Beauty and the Books

The Guardian is surely a newspaper after my own heart. The latest Guardian Weekend, which I co-incidentally picked up on the tube (I normally read the news online) was a fashion and literature special, with an interview and accompanying shoot of the lovely Emily Mortimer dressed up as her favourite literary heroines. Here is one of the looks, no prizes for guessing this one:

There was also an accompanying 'fashion-spotter's guide to literature' which was nicely entertaining and led me to start thinking about my earliest fashion/literature memories and realising that a lot of them co-incide.

The first books I can really remember reading to myself and loving are the Enid Blyton boarding school books. Mallory Towers, The Naughtiest Girl At School... I loved them. Maybe this can explain my affinity with the preppy side of fashion: striped blazers, argyle socks, pleated skirts.

But my very very favourite book when I was younger was Ballet Shoes. I simply worshipped it and must have read it at least 10 times. When I try to analyse what made me love Noel Streatfield's work so much, I begin to notice how much attention she pays to what the characters are wearing, where they got their clothes, even how much they cost. This is a description of making white frilly organdie frocks for an audition:

'Nana went out at once for the stuff, and as soon as she got back, she cut them out, and Mrs Simpson, Sylvia, and cook formed a sewing club to help her. Cook made the slips, Mrs Simpson whipped the frills, which took hours, and Sylvia made up one dress and Nana the other.'

Maybe it is my adoration of Ballet Shoes which has fed my love of ballet pumps (I have a pink satin pair) and impractical silk dresses. Even the austere Jane Eyre takes pride in her simple grey silk dress, a garment which has always stuck in my mind as something I'd like to wear.

Whether there is a direct correlation between my style and the styles of my favourite literary heroines is definitely very questionable, considering the fact that I do not own a single green velvet dress (Scarlett O'Hara in Gone With the Wind owns plenty), even one trench coat (a necessity for Holly Golightly) and have a distinct lack of ethereal Rodarte-style fairy costumes, which most of my childhood heroines would have worn. However it was interesting to realise that there is one thing that many of my favourite literary characters share: an interest in clothes.

wordle

Blogs are collections of words; on the website wordle.net can create a colagge of the commenest words on your blog as of late. This is mine:

I really love it. I've always been unsure of what to make my blog's header because no picture seems to quite encapsulate it - it's fitting that only words will suffice. think I have finally found my header.

Even movie stars get nervous...

Last night, I saw the much awaited play Rain Man aka Josh Hartnett vehicle.

I could go on about Adam Godley's amazing performance, Josh Hartnett's amazing naked chest and what was predictably an amazing night. But there was one thing which stood out for me, something scarily pertinent after yesterday's discussion about perfect flaws: Mr Hartnett's performance. Throughout the first interval, I saw the poor rich movie star stumble over, mistake, rush and repeat his lines more than I have ever seen in any other play. In the second half, he was actually 10000x times better; his nerves had probably calmed down a great deal, but of course I could not help but forgive him instantaneously. In fact, I found myself fall in love with the thespian more violently than any viewing of Pearl Harbour had inspired before. As I kept on repeating to my lovely friend, it was incredibly endearing. Josh Hartnett gets nervous too! Awww...

(a star-struck pretty face who is going to go back and tell Mr Hartnett how much he's improved)

A perfect flaw

Everyone sees perfection in a different way, but I do know that it's very rare to find someone who subscribes to the absolutely pristinely perfect Stepford-wives perfection.

To be frank, it's all just a little bit too creepy. Real people who haven't been replaced by murdering robots simply can't have perfect teeth, perfect hair, perfect bodies, perfect skin, perfect clothes and a perfect smile all the time. Nevertheless, whilst society insisting that imperfect is better, more sexy, we are still implored to try and acquire the perfect teeth, perfect hair, perfect bodies, perfect skin, perfect clothes and a perfect smile with bombardments of cosmetic surgery ads, the latest anti-wrinkle products, pictures of Amazonian models.

Even people who believe that they are being unconventional are trying to channel a form of perfection: a unique yet wholly fashionable look which, whilst not conforming to the Stepford ideal, is perfectly cool in itself. I have previously admitted and moaned about the fact that we're all trying to look perfect, including myself.

Still, I can't deny the appeal of a flaw. Actress Jo Joyner, who played sexy Beth on the TV series No Angels, admits that her admired 'sexy strut' is actually an unavoidable product of a faulty hip. I find gap teeth inexpicably beautiful, modelled here by Vanessa Paradis, who is with the desirable Johnny Depp and is pretty much universally accepted as beautiful. I have had braces for a while to fix over-crowding and recently I've acquired a little gap in between the two front teeth, and I have to say I LOVE it. I'll be sad to see it go.

I also mentioned here an overweight character who is seen as the most beautiful in her society. It's a shame that the whole point of this idea is that they're all really messed up and have created their own ideas about perfection, but still an interesting thought.

It's often agreed that complete perfection is unattainable. But if flaws can be perfect, then so are we.

Relaxation

You may have noticed that recently my posts have been a lot less long-winded than usual; I'm finding that I have to resort to more and more braindead TV watching in order to cope with the hecticness of everything else, whenever I have a moment. But tonight there's nothing on that I really want to watch and I've got a couple of free hours. I considered typing up an idea I had, but it required a lot of scanning, waiting, writing, googling...

Perfect formula for relaxation! Of course, in the end getting the photo to load took as long as typing up a post would have but anyway... here it is: pretty photos (seriously - Italian Vogue's editorals are amazing and I actually plan to write about that in more detail), some nail maintenance, a nice BIG cup of tea and my lovely PC.

What's your perfect relaxation formula?

Best. Quote. Ever.

However many revolutionary and inspiring lines I will hear, I am always going to stand by the simple yet infallible logic of the wonderful Elle Woods (Legally Blonde).

“Exercise gives you endorphins. Endorphins make you happy. Happy people just don’t shoot their husbands, they just don’t.”


Happiness is a complex issue and you can spend hours debating the best way to be happy. Actually, this over-analyzing tends to decrease your happiness. That's why I'll always turn to this marvellous quote, from one of my favourite films - which I'm actually extremely knowledgeable about since I wrote an A* graded essay on why Legally Blonde is feminist film at its best.

(Today I went for my first proper run. It was fun!)

thanks to enc for spotting the typo!

Creature Comforts

I absolutely love watching a fantastic new film, experiencing the thrill of not knowing what will happen next and relishing every moment, because I know I will never watch it again for the first time. Nevertheless, if I enjoy a movie, there is little doubt that I will rewatch it, probably within days. I always do this and I'm not sure why; maybe it's the ability to notice things that you don't observe the first time round, or knowing the outcome and sort of being able to relax rather than be all tense, or simply getting to experience whatever makes the film so great again.

My favourite films to rewatch are the ones from my childhood. I was never a fan of cartoons but I did love Snow White, Cinderella and Lady and the Tramp. Every time I watch them, my heart breaks because I instantly forget that inevitable happy ending. I don't think I've ever watched Lady and the Tramp without having to fast-forward the bit with the dog-catchers. Whenever I see Cinderella, I have always marvelled at her beautiful hairstyles and different costumes. Some things never change.

Equally beloved are the film versions of the wonderful Roald Dahl's The Witches and, of course, Matilda. No horror movie will ever be as scary as the Grand High Witch or Ms. Trunchbull.

And of course, there are the tear-jerkers. Whilst Titanic and The Notebook have both left me completely cold, I have never failed to be moved to tears by A Little Princess, Madeline or The Sound of Music. On a rainy day I can always turn to Dick van Dyke for some entertainment with Chitty Chitty Bang Bang or Mary Poppins and Grease is still my favourite soundtrack.

I may be able to appreciate the ethereal beauty of a film such as Picnic on Hanging Rock, or the cinematic accomplishment and phenomenal acting of the grand Oscar winners like There Will Be Blood. But I doubt I’ll ever watch these films more than once, maybe twice, unlike my favourite films from my childhood.

I know it's silly, but sometimes after watching a truly fantastic film, I feel sad, because I don't think there'll be another quite so perfect. But of course this doesn't matter, because I can always just watch it again.. and again.. and again. What are those films that you just can't help but rewatch a billion times?

Isn't it what's on the inside...

Isn't it what's on the inside that counts? As a girl, who is also a teenager, and interested in style, I do spend a lot of time thinking about beauty... as this blog may suggest. And whilst I am pretty much world renowned (amongst my friends anyway) for saying incredibly un-PC and shallow-sounding things, I am often just being my tactless and honest self. I really believe, and not without reason, they all place just as much (too much?) importance and spend just as much time pondering superficial pulchritude.

Gah, that paragraph was way too wordy. Basically we're all totally vain and obsessed with superficial beauty. But does enjoying beautiful beings, including super-fit boys mean that you can't enjoy spirituality too? Do we have to be completely and utterly detached from the outside to understand and value the inside? I am certainly much more content in those moments of life when I'm completely absorbed in a song or a book or a person. Whilst some of my greatest pleasures involve admiring beautiful, there's always that little twang, an unpleasant feeling which I suppose could be slight envy, coveting the unattainably beautiful. But it's all superficial isn't it? There is nothing magical about any of this stuff I covet. My friendships, the ones with the people who I don't mind seeing me in my scruffy colours, are magical and although they don't tend to get me access to the hottest parties they do create some of the happiest times.

This post is becoming terribly cyclical. It goes like this: Are we too shallow? No, it's only natural at this age. But shouldn't we try to be more spiritual? Yes - but we can still wear nice clothes. But - but - but -

OK, I'll make a confession. This post was basically just born out of a desire to post photos the linings of the clothes I wrote about here (they wouldn't load before). So yeah - don't you agree, it's what's on the inside that counts?

Hello @ 21.21

I have to apologise for being a truly unfaithful blogger. Around midday today, I got back from a moderated hiking expedition; I passed! I suppose that therefore the lack of posting yesterday and this morning is perfectly excusable, but I got home ridiculously early (did the hike this morning in a crazy 3 hours, without breaking at all! yay! I suppose it compensates for the 1 hour 'detour' we managed to take yesterday) and instead of resting, unpacking and writing, I immediately went back out for a spot of much needed retail therapy.

-Now of course I am completely and utterly cream crackered, and have not even written the history essay I was planning to. I think at a certain point it's simply impossible to get work done so I've resigned myself to those rambling off-to-bed posts which used to be semi-regular. Having said that, this is a Sunday night, as they were originally planned to be!

-What did I buy today? Surprisingly, no clothes. Thankfully, the sun came out for our trip, as did my cream trousers and summery florals in the hope of a last-ditch attempt at dressing for summer. This means that there weren't actually any clothes I was compelled towards; too sunny for the winter clothes my mind has already switched to.

-Anyway. Stopping off at Selfridges, I bought two books. One classic which I've been wanting to read for years and am planning to read alongside a group of friends next month: Anna Karenina (Tolstoy) and another which I simply couldn't resist for the adorable front cover and wonderful name. My favourite French word is pamplemousse.

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Madame-Pamplemousse-Her-Incredible-Edibles/sim/0747592314/2
I like to think that my reading diet is well-balanced and varied. I also spent forever with a fantastic book about costumes in Hollywood (I think it's this one), all the way from the start of film history to Sofia Coppola's Marie Antoinette. I don't know why, but these things fascinate me so much. In general, I'm not a big fan of 'coffee-table books', finding them obscenely expensive and collectery. Does that make sense? At the till there was an obscenely rich buying I think three of these so-called coffee-table books, totalling around £150 which they paid in cash. Nosy, moi? I'm not even going to go into the hideously tacky ensemble of one of the lucky ladies for fear of sounding like a total bitch

-Apart from the books, most of it was pretty menial purchases; some nail polish remover because I am fed up of not being able to remove the two-week old paint on my nails, a lovely new fountain pen (to write my masterpiece..) and a sports bra to wear on my first ever proper run in a couple of days. Right...

-Ooh and I got my glasses adjusted and can now happily wear them. Phew! I was worried that there would be a sad ending to the spectacular story for a couple of days there. So, the moral of this post? Tiredness breeds intense materialism which is actually incredibly uplifting and helpful in forgetting about an unwritten history essay.

Spectacular Story

'Scuse the terrible pun. In case, with the punniness in mind you still can't figure out what this post is about, it's the story of my life, told in relation to my glasses (sort of similar to when I described my life in terms of hair but, if it's possible, even more materialistic). It's been a tradition for a few years now that every year, around July, I get a new pair of glasses. This year the transition has been a little late, but finally my lovely new lenses are resting happily on my nose.

It all started when I started wearing glasses around six years ago. I got the first pair which fit my mini face and soon realised how very much I hated them. Ever since I have harboured a disproportionate hatred for metal frames, which you'll probably notice in the timeline on the right. It's always been difficult to find nice plastic frames which sit well on my face (my current ones are still not perfect, they keep on slipping down and I think I'll have to have them adjusted) and the next brown plastic pair, though dull, fit the job. As a result, I actually bought these frames twice; they're the 2nd and 4th on the timeline. In between the brown glasses, I had a marvellous pink pair of Ray Bans which broke after about a month.

After that was a pair of very distinctive Joop! glasses which I got cheap at a co-op. I loved them at first but soon realised that I couldn't wear green any more without looking like a christmas tree. The glasses you see at the bottom were the pair I've been wearing up until today and I still love them very much and plan to continue to wear them sometimes, something I've never done before. Maybe starting to wear contacts helps because you don't get so fed up with the necessity of wearing them day in day out? Whatever it is, I'm glad, because they were pretty expensive for a relatively unknown but fabulous brand: ProDesign Denmark. But for a while now I've been wanting something a little more exciting, arty and I've also had a long-lasting hankering for some clear plastic frames. This was intensified after seeing the oh-so-cool Jeremy Darling on Dirty Sexy Money sporting a pair. But after trying on a ton of pair, I decided on something a little more detailed. Cue:

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