missing someone

"God this is agony", she whispered as she twisted yarns of wool around each ring adorned finger. The other hand was scratching absentmindedly at her knee, slowly but surely creating, as she was very aware, a red mark that was starting to become irritated. She hated it when he left for the shops down the road never mind a holiday for two weeks.
That year had been strained. When he'd bought her, her Christmas gift, (an Antlers album), she'd waited until he left to listen to it. This is because she knew that at least it would be something to remind her of him.
"You're seriously losing it. If you can't stand to be away from him for 2 weeks when you've been together for this long I'm losing my touch as your, well I like to think of myself as your carer. Sort of guardian angel-" said Lucy will a small pull at the corners of her mouth as she realised how much she liked this idea, "-I like to think part of my duty is to keep you sane and okay when people who's normal job it is, i.e the boyfriend, go away for a bit. He's not died you do realise?" She asked as a look of worry and torment flashed across the irises of her eyes. It was fast but visible enough to Gillian.
"Yes. I am aware that my boyfriend hasn't died. I just feel very alone when I don't have someone around all of the time. He lives here so when there's not someone around I miss the background noise."
This was an understatement. Gillian's heart ached for the moments at three in the morning when she would be awoken by the tap being turned on. Lifting her heavy head of golden hair from the pillow she would hear a muffled grunt and realise that he'd gotten up for a drink. No it wasn't a burglar.
She used to pray in the middle of the night, if she was awake and he wasn't, that the floor would swallow her, only on her side of the bed. Just so she knew what it was like for her to leave him for a while. She used to revel in the sickly feeling she got when imagining this thought. She wondered if she'd feel empowered by her willingness for this to happen. However on contemplation she realised this was unrealistic. She would never let the ground swallow her. She'd refuse to leave.
"What on earth is that tacky ornament?" Asked Lucy breaking her train of thought. Her left hand was poised in a pointing position and a grimace, a look of somebody who'd shockingly been slapped, was draped over her features.
"Oh that. Hamish bought it for me. We both hated it equally," she paused to giggle, covering her grin with her hand, a habit she'd had since childhood, with an unfounded sense of shame about the size of her teeth.
"We both thought though that it was so ugly it was kind of attractive. I mean come on! Look at it, an owl has never looked less wise and at peace. I'm pretty sure-yeah-it's got a wonky set of eyes hasn't it? I guess we felt sorry for it. Like it might have been the bullied owl at school or something".

After Lucy had left she crawled up on the couch and started counting the petals on the flower of the wallpaper. This was also a habit she'd never let go of since the age of around four when she used to do it in bed at her grandparent's house. If she was feeling lonely or isolated she would count petals. Somehow she felt she might catch out the designer. She knew there was little in her life that gave her that specific kind of pleasure, the secret introspective kind, of catching someone out and realising, only very rarely this happened of course, that there was an odd flower with more or less petals than the others. Somehow it made her feel more human. As though everybody makes mistakes. Somebody might decide that, that flower was painted wrong somehow and needed an extra, or one less, petal than the rest. But it wasn't fixed or recognised. It blended in well enough. And it was still allowed to be part of the whole design. When Hamish was away she felt like the odd flower. And sometimes it took her hours to find it but until she did it was a waste going to bed or attempting sleep. Otherwise she didn't feel she was allowed to be on the wallpaper. That the paper was peeling from water damage and slipping away to reveal the cracks in the plaster and ruining the carpet that cost oh so much money. She felt worn.

Novel stuff

There was a plethora of people to engage my thoughts and idiosyncracies seemed to be calcifying on the walls with every glance i took. With every scan of the room i swear i saw thought bubbles bursting and wetting my nose as i walked around.
There was an extremely tall, gangly man who's sheer height forced him to slump forward slightly, his eyes looking upwards in a way that, on anybody else, would have looked menacing. However teamed with his perculiar drooping lip it gave him a look of dopiness. Due to his uniform and the instruments in his hands, i assumed he was the janitor. His hair was grey and wiry like the top of cheap dish washing sponges. His eyes were deep into his face and resembled shells with strips and dots of various colour, enclosed in a rough frame of crows feet and dry skin.
"It's not what it used to be", he'd say slowly with a delayed shake of the head as he mopped and shuffled along, dragging a trail of soap suds behind him. He looked weary and, for some reason, seemed the sanest one in there to me. His hands had a kind look to them, as though they were waiting to cradle a baby.

i hate

missing someone so much you can feel it in your stomach and your chest

teen angel

Screams and streams,
Of harsh blunt purity,
Leeches of the night,
Spite me and curses of pursed
Cracked lips,
Screeching for well-being
Lunches of tobacco stained
Hunches,
Brunches of terrific profound conversation
Flares and
Perishes.
We are all one,
All tendrels of one new,
Hip,
Crop.
Dance with me stars!
We are born again,
Dying beautifully every time.
Need the beat breaking hearts,
The teeming and dancing of youth,
Perish
Perish
Perish
Stagnant beauty.
Oh! Stagnant beauty

The King's speech

I watched this film for the first time on Tuesday. I did what I always make the foolish mistake of doing and plan to see a film I know is extremely promising and I know I will thoroughly enjoy at the cinema and then forget.
My best friend has it on dvd so admittedley the cinematography that I fell head over heels in love with wasn't done justice, even with a flat screen LCD, however it was satisfying to finally watch it.
Let's start with the clothes. The events are true but obviously decorated and perhaps enhanced for cinematic purposes and the result is a heartbreaking and heartwarming tale of relationships, trust, self-confidence and speech impediments.
I was already bound to love the film as it has Geoffrey Rush and Helena Bonham Carter as lead roles and it's set in the 1930's, (which is arguably my favourite decade in fashion terms). The sweeping fabrics, lustrous embroidery and, who could forget, THE HATS.
Helena's wardrobe was what should be expected of a woman of her stature. Always covered and clean cut but with the uptmost grace and poise. A lot of powder blue and beige and pastels reflecting the decadence and perhaps sweetness in her character was beautifully executed and i was very impressed with how, not only the clothes worked just by being so beautifully created, but also, how they reflected each character.
Bertie's character, (the more personal name for the king), was dressed in very dapper and stiff suits and ties only ever in plain colour: black, grey, white, sometimes brown, reflecting his own demons about his insignificance and how inadequate he felt. You may think I'm reading a little too deeply into the connotations of fabric and cotton stitches, folds, pleats and decoration but this is why I love cinema. Everything has a connotation. Much like a novel it seems that every little aspect of the film, or indeed the book, has a subtle reference to a character trait or idiosyncracy we're supposed to either fall in love with or dismiss. Wallis Simpson for example was much more risque in her wardrobe choices and this was an obvious decision. Wallace, with her sultry glances and flirtatious manner in her few scenes, are enforced by the naked back that's encased in a more glamorous choice of burning sultry shades such as aubergine at the cocktail party. She was renowned for being quite the woman with men falling at her feet and under her thumbs so needless to say she needed a wardrobe to match her sexual nonchalance.
The cinematography was also beautiful shot deliberately with strange angles and beautiful use of colour. In the actual room where they work on Bertie's voice, (played by, sorry I failed to mention, Colin Firth, and wonderfully so), the room in which Lionel, (Geoffrey Rush), makes 'the magic happen' was filled with turquoises and warm ambers which seemed to create such a warm feel despite the room being half empty and lacking in wallpaper.
Over all, needless to say after that rich tapestry of compliments, I thoroughly enjoyed the film and feel any film buff would, or even somebody who just loves a good story and loves some escapism into a world of wealth and decadence.

So, as all us budding fashion geeks know, Chanel is the epitome of class, glamour and elegance. For years the hardworking people at Coco’s infamous brand have churned out collection after collection of stunning garments that have graced the most burgois and beautiful of people from Paris to New York in chic and classic clothing.

However this season Karl fancied a change. An image springs to mind of him sitting in his leather empire frowning behind his dark sunglasses twisted and untwisting the handle of a 2.55 wondering what his next collection should say. Tough sex. That’s what I, personally, took from the collection as i was desperate to join in and certainly was seduced by the way in which the classic ruffle was put next to grungy folds flecks of leather and padded black. The collection is for a different kind of woman. Looking at the shaped and chic of the past collections one wonders why the change? Is a new woman on the horizon? Are we finally letting go of the stereotype we can’t help but shed that the idea of beauty is donned in a long lake of hair and a petite dress made of flowers, ruffles and all things nice?

I've always had the same impression from Chanel. I've fallen in love with collection after collection but always felt my boyish crop and grungy side wouldn't take well when wearing the beautiful slopes of decadent fabric and the cutesy side to the innocence of the looks. However this has changed my mind. Even if i had the money,(which, alas, i do not), to buy Chanel i felt i would have to combine in with tougher elements making the garments more me but this collection is powerful, gritty and snarls at the aristocratic undertones of previous collections. Stare in awe as your idea of Karl's frilly, fancy ladies is transformed into something with a double dose of sex appeal.

Who better to pioneer this new vamped up biker chic than Freja?

Did i mention i can't wait for winter again?

So

I haven't done this for a really long time. Especially for someone who has misplaced teenage fantasies of one day actually achieving what i want to do and becoming a fashion journalist. I should probably learn to capitalise my 'I''s in the middle of sentences before i even begin to think this is plausible. College. Stress. Parents. Holidays etc and all the other excuses a desperately introspective teenage girl will use to convince herself that she's only taking a break from journal writing, creative writing and blog posts.
Well I'm here to correct myself and prove myself and everybody else wrong.
I love fashion week. Duh. Who doesn't. When the first shoe steps out on the catwalk i want one day for it to be MY embarrassing audible gasp that the magazines laugh at in reports. I'm humungously excited to be wearing what the designers have forseen and prescribed. A healthy dose of clashing patterns, outrageous tailoring and beautiful fabrics ahoy.
Here are some of my favourites:

Prada

alberta ferretti

alberta ferretti

alberta ferretti

alberta ferretti

mary karantzou

creatures of the wind

burberry

burberry

simone rocha

simone rocha


prada