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Beyonce And I Have Something In Common! We're Both On Team 'Ban Bossy'.

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I can't deny that I'm bossy. Actually, I can. I have before. And I will again. Because it's a really horrible weird insult which brings out a weird defence mechanism in anyone when accused. Because sometimes I'm actually not bossy at all. Sometimes I'm all laissez-faire and let people decide where we are going and what we are doing. For example, going for dinner with friends. You wanna meet late? Fine! You wanna go to some scuzzy pub near you and an hour from me? That's OK!

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See? I'm totally EZ. Sometimes. Occasionally. But in general, as an in-built personality trait, I gats quite a bit of the bossy in me. With things that I feel strongly about or things that I think I should have control over, then I am bossy. I'm bossy about what I want to do with my career, my aesthetics, when I think that something is definitely right. So, sure. I also can't deny that I boss the pants off my boyfriend... but in my defence the man is so relaxed and prone to 14-hour naps that if I didn't, he'd be perma horizontal. 

Anyway, the negative connotations surrounding the word 'bossy' - the criticisms that surround a woman who wants to be in control of her life and the way she leads it - have always irked me. I know that sometimes it's fucking annoying to have someone telling you what to do. But if people have strong ideas, rally against that - don't try and eradicate strength in women completely. Listen, my whole family are bossy too, so it's not like I've never been the recipient of that. 

All of these things considered, I completly agree with Sheryl Sandberg's 'Ban Bossy' campaign. Not only does it hold girls back - with their fear of being tarnished with the bossy brush - but it's an affliction that's almost uniquely reserved to damn girls. Micheline Maynard is bats when she says that 'bossy' is a gender neutral term. A feisty little boy in the playground will be called 'rambunctious'. Or 'confident'. Or 'rowdy'. But calling him 'bossy'? That would be like calling him 'prissy'. It just wouldn't happen. An assertive little girl in the playground, however, will be referred to as a 'madam', or maybe a 'princess' - definitely she would be 'bossy'. 

Sure, it's not the most vital campaign in the world, when it comes to female issues. FGM, to name one, is infinitely more important. That's of course without doubt. But when it comes to women not fulfilling their potential (because they're too embarrassed) it's pretty important. It's another example of Everyday Sexism and it's one that makes girls feel like they're being irritating and IN YO' FACE to state what they want. There aren't many things I agree with poor old Tulisa on, but being a Female Boss? Yeah huh. Plus, Sandberg's got Beyonce and Victoria Beckham on board - two women I never thought of as being 'bossy' (lol, there I go thinking I 'know' a celebrity again) and am thrilled that they wish to call themselves that.

Bossy people can be difficult and demanding. I have enough self-awareness to know that. But of all the insults out there, isn't 'bossy' the lamest? How much do you love Beyonce when she says, 'I'm not bossy. I'm the boss.' If only I could utter those words and not look like a total prick. So now it's time. I'm gonna OWN WHO I AM. Ready?

I am NOT Beyonce. 

But I AM bossy. 


Whereby I Become A Parody Of My Own Mind, If Not At Least My Own Style

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Let me guess what you're thinking. Is it..... This woman has become a parody of her own predictability! She has taken what is one micro-trend - the double - and run with it like she has but not one iota of imagination left in her sorry, cake-bloated body, for ANYTHING ELSE!

Oh gad hypercritic-of-my-own-mind, you'd be but right. I seem to be addicted to ferreting out new 'doubles'. I don't know why. I'm sorry. I think it's because I have always been loyal to the core. I've never dumped somebody; I'm like a labrador - not just in relationships but when it comes to trends it would seem, too.

Anyway, doublet #487 concerns two shirts. Firstly, a small peasant-y H&M blouse, which immediately after shooting this then shrunk to the size of a babies' muslin in a washing machine that my boyfriend darkly determines to be evil and regularly threatens to 'replace' - to which I say 'oh, but do go ahead!' knowing that when push comes to shove, the idea of parting with £400 for a new Bosch washing machine-cum-dryer over, say, attending Oktoberfest - or purchasing a ticket to some other marathon beer cruise, is as slim as the chances of me wearing a plain, crew-neck t-shirt. I.E. NEVER GUNNA HAPPEN.

The second shirt in today's double act is an oversized tartan shirt which actually happens to be said boyfriend's. On the 'stealing from the boyz' subject, instead of finding it 'cute and sexy' that I steal his shirts, the light-of-my-life, the ying-to-my-yang (ugh) is actually just incredibly fucked off with me for much of the time, as he never gets to wear his own tartan shirt. 

Suuuure, I may only actually wear it for one day a week, but the cycle goes like this: wear shirt on Monday; spill coffee down it by Monday afternoon; wash it by, say, Wednesday; dry it by approximately Friday - and then the whole cycle starts again. I'll also point out that I am wearing my 'independent woman' coat. Why have I given it this moniker? Well, it may not look like it (it doesn't, right? You expect an 'independent woman coat' to be an enormous faux fur coat with butlers hanging off it) but trust me when I say that the way it flamboyantly flies through the breeze makes me feel like I gats the actual balls of Bey. Or at least Jay-Z's, clutched firmly in her powerful paws.

And on that note - off I sweep.



I'm wearing an H&M belted coat, an H&M blouse, a vintage tartan shirt, H&M trousers [jeeze, this isn't even a sponsored post] and Kurt Geiger courts. Lipstick by Giorgio Armani.

A Debrief Import: OAP Friendly With A Soupçon Of Sass

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As I explained when I started at The Debrief as Fashion Editor, from time to time I will be sharing shoots that I have done there. This is a shoot I did in the spirit of specific scenario of having dinner with gran then drinks with your man - with no time to change in between. Niche, right? And I don't even have a living granny. Sad face. But the concept remains the same; something OAP friendly that also has a few secret sexifiers in there.


You can't move for suede over the knee boots right now. But they're not just for sultry smarts. Haul them into granny-friendly evening wear by pairing with a fuzzy wuzzy knit (grannies love soft things) and a tartan skirt. Your gran will love the knit because it's retro and makes you look like a shiny-faced schoolgirl, whilst your foxy new fella - if he's got even the slightest inkling about fashion - will appreciate the supercool 90s vibes and most importantly, the sex-me-later boots. And isn't that what's important?




Sauciness aside, patent leather is having a moment - which is where you divide things. On the top half, you keep things safe-orientated with an aran jumper that will remind your gran about the time you went to Ireland and it pissed with rain but you sat by the fire and ate boiled toffees. (Wait - was that a Werthers Original advert?) On the bottom half, you're keeping things a bit sexier. And those humbug striped mesh sandals from Christopher Kane? Well they're just the stuff of dreams. PS: always include a few all-age neutralisers like a velvet scrunch and quilted handbag.


Photographs by Baker & Evans

An 'X' On A Text, Sure; But What About On A Work E-Mail?

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How much e-affection should you dispense? And the debate rumbles on like the techno cum life story it has been for the past 15 years. Textually speaking, in the years since I got my first ever Nokia 3395 and promptly covered it's ugly matte blue skin in a high-shine faux Burberry check cover, I've subtly changed my stance.


Age 13: Left a single 'x' on all texts.
Age 15: Left as many as physically possible. Some of my friends still do this. And I still feel touched when I receive 'Xxxxxxx' at the end of a perfectly quotidian text when I've done nothing remotely special to warrant said litany.
Age 18: Got really alt, here. Wouldn't leave any kisses at all. Not one. For at least 2 years. Instead, my 'thing' was to address everyone really winningly. in lieu of a kiss. Sure, you wouldn't get an 'x' but you could always count on a 'darling' or a 'beautiful' in there. Faintly creepy, now I think about it.
Age 21-present: Back to the single 'x' on all correspondence. Always. Except two for a lover. Always.

But texts are not the issue. Texts are safe ground (until you text your dad instead of your boyfriend. Lol. The best is when you text your home phone by accident and that very sedated woman robotically reads out your text with all the wrong inflections.) It's e-mails which are a hotbed of anxiety. Where there are plenty of industries where you would never even think to leave an 'x' at the end of an e-mail; where calling your colleague 'sweetie' would mortify you so much you'd want to hide in the loo for 47 hours - there is also the fashion industry, which is more luvvie than a thesp in a codpiece. It thrives on sugar over substance, exorbitant price tags and more Xs than you have hot dinners.
It's actually, I would warrant, rude to end an e-mail when you work in fashion, sans x. It's akin to saying, "Take your sheer perspex armpit-less body stocking and shove it up the ass of your newly received press release." In short, it would be unexpected and largely, considered rude. I do still get discomfited when the e-mail goes 'sooooo fashion' it ends up reading like this: "Hi babe! How are you gorgeous? Want to see you soon! Check out this amazing new brand that I think you are gonna LOVE." I have actually received that identical e-mail. AND I HAD NEVER MET THE GIRL. But I can't deny that I'm an 'x' counter. Even on work e-mails.

A single 'x' and I'm happy. It's the norm, sure, but it's classy. It's restrained but kind, with just a soupçon of affection in there. If I get two, though, I will be thrilled. Like I won this year's Prom Queen. Three from someone who never gives them, and I get a little sceptical - I know someone's trying to butter me up. But none? I wonder what I've done wrong. Seriously. If I get an e-mail from my boss without a kiss, I'm 99% sure I'm about to be fired.

The thing is, we're a demonstrative generation. We're all cuddles and kisses and 'love you love you' (but not all at once. We're not living through Mean Girls or anything.) We thrive on affection and approbation. My parents don't bandy around 'love you' like it's a regular greeting and in fact they end every conversation with 'God bless' rather than 'love you'. It's normal to me. They certainly, certainly wouldn't be interested in becoming arbiters of the 'x' game. Because there's nothing behind an 'x'. It's not an indication of how much someone likes you; it's just the accepted norm in the fashion industry, for better or for worse. Corporate correspondence between two colleagues who share a great deal of affection for one another but would never dream of ending their missives with an 'x', is surely proof that the virtual kiss means nothing. 

Fretting about whether or not to leave an 'x' on a work e-mail is testament to the daily tribulations that technology has brought into our lives. It's hazardous, right? I think the best thing is to remain subtle and sanguine. I will leave a single kiss, sure, but you can hold the babes and sweeties. (Fine for friends via text.) Regardless of whether I am thrilled or furious (I too have withheld my electronic affection when I feel the recipient is not deserving) I'm not going to freak out every time an e-mail ends without one. I'm going to start stamp collecting, instead.

Can I Even Call This A Fight Against Normcore? Or Am I Just Finding My Own Normal.

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Normcore. It's the Hot New Media Thing that's already been exhausted to death. Probably before you've even heard or understood it. Seriously, how much have we grown to love a trend with a buzzword at it's sticky center? We've already learnt that Bear Grylls is normcore's poster boy (it's very 'male') - oh, but that we've actually got the wrong end of the stick entirely. It's not about  Larry David - wealthy people who could afford, say, a seriously ritzy wardrobe but instead wear cheap 90s-esque togs non-ironically - LA-based 'normcore' creator Christopher Glazer argues with gusto, it's about the adaptability and empathy that comes from belonging. (Although that would insinuate that not standing out and ergo, assimilating, is the ideal - which seems to me a similar message.) There's also been some really brilliant thought pieces in riposte, about the culture of the norm in relation to class.

All that has happened in the two weeks since I shot these pictures. I thought I'd turn up in my zippy little pool slides and chuck in my two cents worth of anarchy to this brand new 'normcore' thing. But then time passed - don't cry for me or anything but I've been working my trapped-nerve arse off - and when the time came to writing this, at 1.30am on a now-Friday-morning, the whole 'normcore' thing had already been through a million different washes, like a teenager at a Boots make-up counter and suddenly we aren't really sure what any of it means (although we've been told that contrary to popular opinion, it's not really about fashion, which I'm going to largely ignore, for the sake of writing a blog post about my fucking outfit, okay?)

The one certainty is that a total can of worms conversation has been opened up about what 'being normal' means. It's tedious to break down an aesthetic into what's 'normal' and what's 'outré' - as if Jeremy Scott and Anna Della Russo were sipping Sherley Temples in one corner of the room whilst throwing Birkenstocks and Breton tops at Phoebe Philo and Calvin Klein - but there's no doubt that we all have a concept of what's de rigeur daywear and what's, say, a little more off piste. Call it the Inditex army, but there's a definite sense of fashion 'uniform.'

There is, of course, nothing wrong in not giving a shit about what you wear and emulating everyone else. I wish I could, often. My boyfriend regularly returns home at 1am to me wading blindly around my bedroom, which is now a shit pit of my own creation, with pom pons and leopard print hanging from the rafters. What this whole 'normcore' thing tossed up, like vomit in the after-party toilet bowl, is staying true to my own version of normal. For better or for worse, the standard uniform thing has never been one that I wear well. On one hand, you could applaud my individuality (not saying you have to, chill hombre); but on the other, you could look at the facts - or shall we say stats. The New Balances and the distressed denim is re-pinned and Instagram hearted as many time as it is, because it's the popular choice. Which is why it can be hard to resist the lure of my trust Topshop Jamie jeans and Chelsea boots, over the tank top and tartan skirt with heels that look like actual strawberries (pics coming soon) that make me feel like the truest version of 'me'. In a sartorial sense, at least.

As Leandra Medine recently discussed, you can opt for a all-singing and all-dancing style (all in favour say 'aye') and be dedicated to your cause (all in favour of actually not being able to leave the house in a crew-neck t-shirt, a pair of jeans and some Converse, say 'aye' again) but still feel yourself wavering. But c'mon, stay strong. I'm not saying force yourself to wear a boob-less onesie made of peacock features (if you're a jeans and a tee girl then just own it) but you have to allow yourself to embrace the thing that may not court approval, or subscribe to a popular trend. This outfit - at last! I get there! - is my normal. The jumper is hot as hell, lending credence to the bare shins and pool slide situation. And culottes are my favourite thing ever. If they're yours too, you're in luck; the shops are now full of them. Oh shit - does that mean I'm.... 





What Do You Wear On A Date - That Might Not Actually Be A Date?

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This shoot I styled for The Debrief deals with a common, ever tricksy scenario. We've all been on one. The date-you-aren't-sure-is-actually-a-date. You've texted like 40 times in the last two days and you feel like you know him intimately. But you still haven't actually even snogged. And now you're hanging out this Saturday, but... is it a hang out, or a hook up?

It's tough. And it's so easy to make the wrong call. 'I bet he's not into me so I will just wear my boyfriend jeans and Converse', you think. Then he takes you to some totally suave upside down, back-to-front, reverse lit bar where the cocktails are served in ancient pieces of lava and you feel like a total nerd for getting it wrong. Or, on the flip side, you dress up like the proverbial dog's dinner, all bodycon boobs and trembly stilettos. Then he takes you to a gig and spends all his time flirting with the girl he just met, whilst you miserably fail to stop the drunk dickhead next to you spilling his tinny all over your boobs. 

Let me save you from that pain and misery. Strike it from all angles, folks. Look kinda smart, kinda relaxed, kinda cool, kinda sexy. It's not easy alchemy; but I've done it for you.

Shot by Baker & Evans for The Debrief.
Model Lydia Graham at Models 1.

'Those Shorts Make You Look Like A Whore' - Welcome To The World Of Outfit Trolling

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A version of this article originally appeared on The Debrief.

Last weekend, I posted a picture of my midsection (riveting, I know) wearing a striped shirt and a polkadot neckerchief. Not to everyone's taste but not hugely polarising, in the grand sartorial scheme of things, I thought. Not like last week's piece about 'finding my own normal' - where I actually try and combine a faux fur turtleneck with culottes and pool slides. Anyway, with this #oots scenario, the sad but true fact was that I just wanted an excuse to write a witty caption about Alexander Wang. Shortly after posting the picture, I checked back in (full disclosure, it's normally multiple) and one of the comments underneath, 'hässlich', grabbed my attention - mainly because it was written in German. Two seconds of Google Translate later I learnt that it meant 'ugly'. All I shall tell you about anonymous troll is that her profile picture was Rihanna. (Course it was a her. Would a 'him' really give a shirt about girls style? let's hope not.)



I wasn't terribly fazed. I'd have been more upset if it was a full-length look that i'd spent most of the night before cultivating from my floordrobe the night before. It's to be expected, to an extent. I am a nascent fashion blogger after all, with a modest Instagram following and therefore more prone to image abuse than others. But it did make me think about a depressing new echelon to social media abuse: outfit trolling. With fashion-sharing at an all time high - at the time of publishing, Instagram has had 25million #ootd (outfit of the day) posted - and with Twitter trolling receiving so much airtime, perhaps we shouldn't be surprised. After all, my experience is hardly a one-off. 

Aussie blogger and photographer, Zanita Whittington recently posted a picture of herself on Instagram in a snakeskin print tracksuit from Stella McCartney's SS13 collection (sidenote: if anyone would like to buy me the shorts from that collection, then that would be marvellous.) 'I've always felt that if you're dividing opinions on your personal style, you're doing a good job!' she wrote cheerfully underneath. Turns out that was in response to a recent bout of outfit trolling. 'I posted the picture on Instagram after I received a criticism under the picture on my blog,' she told me. 'A reader had written, "Too baggy with little more to offer than the print."' Was she upset? 'Not at all! It was pretty constructive rather than offensive' she replied, reminding me that I should probably grow up and interpret criticism in a similar manner. It's a similar story on my absolute favourite blog, Leandra Medine's Man Repeller.'I fall victim to outfit trolling every single time I put anything on any social media outlet,' she tells me. Just 4 days ago she posted a picture of herself in a Thakoon cropped shirt and Sally La Pointe tailored shorts on Instagram. 'She looks like a whore,' someone called @yousefams wrote underneath, before hundreds of Repellees slammed him for slut-shaming.

Leandra herself responded without fanfare - 'inappropriate, unecessary, incredible rude' - and she's pretty sanguine about the fact that if you're going to share your style in a public forum, you're going to get the haterz. 'Sometimes you get it right and sometimes you get it wrong,' Leandra admits. 'There was no way that outfit would receive a glowing review. The shorts are kind of ill-fitting and the top is a corporate blue. It was like the Obamacare equivalent of an Instagram selfie. But I stand by it, because I created it!'

But why the inevitability? Whilst expressing opinions over someone's style is nothing new - we do it with our friends all the time and as one girl told me via Twitter 'I'd diss bloggers outfits with my friends; but not online, i'm not that unsubtle!' - isn't it a bit weird that people feel the right to write bitchy comments on people's outfits that they'd never dream of saying out loud? 'People are entitled to their opinions and I've chosen to put my outfits out there for them to see and critique,' says blogger Ella Catliff of La Petite Anglaise. 'But I do find it weird that people dissect your outfit on Instagram exactly the same way as they might when they look at a magazine with a friend.' Lucy Williams of the sun-strewn blog Fashion Me Now (below) puts this down to there being 'a case of detachment - people assume that anyone posting pictures of themselves must be confident, even arrogant - when that often isn't the case. It can bring out the schoolyard bitchiness in us all'.

So outfit trolling can be bothersome, sure, but I don't know blogger who has succumbed to the pressure and stopped sharing. 'It's part of the game', Debrief Contributor and blogger Camille Charriere of Camille Over The Rainbow - who has almost 200K followers on Instagram - says frankly. 'I tend to only get trolled by people who don't follow me, when a picture makes it onto the Popular page. My actual followers are pretty nice.''I just think 'fuck the haters,' says Dutch blogger Charlotte Groenveld of The Fashion Guitar. 'Pardon my French, but we all have different opinions about what we would or wouldn't personally wear.' So, shrug it off any carry on, then? Well, yes - says Lucy. If you want to air your dirty laundry (or rather, clean clothes) you have to grow the fuck up, essentially and nurture a a sturdy backbone (something which I struggle with - and ergo avoid most of the time by injecting 'lols' into everything - but am working on.) 'Be prepared for both positive and negative feedback. And I don't delete the negative. I think it's healthy for readers to see others' comments; both good and bad. The only time I'd delete anything is if it was threatening or explicit - as that's always unacceptable.'

What's pretty weird - given that commenting on someone's body is much more of a taboo than commenting on someone's unusually flared blouson, for example - is that body-trolling that appears to be even more prolific than outfit-shaming. 'I'm surprised I haven't received any outfit trolling as I can put together some odd bits,' said Olivia Purvis of What Olivia Did (below) when I caught up with her. 'I have, however, had comments about my corned beef legs (impressive, right?) and the size of my thighs. It really knocked me, as it's a part of me I'm really self conscious about. I've just learnt now not to plant seeds. Never say how much you hate a body part of yourself - as it just gives them reason to knock you. Sad but true.' Note to self, then.

The super svelte sisters Jess and Stef Dadon behind Aussie blogging doublet How Two Live(below) regularly receive comments underneath their Instagram posts like 'scary skinny' - although sweetly, other readers soon rally to defend them against 'body bashing.' The sisters themselves? They never engage. The Fashion Guitar's Charlotte was incredulous when people accused her of dieting, after she had just given birth to her second child: 'And it was by people who knew nothing about pregnancy, breast feeding, or ME!' Lucy finds body-shaming equally enraging. 'I had a comment about a year ago under a post from holiday claiming I look 'emaciated' with 'cooked' skin. Not only had I made a point of talking about the strength of the Mexican sun and how upset I was that I'd got sun burnt, but I know I'm healthy and I love my food - someone labelling me as malnourished bothered me.'

So whilst most of my fellow bloggers insist that they won't engage with outfit trolling, they'll answer anyone who tries to criticise their body. 'I don't care about outfit trolling, but trolls who call me anorexic I will always set straight,' Camille tells The Debrief. Style may be subjective, but your appearance cannot be changed in the same way that you can whip off a sweater. 'Attacking someone's body is by definition very personal; I genuinely don't understand why people think it's OK to do it,' agrees Ella. 
But perhaps the best response comes via Ivania Carpio of the blog Love Aesthetics who employs a hefty dose of PMA against any such trollers: 'Sometimes negative comments, from certain people can be taken as a compliment.' In other words... Rise. Above. 
 
Ph. from my own Instagram @pinsykes, Zanita Whittingdon, Leandra Medine, Camille Charriere, Lucy Williams, Olivia Purvis and How Two Live.

Pop It Like It's Hot, Pop It Like It's Hot

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Pop socks! 'Ello 'ello. They've come to a foot near me (read: mine) like a five-strong boy band. Just call my feet 5ive. My favourites are these Topshop burgundy ones, as they seem to go with everything. No, don't tell me they don't go with my shoes. You're wrong. And I won't listen anyway. Everything goes with these decade old LK Bennetts. I used to find it weird that my dad gave me LK Bennett gift cards for Christmas, when I was about 20 years too young and five shades into something far dodgier, but given that I still have 2 excellent pairs in rotation (these ones, plus some yellow strappy sandals which you do up with ribbons. Ribbons!) I can only thank him for the forethought. 

Of course, this new obsession brings me one step further to becoming my mother - a trajectory which has been worryingly swift, if you must know. I mispronounce words, adopt terrible accents daily and have started to succumb to her sensible rule of shopping, "if it fits, buy 6!" Not 6. But you know, 2. That said, there is one rule to obey, in my eyes that stops the transformation completing. NO NUDE. Avoid flesh-coloured socks like I avoid eggs. There is no way you can ever jazz that shit up. All other colours are fair game, so go at it like Snoop Dogg. 






I am wearing a Vanessa Mooney choker, a Sparkle & Fade knit, a vintage kiltTopshop pop socks and vintage LK Bennett courts.

Is The Fitness Industry The New Fashion?

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So many ways that title could have gone. But let's start with this. Yesterday morning I read about a new sporting activity in The New York Times called piloxing. My interest was instantly piqued; not because I wanted to start to ‘pilox’ (which sounds like a cross between a pillage, a pillow fight and a detox – which sounds like a completely riveting activity, to be honest) but because I was in the thrall of yet another hilarious hybrid sport.

Yogalates, Boxercise, Broga (seriously? Is men doing yoga worthy of it’s own moniker?) – the ridiculous names continue, with ‘piloxing’ referring to a combination of pilates, boxing and (jazz influenced) dancing. I’d pay good money to see a boxer whip out a twinkly pair of jazz hands instead of a right hook, but hey that’s just me. None of these sports are any that I’ve tried myself, mind. I did thoroughly enjoy zumba, but that’s not a hybrid sport and therefore irrelevant to this post goddamit. 



I’m not a great exerciser by nature; namely because exercising in London is SO EXPENSIVE. And I can’t run because I have trapped nerves in my bum. True story. I used to love running but I had to stop as my arse hurt so much. I thought it just hurt when I ran because I had a big bottom (proportionately speaking, it is considerably larger than the rest of my vital stats) and it therefore had to operate independently from my body, like a horsebox attached to the main vehicle – but I was then told that it was actually bad for my back and sadly had to stop.

So I write this from a position of blubbery non-smuggery (who can be smug about a body that’s not been boxercising?) but nonetheless, confusion. Because I fear that sport has become the new fashion industry. Creating hybrid jargon that is temptingly easy to ridicule. I have great issue with many modern fashion terms, which make me want to smother myself to death with my own bosoms. For example, ‘coatigan’, 'jeggings' and ‘skort’. Sometimes, in the interest of sartorial accuracy and in my job as a fashion journalist, I am forced to use such words and sit there with tears silently trammeling down my face in shame.

I exaggerate, but only slightly. Because we are living in a world where word invention is a global hobby. No sooner had ‘selfie’ wung it’s sticky little narcissistic way into the OED than everyone was gassing about ‘twosies’ (self-explanatory). The hybrid word reduces perfectly legitimate ‘stuffs’ to lols. For example, an activity that combines boxing, pilates and jazz sounds perfectly revolutionary. If I were to indulge, then I can imagine that it could hone me into the human equivalent of a kale juice in no time. It is not the science that I resent. It is the need to name everything. It’s unique to the English language, too; in many countries, any one of our zippy little hybrid words would just be translated by description.

I love the zeitgeist. I live for the zeitgeist! I’ll write about it, read about it and if my bottom allows, even try it out. But please, everyone, let’s give the hybrids a rest. Comprunderstand?

Because Who Said Personal Style Was Immutable?

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I don’t really have a leg to stand on. As much as I hate my own personal style being defined (when asked, I normally trill rather grossly ‘I like having fun with fashion!’) I do it to others. As a journalist I frequently summarise personal style, for the sake of the reader, like a one-woman style strait jacket. ‘Sporty with an abstract edge!’ I might parrot gaily, or, ‘laid back SoCal with a luxe boho underscore!’ God I’m a pretentious twat. But anyway, there we go, I am a hypocrite. Because every time someone calls my style ‘cute’ (damn you,beloved strawberry shoes), or ‘tartan’ the only print in my wardrobe (I do love a tarty party but it’s just one of my fads of the now) I think, hmmmm – but what if they saw what I was wearing today?

For better or for worse, I like to experiment. Sometimes it works and sometimes it really doesn’t. Just last week I paired a button-down Oxford shirt with high-waisted cropped Girlfriend jeans and black Chelsea ankle boots. I thought I looked very Clemence Poesy meets Caroline de Maigret, but I actually looked like I had outgrown my flares; slash taken on the form of a Home Counties mum in her slightly skewiff pedal pushers (everyone knows the ‘clamdigger’ should hit the middle calf tightly, rather than flare out.) Anyway, it’s quite put me off my Girlfriend jeans, which in fact looked great with heels. I’ve shat on my own Girlfriend denim parade and I only have myself to blame.

The outfit that you see here, if I was putting on my journalist hat, would be described as sporty, with a nineties twist (extra points to the person that spots the retro boxfresh Reebok Classics and ribbed poloneck tank top.) Certainly not how anyone would summarise my general style. But let’s be honest, isn’t it really difficult to stick to a set style? In general, there are very few things in this world that I pertain that I would never wear – but who’s to say that I will even stick to those? For instance, I’ve always seen pastel pink skinny jeans as my bête noire. But if I woke up one day with tawny thighs the length and breadth of Alessandra Ambrosio’s then you’d probably see me looking Coachella ready in a tassled crop and pink skinny jeans before the day was out.

I guess it comes down to: don’t box(fresh) me in. ‘Cus I’ll only let you down.*












*QT factor will return next week.

Little Bo Peep? She Got Urban

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When the very awesome French fancies behind Claudie Pierlot's new Flirt collection sent me a sweet-as-a-sugar-mouse smocky dress to style up ahead of the collection's launch today, I was plunged into some rather intense deja-vu. When I was at university, I lived in babydoll dresses, like lesser versions of this one - though they had the added bonus of having particularly flattering (irony) empire lines. I would wear them with tights and puffa jackets and in larger sizes as I thought they made me look slimmer. 

DEAR GOD. Now you know when people ask, with so much trust in the very basis of your profession, 'have you always been interested in fashion?', that someone like me can reply with 'interest, yes. Aptitude? Barely.' Anyway, point is that I've outgrown the girly dressy phase - though I'm still obsessed with anything pared back, grungy (The Reformation is my guilty habit) and backless. 

Which is where this Claudie Pierlot number comes into it's own. The backless detail hooked me, but I knew that for me, it would be just a little too girly to be worn on it's own. But... with some epic Alice + Olivia leather skinnies and not-so-boxfresh Reebok Classics, they had the necessary edge. Add the silk scarf that I stole from my dad and worn ever since and you've got a pleasant riff on a bucolic dress. Nice one Claudie. Just the way the lamb likes it.











I'm wearing a Claudie Pierlot dress, Alice + Olivia leather trousers, Reebok Classics, vintage scarf, H&M trench coat and Topshop leopard handbag.

The Rules of Engagement

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Emoticons, hashtags and an avalanche of apps: the social media landscape is a confusing terrain. And whilst gender stereotypes may be outdated, but there’s no denying that when it comes to social media, the do’s and don’ts on how to keep your cool vary hugely from men to women. Her dispensing floaty hearts all over Twitter? Not so bad. Him slamdunking a pink bevy of them? Very bad. Website, Social Media Today recently questioned, "Are women from Pinterest and men from LinkedIn?" As my rules below will testify, quite possibly. That said, when it comes to social media, one rule remains a fundamental for both sexes: sharing is not caring. 


Rules for men

- Do marvel at the googly-eyed turd emoji and miniature jugs of beer, but do not use them when wooing. Ever. Especially when dumped. There is no bigger turn off than a man who ends a dolorous tweet with a crying face and a thumbs down. Oh and never turn up in a t-shirt covered in them.

- Do be aware of typos. Showing the hot girl in the office a funny YouTube skit will massively backfire if you type RedTube into your nav bar, instead.

- Do watch your Whatsapp slang. “Fancy sum drinks 2nite?” may be cringey coming from a teenage girl, but it’s downright unedifying from a grown man.

- Do seek titillation via Tinder and Grinder. But don’t let the horny 13-year-old in you resurface. S/he is not a KFC bargain bucket.

- Do tweet your sporting heroes, but don’t try and start a brouhaha with [insert your hated footballer] and his 4 million fans, after an 8 hour pub session. There will be tears and they will be yours.

- Do avoid being the Spotify douche who becomes a playlist princess at every Christmas party.

- Don’t update your Facebook status about how good the party is, when you’re still at the party. No-one will believe you.

- Don’t lie on LinkedIn. When you’re head-hunted by a Spanish-speaking scuba diving school, you’ll feel just like you did when you were busted for tweaking your GCSEs during UCAS.

- Don’t make sexy, sultry videos on Vine for potential paramours. Google Drake Hands guy and you’ll see why.

- Don’t channel Rihanna (applicable to both sexes, tbh) and post Instagram pictures of yourself smoking a spliff. People stopped being impressed by your ganja skillz aged 18.

- Don't join Pinterest unless you are of the creative or visual orient. Pinning pictures of cupcakes and sunsets during your lunch break is not the work of a great man.

- Don’t use pet names on Instagram – no one wants to read about "cocktails with your baby", or "country walks with your boo". You know who you are and it’s unseemly. Yes, it's unfair that women can get away with calling absolutely everyone "my babe" and "my girl" but life sucks a bit like that sometimes.



Rules for women

- Do take advantage of social media’s casual flirtations. Dawn and Chris O’Porter met on Twitter, after all. But do be aware that Tinder is a raging horn fest where 98% of it's applicants are looking for IRL boning rather than magical, long country rambles.

- Do self-edit. Your Instagram followers need 10 near identical pictures in a row, like they need an #aftersex selfie. If in doubt, slap an Instagram filter on it: Hudson or Walden are always delicious.

- Do be pithy and tell Twitter about the time you called your boss ‘Daddy'. Why do you think that Twitter is now the stomping ground for pretty much every awesome female comic out there?

- Do follow hilarious Insta-animals such as @harlowandsage and @tunameltsmyheart (trust us) on Instagram, but remember to ration the kute kittie pics.

- Do watch your hashtags. The sccharine #blessed and #love will endear you to just about no-one. Yes, VS Angels, I am talking to you.

- Do go wild on occasion with a selfie, but….

- Don’t ever post a belfie, unless it happens to be your most profitable marketing tool. See: Kim Kardash’s bodacious swimsuit-clad derriere. That said, belfies from men are are actually pretty funny, on account of it's being near impossible to sexualise them.

- Don’t do an Amanda Bynes and have your epic meltdown via cyberspace. Save the tears for your 3D pals, not the largely unknown bunch of people that you are ‘friends’ with on Facebook. This quite obviously goes to men, too, but, you know, given that we are already touted as as 'emotional women' by society you should wish to avoid that even more so.

- Don’t get touchscreen happy when inebriated. The gut-wrenching realisation that drunk you has left sober you with a litany of creepy new pals and misspelt, Pinot-soaked Whatsapps is far more nauseating than your hangover will ever be.

- Don’t share ‘breaking news’ on Twitter before you have comprehended it, like TOWIE’s Jess Wright, who compassionately to Twitter to wish Kim Jong II a ‘Rest in peace’.

- Don't get angry when you find out that your boyfriend is also following Rosie Huntington-Whiteley. Who's going to turn down that open door invite?

- Don’t comment “HUNKY” under his mate’s Facebook picture of them at Oktoberfest, either. You will remove his cojones and his dignity in one fell swoop.

Pelvic Corsetry

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IMHO, there really is nothing sexier than lace-up detailing. The recent Dior show sent me into paroxysms over its unexpected lower back and side detailing and I've long been a fan of lace-up blouses. I am also, switching over to my other passion, obsessed with suede mini skirts. Isabel Marant's Margaret skirt has always been at the forefront of my mind - which is why I was thrilled to find this lace-up suede mini skirt via ASOS Marketplace.

People are really wary of ASOS Marketplace - and people are DUMB. Think of it like an affordable (no designer items here), fashion-forward/vintage-fuelled eBay with much less guff to sift through. I find it particularly great for suede skirts (I'm also really into A-Lines with poppas all the way down, which The Reformation do really well too, if you're not into vintage.) I was very happy that my new skirt could join my other favourite piece of the moment, my silk pyjama blouse. Which has the best name a silk pyjama shirt ever could: Gavin. Obviously it looks like a Gavin. Gavin came from possibly one of the coolest new e-stores on the block, the LA-based Shop Super Street. Check them out. Also want to get my paws on this; oh and these, too. Obviously.







I'm wearing a Zara trench coat, an Equipment Gavin blouse, a vintage suede skirt, Stuart Weitzman Highland boots, RayBan sunglasses and jewellery from Merci in Paris, Davina Combe, Boodles, Dogeared and i + i Jewellery. 

Is A Man Really A Mansumer?

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'I've had enough!' my boyfriend exclaimed last weekend, whilst reading an article in The Sunday Times about the rise of the 'mansumer' (male consumer, fyi.) 'Who seriously uses that word? It's total bollocks.' Well, quite. For whilst I understand the credence of 'mansuming' as a social trend - female consumers have statistically spent much more than men, so it's an interesting development - isn't the word slightly... odious?

'It is a made-up, nonsense word' affirms journalist/active mansumer Andy Jones when I spoke to him. 'Why do male consumers need their own separate word? I even heard about a 'mandigan' last week' he says, sorrowfully. THAT'S A MALE CARDIGAN, FFS. This isn't the first time men we've awarded men with an icky nickname because they've chosen to, I don't know, buy a new shirt.  There's broga - the energetic form of of a man 'who would previously opt for tennis', practising yoga. This manages to offend both men and women, rather winningly, as it suggests a woman's teeny limbs are not suitable for high-octane yoga, whilst making a man sound like a total dick every time he clears his throat and announces 'I am off to BROGA, my merry men.'


This need to engender every word is patronising (and I would assume, emasculating) and I lie the blame entirely at the feet of the media. Every tiny change warrants a fresh lexical contraction. The need to award a social trend with a nonsensical moniker - like that of male shoppers (moppers? I mean, we might as well go the whole hog) - has become as cliched as the omnipresent accompanying picture of a chiselled David Gandy. 'The media is full of such odd words' says Andy in exasperation. 'No-one would ever use them in every day life, yet they always appear in print. Kim Kardashian 'pours herself' into a dress, a football manager has a 'transfer war chest.' I like 'sexting' [oi oi] because those two words fit together so seamlessly, but the others just feel like ugly surgery.'

We shouldn't be surprised. Ever since the 'metrosexual' neologism was coined in the early noughties to describe a heterosexual, metropolitan man - with a saronged David Beckham as the poster boy - things were only going to continue this way. I actually described my boyfriend as 'metrosexual' the other day - because he's well kempt and likes shopping and enjoys my own mash-up style - and then slightly hated myself for doing so.

I personally think it's great that the stigma of a man going shopping has largely been removed. The only concern I would have if my boyfriend began to spend as much money on clothes as I do, would be that he may want to divide the shared closet 50/50 (we're operating with an 80/20, right now.) That a man can pluck his eyebrows if he wants; do yoga; spend all day fingering fabrics in Liberty is great. Whatever dings his dong. But do we need to invent a new contraction for every single thing a man does, as if we were eagerly encouraging an incompetent oaf? Because, really - that's no more conducive to sexual equality than it is to comment on the tits of a female footballer. 

Cinch Up, Get Smart

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I cannot believe that for many years I was terrified of anything 'waisted'. Rock on, Dita Von Teese, I thought - but good god, never was a defined waist for me. But for the last few months (like many other girls, let's not pretend this is original) I've been cinching anything and everything - and my new favourite thing to cinch is an unbuttoned shirt.

The silk shirt in question is by Marina London. Unlike Emma Watson, I do not find the ageing process to be a beautiful thing; but what is joyous about getting old and gradually more leathery of skin is that the talent of your friends really comes to the fore. Marina Guergova, doyenne of silken produce (her diamonds, if you will) is one such talent. If it wasn't for her, I'd never have known about the life expectancy of silkworms (um, not great) and I'd certainly had never the opportunity to combine the unexpected pieces that is a chic-as-shit silk shirt with some gingham and fringed suede, for her I Wear MARINA series.




Photographs by Marina Guergova.


What Does Your Filter Say About You?

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Remember when the view was just the view? It wasn't, say, slightly washed out like a pair of Victorian stockings? Or, say, as bright as a new drop at Opening Ceremony? I know, what a retrograde thought. Your choice of filter has become so indicative of both your visual aesthetics and personal outlook that filters have become almost political. If I'm being really 'digital takeover' about the whole thing then I would say that who you are and your choice of filter are intrinsically linked. (Except if you're a total filter whore like I am and jump from one t'other depending on subject.) So without further ado... which filter are YOU?*

Brannan
There is nothing you hate more than a smiley selfie, or a PMA hashtag, than a picture of a goddamn cupcake. You are the anti-pretty of Instagram. You've joined it because you 'get' social media, you 'get' the zeitgeist - but you'll be damned if you're going to look perky. You'll Instagram weird cigarette packets from Asia; maybe some squashed roadkill and you'll overlay it with this dank and brown filter because you are basically really fucking uneasy about how easily you conformed to what is basically a MASSIVELY TERRIFYING MEDIA CONSPIRACY. *Exhales*. 



Kelvin 
To say you're contrary is putting it mildly. You'll only wear something if no-one else likes it. You'll eat the thing that no-one else wants to eat. You took a job based on the fact that everyone thought it was the worst job they had ever heard of. Which actually, you've realised, is kind of true. You trade off being obnoxious (you call it 'being original') and generally that's OK, your friends love you anyway. Except when you upload a ton of photos from Friday's night's BBQ onto Instagram and everyone, including the dog, looks like they have a severe case of jaundice.

Hudson
You're the leader of the pack, vroom vroom. Kidding. You're about as original as a pool slide. I say this without judgement, for Hudson's popularity is a no brainer. It's Instagram's purifying whitewash - like Amaro but less harsh. Everyone looks cuter, slash cooler in Hudson's baby blue tones. Just ask, like, erryone that went to Coachella. Ella. Ella. Ella. (You're totally going in 2015.)



Toaster
The sun is always rising, the festival is always pumping and the cider's always flowing in your world. Toaster's the perfect filter to make the 7am after-party look arty rather rank. Plus, fringed suede, muddy hair and liquorice rollies look so much better when they've been churned through Toaster like a knob of Lurpak. It's speaks of seventies free-spiritidness and urban flower girls. You thought about toning it down to Valencia, with it's lighter warm tones. Then you realised YOLO.

Lo-Fi
Always one-step behind, little cherub. Way back when in 2012, everyone popped their Insta-cherry with Lo-Fi. Then they wised up, learnt the tricks of the trade and realised that Lo-Fi's aggressively saturated filter made everything look as rich as Henry VIII's banquet. You've always been about two years behind 'the trendy', though, which is why you joined Instagram in 2014 and didn't realise that everyone had moved onto the less offensive X Pro II for times when they needed a colour pop. You'll start watching House of Cards in 2016. You'll understand what Spotify is in 2021. And wait - what are Bitcoins? Are they like Pogs?



No Filter
Hi, smug twat. I'm kidding, but there's an oddity in the way people wear #nofilter like a badge of honour. For those IRL (not just IG) photographers who find the fact that Instagram has turned everyone into a 'photographer' physically painful - this is a small rebellion. Not only are your photographs good enough not to need 48 different filters, but you also see 'no filter' as something which marks you out as the elite. That said, nobody will know if you fiddle with the exposure a little...

*For the sake of brevity, I have taken 6 Instagram filters. Because there are 20 filters in total and I do have a life... maybe.

Sun's Out, Guns Out

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There are two ways to approach trans-seasonal dressing and I embrace them both equally. Firstly, you can go bare leg (there's only about 3 months of the entire year where I won't attempt bare legs) in a mini skirt, offsetting with a top heavy knit of suitably engulfing hulk. Secondly, you can keep those pasty gams wrapped up good and expose a weedy little bicep or two courtesy of a tank top. 

I love tank tops. Love them. I'm not really a t-shirt girl - they're a big deal for me, akin to fuck-me-heels for other people - but tank tops I can drop with aplomb. It's something about the simple, clean nineties shape - high on the neck, cut low on the pits - which draws me in. They don't sag in weird places like that 'artfully draped' slub t-shirt you're constantly trying to re-jig and they're as succinct in shape as they are flattering. Go sans bra too and you can enjoy something that I like to call 'swing boob'. It's like a graduation of side boob; think side boob doing the samba. So with that all in mind, thank god for my favourite British knitwear label, Blake LDN - whose Imperial tank is pretty much the sexiest tank out there. Sexy? Tank? I know, right. GRL done good.


Button Play

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Who'd a thunk that when Alex Wang sent Behati et al down the runway in boxers and undone pyjama shirts (effect: minimal; effort: 1,000 man hours) that the trend would spread like a cat on fire. No, I don't mean boxers as shorts - although that is totally coming, fyi; I've lined up my boxers all ready and I recently debuted such a look on The Debrief - but the micro-trend that is shirts flip reversed. 

Forget buttoning the bottom four buttons and leaving the neck open; I'm really into buttoning only the top few (you want to cover your bra, practically speaking) and showing a bit of midriff. I know right, it's all about taking life to *total extra extremes* *irony*. It feels kind of unexpectedly chic as a silhouette, though - which means that I haven't stopped doing it with my entire raft of shirts (I own three shirts to every t-shirt. I know, I'm weird.) When you know, you know.




I'm wearing an H&M Velvet BlazerSandro Python Print Shirt, H&M Faux Leather Trousers, Sandro Metal Plated Derby Shoe [more affordable version, here] and Saint Laurent Classic Duffle 6.

I Talk To Charlet Duboc About Ukraine's 'Ballsy' Fashion Week

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A version of this article first appeared on TheDebrief.co.uk


I haven't shared a huge amount of the articles I have been writing on The Debrief. It's nice to keep the platforms separate. But after I interviewed VICE's Fashion Week Internationale host and producer Charlet Duboc about her new documentary on Ukraine Fashion Week, filmed over the the 6-day event in Kiev for The DB, I couldn't not.

The documentary is one of the most powerful and moving things I have ever seen in a long time. For anyone who writes off fashion as frivolous, or trivial, you need to be reminded of the intellect and resilience that goes into a collection, whether it's times of strife or success. Without getting all Devil Wears Prada about it, clothes are not just clothes. They riff off the political, the social and the economic climates - as much as they embrace a material which may or may not be en vogue. In the documentary, one young designer, Frolov, even stops designing his catwalk collection, with just days to go until his catwalk show, so he can contribute to the national effort. 

I really wanted to share Charlet's words here. Oh and if you watch anything this week - make it the documentary. 

There was disbelief and rather a lot of controversy when the organisers of Ukraine Fashion Week decided the bi-annual event should go ahead - despite the conflict ravaging the country. 'We can’t leave Ukrainians without any opportunity to be proud of their talented compatriots,' Iryna Danylevska told us at the time. 

But what was the six-day event actually like? VICE's brilliant host/producer, Charlet Duboc, went to Kiev to film an incredible documentary about it as part of VICE's ongoing Fashion Week Internationale series - which focuses on 'global fashion weeks beyond London Paris and Milan' in a way that is anything but frivolous or trivial. Her findings? Ukraine put on one 'hell of a ballsy' fashion week.

So why did you think it was important to tell the story of Ukraine Fashion Week? 
I felt compelled to go and see what on earth this ballsy fashion week thought it was doing trying to pull off a fancy event off the back of [Kiev's central square and heart of the riots] Maidan! I felt like I might be able to experience something that would capture a moment in contemporary European socio-political history, by taking a look at the cultural fallout.... plus I was dying to see Maidan for myself after watching the news reports and hearing about it from our news crew who had been there since November. 

How did the fashion designers feel about putting on catwalk shows amidst such devastation? 
There were mixed feelings. The general atmosphere was one of reverence and resilience - and even a bit of shock - people seemed to be living in the moment and taking each day at a time. All the designers who showed at the fashion week had their justifications; from the fact that they wanted to show that life continues as normal, to the simple fact of trying to keep business. Other designers were driven by a desire to channel all their emotions about the national climate in a creative way on the catwalk or into their collections - anger, grief, resilience. But I also spoke to a couple of designers outside of the fashion week who bemoaned the fashion week, saying they were boycotting it as it was distasteful to put on a high end event after everything that had happened.

In the film, you stumble across row upon row of Molotov cocktails on the pavement. Were you surprised that no efforts had gone into hiding the weapons, given that fashion week was about to commence?
I was surprised, of course, because I'd never seen anything like that before, but also amazed. It was bizarre, like I'd stumbled on a gruesome art installation - not something we're accustomed to seeing in modern day Europe so I had to reconcile the fact that my brain was telling me 'this is not real' because I just couldnt relate to it. Equally, I was just sort of impressed at how prepared, organised and serious these people were.

So not that much effort had gone into cleaning up the city, despite the press arriving?
No. Most people do not want the city cleaned up - Maidan has become a sort of living breathing memorial to what's happened. People don’t want the world or their government to forget. It will remain like that until the elections - as a strong symbol of solidarity, a reminder that the people won’t stand for corruption or their rights violated. There’s actually something darkly beautiful about the way central Kiev looks at the moment. The people have made it how it is, and it was born out of a struggle for life and for justice.

What surprised you the most, during your time in Kiev?
The show with no music. When it started I genuinely thought there was a technical hitch - it was a bit awkward. Then everyone realised it was a minute of silence for the victims and it was incredibly moving, I was a bit overwhelmed. Also one other thing, which didn’t surprise me as I'd been to Ukraine before, but it still an elephant in the room - there are basically no black people in Ukraine. I saw no ethnic minorities at all (apart from the scene with Valentine Bo). That was weird, to have such little diversity. That would maybe change eventually if Ukraine ever joined the EU.

We also had a slight face-palm moment when the model - depsite having a very effective bloody bullet hole painted on to her perfectly made-up face - said she knew nothing about the referendum happening the day after the show....
Haha, the story is quite heavy and serious so we had to throw in a couple of light moments! I think it also shows that there’s a lot of hype in the media about Ukraine. The way it is portrayed to us in the West, makes you think everyone in Ukraine goes to bed in riot gear and is glued to breaking news. But in fact, life is going on as normal for many people. You know, not everyone is going to be the most clued-up intellectual with their finger on the pulse. Some more privileged people are able to just turn a blind eye, or they are young and they don't care. When I was a young teen I certainly didn’t give a shit about the news - I was much more interested in make up.

And what about the fashion, itself? Any amazing new designers we need to keep our eye on? 
Ukrainian designers are lauded for being amazing - a lot of the really good ones are on Not Just a Label - apparently their collections sell out the fastest! I'm not sure that riot gear or Ukranian national colours are gonna be the NBT, but designer [featured in the documentary] Frolov, is definitely one to watch.  

So the designers weren't loathe to show their collections, despite everything that was going on?
Definitely not, Everyone is so proud of their fashion week - even exclusive Chanel face Evelina Samsonchyk [the first European model to be signed by Chanel on a permanent basis, seen on the catwalk, below] got special dispensation from Karl himself to take time off the Chanel tour to walk in the fashion week of her homeland  - that’s how much people want to rep their country. I think that Ukrainians on the whole are pretty patriotic, which comes from being a newish nation still trying to push its cultural identity. Ukrainians are also keen in the first instance to distinguish themselves from Russian fashion.

Graffiti And Vikings

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That's Copenhagen in a nutshell, for me, by the way: tons and tons of (really good) graffiti in an otherwise spotless city and tons and tons of (really good looking) men to whom my boyfriend gave a code name of 'Vikings' - so that we could spot them willy nilly during our 3 day stay and yell 'viking!' across the road to each other, joyfully. I know. Poor København. 

I absolutely adored Copenhagen. In the interest of time, I will just offer a few recommendations. Food wise: Grød, in Nørrebro for porridge (not just any porridge though - with dulce de leche, apple and almonds HULLAH), PS Bar & Grill in Pilestræde for steak, giant disco balls, great music and great posturing, the incredible Torvehallerne food market (with 80 different vendors, it's the best I've ever been to) Ruby's on Nybrogade for cocktails (and the fact that you feel like you're in a really swish apartment). Sights: Copenhagen HarbourSuperkilen and Tivoli Gardens for great (contrasting) views (we didn't do any galleries, I am afraid.) Shopping: everyone goes wild for Acne Archive (which is always worth a visit when in Scandinavia although nothing took my fancy this time), my first stop tends to be Weekday, which we sadly don't have over in the UK. I also really liked Moss Copenhagen, Holly Golightly, Wood Wood (check out their archive store, too), Companys and Ilums for copper homeware.

I already have a list of things I would like to do next time around, should I get the chance (Cafe Granola and Fiskebaren, for starters - but sadly a lot is shut on a Sunday - as well as the 'lawless'Christiania.) Also a shout out to the beautiful 12hrs guide blog - which were a wonderful starting point for our CPH travails. 

Here are a few photographs of the trip. TTFN!













I'm wearing a Vintage Suede Coat, Topshop Denim Jacket, Isabel Marant Etoile Blouse, All Saints Trousers, H&M Plimsolls Ray-Ban Clubmasters and a Saint Laurent Classic Duffle // an Acne Jacket, Nike T-Shirt,All Saints Trousersand Balenciaga Heels.

Pictures taken on Superkilen, the harbour and around Nørrebro and Vesterbro. 
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