capture moments of beauty when I see them. I typed up a whole post about how a bit of colour manipulation seems to work with magical powers on a non-descript, or awful photo.
Here is one I particularly loved and almost forgot I'd taken:

But what of the other moments I've snapped since 2003 (when my archive starts)?

This is the earliest photo, which I took on a trip to a Living Rainforest somewhere in England. I absolutely adore this plant, which has graced my computer screen many a time. Some people argue that colours which complement each other so beautifully in nature transition equally well into fashion, but I personally don't go near green and pink. What do you think?

This photo I took of myself in my posery stage circa 2006. I was messing about with my enormous tangle of hair pre-haircut. Somehow, I think this one ended up working with a gothicy mood...

I can't believe I posted a photo of myself on here... why don't I remember doing that?

This is possibly my favourite photograph. I took it in Turkey this time last year, at an art exhibition. Do you have your own personal favourites?

Ode to Theatre

Tomorrow begins my week's break from the constant activity and work that is school life. I have very few plans; I hope to spend the majority of my time sleeping, returning to blogging properly, possibly running and regrettably, writing countless essays. I only have one concrete plan in the whole duration and that is a trip to the theatre.

It may sound corny, but one of my favourite things to do is go see a play. When I was younger, I would go perhaps once every one or two months, because my parents would take me and each of these occasions were extra-special. Now with my independence comes the freedom to gorge myself on plays and thus in these past few months I have been going more and more; most of my allowance now goes on theatre trips as opposed to dresses - is it a crime to confess that?

One of my good friends always pronounces the word 'theatre' as thee-etter. Rhyming with better. I can never fail to laugh at this height of pretension, because to me, theatre (pronounced the normal way) is an entirely un-pretentious experience. The last time I went to see a film, it cost me more than the play I'd seen the weekend before that. I'm not rich by any means, and I appreciate that I'm very lucky because in London, there is such a wealth of theatres, all offering a million and one ways of procuring cheap, or even free tickets. I am very proud of the fact that I have recently seen two plays absolutely free.

Today I got the news that I am going to attend a press night for a play and write a short review for it - that is what inspired me to write this ode to plays. Why do I love them? They pull you in, make you laugh, make you sad and make you think. The atmosphere in a theatre beats a film any day. Plus something about a bargain ticket seems to thrill me.

But I have a problem. As I have said, I am going to this play not as a theatre-goer, but as a critic. And to me, criticising a play is as alien as, well, aliens. The one time I can remember not enjoying a play, it was the hottest day of the year and I was in an open air theatre, completely alone without any suncream or sunhat watching a word-for-word production of Shakespeare's Macbeth, a play I'd never seen or read before at the time. I think that's understandable, but the premier of a new play by an acclaimed author (co-incidentally I'm taking aforementioned good friend)? I'm not sure I'll be able to find anything not to like.

A picture I took of the stage in my pre-show excitement when seeing Rainman last month

No more procrastination...

I know that my past few posts have all been a little bit half-hearted, as in very little text (for me anyway) and a lot of 'filler posts'. I apoligise because this is likely to be one too. But I reason that a little bit of writing is better than none at all, plus blogging is always such a good form of procrastination because it's also productive; procrastination is actually the reason I started this blog back in April when I was deep in the pits of revision.

And today, I've procrastinated all day. I decided I was determined to make it to Zoo Art Fair but none of my friends wanted to go because they'd decided that they actually were going to work. So I went with my mother, and I had a fantastic time admiring all the beauty, and the art too (I joke, I joke, don't worry). There was one piece I particularly liked, which I was going to post but is taking too long so maybe I'll show it tomorrow. It really made me chuckle.

Then I got home and I decided to start working on my essay after I'd eaten. And here I am, over two hours later and I can still see about two hours in front of me of painstaking constructing and polishing paragraph after paragraph... I was so sure that I was almost done yesterday when I completed the essay's skeleton. So anyway, I was starting to feel a little bit dead so I thought I'd do my blog post and after that I promised myself that there'd be no more procrastination. But it's so difficult when there's such a wealth of stuff out there, and you're working on a computer. I'll end with a prime example of one webpage I happened on during my research, which I managed to use as a distraction tool for a good 10 minutes:

J.E. the musical! Whodathunkit?

The root of all evil?

Normally I don't like giving people money as a gift; I enjoy buying presents too much. But when my friend asked for a monetary gift for her birthday to contribute to her foreign trip fund, I thought it would be a nice opportunity to get a little crafty and add a personal touch to my gift.

I haven't had the time to make anything recently but this morning I was happily free so I decided to use one of my favourite techniques; sewing on card. I am ridiculously unable to use a sewing machine; I seem to break mine every time I try to use it, so sewing on card is a lovely alternative and oddly therapeutic.

If we're going to have to let money continue to exist, we might as well wrap it up nicely.

The death of gingervitis

Today, la wonderful Belette Rouge blogger inspired me to write about the plight of ginger kids with her post about the colour orange. For many years, adults have sung the praises of my fiery mane and made me promise 'to never, ever die your hair some crazy colour when your hormones start rendering you temporarily insane'. Yet, simultaneously my peers continually teased me, although of course I knew along that 'they're just jealous of your pre-Raphaelite style curls, honey'.

So when I came across the International Ginger Kids Foundation, I was inspired to write a speech about it for an oral assignment at school. And today, when I read La Belette Rouge's post, I went in search of the IGFK's website: www.gingerkids.org I was surprised to find that it was no longer in existence. Here is the IGFK's bebo page, which gives you some sort of idea about the site's content.


I have mixed feelings about the death of the Ginger Kids website. Whilst it was certainly a useful source, perhaps now the death of the website means the death of the disease. Maybe now we can all be finally free to embrace the orange. Anyway, here are some excerpts from my top-grade-speech:

According to the IGFK, or the International Ginger Kids Foundation, Gingervitis is a serious hereditary disease, of which the main symptom is having red hair. Those suffering from Gingervitis have no souls, and if bitten by a Ginger Kid, it says on the IGFK website, the victim must ‘immediately wash the wound with soap and water, apply alcohol or peroxide if available and call their local poison control for assistance’

...

One example of the aim to undermine the confidence of redheads everywhere. is the name given to the so-called disease, of which red hair is the main symptom; Gingervitis. On the surface it may seem harmless, but there are negative connotations to this word. When I originally spoke out about my dislike for the IGFK and the disease of ‘Gingervitis’, I was presented with some very surprised expressions, which I could not understand. One particularly honest friend explained this to me later; asking why on earth I felt so passionately about gum disease. I realised that everyone thought I was referring to Gingivitis, a condition where the gums become inflamed due to plaque build up. This infuriated me further; it seems unnecessarily malicious to have such a close similarity between the terms for a hair colour and a gum disease.

...

It is unknown who exactly started off this subtle campaign against red hair, but this is not a matter of importance. The important question which plagues the minds of all redheads is; why? The answer, I feel, lies in the following statistic, taken from the research for a home hair dye kit:

‘Of the women who choose to dye their hair at home, the most choose to become redheads’

Therein lies the answer; it’s envy.

Loving the art

Yesterday was the Frieze Art Fair opening. I'm not planning on going this year; I almost got the opportunity to get a cheaper ticket courtesy of the school for tomorrow but things didn't go exactly to plan, so I decided to give it a miss. I have to admit, that even if I had ended up going with my school, I wouldn't have been 100% happy because they're making the art students wear uniform. And however superficial this may make me sound, one of the best things about Art Fairs is the clothes on the art-lovers' backs.

Last year, the Sartorialist came to London to photograph these fashionable folk.

And all the showbiz sites have pictures of the slebs at last night's opening.

I was also going to go to Zoo Art Fair, until I realised it's the same weekend. Zoo attracts an equally stylish, if less star-studded crowd.

I mean, to be honest, who cares about the actual art these days?

Worrywarts

Link One

Link Two

Link Three

Link Four

Link Five

The Guardian did a survey of how people's lifestyle habits have been affected by all this. One person answered:

'I've been watching the news less'

I'm not surprised! As I've mentioned before, I've never particularly liked the concept of money and now I'm starting to like it less and less. Think about how humans have evolved from a bunch of organisms living on a mass of rock and some other stuff (or from the naked and penniless Adam and Eve, depending on which version you believe) to such a stupendously complex species of multiple races, classes and lives. None of us truly know if there's any reason or ulterior motive for us being on Earth, some philosophers even argue that we're not here at all, it's just one big dream - I haven't even tried to get my head around that one. How have we managed to get into a state where we're all relying on this invented concept of money so much? Especially when even now it is becoming increasingly clear that money can just be magicked out of nowhere, at least temporarily? I know that to say 'just get rid of money - the entire concept' is terribly simplistic as well as unrealistic but right now, even more than a few months ago, I think it would be great.

how are you?

Whenever somebody asks 'how are you?', the almost invariable response is 'OK, thanks' or 'good, thanks' or 'alright'. So when you aren't actually alright, it can be difficult to know what to say. All of a sudden the reply becomes far more unnatural and awkward. Wouldn't it be so much easier if it was more normal to say how we actually feel?

But the truth is, that even if one moment I am far from alright, I know that a couple of hours later, my mood will have brightened considerably. Either it's friends or routine, which occupy my mind so much that there's little time left to feel sad or alone.


I took this picture on holiday a couple of months ago. It was a very special day, and being so isolated amongst the water like this was an extraordinary feeling; a sense of awe which makes the question 'how are you?' far less important.

If my honest reply to this question isn't exactly what I want it to be, I know I just have to ride it out a little bit longer.

Perfecto

So... this post didn't go exactly as planned yesterday. Hopefully it will fare better today...

Today I was tagged by enc, the wonderful writer of brilliant blog observationmode to do the 'Four thingy' tag as she called it. I'm not sure what the exact name for this particular tag is, but I do know that I'm of course very happy to do it because, after all, all bloggers love to talk about themselves. The tag also had perfect timing, because I wasn't planning on posting today with a lack of inspiration and time to do a proper post. Perfecto! So-

1. Four places that I go to over and over:
-My school
-My local Tube stop
-Oxford Street
-The library

2. Four people who e-mail me regularly:
-The Facebook Team
-Gwyneth Paltrow
-My father
-My cousin

As you may have gathered, my e-mail account is a little dusty.

3. Four places I would rather be right now:

-New York
-Venice
-Paris
-More realistically perhaps: shopping in Selfridges.

4. Four of my favorite places to eat:

-Polish cafe in super posh Primrose Hill
-Wagamamas
-EAT.
-Leon's

5. Four people I'm tagging:

-The Clothes Horse
-Disneyrollergirl
-Square Old Soul
-Big City Bumpkin

6. Four TV shows I watch over and over:

-CSI
-House
-Jane Eyre, the BBC adaptation. <3
-The Book Group

Born in a different era

Having read and loved the novel Brideshead Revisited, I was worried that the new film adaptation, which has received mixed critical responses, would disappoint. But when I watched it today, I enjoyed it very much; I thought the acting was impressive and the script fairly sound (although this was one aspect which didn't quite live up to Evelyn Waugh's fine example). The one thing which I really did enjoy, and which made the two and a half hours feel much shorter was the absolute beauty of the film. If you scroll through my 'movie magic' posts using the tags, you'll see that my earlier posts were really centered on the sheer beauty of some of my favourite films. Recently, I haven't seen anything quite so cinematically magnificent in quite a long time, which is why I found this film such an absolute treat.

I have never had very much of a desire to live in the 20s/30s which have always seemed very oppressive, if also wonderfully romantic. But after watching the lives of the glamorous Flyte aristocracy, I would love to journey back a hundred odd years...

Julia's (played by Hayley Atwell - gorgeous and refreshingly curvy! Great interview here) outfits are definitely the fashion highlight; scene after scene of fantastic outfits and shots perfectly capture the extravagence of the book so that that I really can't complain.

A little bit of glamour...

There's something about cold winter days that make me want to get dressed all glamorous, a little bit dark... in the same way that summer inspires me to wear florals. Cue gold, black, silver, snakes, studs and red nails:

And today the glamorous touches of my outfit fitted right in with my artsy lifestyle. A trip to Sloane Square resulted in me starting a headcount of designer bags. I think I saw 5 or 6 Chanels. We took a detour to the Saatchi Gallery to see a fantastic exhibition of new Chinese art. Art galleries are great for people-watching, as well as the art of course.

Then it was The Royal Court Theatre to see Now or Later, which was actually an extremely thought-provoking and remarkable play and definitely not just a beautiful star vehicle. There was a mini panic before the show when I realised I'd lost my ticket; luckily the hot box office assistant was kind enough to print me off a reprint after ascertaining that I was not a lying ticket-stealer.

And after the play, guess who we met? Very charming and even better looking face to face. I felt very proud of myself for not asking for an autograph or photograph; wouldn't we much prefer to hold an intellectual conversation than ask for some sort of tourist's memento like some commoner... it's so much more glamorous isn't it?

Cuteness!!!

With all the horrible talk of troubling economics, financial meltdowns, fears of depression etc and then all the murders, missing people and general crime on top of that, it can be hard to sit through the news with a smile. So it was especially lovely to read this article on the BBC about a weatherman's on-air proposal.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/7663350.stm

I dare you to watch it without a smile creeping onto your face!

Want, want, want

When referring to the items which one hopes to purchase in the near future, it is difficult to know which verb to use. Many people, for example, way over-use the word 'need' on a wishlist. I need a new red high-waisted skirt. I need a new pair of boots. I need a new bag. The word 'wishlist' itself means that it can only really be a list of items which you desire, not items which are essential for you to continue living. A high-waisted skirt would definitely be useful in accentuating my waist, and a red one would greatly increase the versatility of a few of my tops, but I will not go butt-naked without it. I already have a handful of pairs of warm winter shoes, including two boots. They may be slightly dated and not go with all my outfits but I certainly won't get frostbite this winter on account of a lack of shoes. And it would be nice to have a gorgeous, roomy leather bag to carry all my junk but I already have one of those, plus a backpack if needs be.

So is there anything I really truly need? There is a whole lot of practical, unexcitingly ugly stuff that I could do with: a new school skirt to name one. The zip's broken on my current one but I am loathe to get a new one when I have less than a year of the horrid uniform left (yay for that!)

Some new running leggings, thermals and sports tops would be a lovely addition to my sports wardrobe. But in all honesty, my homeless-chic tracksuit bottoms and baggy tops are doing the job absolutely fine. And I would love some new tights; my beloved grey ribbed ones are becoming awfully worn and the equally loved opaques are slowly pilling to death. But without a nice new pair of boots, I don't seem to be wearing skirts all too much in the current weather.

So, it seems that even the least extravagant of purchases aren't really necessary at all. I don't need some useful and dull basics any more than a frivolous high-waisted red skirt. It's all just want, want, want isn't it?

Tangible

First of all, when I went back online today after a hectic week and read the half-hearted attempt at a post on Monday, I felt a little embarrassed. After all, haven't we all been taught that it's quality over quantity? But I didn't have a chance to write anything yesterday either, so maybe it's a good thing that I got round to putting up a little bit of eye-candy whilst I had a second.

And today, when I got home and realised that I had about three different essays to write, I wasn't sure if I would have time again, so I thought I'd just do a quick little update on my foray into running a few weeks ago!

I've been doing a proper several mile run only once a week, but walking every day and a couple of miles on a Friday. Still, this was nowhere near what people who are training achieve, so I wasn't really expecting any progress for a good few months. But what one of my teachers said seems to be true, the difference really does become tangible very quickly. Today for example, I managed to run 3 miles continuously for the first time, and then another 1 mile jog/walk which I haven't been able to achieve before.

Still, when I was told that a marathon would be doing the lap that I did 4 times, 26 times, I saw that I would still have a very long way to go.

Has anyone else just starting running when their only previous experience was walking and running to catch the bus?

Rite of Passage

Many teenage girls go through some sort of fixation with a beautiful male celebrity. The choices vary greatly.

Okay, maybe they don't vary so much.

But I seem to have a problem with choosing just one Hollywood hunk, which is probably a good thing since my levels of obsession rise so sharply, so quickly, that I'd begin to fear for the star's safety if there wasn't such a large supply of new diversions. And one of the best things about living in London, is that you can often see your celebrity crush in the flesh. Move over Josh Hartnett, here's who I'll be chumming up with this weekend:


Rising star, Eddie Redmaybe has been in loads of films recently, and most recently seen as Angel Clare in Tess of the D'Urbervilles on BBC1. You got to see quite a lot of him, quite literally. A couple of my friends saw the play he's in right now, and it is reported that he is very friendly and very willing to take photos. This bodes well.

Sustenance

Yes, it’s a sad thought, but I sometimes find comfort in the truth that it's inevitable that almost every single teenage girl out there has hang-ups about her body. One of the slimmest of my friends, for example, maintains the belief that her stomach and thighs are huge. The other day, exasperated, I pointed out to her that the width of her thighs was less than the length of a biro, whilst mine was greater. She flat out refused to accept that her thighs were thinner than the biro, until I wasn’t sure anymore if she was joking and actually has some form of body dysmorphia. I can only think of two people who do seem genuinely pleased with their shapes, and once I started thinking about it, I realised how ridiculous it was that so many of us have come to despise the body which thanklessly keeps us alive. I can see that there are also plenty of adults with similar ideas about their bodies, but I can also see that it seems to become less of an issue when jobs, money, serious relationships and other more important things begin to take up more thought and time.

Still, at the moment, it is difficult to see an end to the ultimately bizarre relationship that so many of us have with food. How strangely messed up is it that lack of proper nutrition is such a serious issue for both people with eating disorders and those who simply don’t have access to food, yet I can never seem to enjoy a beautiful, indulgent and tasty treat without the experience being disfigured by guilt?

And that’s the worst part for me. I can live with thighs bigger than a pencil, etcetera; in fact it’s rare that I can allow my teenage insecurities to get the better of me in terms of my general mood and eating habits (this really only happens on holiday, when my physical activity is approximately nil, my portion sizes have gone through the roof and I have to wear a bikini). I just really, really want to be able to love the food that sustains me without even a shadow of a whisper of ‘are you really hungry?’ There may only be two ways to go about this: time-travel back to my childhood, or forwards into my fully-fledged adulthood. Of course, both of these are impossible, so I began thinking of the ways in which I enjoy other things.

Yesterday, when I was eating my breakfast, I noticed how beautiful it looked. At the risk of being entirely ludicrous, I took a photo of it on my phone. Perhaps appreciating the aesthetic beauty of food would aid our relationship. It may be entirely ridiculous, but later on I saw a macaroon, and it sparkled so brilliantly that I took a photo of that too. I’m not convinced that it actually worked, but it’s more likely than a time-travelling machine..

Gloopy

I can't remember where I first heard about Gwyneth Paltrow's new website GOOP but I remember how fun I found visiting it and my initial reaction. I have a feeling that the name may come from Ms. Paltrow's initials... maybe her middle names begin with O?

Go on the website and click anywhere, and you'll get Gwyneth Paltrow's mission statement. One line reads 'I love being in spaces that are clean and feel nice'. The slogan is 'Nourish your inner aspect'. What does that actually mean?

Anyway I just had to sign up to the newsletter after getting such a great laugh out of it. But then I felt sort of bad for being so harsh on it, because is this website so different from my blog or anyone else's? I mean, I may have laughed at the name 'GOOP' (come on, gloop... gloopy ... poop... not exactly the best name) but prettyfaceshelpinraces isn't exactly a stroke of genius either.

And I got my first newsletter today. It's nice to get e-mail by Gwyneth Paltrow.

UPDATE: this was the into to the e-mail. I hope you don't mind, Ms. Paltrow.

SMILE!

Whoever invented the smile, deserves some sort of amazing prize. If they were a blogger, they would definitely deserve this lovely blogging award, which the beautiful Mettch of beautiful blog La Route du Mimosa passed on to me.

Visiting her blog last night, I saw that the award had been waiting for me for a couple of days, but I was immensely grateful that I'd only seen it then, when I needed a reason for a smile. :)

I think most of the bloggers I visit have already received this lovely, lovely award so I'm going to cheat and give it right back to everyone on my daily reading blog list. I am not exclusive about my blog list, it's merely for my own convenience so that I don't need to remember the URLs of the blogs I visit, but that does mean that I love every single one of the blogs on there.

Also, I promise to award this award to whover invented the smile, as soon as they set up a blog.

Update: as a thanks for the lovely award and smile to Mettch, I thought I'd post a pic I took a couple of weeks ago of one of the dresses I was debating wearing to the theatre (I chickened out and wore a skirt; they all look so dressed up!).

Comfort Reading

I know that every ounce of my blues right now is utterly down to hormones and I have not one single reason to feel at all down. Nevertheless, I can't remember smiling this evening and as a smiley person I am worried.... comfort eating never seems to work...

Having just finished a rather depressing book, and yesterday embarking upon the fun-fest that is Anna Karenina, today I reached out for some comfort reading. I know that what with all the wonderful wonderful stuff out there I should really be continuing to build my reading foundations, therefore I should not waste time re-reading yet, and if I were to then re-reading Harry and the Wrinklies is not the book to choose, not being mind-nourishing, intellect-building yada yada yada. But I'm really looking forward to going to bed and starting this book for the 100000th time.

Soppiness ahead...

When I hear the phrase 'outlet for your anger' or 'emotional outlet' or 'creative outlet' I often feel like I want to hurl. But sometimes, taking your mind off actual life and immersing yourself in a world where the only thing that matters is your creation, being as utterly perfect as possible, can be very calming.

I felt like changing my 'What's making me happy' picture. Surely a bag can't make a person feel happy for over a week. But as I looked through my recent pictures, nothing really stood out. I suppose I've been in an odd mood lately; it feels like everybody around me is in an odd mood too.

But then I went into the folder in My Pictures labelled 'CARDS' and looking at my own creations, seeing something I can be pretty sure that I do well, I felt a little egotistical but also quite happy. My latest card, which is actually, shamefully over a month old is the one I put up to the right. It also felt like a good choice, because love is something which always makes people happy, right?

Walking mannequins

I don't think I've ever done a catwalk related post before and I'm not about to start. I do enjoy seeing the beautiful clothes but I've never been able to suffer the endless stream of photos of show, after show, after show.... clicking away on style.com until the most beautiful dress doesn't even raise a flicker of excitement.

But when I saw the pictures of the Margiela show in one of those daily free London papers, I stopped. Of course, it is sensationalist, you just have to look at how many normally fashion-dead papers have covered this show. There's also the whole enigmatic element since Martin Margiela never has his photo taken. Nevertheless, I found the idea of making models look like faceless mannequins a fascinating idea. People always argue that the reason models are so skinny is so that the clothes hang as they would on a mannequin; there are no curves to manipulate the garment or detract attention from it. Normally I poo-poo this idea; why do they then choose startingly beautiful and ofter amazonian looking uber-models? Why not actually use robotic mannequins?





Still, if this was Margiela's intention, it didn't exactly work, with the creepy looking models getting more press coverage than the actual collection.