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Whereby I avoid red wine

January 17, 2014, 12:21 am
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I’d like to think I’m experimental when it comes to my fashion nous, but the truth is I’m a creature of habit. Now that I’ve realised I like tonal blocking and doubling patterns, I seem to have resigned myself to the inevitability of it all. It probably doesn’t help that I saw Cara in a white suit recently and thought, “damn, she looks banging” before attempting to recreate an all-white look with, err, no resemblance to her suit whatsoever.

Anyway, I’m really into baggy white jeans, even if they aren’t the most flattering of cuts. And in my opinion, an aran knit is about the greatest piece of knitwear a person can own. Don’t ask me why. The best thing about this look is that I feel a bit like the incredibly talented Ivania Carpio in this – meaning that I can pretend, just for the five minutes that I cavorted around for these photos, that I can actually live a life with as clean an aesthetic as Ivania herself.



I’m wearing a vintage aran sweater, a Gap poloneck, ASOS jeans and Jeffrey Campbell slingbacks.

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Things I Miss About Being 15

January 22, 2014, 11:55 pm
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There's no doubt that I look back upon my tricky teenage years with serious nostalgia. Like my own version of The Simple Live - sadly sans Richie's later impending emergence from the chrysalis, into the bonafide style sista she is today - things just seemed, well, simple. In no particular order, here are the things that remind me so strongly of being 15...

Everyone looking like Iggy Pop
You didn't just straighten your hair at my school; you literally flat ironed it. Everyone smoothed it to an inch of its hairy, split-ended life and then roamed around school flicking their hair at one another like Iggy Pop. Between the ages of 13-18 there was nothing as important as my cherry flavoured Nivea (gave lips a nice dark rouge under the casual pretence of being a balm) and my hair straightener. Around this time, I was also wearing my daily contact lenses for 5 days in a row, for absolutely no reason other than I clearly felt like pushing boundaries in some minuscule way. I boasted about this epic triumph to my sister, who told the school nurse, who pulled me out of my lesson and peeled the shrivelled lenses off my eyeballs before I'd even had time to grab my cherry Nivea. 

Justin was the fricking bomb
Was there anyone better than JT? It's discomfiting that he's still reigning high, eleven years after he exploded into our lives as a credible 'solo artist'. First him and Britney broke up - causing sad times for any huge fans of their Canadian Tuxedos - then he got rid of his poodle curls and released a thinly veiled response to Britney's alleged cheating, in 'Cry Me A River'. I had my very first boyfriend at this time and I remember sharing a sleeping bag with him at new year, in a cut-off Abercrombie tee that had 'Geek' written across it in crystal embellishment. Justin was the soundtrack to my romance, although when Britney released the epic Crossroads (hey Zoe Saldana! Who knew you'd go to be in the highest-grossing movie of all time, huh?) they were, in my eyes, now on the same par of greatness.  

Prozzy wear
Was I a teenage tart? Just an enthusiastic adopter of aesthetic trends, my friends! My favourite clothing was from Miss Sixty, the store I would now dub Prozzy Wear R Us. Dark wash low-rise jeans with poppas up the side were worn with a hip-length red Miss Sixty emblazoned jumper, or a strapless red and white stripy bandeau top, from which a sequinned heart positioned on the right breast emitted small blue streamers into the ether. Other obsessions were Office courts (a rainbow striped pair of sling backs were the bomb) and Toby Pimlico t-shirts, which came with quite a steep price tag and so were often 'fauxed'. I remember one of my favourites, to wear with my bell bottom jeans, said "I have not been a naughty girl" over and over again, down the t-shirt. Bleuuuuuurgh. I wish I still had it.

Boys sporting frosted tips
Literally no one was safe from the repellant hair trend that was frosted tips. Almost every boy I have ever knew, at one point or another, had slightly orange, bleached tips. Even if he had really dark hair, he would still have a bleach party going on. The photo of my boyfriend that makes me lol uncontrollably is one at his parents' house of him with beetly dark eyebrows and a shock of eerily blonde hair. He doesn't understand what's so funny; so perhaps he remembers them (mistakenly) as the golden days. Imagine if this trend was around now? 1D would look like total dicks.

The V as an erogenous zone
Wearing your trousers crazy low - I'd have laughed in your face if you'd proffered a high-waisted pair of anything - was the done thing, especially if it flashed a few inches of Calvin Klein knickers or M& S thong. But, sometimes, I would wear my Gap tracksuit bottoms so low that you could see my apollo's belt (aka V). Much like Mel C. I would then wear a top that just covered my belly button, so that between the hem of my top and the top of my trousers would be this vast swathe of exposed skin, which without any identifying features became almost an indeterminate terrain. A good stomach was paramount, but none of us really cared about the rest of our bodies. Oh, for those days.

My Burberry-covered Nokia
I cannot over-emphasise how utterly thrilled I am that I grew up without the all-encompassing paranoia that is instilled by social media. No Facebook (till university), no Twitter, no Instagram. My virtual life existed of e-mails (we did love those, we did) and marathons of snake via my Nokia 3310, which was clad in a faux-Burberry shell. The battery on my Nokia 3310 once lasted a week; I have to charge my iPhone twice a day. I didn't really have anyone to call on it, though, so my free minutes were often used up on prank calls. Aged thirteen, one of my best friends and I would play Enrique Iglesias''Hero' (a beautiful song) down my brand new phone to a boy I was kissing at the time (who she was also once kissing at the time) who is now in a successful boy band. I know. What a claim to fame. I am pretty sure that he didn't know we were prank calling him, or he probably wouldn't have continued kissing me. And if he hadn't continued kissing me, then I'd have never have contracted glandular fever and landed myself in hospital after drinking too much vodka, whilst under said fever. So, y'know, it all came good in the end. 
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I Cleared Out My Hoisery Drawer And 2010 Threw Up On Me

January 26, 2014, 2:16 pm
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Back in 2010, no doubt influenced by the trend-setting minx that is Alexa, my best friend and I were completely hooked on Tabio's sheer polkadot tights. Fun/ky and flattering (sheer tights are so much sexier than opaques), we literally bought them in the bucket load as they lasted just one wear before ripping. Then the year ended. Alexa wore them for the last time with cycling shorts over the top at Chanel Couture (it literally beggars belief that this get-up not only worked, but looked phenom. I would actually look like Bradley Wiggins trying to be a Parisian prozzy, if I attempted that) and shortly afterwards, I went off them, or forgot about them, or suddenly felt passé. 

Jesus weeps. Anyway, the beauty of getting old  - 27 in 6 weeks, fuckballs (I wrote this 4 times and my computer auto-corrected it to 'duckbills' rather cutely, each time) - is that it's been long enough for trends to come around, die and for me to re-discover them again. I recently chanced upon said hosiery whilst squirrelling through my wardrobe looking for things to sell on eBay because I've lived beyond my means yet again. This outfit is pretty boring, with its pleasing nineties nod - A-Line denim mini, fuzzy knit, trusty Gazelles - but the polkadots give it a bit of pizzaz. I think. So am I trying to bring back polkadot tights? Well, uh, yeah. Why not?


I am wearing an H&M coat, an Urban Outfitters knit, a vintage belt, Zara denim skirt, Tabio polkadot tights, Adidas Gazelles II, tortoiseshell RayBan Clubmasters, a Saint Laurent Classic Duffle 6 and wearing earrings from i and i. 
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Why The Morning Commute Must Be A Solo Endeavour

February 1, 2014, 12:52 pm
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The way we all survive the grim reality of gainful employment - i.e. hauling ourselves out of beautiful beautiful bed every morning - is to have a routine. For some people that's rising at 5am, meditating and then drinking black coffee to induce their 'motions'; for others, it's leaving precisely 5 minutes to put their knickers on and brush their teeth. Unless you're a total rockstar (kudos) you tend to have one that you like to stick to. When I was freelance, mine used to be rising at the same time of my boyfriend and pootling around in my dressing gown, before I waved him off to work at 8.30am and sat down at my desk to start work. Since I started at The Debrief, however, I've found myself leaving at exactly the same time as him and going in exactly the same direction as him on the Central Line. Caloo Calay, right? The commute is effing miserable, so it's nice to have someone to face the slog with.... Right?


Well. It seems that whilst I was ready to change my routine, my boyfriend was not quite so ready to change his. The minutae of his routine is 'very important' and it soon became apparent, in short, that I was nothing but a big ole boon to its success. Me. A boon. Firstly, for reasons known only unto himself, he likes to leave the house 5 minutes later than he should - which means that he then strides at break neck speed to the tube to 'make up time'. So even though I will often be ready to go first and therefore waiting for him by the front door, like a faithful labrador, it's not long before I am trotting behind him, often heel clad, plaintively pleading him to slow down as he Usain Bolt(s) it towards the tube. 
Once we arrive at the tube, I like to chat about our impending days as we make our way down the myriad of escalators at Notting Hill. Every time I get to a good part of whatever crucial anecdote I am regaling, though, he will have leapfrogged onto the next escalator. "And then... and then...." I will shout, trying not to lose the momentum of the story as he charges to his destiny, with grim-faced acceptance. When he hits the platform, he does that unbelievably annoying, anally-logical thing of walking the entire way down the platform before the train arrives. Whereas I take up residence on the first chunk of platform I hit and do all the boring walking the other end, he likes to have completed the walk before the train even pulls into the station. GOD WHAT A TINY DETAIL, you think, right? It's what I thought. Oh ho ho, reader, what a foolish thought.

Lastly, I like to use him as a hat stand, of sorts. I hang my current handbag of choice - a Saint Laurent Duffle - off one narrow shoulder (which I thought he might enjoy, as he recently complimented me on my 'doctor's bag' with all the prose of a fashonista) and my burlap bag full of bananas/trainers/laptop on his other. This leaves me free to pirouette around the tube (lol, it's always rammed) foot loose and fancy free. I tend to feel very affectionate on the tube, too, so I like to give him small hugs, which he receives with all the gratitude of a bone collector. 

You may have now realised that our routines are completely, totally, irrevocably incompatible. It has become woefully apparent - and I really have been woeful - that rather than wanting to try and become, say, The Sexy looking dolorous and feeling alone. For the first time in my life, I'd had the opportunity to share my morning train ride with someone. And he'd straight out rejected me. Fury built up though as I continued my walk to the tube station. I began to increase pace. "I'll show him", I thought insolently. I'll stride out onto the platform, all sanguine and say something like "fancy seeing you here" so cool he'll feel really embarrassed that he left me in his sorry wake.

It was all going swimmingly, this cool new plan of mine, until I reached the tube barriers. I fumbled around my bag's front pocket for my Oyster - quick, quick, a train might arrive! - before I was struck by a sinking realisation. My Oyster card was at home. In my other coat pocket. 

I was ten minutes late for work and from now on, we travel alone.
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The Story Of My First Pair Of Fishnets. By, Pandora.

February 3, 2014, 11:56 pm
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I've wanted a pair of fishnet tights for about the past decade. For some inexplicable reason, whilst I've managed to spend hundreds that I don't have on gold-capped leopard print shoes, multi-coloured faux fur bombers and all sorts of other eyesores with princely price-tags, I've never got round to parting with, say, £12, for a pair of fishnet tights. So, when I was buying some socks for a shoot last week in my favourite hosiery store, Tabio, I scooped some up. I actually ended up accidentally buying a pair of brown tights on my first attempt. Doh. I'm not sure I can think of anything more gopping than a pair of brown fishnets. Like cross-hatched dung. Or fake tan in the format of Tudor windows.

Anyway, the fascinating thing about the fishnet tights in these photos is surely quite how creepy they've come out. They look both frosted and glittery. They look much more glittery than netty. I'm not sure the overall effect is flattering, nor particularly indicative of their existence as fishnets. Which is a bummer, but not enough for me to re-shoot the looks with a pair of normal opaques and therefore struggle for a 'hook' in which to waffle for two paragraphs about what I verily present in visual form. 

So. Enjoy my glittery tights. I'm also sporting my new Shakuhachi ponyskin skirt which is, without doubt, the itchiest thing I have EVER owned. Small bristly hairs seem to fall off the skirt and onto my tummy, despite my pulling my tights all the way up to my tits, on a daily basis. It's purgatory, pure PURGATORY. But -- it is a purgatory I must suffer. Why? Because I bought the skirt via Nasty Gal, which comes with evil, whopping customs and duty taxes. So as a result, I will force myself to wear it this itchy overpriced skirt for evermore.





I'm wearing a polo neck by & Other Stories, a men's white dress shirt, a Shakuhachi ponyskin skirt, fishnet tights from Tabio, platform boots from Topshop, Whistles Graphic Cut-Out Cuff and rings by Crazy Pig, Verameat, Links of London and & Other Stories.
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The Debrief

February 4, 2014, 11:02 pm
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If you follow me on Instagram (@pinsykes, whatcha waiting for!) you'll know that I've been putting in some seer-e-owse elbow grease over on some mysterious new platform. Well, said platform launched yesterday. Hurrah! The Debrief, where I am now Fashion Editor (and edit the Getting Ready section) is brought to you by the same publishers as Grazia and is basically a multi-media platform for savvy and connected girls in their early twenties. Hell, I'll go as wild to say that even if you are not in your early twenties, you still might enjoy it. I'm about to be 2fucking7 and I still have plenty of lollygags at the content.

I won't be sharing stuff all the time on my blog, but just as a starter, here are some pieces that I've really enjoyed writing and would love you to check out. From Changing Room Selfies (where I tackle trends from their grass roots), to The Debrief Dissects (girls with drop-it-like-its-hot style), to the Getting Ready For.... shoots, there's also plenty of interviews, store profiles, daily buys and fashion features. You can follow us on Twitter and Insta @thedebriefuk. See ya there, hombritas.
Click here to read Getting Ready When Your Ex Is At The Party

Click here to read '90s Gear With A GSOH: The Debrief Dissects Stella Maxwell's Style

Click here to read my first instalment of Changing Room Selfies: We Try On All The Tartan So You Don't Have To
Click here to read my interview with awesome new designer, Hannah Weiland of Shrimps



Click here to read Oversized Everything And Shameless-Inspired Puffa Jackets: The Debrief Dissects Caroline Brasch-Nielsen


Click here to read my trend report: Are You On Board With The Bustier Over T-Shirt Trend?
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Is This The Year We Turn Everything Into A Selfie?

February 5, 2014, 11:40 pm
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I've said it before and I'll say again. I like a selfie just as much as the next person - OK, more - but there's nothing like over-egging a bloody verbal trend now, is there? We've done it with LOL (lolz, megalols, lollygags, rofl, sausage lolls - according to my batshit flatmate), we've done it with acronyms (IRL, FML, BTW, FYI, WTF) and now we're doing it with selfies. Not just taking loads of them - which we quite obviously are, in every conceivable scenario - but bastardising the crap out of it so that it applies to all sorts of other 'deliberately angled photos'.

The one that's been getting lots of attention this year is the belfie, as loved by those who are luscious of booty, like Kimmy K. You've got to have some serious 'chood as well as the requisite megawatt ass-confidence, to post a belfie. [Sidenote: I would absolutely love to see my boyfriend's face if I posted a belfie of my wobbly posterior on social media.]

Then we've got the couplie - a new one apparently , although you could argue this is nothing new at all. Honeymoon couples have been doing this with a throw away camera for decades, with some anti-climactic waterfall in the background. I've definitely done a few couplies. I think most people have. Couplies when on holiday, dicking around, or being drunk: fine. Couplies when snogging or staring into each others eyes rather than looking at the camera: NOT FINE. My blanket rule on the 'love' matter, btw, is to avoid it entirely. Say you're doing something fun with your boyfriend, sure - but no 'love' hashtags, no hearties and no heart-faced smilies. I'd rather post a belfie than a picture about how my love for my, er, lover.

There's also: 
The lelfie - your legs. Only appropriate when you're showcasing your pimp new shoes or playing/tagging the awesome @hotdogorlegs, not when you're looking tan/ thin on beach
The welfie - workout selfie. As loved by Millie Macintosh 
The drelfie - drunk selfie. I've never heard anyone use it and if I did I'd moan softly 
The delfie - my own invention. Features you and your dog
The 'helfie' - of your hair apparently. I think this one is codswallop. Have you ever seen anyone post a picture of just their ponytail?
The underboofie - OK, doesn't exist. Should do, though. I've seen loads of celebrity stomachs and underboob from their body surfing Insta shots

Seeing as the sky seems to be the limit for ridiculous derivations of 'selfie', I've decided to take matters into my own hands and see what I can get trending. Tempting as it is to go to all risqué with the muffie (you can guess what that is) or dickie, I've decided to keep it above board. There's Snapchat for that, after all. Instead, I have opted for the 'elbowie'. Rather than to bash David Bowie with an elephant, it means that I have decided to photograph my elbow, in key global locations. I'm going to Kenya, on Friday (humble brag.) Perhaps I will post my first elbowie from there. 

Byesie.

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Love Me A Neckerchief

February 7, 2014, 12:09 am
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I've long been a fan of the cheery neckerchief, whether it be in paisley print, or incarnated as the faux Hermes cousin (the real deal hasn't happened yet.) I could blame these - Pernille, Leandra and Adwoa - for my neck folly. but I think it's actually more likely attributed to my desire to tie up everything in a diddy little bow. Including myself.

Once you get past the feeling of a recreational dog-collar, the neckerchief becomes an intensely transformative staple. It jollies up even the most banal outfits with a jaunty nod to your sailor/pirate/50-year-old man out West. I favour it in a few colourways, too: lilac or red for summer and navy or white for winter. I know I'm sound like the coolest person on EARTH right now, so wait! It gets better! I'm about to go on holiday (not-remotely-humble-boast) and I'll be debuting the lilac for your Instagram pleasure. You lucky little ratbags, you.







I am wearing a Nasty Gal polkadot shirt, a navy GAP poloneck, an ASOS paisley bandana, ripped Topshop Jamie jeans, Kurt Geiger suede courts, a Saint Laurent Classic Duffle bag and jewellery from i + i, Crazy Pig, & Other Stories, Whistles and Verameat.
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Double Stripes AKA The Umpire Special

February 14, 2014, 9:30 am
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Six hours into my 24 hour return journey Nairobi -- London/LFW and I thought I'd distract myself from the sweaty airport situation with a catch-up blog post. Please ignore the fact that my hair is sleek as fuck in these photos - I literally scrape my wet hair back when on holiday, preferably secured with a paisley headscarf, as I am not unlike the lovechild of Monica Geller and Justin Timberlake, given my natural perm exacerbated by hot climes - and instead appreciate the millionth doublet to caress my form.

Double stripes AKA The Umpire Special happened by pure accident, like all great alchemy. I'm kidding, there's nothing new or particularly interesting in this, but I'm enjoying the smorgasbord of breton. I especially appreciate the ability to wear pool slides in their correct environment. I know it's 'all the rage' - as my mother would say - to wear them in freezing conditions, but I'm still not totally on board. That said, none of my family were on board with the pool slides, period. Regardless of the fact that they were worn within immediate proximity to the pool.

You can't win 'em all. More Kenya pictures coming soon.



I'm wearing a striped tank from Replay at LA boutique Skylark, some vintage Levi's cut-offs and a pair of Adidas Originals pool slides.
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Tourist Traps x Belted Macs

February 18, 2014, 1:38 pm
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Every single Saturday without fail I trot off down Portobello... instead of staying the hell inside. It's on my doorstep so you'd think I'd remember that the market is the epicentre of meandering. A veritable hub of dawdling, if you will. But no, I don't remember. Partly because I have the memory of a 90-year-old (did I tell you about the time when I ran myself a bath, had the bath, returned to my bedroom - and then went to the bathroom and ran myself a bath? That is not a riddle, that is RL).

So yuh, I forgot. I belted up in my patchwork workman jeans (which some people make look sexy, but which I make look functional) grabbed my faux fur muff - which also looks slightly like a merkin and off I went. The End.




Photographs by Berta Bernad

I'm wearing a Topshop coat, Minusey long-sleeved tee, All Saints jeans, Stuart Weitzman boots and Reformation clutch. Rings from Crazy Pig and Verameat, earrings by i + i.
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Sexpot Saks Potts

February 19, 2014, 3:15 pm
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All I want in the world - OK definitely not all, but my most long-standing, most-Googled, most yearned-like-the-wind-for wish list item - is a bright blue fur coat. (Apologies, if you are against fur - on a sidenote did anyone see Khloe Kardashian's gopping 'Fxck Yo Fur' coat? Anyway, I can promise that if I can't ensure that my fur is vintage, then it is at least ethically sourced.)

So when I bumped intoElle Denmark's Laura Lawaetz at the carnage that is LFW and noticed the sexpot jacket she was wearing, my eyes almost fell out of their sockets. Oh, the jealousy. Yes, her coat went swimmingly with my burgundy faux fur muff, BUT I WANT IT TO GO SWIMMINGLY WELL ON ME. Some Googling - and tip-offs - later and I had fallen into an irrevocable obsession with Danish brand Saks Potts. 


I have even saved this picture of the aquamarine one to my desktop just so I can scroll through and sigh with great longing with a long face like the horse next to her (I can't afford one, sadly.) God, life's just so hard sometimes, isn't it.*

*KIDDING! KIDDING! WHAT IS HAPPENING TO PUSSY RIOT IN SOCHI IS CLEARLY A LOT MORE IMPORTANT THAN ME NOT BEING ABLE TO BUY A KICKASS COAT. KAY?
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The Sartorial Tale Of A Mother And A Daughter.

February 23, 2014, 2:52 am
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A few weeks ago, I went on a family holiday to Kenya. The day before I left - and not a jot before, obviously - I started to think about what I would take on holiday. I mentally scanned my wardrobe, as you do and then thought I'd send a quick e-mail to my mother, to see if I needed any 'cold weather' clothes for safari. 

I received a detailed packing list, pronto. And I mean, detailed.

'You will need x 4 t-shirts, x 7 pairs of pants, x 1 long skirt, x 1 long-sleeved t-shirt, x 1 cardi, x 1 flip-flops....'


And on it went. If you are a regular reader of my blog, you will know that those aren't calling cards to my wardrobe. I don't even own a pair of flip flops. And a long skirt and a cardigan? It's like the woman never even met me. (Last time I wore a long skirt, I also wore Kickers. And left my hair to dry naturally frizzy, before straightening just the ends. The whole thing was extraordinary, I can't lie, but at the time I felt very au naturel and boho. Or some shit like that.) I packed - my usual rotation of denim cut-offs, halter-neck camisoles, backless dresses - anything with about 50% of the material quota of my mother's yearned-for suitcase from me - and then began to muse upon the wardrobe differences between my mother and I.

When I was young, my mother would make me lay out my clothes two weeks in advance. I couldn't wear anything in the interim, in case it needed washing, so I used to get a bit panicky about this. When I was sent to boarding school aged 11, I remember thinking that the only thing that was good about my dramatic dismissal from the familial home (lol) was the 14 new pairs of M&S pants I was allowed to pick out. Not to get too JKsob I feel really achy in my throat, when I write that - remembering the sheer misery I felt at being sent away (it's a wonder they ever sent me, but don't worry I'd forgotten my mum's name about 3 weeks in, I was so deliriously happy eating chocolate and cheese all the time and no-one telling me off) but that says a lot about my attitude to clothes. In hindsight, I suspect it was bait.


One of my mother's favourite phrases is to say - with wonder rather than disgust, obviously - 'I just do not know how you are my daughter'. My mother doesn't wear make-up; she believes in quality over frippery (as anyone rightfully should) and adheres to a strict uniform of long floral skirt + sleeveless polo shirt (she customises the buttons with minuture pieces of fruit) in the summer and wide-leg jeans and cashmere jumpers in the winter. She looks divine. She looks like my mum. But her disciplined wardrobe aesthetic is not, shall we say, something I have inherited.

When I was a child, wardrobes were divided by season. Every summer - I was the youngest - we'd go into the spare room and my mother would heave the suitcases down from the top cupboard and I'd try on all the summer hand-me-downs to see what fitted. God what joyous times those were. Piles of clothes I'd never seen before! Who cared if they'd been worn before? Out the new summer clothes would come and away the winter ones would go. At the end of the summer, we'd flip reverse the whole procedure. The only sad thing about this seasonal-closetry by calendar was that sometimes I'd want to hold on to a floral t-shirt. Or perhaps a pretty dress. But it'd be whisked back into the suitcase I couldn't reach. 'You can't wear a pink dress in the winter!' my mother would laugh, as I gripped on for dear life. Indeed, one of the greatest joys of getting older was being able to wear what I wanted with true autonomy (university, basically).

And I've never looked back. I wear white dresses and denim cut-offs with tights, in winter. I wear black ankle boots in summer. I do not have a summer and winter wardrobe - except the most obvious things which are merely pushed further 'back' in the wardrobe depending on the weather - and the thought of having to separate my clothing as such would make me panic irrevocably. Similarly, I own few 'useful' things. I am terrible at downtime dressing. I own jeans, sure, but I certainly don't have any long skirts suitable for safari. I own a long white skirt - a diaphonous drop-hem number which is floaty and white and about as far from the putty-coloured cotton skirt my mother was hoping for as physically possible.

I cannot categorise my wardrobe in the same way that I cannot categorise my style. Loosely, of course, I conform. But I cannot promise not to wear broderie anglaise in zero degree weather. And I cannot promise that when packing, I will end up with anything remotely useful in my suitcase at all. Sorry, Mum. But at least those hand-me-down suitcases left me with really, really great clothing jackpot memories. 
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Same Same But Different

February 23, 2014, 11:55 pm
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Double leopard is nothing new for me, as anyone who follows my sartorial shit regularly, will know. (That said, I am still thrilled to see the louche Mr Tom Form amping it up further for AW14.) Forgive me a little, though, as I'd landed from Kenya at 6am and through the post-holiday tears, I had no energy to venture out of my comfort zone for day 2 of LFW. 

This Shakuhachi pony skin skirt was seriously, seriously itchy, on a sidenote. Every time a diddy little hair floated off the iceberg and into my undercrackers I actually felt like I had crabs. So there's a fun fact for you to search for, beyond the clothes.

Ph. by Stockholm Streetstyle 

I'm wearing a By Malene Birger coat, an Equipment shirt, a Reformation dress as a top, a Vanessa Mooney choker, Shakuhachi ponyskin skirt, Topshop platform boots and a Saint Laurent Classic Duffle 6 bag.
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T.I.A.

February 25, 2014, 12:01 am
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I skipped (if almost 24 hours of travelling each way can be called 'skipping') off to Kenya for 6 days with my family before London Fashion Week, which was the most incredible interlude amidst the sheer MANIA of helping launch The Debrief. 

Here are a bunch of my photos from Watamu beach and from safari, in Tsavo East. Having never been to Africa proper - sorry, I don't really count Morocco - it was a pretty fucking dreamy few days. Herewith, a motley selection of snapshots.


















I'm wearing a Juliet Dunn dress, Vanessa Mooney choker and Jeffrey Campbell sandals |  H&M bikini and ASOS bandana | Reformation backless dress and Liberty print Vans.

All photographs by myself and Sam Sykes.
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Richie! Can you hear me?

February 26, 2014, 2:24 am
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I'm not going to say I thought I was above the whole wearing-poolslides-when-not-on-holiday thing but... OK, I kind of did. Spot the mega hypocrite, yet again. Because when I saw these sci-fi dental chicismos at Zara, I was hooked. Mainly because unlike most pool slides, they have a super-slim silhouette which makes them about a gazillion times more flattering than Furkenstocks, etc. 

But most crucially because they are so damn Virgin Galactic. Honestly, once Richie sees me wear these he will be offering me a ticket so I can sit next to Justin (if he's not incarcerated), Leo and Tay Tay. For defsies!


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Should We All Just Admit We're D**kheads?

February 27, 2014, 11:55 pm
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There’s been a slew of articles about Simon Cowell recently. The famously camp bachelor with little Cuban heels and a glittery pair of moobs named Squiddly and Diddly – oops sorry, those are his tiny dogs – has had a baby. But he’s also found time to back a musical about The X Factor called I Can’t Sing! Exclamation is his, not mine, FYI. Neat title aside, it’s impressively self-deprecating for a man who I’d assumed took himself terrible seriously. Nigel Harman (fitty from Eastenders way back), who will be playing Cowell, told The Sunday Times Culture that he sought some advice from the big man himself, on how to play his role. Cowell’s reply? “Just go out there, every day and act like a d*ck.”

My love for Cowell was instant, upon reading this. How fricking awesome is it that in one off-the-cuff, throwaway comment, he admits not only that he is a ‘d*ck’, but that he gives not one squiddly or diddly about it. In admitting so, he’s almost negated any prickiness on his part. The moment that you ‘own’ your behaviour – “yeah, I’m a f-ing tw*t!”– you are 9/10ths of the way to wiping the slate clean. You can’t criticise someone nearly so much when they’ve already admitted their own shortcomings. 


Kudos to Cowell. We are in the midst of an all-seeing all-knowing exhaustive quest to present ourselves as perfect, via social media; but it would surely help all of us just to ‘fess up and be honest about when we’ve been d*ckheads. To illustrate, I was really thrown this morning by my neighbour who I hardly know, from a flat two floors down, telling me rather gracelessly that she was glad she was moving out “because then I won’t have to see you everyday”. A lot to deal with at 8.30am when I was dragging my half-asleep ass out the door, that was. If we’re being really pedantic – of course we are! – we could point out that given our largely differing routines, she didn’t see me everyday. She had a rich lady routine that seemed to entail perpetual pedicures (unless she just loved wearing flip-flops in January.) Pedantry aside, we could also look at the fact that in common culture, if you prefer not to see someone it’s best not to actually tell them that. Love thy neighbour, etc. But lastly and most painfully, I could perhaps acknowledge that her honesty is liberating. 

I mean, did I like her? I don’t know her (case in point, lady), so I can’t really say. She’d lived there just 6 months and as I said, differing routines. But she always struck me as abrasive and entitled and used to buzz my doorbell to ask me questions through the intercom, instead of deigning to come and knock upon my door. It’s now clear that she didn’t like me. So I guess neither of us was batshit crazy about one another; it just wasn’t verbalised. So far, so normal then… until this morning. Her unexpected razor cut of honesty was hard to swallow – she went inside before I could clarify ‘why’, which was the most annoying bit; one can only assume I have a really really bad Bitchy Resting Face? – but I’m also wondering if it was quite refreshing.

Do I wish Princess Pedicure had held her tongue and just moved out? Sure. It doesn’t behove someone to be a cow apropos of nothing. And, of course, it’s cowardly to throw a comment like that out when you’re about to move out. At least do it when you’re still living there, love, so we can both deal with the subsequently lols levels of awkwardness. That’d have had some point to it, at least. But I have to admire her honesty. I guess in saying what she said, my now erstwhile nightmare neighbour was cutting our the fakery that exists on a daily basis, even between best friends (hate your friend's top? Tell her you love it! etc.) She missed a trick, though. If only she’d got one step further, like Simon Cowell. Then we could have both faced each other on the stairs and cheerfully told one another that today, we were both going to be dickheads. Perhaps once you’ve got that disclaimer out there – you can say pretty much anything, to anybody.
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Marshmallow Girl

March 3, 2014, 12:03 am
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There's this unnerving new term whereby 'chubby' (read, Size 8) K-Pop girls are now called marshmallow girls. It sort of makes me lol, albeit uneasily, particularly because it should really just refer to someone wearing anything white, or fluffy. Well whaddya know, I'm doing both. Just call me Marsha.

I'm kind of obsessed with my berry Reformation clutch. Sometimes I use it as a very furry laptop case, which is awkward as the laptop doesn't really fit inside. Cue tug o' war. Sometimes I use it just to keep my lap warm. And sometimes I wear it as a full-blown merkin just to freak my boyfriend out. Joke! I've never done that. Yet. Sorry also for the shoddy picture quality. I nicked them from other sources and have employed all my limited brainpower, but can't seem to get the res any ritzier. 




Ph. from @pinsykes Instagram | Grazia UK | W Magazine | Grazia India | Who What Wear 

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The Pieces I Want To Make Love To From AW14

March 5, 2014, 1:00 am
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I wept with kitsch-induced joy over Jeremy Scott's McDonalds-drunk Moschino debut and I'd do anything to eat some branded spaghetti from Karl's custom-built supermarche; but what of the looks that I fell for hook line and sinker? Away from the show theatrics (although often, with Rihanna present, there was still some) these were my favourite looks from the AW14 fashion month carousel. There were, of course, a thousand other things I could have added. But needs must, in the pursuit of brevity.

The Even Luxier Leopard

Tom Ford | Balmain AW14 - Style.com

Balmain is always one of my favourite collections, which is interesting as it's certainly not my chosen mode of dress. Although I think that's more down to availability; I'd love to wear more leather and studs but I aint got the bank account of Kate Moss or RHW now, have I? One of my absolute favourite accessories from the AW14 collections was Balmain's four-strand leather choker and along with their belted leather, I loved their use of leopard print: in peplum jackets, pencil skirts and stiff mini skirts. So goddamn luxurious. Tom Ford's equally luxe collection made me really happy this season, too. His double red croc was amazing and this double leopard print (obviously) made me happy, particularly when worn with fishnets.

The Top Trumps

Barbara Bui | Rag & Bone AW14 - Style.com

Not to sound like too much of a knob (I will anyway) but these are two designers who have really upped their game. Bui's collection was so brilliant this season - the all-white, lashings of leather, ribbed leggings and studded trousers - with the party pieces, of course, being the python print tops. Over at Rag & Bone I've eschewed the bespoke bombers (as cute as they were) because I'm obsessed with lace-up detailing at the moment (which Dior also did brilliantly and unexpectedly this season) - sadly these trousers sold out before I could get my hands on them. Incidentally, Sasha Luss and Elisabeth Erm - wearing my AW14 top trumps - were my favourite models of the season. Coinkydinky. 

The New Game Changers


H&M AW14

H&M Paris was as good as anything Ms Marant would produce, but with - presumably - one tenth of the price-tag. I thought the entire collection was killer but my favourite pieces were the orange polo neck (I long for an orange polo neck) and the backless mint green camisole dress, worn by Izabel Goulert.

The Reduxed Poloneck


Diesel Black Gold | Balenciaga AW14 - Style.com

Obsessed with polo necks. Obsessed. Think I own 11, at last count (12, if I get my hands on an orange one soon.) I really loved Diesel Black Gold this season, for it's rocky Balmain-esque wearability. The pleated white mini skirt is excellent, but it's the ribbed white polo neck and Wang's fur-ribbed polo neck for Balenciaga (as well as the grey 'evening' knit worn with a tuxedo by Gisele) which had my yearning for the new styles of the humble funnel neck.

Tango Tonal Blocking


Preen by Thornton Bregazzi | Stella McCartney AW14 - Style.com

Tango is my favourite colour. I thought Preen's entire collection was brilliant - ditto Stella and those star-strewn brogues and excellent suit age - but it's the orange fur jacket and orange/burgundy tie-dyed Stella v-neck that I'm yearning for with the fibres of ma being.

The High Street Honeys Of Outerwear

Topshop Unique | Whistles AW14 - Style.com

The emergence of an undeniably strong high street presence at the catwalk collection is a whole different post in itself, but for now let me just intro two coats from Topshop Unique and Whistles' excellent shows that I never thought I'd want: a metallic green puff jacket and a grey fur coat tinged with a hefty dose of lilac. I've almost bought so many different faux fur/fur coats this season: I've been weighing up Shrimps, Saks Potts, Maison Scotch. But I've always pussied out, due to the price tag. Jane Shepherdson might make me want to finally haemorrhage that cash, come August though. Side note: also really want some burgundy OTK boots. They were at H&M too and they're now on the wish list.

God I Want A Suit


Dior | Blumarine AW14 - Style.com

Saint Laurent - mired in not wholly unwarranted controversy this season - failed to produce any Cara-worthy tuxes, much to my dismay, but I adore this burgundy Dior (tired pun). It was never a favourite when Galliano was there but totally is with Simmons. I also really loved Blumarine. There were a butt ton of looks I could have posted here; but this narrow-cut black suit is the bomb, so we will go with that.
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That's IT? Why It Might Be Time To Break Away From The 'It' Item...

March 11, 2014, 1:34 am
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I've written an article for the April issue of Company about the lure of the 'it' item - the 'it' bag (first one ever was Prada's nylon knapsack circa 1996, FYI) the 'it' foods (hello bloody kale and quinoa) the 'it' girls (forever Chung).

Is the 'it' culture homogenous and prescriptive? Perhaps it's time to break out of cruise control and start fostering some induhpendence.... You can read more in the 'Freelance Work' tab on the homepage. Or buy it. Yeah.

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Ways To Wear Double Leopard

March 12, 2014, 12:56 am
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I recently styled a shoot for The Debrief (shot by Baker and Evans and starring supercool Lydia Graham of Models 1) on ways to wear double leopard.

As anyone can tell, it's a cause close to my heart. Double leopard is not OTT! Seriously! C'mon! Oh, ok ok. Look, you may disagree, but here are a few of the pictures to make test your mettle.




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