RedHead

Blue eyes

2012-01-30T15:06:00.000Z

Today's make-up look is brought to you by Anja eyeshadow from Illamasqua and Teal The Cows Come Home nail varnish from OPI.

I call it Adam Ant meets The Little Mermaid.

Karl Lagerfeld's sunglasses

2012-01-29T16:16:00.000Z

This month's ELLE is a bumper issue of excellent material, and for once I'm not talking at all about the fashion spreads. Now that the palaver of the new season has gone by and the summer collections are already coming out, they can get back to the serious business of great writing.

I'm generally not a fan of interviews with intimidatingly big fashion names - I don't feel that I can learn much from said interviews. But this month's one, with the king of the fashion world, had to be read.

I think my favourite part of the interview with Lagerfeld was the author's panic over her most controversial question - asking Karl whether he would remove his sunglasses. For it's true, the man is always shaded. You couldn't imagine him ever removing them, even at night. Karl, of course, refused to take them off, alluding to the need to always have some mystery left in life, some expectations not met.

Because it would be odd to imagine Karl without the glasses.

But maybe they aren't just a trademark, and a way to keep the unprivileged out. They are something to protect a little part of Karl that isn't public property. That is for Karl, and his loved ones, alone.

In the same way that Lady Gaga costumes herself, and that Lana Del Ray (more on her another time) has invented a completely fake facade, canny people in the public eye have found ways to protect either a big or small part of who they really are, that we have no right to know.

So hats off to the journalist who tried to get Karl Lagerfeld to remove his glasses for her. To see into the window of his soul, if you're poetically inclined. And hats off to Karl, and to anyone in the public eye, who keep a little bit of themselves back for only a select, special few to see.

Pale (blue) and interesting

2012-01-28T21:51:00.002Z

Where do you draw colour inspiration from? For me, it just hits me from nowhere - a film, a flower, the sunset, or just a mood. My colleagues, who have recently learned about colour matching personality types, have been infuriating us of late by hinting at the colours that our personalities are, without, of course, explaining what each colour means.
Currently, my shade of choice for the new season, or more specifically the transition period between winter and spring, would be blue. But ice blue, cornflower blue. Think this...

Or this...

And most definitely...this.

Ok, it was totally Tilda and Haider Ackerman that got me obsessed with this shade. Imagine an ice-blue minidress under a studded biker jacket. Perfect. Roll on payday!

The shame - Oscar Nominations 2012

2012-01-24T15:06:00.001Z

I should have known by now not to put faith in the idiotic crumblies that have an Oscar ballot in their hands, and this year has made sure to crush my faith for good.

In short...this film...

...got fewer nominations than this film.

It got the same number of nominations as this film...

This actress...

...didn't get a nomination.

Neither did this actor...

...or this actor.

This actor did.

Yep. That guy from Superbad.

I think my reaction to the whole sham can be summed up by the expression on Rosie Huntingdon-Whitely's face on the Transformers 3 poster. Blank incredulity. Heck, why didn't SHE get nominated for an Oscar?

The only bright spot in this whole episode was that THIS actress, like Carey Mulligan and Jennifer Lawrence before her, got a Best Actress nod for her first starring, scene-stealing role.

Read the full list here.

End of an era

2012-01-22T20:13:00.000Z

It's truly the end of an era my friends - I'm going to grow my hair.
I remember when I first started this blog I considered calling it Short Red Hair, in the niche manner of many bloggers, but realised that that might be a bit restrictive. Of course, now that I talk less and less about fashion the 'fashionista' part is a slight misnomer, but I'm pretty sure that, long or short, I'll be redhead 'til I die. Or Blogger does.
Although...

(Image via Stop It Right Now)

Fix the body

2012-01-20T23:32:00.001Z

There's a disturbing amount of hyprocrisy in the modern world, but few areas experience it more than the battleground that is the female form. The crux of the issue is highlighted nicely in this article, but the issue initially came to a head to me when I found a furious group of mums rallied against a certain childrens' tv programme by the name of Winx Club. A relatively innocent premise, involving friendship, good vs evil and, of course, magical fairies, seems innocent enough, but a quick image search results in a series of characters who wouldn't look out of place in a soft porn anime.

Here's my problem with the way that women are preached to today. It's bloody hypocritical.

(A Google search for 'a normal woman')

As the article previously mentioned states, women are expected to be either fat or thin, and are judged as an extension of either of these two types. There is no room for a body that is uncategorised, or to put it another way, the majority. Trinny and Susannah made a decent start when they categorised womens' body shapes beyond the standard pear, apple and hourglass, but there's still a massive discrepancy between body shape and body size.

This we know. This is fact. Womens' bodies (and mens', for that matter) have always been different shapes and sizes. Historically, every generation has had a perfect shape. Artists, trends and fashions dictated said shape, as they do now. The difference is that, at that time, they at least had the decency to only push one stereotype. Fat women conveyed a certain character, and so did thin women. There was an interesting article in this month's Elle relating to how an actress' casting relates to her size and shape - a comparison is made between the breakdowns suffered onscreen by a character played by Marilyn Monroe and by Mia Farrow. Frail Mia is described as 'losing her mind', while bountiful Monroe 'just kept losing her clothes'. It's been over 150 years since Jane Eyre first drew comparisons between womens' body shapes (plain, unwomanly, thin little Jane, buxom and pretty Blanche, and 'corpulent' Bertha).

150 years ago, women wore corsets, because it was the done thing. Sure, they couldn't breathe, but they didn't have to deal with the patronising bullshit hypocrisy that is an article telling you how best to lose weight 'to suit your shape' while trying to insist that, yes, it appreciates all bodies. Because the industry does. It just appreciates that it has to find new ways to make us feel bad about ours.

It's all around us, this inherrent need to judge a woman based on how she looks. An extract from a recent review of Haywire (described as an action movie 'with a female twist') by the critic Tweeting the story chose the extract that describes the heroine's physique, not a particularly finely honed phrase describing the film itself. Grazia was beside itself when on-set photos of Mildred Pierce were released. the cause of their upset being not the poor direction, the script, but Kate's 'dowdy' wardrobe.

I don't know what the answer is. We have education, a place in politics and female CEOs, but we have little girls being told they're fat by tv, the toy industry and the media, statement parroted by their friends, and we have women in terrible difficulty following the PIP implants scandal whose only desire was a little confidence. All I know is that we are potentially worse off than we were when our only job was to clean the kitchen and feed the babies. Because now we are smart enough to look round at the utter mess that has been made of our self-perception, and that of our children, and wonder how on earth we can go about fixing it.

(The above video is a song called 'Truth of a Woman'. It's a beautifully honest encouragement for every person to appreciate the body of whichever woman they are lucky enough to see.)

Modern magpie

2012-01-19T12:46:00.001Z

Just to prove, once again, that I still wear clothes and am a jewellery fiend. Heck, in my all-black ensemble of yesterday coupled with my vampyric complexion, I'm a human magpie.

Something slightly sinful about hanging a £3 pendant on a £50 silver chain, but there you have it. Gorgeous chunky chains from Thomas Sabo, pendant from a gem museum my parents visited in South Africa.

Beauty over brains

2012-01-17T22:05:00.003Z

The trouble with spending far too long talking online to people you've never met and reading too much into everything is that you often fly off the handle at any opportunity, or encounter some mind-numbingly stupid people. In my case, today brought me both.

Earlier, a friend of mine posted an inflammatory status asking whether it was acceptable to hire people based on their looks. Y'know, that little thing we like to call positive discrimination, beauty over brains, belittling, demeaning. Not illegal, but generally considered a bad thing, right? If the woman in the interview next to you had a better rack, the man next to you a more chiselled jaw, and he or she got the job, even though you were better qualified, you'd be pissed off, right?

Not so the people who responded, all of whom felt it was preferable to have 'a hot man' working in their office. Of course, they were all women. And they clearly hadn't thought about what they just said, because when questioned whether they felt it was acceptable for them to be hired based on their looks, the response was 'I'm bored now'. No doubt they are bored of women being all boringly feminist when they are happy just to perv over the guy at the next desk. With a few characters, they have potentially justified themselves out of a job, placing their future in the hands of a boss whose decision to fire them if they aren't attractive will be deemed acceptable by their own logic.

Though there is some stock to be put in hiring the more attractive. They have generally been favoured throughout their youth and are likely to be more sociable and personable, not having had to form a strong outer shell against the inevitable bullying if they are deemed ugly. As the diplomatic individual pointed out, society will gravitate towards a more attractive individual and whatever brand, business or office they associate themselves with. I'm not stupid, I know the science.

'You want to be taken seriously? Stop dressing like a little girl.'

But light-hearted or not, the attitude worried me. Because I'm not stupid. I know that whether we like it or not, society judges what it can see first, as it has done since the dawn of time. Where previously, a good-looking girl was fawned over by doting parents keen to marry her off, now those good looks are being fawned over by prospective employers. We've just moved a fiercely competitive gene pool from the marriage arena to the work arena. A girl cannot be pretty AND smart - she favours one or the other. Or so these girls would have me believe.

One diplomatically pointed out that in some cases, it's in the best interests of the employer's clients to hire an attractive candidate. Two words came to mind when that reared its head - 'pimp' and 'prostitute'. Only in industries based solely on looks should looks come before ability, regardless of sex.

Because the worrying thing about the attitude of the women I witnessed was the fact that it's demeaning to both sexes. Sure, men have been sizing up women as breeding machines for hundreds of years, but it would seem any efforts to beat them have largely descended into joining them, each sex sizing each other up like animals.

Celebrated celebrator of this mindset, Sarah Burge, commonly known by the tabloids as 'The Human Barbie', has caused controversy by giving her 7-year-old daughter Poppy a voucher for plastic surgery, for use when Poppy is of age. When questioned about her ridiculous decision, Burge reasoned that she felt that investing in Poppy's looks was just as important as her education, both being investments in her future. If the women I encountered earlier are right, and Poppy's entire career progression is going to be determined by her looks, maybe Burge is doing the smart thing. Let's just hope, shall we, that Poppy's future employer is a man.

Going for Gold on the Red Carpet - Golden Globes 2012

2012-01-16T12:58:00.000Z

Awards Season has kicked off, and the cream of Hollywood's crop are practicing their best hip pops and chignons for the seemingly endless red carpet that stretches through the next few months.

So once again I, gleefully, get to shamelessly steal pictures from various newspapers' websites and deliver my biting verdict on the sartorial hits and misses.

This is the Golden Globes 2012 Edition.

And it's Hollywood's supreme power couple, flown all the way in from Madame Tussauds! Maybe not, but there's something worryingly anamatronic about Brad'n'Ange here. Nothing wrong with Ange's dress, though - most of the 'net is hating on it, but for once I am loving her style. Perfect shade so as not to wash her out, and daring with that flash of red.

Slightly more of a miss in the couple states are Nicole'n'Keith. A gorgeously detailed dress somehow wasted on Nicole. Maybe an up do and a bright lip could have saved it.

Our girl Kate has walked enough red carpets to be an absolute pro at looking good by now, and this great dress accentuates her enviable hourglass figure perfectly.

From the simple to the...well, not so simple. As much as I hate her show, I can't deny that Dianna Agron is one heck of a good dresser.

Ah, a much better show. And as sad as I am that they killed her character off, I'm please that Evan Rachel Wood has moved on to bigger and better things, notably dressing like a bird of paradise and, if rumours are to be believed, succumbing to the mating dance of one Jamie Bell...

This is apparently the girl we HAVE to watch - I'm yet to see a film with Jessica Chastain in, but my good friend iFlicks has been busily singing her praises. I'm a bit indifferent about this outfit, however. But then, I'm not a fan of long-haired actresses obscuring a feature neckline with their hair.

And here's an actress obscuring a dress with her hair! Great dress, great colour, cheap-looking fabric and one weird shade of bleach, Kelly. Black or blonde are far easier to match to. But kudos to her for daring to be different, as always.

Has Leah Michele's Glee character done a J-Lo cover yet? If not, this is a not-so-subtle hint to the writers to give her one. Zing.

Oh look, Michele Williams being cute. How, erm, cute? A lovely dress - simple cut, great colour and fabric, but too grown up and sophisticated for this lady, who will permanently look 16. I blame the smile. And the fact that she's just CUTE AS A LITTLE BUTTON.

That's a tip for Michelle! Wear a hot dress, look generally hot and resolutely refuse to look remotely interested! God damn you Mila Kunis and your utter, utter nonchalance. It's so cool.

Another dress loathed by the 'net is that of Mila's Black Swan buddy, Natalie Portman. I love the shade of this dress, perfect against Natalie's hair and skintone, but something about the side bustle ruins the effect a tad. Kudos to Natalie, however, for still looking so slim in this massive dress.

Another way to look great in any dress is to have a very high metabolism and not put on weight. Ok, so maybe that's just Lisbeth Salander, but Rooney Mara is OWNING this promo circuit for her ticket to the Oscar inner circle (yes, I'm backing her. Because I love an underdog with an undercut). Keeping it black, black and more black, with just a hint of grey, Rooney is promoting her character even when not in character. Well done that woman.

Rooney takes bronze in my list of the best dressed at this year's Globes, and it was a hard fight to chose between her and Emma Stone for the number two spot.

In the end, though, due to my current obsession with cranberry, red wavy hair and Easy A, I had to applaud this look by Stone. Partly because she is great at accessorising, letting this stand-out vintage-look belt stand alone.

And now, for the number one spot. Hands down, no contest, blew-me-away winner.

BASK IN HER MAGNIFICENCE. Ice blue, white-blonde hair in a gravity-defying quiff, flawlessly cut and styled ensemble. The White Witch of the Red Carpet. Fear her, simpering starlets.

(All images via Hollywood Reporter)

Mad for it

2012-01-15T12:57:00.000Z

And finally we get the long-anticipated news that Mad Men Season 5 will premier in the spring.

With the first episode directed by John Hamm himself, this season will pick up with the newly engaged Don Draper supposedly a reformed character. The series has been applauded the world over but some feel it's losing its sparkle with some more recent plot developments, soapy storylines and big, bombastic set pieces. But we universally agree that we can't wait to see it come back.

Here's what I've missed about Mad Men.

1) Joan's exquisite collection of jewel coloured suits.

2) The fact that even after four series, I still can't remember Kinsey's name without Googling it.

3) How weird yet oddly compelling Sally Draper is.

4) How much fun it is to hate Betty.

5) Peggy's one-liners: 'Your boyfriend doesn't own your vagina!' 'No, but he's renting it.'

6) Roger Sterling's uncanny ability to say the wrong thing at the wrong time.

7) Lane Pryce.

8) The occasional rare moment where it looks like Pete Campbell isn't a total and utter asshole.

9) Every other moment where Pete Campbell is quite clearly what Draco Malfoy will grow up to be.

10) Wondering what Don would look like without a combover.

11) Seeing if this will be the day where anyone wears a different suit.

12) How amusing it is to listen to modern ad men compare themselves to the SCDP crowd.

13) Wondering at whether most of the adverts created in the '60s were done by a bunch of drunks.

And what I won't miss about Mad Men...

1) When the fashion pages start printing their 'dress like Betty Francis' spreads.

Walk For Cover

2012-01-10T17:23:00.000Z

Forget Coachella - I'm annoyed that I didn't buy a ticket for Gotye at the 02. Sadface.

Great that they are so popular though - so much so that a much-celebrated cover by Walk Off The Earth is now doing the rounds on Facebook.

Four guys, one girl, one guitar, one awesome cover.

But, of course, the original has mysteriously animated paint, Kimbra, and the ethereally brilliant vocals of Wouter De Backer. Yes, his actual name.

The importance of chilling out

2012-01-08T20:36:00.001Z

I have a challenge for all people like me who are addicted to digital, social, or just distraction. Who find it impossible to switch off, even for five minutes, and who twitch nervously without a link to the outside world.

Turn off the lights, ignore your phone, lie in the dark and close your eyes. Listen to this.

For a full fifteen minutes, do nothing, think of nothing but the music. Think of pictures, good memories, how it makes you feel. Do this with any track you like.

Often, we forget that pieces of art like this aren't designed as background installations for life. They are designed to be appreciated. As is our free time, as is peace, as are we.

If you can switch off, and just listen, for fifteen minutes, you are coming closer to that 'chilled out' state we all dream of.
Sunday is the day of rest. Rest and refresh your mind, even for fifteen minutes.

Merry Cranberry

2012-01-07T23:22:00.004Z

So we have to now officially have all Christmassy paraphernalia removed from our lives, for another eleven months. I still need to get rid of the Christmas carols from my iPod and am frantically burning my 'Christmas Spice' candle. I always reach the end of Christmas with a dread, the post-Christmas crash, convinced that I'll hate spring and summer and only feel happy in the cold. But then I remember SAD and look forward to whatever the seasons bring. Not that we've really had a proper winter.

I comfort-watched Pretty In Pink last night to renew my adoration of Molly Ringwald, the queen of the 80s scene that I apparently resemble. What a dream!

It got me back into the idea of wearing slightly crazy, zany vintage clothes, so I raided a few vintage shops in SoHo wearing various shades of pink, carrying my Christmas/birthday/new job present bag.

Yes, I now have three of this design of bag. And there's a BEAUTIFUL green one out for the new season that WILL be mine.

Sherlock - A scandalous review

2012-01-06T22:05:00.000Z

The English-speaking world has been frothing at the mouth over the return of Sherlock, Stephen Moffat's update of the classic Conan Doyle tales of an aloof, brilliant and loquacious detective. Having been known for his mastery at the helm of Doctor Who, Moffat's reinvention of the classic character as 'a new sleuth for the 21st century' winningly combined modern technology and modern London with a sparkling script and excellent casting, namely the relationship between the exasperated, quietly ruthless Watson and the enigma that is Holmes, infused with life by brilliant performances from Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch, and with co-creator Mark Gatiss and Andrew Scott demonstrating brilliant arrays of eyebrow movement as bureaucratic government figure Mycroft Holmes and maniacal villain Moriarty respectively, the scene was set for a stunning series. And stunner it was. The first episode was an utter delight - a simple plot allowing the two leads to interact and provide plenty of verbal jousting, a rapport that became the sparkle of the series - and a slow build over the next few episodes built to a spectacular cliffhanger climax.

The world went wild over the show - Benedict Cumberbatch became a heartthrob overnight, Martin Freeman arguably got his Hobbit gig off the back of his performance, and Moffat's status as the best writer at the BBC was assured. We waited, with great anticipation, for the second series.

And when it arrived, on New Year's Day, we happily settled down waiting for the latest innovations from Gatiss and Moffat. With last season focusing on introducing the old characters to a new audience, this season is re-imagining three classic Holmes stories for the new generation of fans.

The first, A Scandal in Belgravia, introduced us to Irene Adler, the closest thing we encounter to a woman in Holmes' life. This being the 21st century, Adler is re-imagined as a dominatrix for hire, using her sensuality and her incredible intellect, along with an impressive array of booby (pardon the pun) traps and a total lack of clothes, to bewitch Sherlock and, in theory, the audience. She is dragged into the story by means of a quickly abandoned plot detail about a royal family member being photographed acquiring her services (ah, a young female Royal family member - how Black Mirror), and is elaborated on further with a complicated plot about a fake terrorist bomb plot being busted, then busted again. Her involvement with Moriarty cements her in our minds as a woman not to be trusted.

And, in my mind, her appearance in the story means that my trust in the rest of the series is tentative.

Prior to this episode, aside from the mother figure of Mrs Hudson, the pitifully smitten Molly and the potential love interest Sarah, the women in Sherlock have been kept on the sidelines, as you might expect from a series based on Victorian society. Arguably, the Adler in this series is the perfect opposite for Cumberbatch's Sherlock - she is aggressively, teasingly sensuous yet icy, feminine yet harsh (and, judging by pictures of the actress when not styled as Adler, 'harsh' is the look they were going for), and sexually voracious where Holmes' aloofness and calculating nature indicates emotional and (if an achingly cheap joke in the episode is anything to go by) sexual immaturity. Sadly, while Cumberbatch's Holmes pairs perfectly with Watson, his pairing with Adler brings out the worst in both, and turns the series from achingly clever to worryingly cheap.

Take our first meeting with Adler. Crucially, Holmes' ability to read people is based on their appearance, so Adler's appearing naked and thus unreadable outfoxes Holmes and leaves him (and a pre-watershed audience with children watching) speechless. I know I sound like a Daily Mail reader, but you know a series is on its way out when it is required to titillate us with storylines about a dominatrix (who has all the warmth and appeal of a Vulcan, even when her supposed humanity is revealed at the end), nudity and digs at thirty=something male virgins.

And it's not just the presentation of Adler - cold, calculating and generally unpleasant as a Bond villainess - that jars. While the first episode of the previous series was shot almost entirely in a dingy flat or the back of a taxi, this one veered from the inside of Buckingham Palace (featuring, in slightly Guy-Richie-Holmes fashion, a naked Holmes played for laughs) to a supposedly unrelated countryside scene, with a strangely placed terrorism storyline and a brief sojourn in the Middle East. All this mess not only wastes screentime that could be given to Holmes and Watson, but trivialises the two other brilliant characters of the series - Mycroft becomes largely helpless and largely useless, and the utterly brilliant Moriarty's unhinged style is replaced by barely memorable text exchanges with Adler; a brilliant character, the perfect foil for this predictable Holmes, totally abandoned. If this is what it takes to bring a woman player into the series, I'll stick with Molly.

While, no doubt, all the messy plot lines will be tied up, the first episode was a mess of set pieces, pensive shots of Mycroft, and too much of the one-dimensional Adler, with little time left to expose the beating heart of the series - the relationship between Holmes and Watson, the only exposure being numerous digs about the pair's sexuality and a few awkward Christmas parties featuring pitiful love interests for both. This season is attempting to contextualise the characters deeper in society in a way that is ruining the dynamic - who can forget the simple joy of Holmes throwing a strop in a silk dressing gown or knowing everything about Watson from a 30-second observation? Instead of such brilliant moments devised purely from great acting and a razor-sharp script, we now have a series of US agents, Carry On-style slapstick and bad puns in place of sparkle.

Please, Moffat, I implore you - restore my faith!

Note - this piece was largely promoted by a piece in the Evening Standard where a writer compares Sherlock to Doctor Who - confusingly, he is under the impression that they are on a par simply because they have the same writer. He declares Sherlock the victor. I have to wonder whether he's subjected his son, bored by the Christmas Dr Who episode, to a naked woman cavorting in front of what was, and can still be, the finest pairing on the BBC for entertainment.

Topshop SS12

2012-01-05T12:00:00.000Z

While the weather can't quite make up its mind about whether it's autumn, winter or spring (sobbing inwardly at the total lack of winter last year) the fashion world has decided, firmly, that spring has sprung, and the SS lookbooks are appearing with a vengeance. I continue to pour over my copy of February Elle (a subscription present for my birthday) for inspiration from the front row, but will also be using the high street's offerings to inject a little trend into my wardrobe.

Always ahead of the curve, Topshop has taken the go-to trends for the new season and given them a high street price but with the impeccable styling that keeps it looking high end. I'm feeling the floaty pastels, cutout panels, print clashes, the fact that one of the models look like Lady Mary from Downton Abbey, and most of all the clash of grey and neon yellow, which I'll definitely be adopting come spring.

All images via topshop.com.

The girl who reads

2012-01-04T12:00:00.000Z

One of my New Year's Resolutions is to read more - I got a Kindle for my birthday and, weirdly, a collection of books for Christmas; classics that, I am assured, I will want to have hard copies of to thumb through and annotate. Which is true - I spent most of Christmas reading and re-reading a playscript I received that I don't doubt I'll talk about a lot on here when I understand it.

I admire Blair's blog, found over in my recommended reads section - she neatly fuses literary criticism with a catalogue of her latest purchases and outfits. This is kind of what I hope to do with this blog. When I was younger I read everything, ferociously and hungrily. Now that the internet, TV and films are so readily available, you'll find me far more likely to be curled up with a DVD on repeat than with a book, unless it's crappy chick-lit. It's sad that it's so easy to illegally download music and films while our libraries are closing down and no-one carries books any more. I miss being the girl who reads. And I want to be that girl again. Sitting on a bench in Regents Park on my lunchbreak reading a classic I got for a pound in a charity shop, wrapped up against the cold and shutting out the world, for a little while at least.

"Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes. She has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.

Find a girl who reads. You'll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag. She's the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she finds the book she wants. You see the weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a second hand book shop? That's the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow.

She's the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she's kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author's making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.

Buy her another cup of coffee.

Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce's Ulysses she's just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.

It's easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas and for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry, in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she's going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.

She has to give it a shot somehow.

Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.

Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who understand that all things will come to end. That you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.

Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilight series.

If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2am clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She'll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.

You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she's sick. Over Skype.

You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn't burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.

Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you're better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.

Or better yet, date a girl who writes." — Rosemarie Urquico (found here)

Love Song for an Icon

2012-01-03T12:00:00.000Z

On one of my wanderings I decided to go to the V&A, a museum-cum-gallery that I've never visited. Personally, even though I claimed at one point to be a historian, I'm not that fond of museums full of artefacts, preferring art galleries where I can sit in front of a painting and stare at a particular, expertly captured patch of light or the knowing smile in a woman's painted eye for hours. Both museums and galleries are peaceful places, though, and I'd be just as happy sitting on a bench in the middle of a room filled with tourists staring at nothing in particular, just absorbing the peace. Like a church, it's a building designed to house things people have laboured over and held sacred, and the air is filled with that.

But I digress. Enjoying as I did the chronology of the jewellery room and numerous beautifully illuminated manuscripts, I was happy to find that The House of Annie Lennox is still open.

While the exhibition itself is not bountiful, it does have a great selection of Annie's varied costumes, from androgynous suits to more feminine gowns worn for the No More 'I Love Yous' video and the cover of her strangely addictive Christmas album, A Christmas Cornucopia. Annie is 57 (turning so on Christmas Day), has won Grammys, Brits and Oscars, and plaudits for her work as an activist and philanthropist. She has letters after her name. She has been celebrated for her contribution to music and her charity work across the world. She is one of the UK's greatest musical exports, a chameleon of style and sound whose look is never predictable, whose energy is limitless and whose voice is striking, otherworldly, the kind of voice that could sing a battle song with one breath and segue into a lullaby with the next. She is timeless, and an inspiration for our next generation of singer-songwriters. While some of her contemporaries enjoyed their time in the spotlight before departing with grace, Annie continues to make music, critics be damned, and continues to inspire and challenge the perception of lifespan, age and appearance.

Obviously, Annie is an idol of mine. A brave, honest woman, powerful, dynamic and creative, pushing boundaries of beauty and challenging what's feminine, using eccentricity and raw talent to sell her music. She represents everything that's British, and continues to be a benchmark for all our artists.

The original and still the best

2012-01-02T12:00:00.000Z

One of my birthday presents was a subscription to Elle, but today I stole my housemate's Vogue and was pleasantly surprised. Not only did it feature a gorgeous shoot with Florence Welch (pretentious yet inspirational) but it reminded me why I love Agyness Deyn so much.

This is the same girl that looks suitably androgynous in a Doc Martens campaign, utilising her coquettish charm to make these supposedly super-sophisticated, feminine looks into something quirky, modern and far less intimidating for any girl to try. God bless Agyness Deyn, and her mastery of the art of androgyny. Truly, the sexiest woman around.

New Year

2012-01-01T21:34:00.000Z

Last night I saw in the New Year with my favourite person on Primrose Hill, joined by hundreds of others, to see the fireworks over Waterloo.

They were pretty spectacular, although slightly ruined by the drunks who decided to set their own fireworks off in the middle of a massive crowd. But managing to avoid the sparks, and the rain, we made it home unscathed to a glass of Prosecco and to reflect on our resolutions for 2012.

It was a weird, lonely Christmas - it's weird, as you grow up, when the family gets smaller, the older relatives get older and the kids start to realise that they are soon morphing into the generation that will be looking after its parents in the not-too-distant future. I also turned 24 over the Christmas period. This year, I'll be 25. Even though it shouldn't, that age scares me. What am I expected to achieve by the time I'm 25, by the end of the big, potentially very expensive (bloody Olympics and house prices) but also potentially very exciting year?

A girl I used to be friends with via Twitter lost her fight with anorexia over the Christmas holidays. She was fun, cheery and vibrant, until she wasn't. Life is far too short to embrace anything but the good things that happen to you.Last year was a messy year. Bad things, and good things happened. I've been sadder than I have for a long time, and happier than I have ever been. Made foolish choices. Hurt people and myself. Got a job, then another job. Learned a lot. Been through testing times that have made me stronger. Worked hard. And I finally feel like, this time, it might come together. I start a new job in a few days, that I'm really excited about and that will give me another good challenge to rise to. The important thing is to keep challenging yourself. And I've got a guy who makes me laugh, galvanises me, reminds me to relax, not worry and have fun, and who makes me feel loved.

I've got plenty of resolutions, but the one that best relates here is generally be more creative. A large part of my unhappiness at the end of last year was total loss of creativity - no outlet, nothing really creative in my life. But I have a plan, I have a Kindle, and I plan to expose myself to more creativity, be it music, art, film or literature, and share it with you here. When I didn't have a job, and was working every day I could, every single second was precious, to be enjoyed, and to have something done with. Now, with free time, time becomes, for me, slightly less valuable. More about waiting for the next excitement than going out looking for it. It was when I didn't know how long the thrill was going to last that I made damned sure I didn't sleep through the end. Maybe now, that I'm responsible, grown up and with control of my own destiny, that I feel like I don't need to live in that kind of terror any more. But really, if I've worked hard for what I got, it should be now that I stop panicking that it'll end, and savour it all the more because it won't.

Totally appropriate family viewing

2011-12-29T11:30:00.000Z

In previous years, Boxing Day was the day that my family went to the local pantomime. But since multiplex took over from humble theatre, we instead found a play to see on the 23rd and went to the cinema on the 27th to see the much-anticipated Hollywood version of The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo.

Giving a book that is macabre, gritty and complex to Fincher was probably the best option when giving this series the Hollywood treatment, and from the Bond-style opening credits and the first few notes of Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross' melancholy, minimalist score, you are comfortable that you won't be witnessing a butchering. A combination of a subtly starry cast, led by a well-restrained Daniel Craig, some stunning shots and the exception Rooney Mara, who deserves at least an Oscar nod if not the statuette itself for her cold, clinical yet strangely vulnerable and often bitingly funny Lisbeth, carry the film through a tense and engrossing two and a half hours that you barely notice dragging.

Murder, family feuds, Nazis, sexual violence and a whole lot of body piercings would not normally be considered festive fayre. But when the package is this good, the performances this strong, and you get to watch, in the manner of Carey Mulligan in 'An Education', a truly star-birthing performance from Mara, you can definitely afford to take a break from the sloppy festive tv schedule for a while.

Also, they have a beautiful cover of my favourite Bryan Ferry song in the credits, so that's also a win.

Merry Christmas

2011-12-24T23:08:00.002Z

May you get all you desire.

I will love you 'til the end of time

2011-12-18T22:02:00.004Z

There's been a lot of talk about Lana Del Ray and whether or not she's fake. How strange she looks with her bubblegum beauty, puffy lips and sullen, sultry voice. Is she really like that? Who even cares, when she sounds this good?

Generally rad things

2011-12-09T10:26:00.001Z

This week has been about generally rad, rock and hardcore things.

Number One - blackberry lips. Stylist allowed Nigella Lawson to guest-edit an issue, and while the majority of the written content was Nigella and cohorts waxing orgasmic about steak and caramel, the beauty shoot, naturally inspired by edible things, exposed me to yet another stunning piece of brilliance from the Stylist beauty team (I'm 99% sure that their beauty features rung rings round pretty much every other magazine out there).

Phwoar. Yummy. Blackberry lip for the win (the printed photo is actually a lot darker and looks, in my opinion, much more appetising). The lipstick and gloss used to create the look are both by MAC, and being the obsessive lipstick fan that I am I hot-footed it to Selfridges to grab the kit.

And then I got to encounter Number Two - Gareth Pugh for MAC.

One of my favourite designers (angular, structural, dark, Gothic and Byronic) combined with my second-favourite make-up line? (Sorry guys - Illamasqua's bases are streets ahead) I WAS IN.

Sadly the collection is relatively modest, with only two colours of each product. I might be buying the oilslick nail varnish to match my beloved oilslick Gucci tote bag, but by and large I'll just be pawing the packaging. Great collaboration though, and in a world heavy with them, it seemed like a natural pairing and a great output.

Talking of collaborations...I went to the cinema last night and easily the best part of the whole trip was seeing The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo trailer on a big screen. I'll admit, when I first got wind of this remake, I did the standard 'all Hollywood remakes are shite' inner monologue that my mum trots out all the time, but the more the names started to leap out at me (Fincher, Mara) the more intrigued I became. And the names that got me REALLY excited? Trent Reznor and Karen O, covering 'Immigrant Song' for the film and its trailer. Reznor has also composed the soundtrack. And if The Social Network is anything to go by, soundtrack geeks like me are in for a treat.

Go this way to watch an eight-minute clip (read 'really long trailer') for the film. Consider my appetite whetted.

This has been your weekly dispatch of rad. Enjoy.

We're just Barbie dolls

2011-12-06T15:46:00.001Z

So you're telling me that H&M, tired of trawling through the cream of the crop to find a model with the perfect body to showcase its swimsuits and underwear sets, was so dissatisfied that it created its own virtual models in Photoshop?

Two conflicting things are going round in my head. One is that today's women are, here, being taunted by a retailer that's sole goal is to keep them interested enough to give it their money that they will NEVER be able to look this good in their clothing, because no-one, not even models, can. And the other is that we should boycott H&M and eat more cake.

My first blogger event

2011-11-27T21:56:00.001Z

So I finally got to move up to the exciting and cool big leagues that is the bloggers' event! Since bloggers are the new journos when it comes to the type the industry wants at its parties, and since I have a friend at a PR agency, I got an invite to the launch of Save The Children's Bag To Save A Life Appeal. Celebs from near and far and from A-list to blacklist (a bag donated by Liz Jones hung next to one donated by Erin O'Connor, the face of the initiative and, sadly, unavailable on the night) had donated their bags, and Chanel, Miu Miu and Christopher Kane hung from the walls, desperate to be touched, tried out and, ultimately, bid on to raise money for the great work done by Save The Children.

As well as the online eBay auction of each bag, we were free to explore the rest of the store (Mary Portas' Living And Giving shop in Notting Hill), shop away, mingle and drink some bubbly while talking to fellow fashionistas.

And admire some very stylish shopgirls - Venera, shop manager, and Marta, Volunteer. I do love girls who colour block.

And, of course, pose with the closest thing I'll get to actually touching Tilda Swinton - her Chanel bag.

Photo by Denrele of Save The Children. Thanks to her and Lauren from House PR for the invite and a great evening!

Just have a listen

2011-11-23T09:00:00.002Z

Occasionally I just like to share brilliant music with you guys. This chap's voice is reminiscent of Peter Gabriel, and both he and Kimbra are generally underappreciated. Listen away to see what I mean.
UPDATE - two days' later and I'm a) still obsessed and b) still annoyed that this album hasn't been released in the UK yet.

The magic dress

2011-11-22T20:21:00.000Z

Every girl needs one. Mine is a long-sleeved, fitted dress with scooped front and back, fitted waist and A-line skirt from ASOS. I have it in mustard and red, and wish I'd bought three of each.

Kate Winslet's is by Stella McCartney.

Over the past few years, Kate has blasted her way onto the scene as some kind of mix of (and I hate to generalise, but I will) Gwyneth Paltrow and Jennifer Aniston. Emerging from her defining role as the pampered rich girl Rose Dewitt Bukater in Titanic, tackling more challenging roles such as Sarah in Little Children and Clementine in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, and putting herself firmly back in the spotlight with her double-whammy of Oscar-nominated films at the award season in 2009, while showing off an enviable body and, in the wake of her hit of the mythical 'Best Actress Curse', a hot younger man. As well as being one of the most talented actresses of her generation, and one of our most beloved exports, she also, famously and hilariously, completely forgot Angelina Jolie's name during an acceptance speech.

All these things make her worthy of idolising. And her dress sense ain't bad, either. In the manner of Gwyneth with that minidress for the Iron Man promo circuit, Kate is a master of the statement look on the red carpet. And this dress is a demonstration of her impeccable style - simple, elegant, bombshell and flattering with a capital F. Personally, I'm loving the white. And ignoring the horrible haters in the comments section of the site I pulled these images from.

Sight and Sound

2011-11-21T21:52:00.001Z

I posted today on one of our clients' Facebook pages about how today is the anniversary of the invention of the gramaphone (I'm a community manager as part of my job) and how music continues to inspire us. I regularly have serious issues with that awful conundrum 'blind or deaf?' But based on some of the wonderful things that have come out of gramaphones and their descendants, I'd find it pretty hard not to be able to hear things ever again.

But then again...

This is a shot from my recent time away - the boyfriend took me to stay in a castle on the coast. The sunsets, the autumn chill in the air, the sound of owls in the woods outside. Yep, the world around us is inspiring, and all the inventions that help us experience and communicate the beauty of the world is man's greatest achievement.

I used to denounce Bon Iver as a sissy wimp. Sure, he still is, a bit. But he makes pretty things, and I never could resist a song with a big ambitious wall of sound (not literally, I know it's a technical term, but you know when the music comes at you in a deluge of different notes, instruments and themes and envelopes you, allows you to pick out all its intricacies for yourself? Like that).

The changing looks of Kristen Stewart

2011-11-18T18:00:00.000Z

Now, I love me some Kristen Stewart. Despite the fact that she will have to spend the rest of her life rolling her eyes at directors asking her to bite her lip after every sentence, be constantly asked to promote anti-smoking campaigns due to her regularity to do that 'breathy' voice, and constantly be abused by that irritating little ponce Perez Hilton for not grinning like Lea Bloody Michelle every single minute of the day, I am still interested to see what she does. Not that I was a fan of the weird Adventureland, but anyone who impersonates Joan Jett gets a big gold star in my book.

Plus, the girl is hot. And she can dress.

This week has seen the premiere of her penultimate outing as Bella Swan, as Breaking Dawn hits our screens. Hell, the female population of my office is spluttering in excitement. So once again, all eyes were on the screen phenomenon's easy-on-the-eye (though, from what I hear, light on the talent) trio. Would Taylor wear a shirt? Would Robert look like a stoned tramp? Would Kristen go short or long?

Because the girl is a master at the art of the red carpet, hopping between jaw-dropping floor-length gowns or daring minidresses, keeping at least half her limbs covered at all times. Smart girl.

With her youth, edginess (read lack of tan and dark hair) and general sass, a ballgown is always going to be a hard one to pull off. Case in point, this princess frock for a New Moon premiere.

Sure, she still looks unflappably cool, but completely out of her comfort zone in all this froth. Maybe putting such a hip hipster in such a Taylor-Swift-wet-dream-style of a dress was a stylist's push too far.

Hmmmm, we're getting there. Breaking (see what I did there) from convention with a flash of leg and arm, this is a bad photo of a passable dress, and plays up Kristen's edgy side nicely. We're looking, possibly, at the successor to the Maggie Gyllenhaal/Kirsten Dunst quirk crown.

Phwoar, HELLO! That's more like it. Someone's been paying attention to Merlin. While I have faith that Kristen will never fully grow out of her hip twenties, at least as far as her wardrobe goes, this is proof she can do grown-up glam.

But personally? When you've got legs that good and a complexion that flawless, why not show it off some more?

This girl is a master of the minidress, effortlessly striking the balance between trendy and tarty, and a master at that mussed-up up-do. With her tone she could wear pretty much anything, but by sticking (mostly) to minimal embellishment and block colours, she lets the shape of the dress do most of the talking, and the shape is saying that's a killer pair of legs, a great complexion, and a gorgeous girl in total control of her style. I'd high-five her, but she probably wouldn't like that.

And, just because this is possibly my favourite premiere outfit OF ANYONE OF ALL TIME, I'll post it again.

Movie night

2011-11-17T23:24:00.000Z

I don't often go to the cinema due mostly to expect, but the boyfriend suggested a cine-date yesterday, allowing me to indulge my love of slightly naff-looking sci-fi films with a willing companion.

In Time is actually a rather good film - clever concept well-executed, simple design and, due to the convenient plot detail that all characters stop ageing after 25, everyone in it was young and hot. Nice one, writers.

It also featured one of my favourite on-screen babes, Olivia Wilde, first flung onto my radar by The OC and bumped up nicely by her stylish turn in Tron - Legacy.

Phwoar. That dramatic bob, those piercing eyes.

Clearly the team behind In Time thought this was a good look, and modelled Amanda Seyfried's leading lady in a similar mold. Poor girl did, however, have to spend most of the film doing chase sequences in ridiculously high heels.

Along with a lovely, emotive score courtesy of the trustworthy Craig Armstrong, it was definitely a decent night out at the movies. I could plot my next haircut and chuckle at Pete Campbell trying not to be Pete Campbell, boyfriend could covert Cillian Murphy's full-length leather jacket.

The festive season, covered

2011-11-15T17:10:00.000Z

I always find it slightly disorientating reading magazines a month early (as in December issues that are out in November and, most disturbingly, issues filled with the promise of the New Year when I'm still putting off buying Christmas presents), but what I do love is that I have beautiful, softly festive magazine covers to prepare me for the winter and the festive season.

Aside from the very handy Kurt Geiger gift voucher, I'm loving this issue. ELLE have, in my opinion, never done a bad cover (though I don't always appreciate their choice of cover stars) but this one is perfect for the festive season, with Michelle Williams looking like a cross between Tinkerbell and Jadis in her McQueen gown, while the subscribers cover features a different dress and thus, to me, loses the festive appeal.

ELLE's covers, in comparison to the majority of other magazines in the similar monthly bracket, are simple and clean, with the strong silhuoette of the cover star being the focal point, and the cover stories never distracting or cluttering. I keep most of my back issues of ELLE purely to stare at the covers (mainly the Lindsay Lohan one from, I think, two summers ago, which is probably my favourite magazine cover ever), and this one will be added to that pile.

Vogue, by comparison, had chosen a less than festive shot for their cover, though I loved last month's Rihanna shot (more in the style of ELLE, with a full-length photo of the star - something ELLE always do, consistently and brilliantly) was divine. But here's my favourite Vogue cover of recent times. The fact that it's incredibly similar to the one above is no coincidence.

A little time out

2011-11-06T17:01:00.000Z

I'm going away for a bit. A good friend of mine often chooses to put distance between them and their problems, but the problem is they follow you around, wherever you go, as long as you let them.

But there is only so much you can change about your mindset when you are staring at the same four walls. So I'm going away for a little bit to stare at something different for a while, and spend more time working on my other writing project. I got my inspiration back, after all.

See you when I get back.

Stupid like a fox

2011-11-01T22:43:00.000Z

Took it long enough, but it's finally here.

And even in the concrete jungle, the big smoke, a little bit of autumn colour gets in.

I myself am feeling a series of browns, golds and reds for the autumn, with jewel colours no doubt making a comeback when there is no colour left to emulate. This red-brown polo neck is what I would class as russet - great name. Reason enough to wear it. With matching brown eyeshadow courtesy of Chanel .

As it's also Movember, I thought I'd try a little '70s inspiration of my own to kick off the season. Shot artfully, in the dark, because that's what we have to get used to.

Confessions of a Grown-Up

2011-10-26T21:29:00.002+01:00

I've totally lost inspiration.

There, I said it.

Somewhere, along the line these past few weeks, I've totally lost my drive, and my spark. I've stopped living, and am just existing. As a strong advocate of the John Keating theory that 'poetry is what we are alive for', the fact that I've lost my creativity upsets me. Is it laziness, is it apathy? It can't be lack of inspiration - I've got a great, full and wonderful life that I've worked hard for and am beginning to reap the benefits of.

But it's not enough. Classic Little Mermaid Syndrome. What's over the next hill? Do I want it? Do I have what I want, and how do I get it?

The last time I felt like this, I upped and left my home and came to London. I'm not sure where I can go this time, and I'm not sure if running away is the answer. But a dramatic change needs to happen to drag me out of the apathy. I was tempted to dye my hair black last night, a small rebellion and a little shake-up. Thankfully, I got warned off it but I'm still toying with the idea.

Whenever I'm in doubt, sad, scared or troubled, I call my mother. I used to belittle my ex for being unable to make any form of life decision without consulting his parents (he's 26), and I don't expect mine to do that for me, ever. But recently, when I call, wanting to talk seriously, honestly and openly about what's bothering me, the words stick in my throat.

I think it's because I know that she isn't able to help. And that's not her fault. It's just that the one thing that comes with being an adult is having to confront your own fears, your own demons, alone. Maybe the words are sticking in my throat, caught on the tip of my tongue, because my supposedly adult voice just can't say them.

It's an awkward, lonely, inbetween time, this time, when we have to figure ourselves out. I'm not looking forward to it. I'm not happy, and I haven't really been for a while. It's nobody's fault, except the apathy's. I blame the dark evenings, the sad music and my own wretched hole of general uselessness, the fight gone out and the light gone out.

So excuse me while I drag myself up out of the doldrums and back into the wonderful world I worked to get into. I'll come back, when I find what I'm looking for.

A change might do me good

2011-10-23T19:45:00.000+01:00

And while we're on the subject of beauty...I've been thinking a long time about changing the famous coif. As horrendous as the prospect of trying to grow out this crop would be, I'm desperate to try something new.

So shall I be Molly?

Shall I be Joan?

Or shall I be Agyness?

Autumn face

2011-10-22T16:40:00.001+01:00

Image via Stylist, created by Alex Box

Edie Campbell for Glamour UK

Emma Watson for Elle UK

Coco Rocha via here

Big dark brows, 60s eye flicks, deep red lips, whiter than white skin, peachy cheeks. This is my inspiration for A/W beauty - whether it's a flawlessly painted canvas a la the lovely Illamasqua ladies, or a gently enhanced version of existing beauty (Emma Watson - I am the only one who thinks that that haircut is the best move she ever made). The beauty of colder weather is, unlike summer which causes your carefully applied face to slide sweatily off, the areas you want to enhance are generally brought out. Cheeks pinken, skin smooths and evens out.

Until it gets properly cold though, I'll be faking it with Illamasqua's new season colours, and their miraculous Cream Foundation.

Shake Him Off

2011-10-12T23:15:00.000+01:00

It's hard to dance with the devil on your back...

So shake him off!

God damn Florence and her upbeat lyrics. It's been a ridiculously hectic, stressful and turmoil-filled few days, but thanks to her and her upbeat tunes, I'm strangely galvanised. Also thanks to a second pair of these fabulous Primark trousers, someone asking me if these three-year-old Topshop shoes were Balenciaga, some hair gel (ok a fucktonne of hair gel), and a little (cringe) Coldplay. Judge if you want - it fills me with joy.

Cheer The F*** Up Day

2011-10-11T17:45:00.000+01:00

My colleague and I were discussing how stressed/tired/angry/upset people are around this time of year and we decided that today was going to be official 'Cheer The Fuck Up' Day. I chose to celebrate it by getting tonsillitis and needing a day in bed. But inside, I am cheering up.

Trouser season

2011-10-08T22:14:00.001+01:00

As autumn has finally decided to grace us with its presence (currently sitting here in a woolly jumper typing this) it's time to put aside the mini-dresses and embrace the trouser.

And thankfully, Topshop's new season is happy to oblige with some flattering smart cuts in suitably autumnal colours.

After last year's love affair with my mustard ASOS dress I picked up the shade again and plan on (much to the delight of my mother) working a series of autumnal shades - yellows, oranges, reds and browns. With a few sneaky colours thrown in (watch this space) and of course, my fail-safe black.

Oh who am I kidding. I'll dress exactly as I want - no accents, no specific colour palettes, no agenda.

Except great trousers. Like these budget beauties from Primark.

I made it my mission to wear heels (admittedly, mostly kitten to start with) every day this week and succeeded (with a few stumbles and wobbles, of course), in part of my ambition to live up to River Song's descriptor 'Hell in high heels'. I've experienced my fair share of hellish experiences and hellish as it is walking on the balls of your feel with no cushioning, there's few easier joys than the extra poise one gets from walking in a well-made, gorgeous, comfortable, empoweringly high pair of heels.

I also replaced my beloved black heeled brogues, as my old ones have been polished so many times they are more green than black. Summer is the time for comfy flats. Winter is all about treading softly...four inches taller than before.

A Real Human Being

2011-09-30T23:19:00.000+01:00

I have lots of reasons to be happy at the moment. Work is slowly beginning to feel comfortable again, I've moved into a lovely new house with two good friends, and I'm finally starting to feel settled in my home. I've been in London over a year now - it's flown by, and what a huge, impactful, fantastic, terrifying year it's been.

I'm also happy that the Stella Artois 4 ads are everywhere again, and in the last flush of summer (the first weekend of October is likely to be spent at BBQs and in pub gardens, not watching leaves fall) I got the opportunity to wear my favourite dress of the summer again.

Yeah. People were putting their sunglasses back on even in the shade as I walked past.

The beauty of working in a creative office is the very varied, diverse, and generally rather good music taste. Currently I'm a little bit addicted to this (from the Drive soundtrack).

Illusions of Gender

2011-09-19T12:02:00.001+01:00

'I would rather be handsome for an hour than beautiful for a week' - Tilda Swinton

I gather that androgyny is back in for the new season, this I gather from the catwalk shots of gorgeous, leggy models looking feminine and beautiful in mens' suits, trying to introduce the mass-market to the trend. Even the most feminine, girly woman, these models say, can look beautiful while dressed like a man. I applaud their effort.

I've been becoming more adventurous with my hair and makeup of late (beauty post to follow) and have opted to create more masculine styles - slicked down, high-buttoned shirt, black skinnies and brogues. A character in Sex and the City, a photographer exhibiting a series of drag photographs of women dressed as men, maintains that gender is just a beautiful illusion.

I do not agree that gender is entirely an illusion when it comes to behaviour, traits and treatment. Whether they like it or not, regardless of how good they are at what they do, an individual is judged first and foremost on their gender, just as (as I said in a previous post) they are defined by their relationship with others, by their interractions with people of the same or opposing gender. Because we are animals, and this is what drives us.

As a result, the option to break out of the norm of how our gender is expected to appear is an incredible amount of fun. Ever since I became interested in the clothes I put on my back I'd play characters. Even on days when I'm slumming around at home I always have a character in mind when I dress, a role I want to express or play through my costume, a part of my mood or personality I want to enhance. But you can generally divide my wardrobe into two looks - masculine, or feminine.

Why do women dress like men? Is it to capture some power? To hide inside a different skin, to be taken seriously? A woman who dresses like a man has one of two options - the 'sexy' look as displayed by, say, the Estee Lauder 'Sensuous' campaign featuring a variety of (long-haired) sex kitten models in unbuttoned mens' shirts (another good example is the current Jigsaw print ad), designed to convey the sense of ownership that comes with a woman wearing her man's clothes, or the 'masculine' look as displayed by Annie. Throw Annie, Tilda Swinton and David Bowie into a pot, give it a shake and they will all come out a muddled mix of what traditional gender appearance is, messing with your perception.

Are women attracted to men who dress like women, and are men attracted to women who dress like men?

Just once, I'd love to go on a blind date all 'androgynied' up, just to test this. It's just as much fun to dress up in a very feminine dress as it is to wear a suit, and make people look once or twice at what you are. I used to be bullied for looking like 'a man' (as one tactful young gent described it). Getting around it was easy enough - dress like everyone else. But I like that now I can harness the idea, can change how I appear, chameleon-like, that I can take a lifetime of insecurity (a lifetime that will never end as long as identikit Sloaney girls exist to sneer at me) and turn it into an illusion. Part of a costume. And I'm hoping that soon more women will open their minds and embrace this costume. It's a far better fit than a corset.

Home

2011-09-11T15:21:00.002+01:00

I'm moving again. Packing up my growing number of possessions (though I haven't actually bought an item of clothing in two months - go me!) into an assortment of bags, boxes and bin-liners, and reflecting on this time last year when I was packing my most treasured possessions onto a train from Bristol to London, the city of dreams. I remember cramming myself, a suitcase, a sports bag and a laptop case onto the train and standing in the corridor between carriages the whole way, staring out of the window and watching the future race closer. I can't stop humming this song.

Home is where the heart is, and where you make it. I'm lucky enough to have lived in two good homes in London for the last year, and now it's time to put down down roots in a new one, which I'm hoping will be a more permanent base. Part of the transition from being a child to being an adult is realising that the concept of 'coming home' is fluid and flexible. Some days I get on the train back to Bristol and feel like I'm coming home, and some days I get off the train at Paddington with the biggest smile on my face, knowing that I've found where I belong. The simple answer is I don't know where I belong any more, and I made the decision to feel this way when I left and started new in the city of my dreams with no roots. But look at me now - this time last year I moved to London with savings to last four months, a list of phone numbers, a few internships lined up and the dream that kept me going. And now I've got my job, got a new place with two new friends, and I've got the whole wide expanse of time and the world waiting for me, to see what else I can try and do.

Home is where the heart is, and my heart had to roam.

'In the bar where the living dead drink all day
and a jukebox reminisces in a cracked voice
there is nothing to say. You talk for hours
in agreed motifs, anecdotes shuffled and dealt
from a well-thumbed pack, snapshots. The smoky mirrors
flatter; your ghost buys a round for the parched,
old faces of the past. Never return
to the space where you left time pining till it died.
Outside, the streets tear litter in their thin hands,
a tired wind whistles through the blackened stumps of houses
at a limping dog. God, this is an awful place
says the friend, the alcoholic, whose head is a negative
of itself. You listen and nod, bereaved. Baby,
what you owe to this place is unpayable
in the only currency you have. So drink up. Shut up,
then get them in again. Again. And never go back.

* * * *

The house where you were one of the brides
has cancer. It prefers to be left alone
nursing its growth and cracks, each groan and creak
accusing as you climb the stairs to the bedroom
and draw your loved body on blurred air
with the simple power of loss. All the lies
told here, and all the cries of love,
suddenly swarm in the room, sting you, disappear.

You shouldn't be here. You follow your shadow
through the house, discover that objects held
in the hands can fill a room with pain.
You lived here only to stand here now
and half-believe that you did. A small moment
of death by a window myopic with rain.
You learn this lesson hard, speechless, slamming
the front door, shaking plaster confetti from your hair.

* * * *

A taxi implying a hearse takes you slowly,
the long way round, to the station. The driver
looks like death. The places you knew
have changed their names by neon, cheap tricks
in a theme-park with no name. Sly sums of money
wink at you in the cab. At a red light,
you wipe a slick of cold sweat from the glass
for a drenched whore to stare you full in the face.

You pay to get out, pass the Welcome To sign
on the way to the barrier, an emigrant
for the last time. The train sighs
and pulls you away, rewinding the city like a film,
snapping it off at the river. You go for a drink,
released by a journey into nowhere, nowhen,
and all the way home you forget. Forget. Already
the fires and lights come on wherever you live.'

(Never Go Back by Carol Ann Duffy)

The mysterious concept of confidence

2011-09-02T23:24:00.001+01:00

All over the newspapers today has been this story, about a beautician mother who spray-tans her four-year-old girl in order to 'give her confidence'. Often found near to this story is that of a little girl who had a red blemish removed from her nose so now she can lead a normal life; pictures of this girl show her with pierced ears and painted nails. She's three.

Naturally the mainstream tabloids were concerned about how glamourising young girls like this made them a ready target for paedophiles, without glossing over the primary issue here - why on Earth is a girl as young as three being taught to associate cosmetics with confidence, and a certain manner of appearance with what's socially acceptable, desirable, and the only way to be?

It continues to disgust me, this lack of diversity in the world. Or rather, the lack of tolerance for the alternatives. Children should be allowed to be children, and people to be people. I'll defend a woman's right to raise their child however they want, because God knows I couldn't do it. But this is the one that gets me - if a mother has found confidence through cosmetics and nothing else, should she teach her daughter the same method, in order to avoid her having to experience the crippling awkwardness of being a less-than-confident child? Should she protect her from youth make-up products, easy-to-apply fake tan and magazines like Cosmo, or let her form her own judgement after stumbling through the youthful minefield herself?

My mother never taught me how to put on make-up, epilate or wax, or how to dress for my shape and chose the right colours. I had to figure it all out myself. And I think that's what's the making of young people. The one person you don't want to learn from is the one person who could tell you everything, if you wanted to know. A personal project I'm working on intermittently at present touches on this. I don't think it's the business of a mother to force anything on a child, but I do think it's in a mother's interest to equip a child with every possible weapon against the things that will bring them down. As well as a bulging make-up bag and a natural affinity with Sun-In, the uprising against vile modern culture should begin in the home. Soon.

Jubilation

2011-08-31T22:05:00.001+01:00

your life is your life
don’t let it be clubbed into dank submission.
be on the watch.
there are ways out.
there is a light somewhere.
it may not be much light but
it beats the darkness.
be on the watch.
the gods will offer you chances.
know them.
take them.
you can’t beat death but
you can beat death in life, sometimes.
and the more often you learn to do it,
the more light there will be.
your life is your life.
know it while you have it.
you are marvelous
the gods wait to delight
in you.
(The Laughing Heart by Charles Bukowski)

(I've been feeling exceptionally troubled of late, but a good friend pointed me to this poem. Thanks, friend, for the lift I needed.)

Right in front of you

2011-08-16T22:40:00.000+01:00

I know it's going to be utter crap and they're going to ruin the characters, but there's just something about this poster, the ridiculous all-consuming passion that it indicates, like that photograph of the sailor kissing the nurse, the way the world has totally stopped around you while it goes rushing on at the same time. Everyone wants to have that kind of 'can't stop and stand properly on your two feet' kind of passionate love for someone, right?

Happiness on the bathroom wall

2011-08-07T17:39:00.000+01:00

Someone had inscribed this on the bathroom wall of the end cubicle of the womens' toilets in Le Pain Quotidien on Great Malborough Street. Thanks to whoever did it.

An ode to Molly

2011-08-07T17:12:00.004+01:00

My esteemed blogger buddy The Glitterbird blogged recently about Pretty In Pink, a film that I had yet to see. I commented that people have told me I resemble Molly Ringwald, to which she replied that I pretty much am her.

Given the ultimate coolness of the Ringwald, it's a pretty big compliment. But worryingly, it's very true, given Molly's back catalogue.

In The Breakfast Club, she is the stubborn, bratty teenager who is doted on by her daddy, but despite her pretty little face is a secret wild child, kook and lover of bad boys.

(Three things: 1. Judd Nelson looks like a parrot on crack, 2. Ally Sheedy is awesome, 3. I had no idea that the kid who plays Brian the nerd plays Jim the douche boyfriend in Edward Scissorhands!)

And then in one of my new favourite films of all time, Pretty In Pink, she's the surly misfit (who, as her principal notes, is giving out a vibe saying she doesn't want to fit in, so she doesn't) who wears weird clothes, loathes generic blondes and is friends with the strangest, yet coolest guy in the whole school.

And then, completely improbably, she gets the most beautiful guy in school to blow off all his domineering friends to date her. Sigh. Only in a John Hughes film.

But just because I can't be Molly Ringwald doesn't mean I can't channel looks from her classic repertoire.

Some friends and I went to see Kevin Spacey (aka one of the greatest actors alive today) as Richard III yesterday, and as one of them pointed out, we were the only non-posh people there. She actually described me as dressing like I'd just left The Breakfast Club.

As John Bender though...did I mention I love this jacket?

And then earlier in the week I went for matchy-matchy kookiness.

Yellow and grey is such a great combination. And with classic Molly makeup of dark eyes (hidden behind shades) and pink-brown lipstick. Adopt the open-mouth pout, doe-eyes and wear something a little bit mad. Congratulations - you're Molly.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to watch Pretty In Pink again.

PS As a commenter suggested, I've now revitalised my Formspring account.

And I made it...

2011-08-03T15:58:00.001+01:00

So there it is.

Thank-you to Holly Woodcock and Kathryn Tate at Elle, along with the fabulous styling, hair and make-up team and the fabulous photographer.

I've wanted to be on the pages of Elle ever since I fell in love with fashion, by any means necessary; writing, competition entry or even a reader model piece for one of the world's biggest hair brands. So thanks to all those involved for making the dream come true.

A big two fingers up to anyone who ever picked on me based on my appearance and who made me have a crisis on confidence in the hairdresser's chair the other week. A big two fingers up to ever thinking I was just a girl with a boy's haircut.

No matter how I change in the future, how fashion and beauty change, and whatever I end up doing with my hair, my skin and myself, I'll always have this.
Oh happy day.

ELLE Day

2011-08-02T09:29:00.000+01:00

I have been very quiet of late as work is mad busy, but I'm planning a killer post shortly and I just thought I'd quickly share this.

Remember when I said I was shot for Elle?

Well this is the cover of the issue that I'll be in. It's out tomorrow.

You're My Virtue

2011-07-25T22:02:00.001+01:00

I'm going to miss my heavy metal lover.

I initially wrote off Gaga's second album; as it was so different from her first, an album I loved so much, I was very disappointed. But I'm trying hard to think of an album that so bombastically shouts hope to everyone who listens to it. It's big, camp, loud, excessive, bold, feminine and raw.

And it sounds best when listening to it riding along on the back of a motorbike, leaving them all for dust.

Black and Yellow, Part 2

2011-07-14T22:48:00.000+01:00

The yellow demon made its debut! The only way to crack this baby out for maximum impact is, of course, against black, and with that shocking orange crop of mine.

I had it cut even shorter last night, after a crisis of confidence in the hairdressers' where I concluded that I just looked like a girl with a boy's haircut, so demanded the razors to take it even shorter. Some girl on the street said 'lesbian' a tad too loudly as I walked past, leading me to conclude, as was reinforced by me catching a glimpse of the cover of Diva magazine and seeing the vast majority of cover models had boyishly short hair, that this stereotype will no doubt stay with me until I die. Or, as I did the last time the put-downs go too much, grow it into some vile lifeless mop of (shudder) long hair.

I'm reading Caitlin Moran's How To Be A Woman at the moment (lent to me by my gay bff, naturally) and as well as some truly laugh-out-loud (on a packed train at rush hour) lines it's got some uncomfortably honest truths about what it's like to be a woman. It's a fascinatingly honest read, and it pains me to say that some of it even feels illicit. This discomfort that women such as myself seem to have with our gender makes some of the remarks Caitlin makes seem crude, lewd and too far. But as I, like a lot of women, am incredibly uncomfortable in my own skin, I imagine that this is normal. It's allowed. It's a cross between adult confidence and what I like to think of as the crossover from youth to adulthood, where you just have to learn to live with your insecurities as something you'll eventually outgrow.

Conceited Claire

2011-07-12T23:10:00.000+01:00

Someone once told me I look like Molly Ringwald. I take that as a massive compliment. Serious crush.

The business of truth

2011-07-11T23:05:00.001+01:00

I've never been particularly aware of Rupert Murdoch. I only knew him as a savvy media mogul, and I filed him under men such as Trump, Cowell and Sugar. The kind of men I, as a slightly deluded and odd-principled young whippersnapper, might once have admired.

It's awfully hard, though, to look yourself in the eye and admit you admire someone who now has on their repertoire a fine line in piloting a corrupt, morally bankrupt and decidedly dubious media practise that finds it quite easy to calmly jettison hundreds of innocent employees to protect the turncoat backs of the bigwigs while proclaiming to the few media outlets that are listening to you that you would 'never throw anyone under a bus'.

You can visit far more esteemed and educated blogs than mine for a thorough dissection of the winding trail of Murdoch, Brooks et al's many many indescretions. You can watch Twitter for news unfolding about whether or not the rest of the rotten empire will come tumbling down off the back of yet another great relevation in this, the year that I've already dubbed the year journalism broke itself. I wonder what Andrew Marr would have to say about the importance of bloggers now, all of whom are promoting the Independent and Guardian's gleefully feverish rolling update feeds and rolling about at the jokes snuck into the final News of the World crossword.

It's a bad business, this business. And the business was to sell papers. The business is to break the big story, to sell the most papers. I gather that The Times, the paper I have read since I started reading papers and the only paper that I would buy now, is in danger too, and is also making a loss. Nobody can do it fast enough nowadays, and whether they can get there before someone else has busted the story. Inevitably, someone online.

In the quest for success, for fame and for fortune, though, this time they went too far.

Journalism has always been about seeking truth - the peoples' way of getting justice, mob rule dressed up in newsprint. Certainly true of late (see Chris Jeffries rant earlier in the year). The power these flimsy publications have over the collective population is so all-consuming that we often forget their reach, their influence. A power that is controlled, simply, by a few choice individuals who were promoted to their seats of power by their business savvy and their desire to seek truth. Sadly, two concepts that are as alien as chalk and cheese. The media is a business, like everything else, and it is not always in the interest of a staggering corporate giant to do the right thing.

Which is why, sadly, this latest incident is not the first, and will not be the last revelation about the way that we are now made aware of the world. Nothing, and nowhere, is safe from the insatiable appetite that the speed and supply of news has created in us. Public demand for the truth, by whatever means, has created a monster. A monster whose job it now is to entertain, to shock, to provide a platform for dangerous (ly stupid, often) individuals with inflammatory views to raise a pulse, and to put money in peoples' pockets.

A magazine editor I follow on Twitter gleefully tweeted 'RIP trash journalism' following the news that the News of the World was to close. As I said at the time, this is just one head of the Hydra. And every time she and her colleagues print another 'baby bump speculation' picture, they feed the monster's other heads.

Black and Yellow

2011-07-10T22:37:00.001+01:00

Aside from having that god damned annoying song stuck in my head all the time, I do appear to have acquired a lot of yellow things recently...

For some strange reason I decided that bright yellow was a great colour for a girl with white skin and orange hair to wear.

I blame my mother for putting that idea in my head.

But yes, I have concluded that yellow is a very good thing.

Oh yes. You know what it is.

Those who follow me on Twitter will have seen me tweet this about three months ago. Well, a certain someone may have tracked down the very last one of these bags, and presented me with it, for no reason other than that he knew I loved it.

There are no adequate words.

Independence Day

2011-07-04T23:09:00.001+01:00

So yeah, on the day that celebrates the rise and establishment of a great democracy, not only did some gutsy US individuals demonstrate their incredible right to free speech, and to manipulating the free speech of others, by hacking Fox News' Twitter account, but also the collective reputation of the British media at large is hanging in tatters. The media whose job it was once to bust corruption in the corridors of power is now finding itself busted.

Is this the end? Never. Someone will always find new and disgusting ways to get a story, and to make money.

Stay independent. Stay safe. Stay aware.
Incidentally, on the same day I wore this outfit my dad turned up to an event wearing a lime green suit jacket and stone-coloured chinos. Said event, he quickly learned, was actually black tie. It's not just me that likes to mess with the mould.

The stigma

2011-06-29T22:50:00.001+01:00

A friend alerted me to a discussion on Woman's Hour about whether there is still a stigma against redheads, and naturally I tuned in. As a self-confessed ginger wannabe (it's true that I am what one might call 'strawberry blonde' naturally, but enhance what God gave me with whatever Garnier, Schwartzkopf or, my dye of choice, Superdrug's own has on offer) but managing to hide it well behind more natural bullying choices from my then-peers (I was 5 feet 7 at 11 with short hair, go figure).

The programme is doing the obligatory vox-pop and the comments coming back are fascinating. Redheaded women with flowing locks are deemed attractive, but men generally are not (clearly that individual has never clapped eyes on Damien Lewis or Paul Bettany). One man even associated redheads with witches. The fact that some poor boy from my hometown of Bristol ordered a pizza and got the pizza with 'ginger kid' written on the box is about the pinnacle of the strange strange practice of insulting the redheaded kids.

There is speculation that society's hatred of redheads comes from historical cries of ethnic inferiority, and as the presenter accurately pointed out, history's great sinful women are often portrayed with red hair (see the works of Dante Gabriel Rossetti, who is thought to have had a much-desired flame-haired muse) and perhaps this story has filtered down to the mentality that a redheaded woman is fiery, wild and untameable, the colour of the flames from which the more flattering nicknames take their routes. See also 'Titian' and 'Pre-Raphaelite' for other flattering variants of the more popular 'carrot-top'. But as Charlie Dimmock (whom I remember more for never wearing a bra on Ground Force than being ginger) accurately pointed out, though J K Rowling made a valiant effort in making gingers acceptable with the gawky, kooky and slightly awkward and laughable Weasley family...yep, I don't need to explain that one do I? Ginger boys have and will continue to have a harder time of it than men blessed with blonde or brunette hair (worth noting that the first boy I ever had a proper crush on with ginger...) and it is generally something that even the girls have to grow into.

I remember when a few years ago one of the monthlies ran a story about the popularity of the pixie crop. Yet that popularity, despite all the pictures of famous pixie-cuts they featured, is still to materialise. In a similar way, ginger is apparently the 'in' shade, but it took celebrity brunette Cheryl Cole to make sales rocket. It's a lot easier for ginger women than it is for ginger men, but you do get the feeling that they receive more recognition for the fact that they are ginger than what they actually look like. Women are on a quest to get the luxurious volume of Rosie Huntingdon Whiteley, the silky sheen of Kate Middleton, or the California dazzle of Blake Lively. Blondes and brunettes can sell anything - bags, makeup, clothes. Redheaded women just sell their hair. If they want to look like Christina Hendricks, they just reach for a bottle and disappear.

These ads all appear in the first few pages of a monthly glossy. I like to think that's my point proven. Incidentally, there are only two redheads in the entire, 250 page magazine. One is advertising Schwartzkopf. One is a cartoon for Vivienne Westwood. No stigma, huh?

Heavy metal lover

2011-06-24T18:38:00.002+01:00

Thank you Lady Gaga for getting me through this day.

Happy Solstice!

2011-06-21T22:35:00.000+01:00

And to make it even better, I hear Stevie Nicks is releasing new material.

He Brings Me Flowers

2011-06-19T10:21:00.002+01:00

And that's why I love him.

The Clash Goes On

2011-06-17T19:57:00.001+01:00

Some snippets of outfits of the past few days...

Strawberry and Lime...like Rekorderlig. How good is that drink?

What my delightful boss described as 'Indiana Jones Hooker', complete with a jungle-like mosquito bite and truly fabulous courts...

And an inspired clash by a friend of mine. Orange and blue, definitely a do.

Hot Damn I Missed My Birthday!

2011-06-16T11:01:00.000+01:00

You can tell I've been really super-busy because I only went and missed my flipping blog's two-year-anniversary!

Well, I do have an excellent excuse. I was here.

I promise I'll do a proper superawesome belated birthday post soon. But for now, Happy Birthday Redhead-Fashionista! It's been a heck of a year. Thanks to all fans and followers; you all rock.

Feathers and stones

2011-06-14T22:44:00.000+01:00

I'm really feeling this whole 'fragment' shot thing. I'm also feeling wearing this headband as a necklace with all my turquoise jewellery.

Now if you'll excuse me, I don't think I've watched this enough today.

In the details

2011-06-13T22:17:00.000+01:00

Been a tad busy and with the rain and no suitable backdrop full outfit shots are tricky. But here are a few fragments of my outfits for the past few days.

I wish I was like you

2011-06-10T21:01:00.001+01:00

(Images from Google, Piccsy, Style Rookie and Kingdom of Style)

Better than (I just had) sex

2011-06-10T15:46:00.000+01:00

There are no words for how much I love these men.

Softly

2011-06-09T22:29:00.000+01:00

Sometimes the best way to feel peaceful is to wear something light and floaty, sit in a field, and let everything go.

Scenes from Paris

2011-06-08T22:38:00.000+01:00

Pretentious shots of food....

...and a shot of the Eiffel Tower.

About the time I took this a massive lightning storm was lighting up that big bank of grey cloud. An extra little light show for us.

Thank you to the man who made it possible.

The city of lights

2011-06-03T14:27:00.002+01:00

I intend to be spectacularly quiet for the next few days (more so than usual) because this redhead is being whisked away...to Paris.

So bon chance - I'll come back and do one of those deeply pretentious photo-heavy posts with pictures of my dinner and artsy shots of the Eiffel Tower.

Lazy days and fine words

2011-05-30T20:10:00.001+01:00

I spend my bank holiday sitting in a park reading poetry.
Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

(Poem - The Summer Day by Mary Oliver. Image from Piccsy)

Cloudbursting

2011-05-27T21:20:00.001+01:00

It feels good to be back in black. Not very summery, granted. But sometimes a girl's just got to get back to her comfort zone.

I bring you love

2011-05-24T22:39:00.001+01:00

Just a little song I've been enjoying...

And yes, I am aware that it's about a person having an unhealthy relationship with a computer.

The awesome thing

2011-05-21T08:40:00.000+01:00

Imagine, if you will, the most awesomest thing ever.

Got it?

Now double it.

Whoah, mega-awesome, right?

I guarantee it will not be as awesome as this.

Yeah. Totally awesome jacket made of rad, and stuff.

Please excuse me - I'm sleep-deprived. Happy Rapture!

Single and fabulous

2011-05-14T11:11:00.000+01:00

In an oddly retrospective and freakish turn of events for me, I've been pondering the fact that today would have been mine and the ex's four year anniversary. I remember a few months after we broke up getting a text from a friend who said that he and his girlfriend had, after less than a year together and while still both students, had got engaged. And for about half a millisecond, I sighed, cried internally and thought 'that could have been me'.

And then I snapped out of it.

This is the very best time of my life, and I'll be living it. So congrats to everyone who's ever seen their future flash before their eyes, and nimbly dodged the bullet.

A quick thankyou

2011-05-13T22:37:00.003+01:00

For those of you who didn't know, I had the privilege of being shot for ELLE Magazine last Saturday.

Here is a closeup of the hair and makeup that their talented team gave me (which I loved so much I've replicated twice since), along with a shot of the styling for the day. The shoot was for John Frieda and featured a series of redheads. So fingers crossed, yours truly might end up in her favourite magazine!

But either way, a huge thanks to Kathryn at ELLE, the stylists, photographers and directors, and the hair and makeup teams, and to John Frieda, for the amazing experience and opportunity. And a special thanks to Holly at ELLE for making it happen for me!

Why Alexa Chung is a fool

2011-05-12T13:37:00.000+01:00

Everyone's favourite PIT-girl (Pointless It Girl - I want to trademark that) Alexa Chung, has put her ballet-pumped foot in it once more. In an interview in this month's Vogue, Alexa describes blogs as 'pointless, unless you are Tavi'.

Cue massive uproar. If bloggers didn't regard her warily before, they actively despise her now. And while Alexa has apparently responded to all the negative outpouring about her idiotic little statement, she has done little to repair the damage.

So, why was the comment such a foolish one to make? Here are the key arguments:

Firstly, I challenge you to go to Tavi's blog and describe it as something other than a mood board. As much as I love the girl and think she's hilarious and right on in equal measures, it can't be denied that that site is as image-heavy as most others of its ilk.

Secondly, if Alexa thinks that every blog out there (as she didn't express that she was simply referring to fashion blogs, though we have to assume that this is the case given the naviety of the statement in general) is just a mood board, it implies that this part-time columnist and once-celebrated (though admittedly godawful) presenter and journalist doesn't read very much.

And thirdly, and probably most crucially, it shows just how out of touch this girl has become with the demographic who made her so famous. Back a few short years ago, when she was still infuriating us on Gok's Fashion Fix, most of us only really knew who she was thanks to the hundreds of sweetly syconphantic blog posts about how much they loved her latest Peter Pan-collared ensemble. The public made her a big deal. It was the public who got her her Vogue column, the public bought her Mulberry bag in droves, and now it's the public that will, with any luck, bring her down off her high horse. Someone teach that girl PR.

Release/Freedom

2011-05-08T12:14:00.000+01:00

And so Colour Block Week draws to a close...

I'd be promising all week to visually offend the office with blue and green. I make good on my promises. An offensive, in-your-face colour clash, completed by turquoise jewellery and yellow nails.

Another tune for you now. At times in recent days I've felt like that girl in the Muse video - dancing uncontrollably, unable to control her own beat, a whirlwind, desperate to free herself of feelings but unable to let them go. Well, I still want to dance like that. But I'd rather dance to a happier tune right now.

The demons I cling to

2011-05-06T17:05:00.000+01:00

How could I NOT post this?

And also, because I can't get it out of my head...

How Could You Not

2011-05-04T22:23:00.000+01:00

One day when I'm an internet master I'll make one of those nifty little videos that jumps between these two photos so it looks like I'm dancing.

So as you can see, Colour Block Week is in full swing. Are we having fun yet?

Primary

2011-05-03T22:21:00.001+01:00

I want to reconcile the violence in your heart.

I want to recognise your beauty's not just a mask.

I want to exorcise the demons from your past.

I want to satisfy the undisclosed desires in your heart.

I've had that song in my head all day.

Sun down...and rise

2011-05-02T22:03:00.002+01:00

I've had a nice relaxing break at the seaside for a week or so. Lots of sunshine, walks and time to reflect. Time to remember, and reassess.

It's been a busy and complicated and messy life of late. I believe that this is what we are supposed to call 'growing up' and 'being human'. Making errors, wishing things were easier. Being scared. Feeling alone.

And then, like an adult, we just have to keep calm, and carry on doing the best we can.

But it's hard. So we just have to give the illusion that we are calm, and carrying on (yes, by doing the very mature and adult thing of whining about it here. But hey, I'm an adult, this is my space, these are my rules and my true colours. Literally.)
So...yellow and cobalt blue? I'm thinking this might be a colour-blocking week.

Stella

2011-04-20T22:27:00.000+01:00

Spot the difference?
No, not so much...

Pow!

2011-04-18T22:03:00.000+01:00

Those of you who follow me on Twitter may have noted my tweet earlier about how I wore a total of ten items of clothing today, and nine were black.

There we are see. Boring. Aside from my vampirically pale face (part being a freak, part awesomely pale new foundation from Illamasqua) and the hair (it really needs its own Twitter profile) there's nothing to see here.

Oh...wait...

POW, motherf*cker!

Apologies, I've eaten a Hummingbird cupcake and the sugar has gone to my head, and I'm listening to the new Lady Gaga song. I'm a little mental.

But seriously, don't we love this skirt? Very last summer Proenza Schouler but on the mega-cheap. I'm looking forward to wearing it without black tights. Bring on the summer. And I never thought I'd say that.

Male and female fantasy

2011-04-16T23:51:00.001+01:00

Every time I get ready to go out on the town, I open my wardrobe and have a long hard look at the contents, considering what angle to play. How best to dress to draw attention. What kind of attention I want to draw, and what will look infinitely less embarrassing when I am passed up for the petite buxom babes with their cascading waves of hair leaning coquettishly on the bar next to me.

I've previously talked about the way that a person's attitude to the opposite sex is defined purely based on their physical attraction to them. So I'll put it to you that every time we dress we consider our options in the exact same way. Whatever we wear, whenever or wherever we wear it, we are conveying a message. Putting on an outfit is putting on a costume, or a character.

Inevitably, this will lead on to Sucker Punch.

Unsurprisingly, the film has been panned, and rightly so (it's about as deep as a bath you can't drown in and about as subtle as a freight train) but the main thing that's caused upset is the treatment of the female characters. Abused women from the start, the inmates of a mental asylum forced to perform as exotic dancers and complete their daily prison chores in their underwear. Yes, you can see why this has been classified as a 12A - the fanboys were no doubt queueing in droves. My computer-game-addicted ex would love it. The lead female may have created her fantasy land, but it's quite clear someone else had her dress up like something from Dead or Alive and put all her comrades in leather corsets.

And yet...

I remember buying a corset when I was at university, urged on by a rocker-goth friend of mine. There is something strangely satisfying about compressing your organs to the point that you can barely swallow but also to the point that your waist is half the width it was before. I didn't much care for it - I thought it gave me linebackers' shoulders. But when I saw said rocker friend wearing it, it did give me a good insight into the way that clothes that had previously been designed purely for the benefit of men have, as women have advanced, allowed women to draw power from them as well. While it may be shallow, and it may cause the traditional feminists to wring their hands, the knowledge that a short skirt draws eyes to you is empowering in a base way. Feminity is a power, and there's nothing more depressing than not feeling feminine. I used to love trying to dress androgynously, but since I started having issues with my weight I've found it even more important to try and come across as overtly feminine to compensate for my body shape and my not-particularly-girly manner. While the characters in Sucker Punch have the added advantage of being overtly feminine (due to excessive parts of their femininity being on constant display) it just wouldn't have been the same if they'd been in trouser suits. It's the toughening up of their usual corsetry that makes the outfits come across as empowering (if they come across as that at all). Taking a design constructed by a man and making it tough. It'll have the fanboys drooling in the aisles, as it did the first (no doubt male) who imagined the look. But show me the woman who feels as empowered in baggy jeans and a loose sweatshirt. I don't doubt she exists, and I respect her eternally. But in the same way a man feels like a man when he puts on a suit, a woman feels like a woman when she dresses like one. I'd no doubt feel just as empowered in full body armour as I would in the outfit as modelled by Olivia Wilde in Tron Legacy, but the difference is that one is designed to celebrate. And whether that's pandering to the male ideal or not, I'd prefer to celebrate what I look like than try to disguise it, were I in the position to do so.

We all be hatin'

2011-04-15T23:03:00.001+01:00

Women hate eachother. That's quite obvious. From Brooke Magnanti standing up to the feminists who seek to lay her low to Scarlett Johansson's publicist's need to deny pregnancy rumours based on an unflattering photo of the actress out running, women seem to be on a constant mission to get one over each other, and to be as good as we think the other is.

I count the calories on my lunch. I come home starving and guilt myself out of eating. I loathe what I see in the mirror.

How is this in any way constructive? How is us defending Scarlett's rounded belly, whether she has one or not, a positive influence on how we see ourselves? A writer saying that a pot belly is nothing to be ashamed of and is womanly does little to change the fact that there is such an animal as a pot-bellied pig.

Scarlett is beautiful. Brooke is a feminist. Scarlett has a pot belly. Brooke is anti-feminist. All are true. All are perspective. And with the ridiculous battle-lines we've drawn in our quest to accept ourselves, all are totally meaningless.

Something Corporate

2011-04-11T22:36:00.000+01:00

Well it looks like the good weather has broken - rained earlier today and the temperature has dropped. Silly of me to forget it's actually still only April.

Still, it was nice while it lasted.

I had a client meeting today so had to dress a little smarter than usual. This is about as corporate as I get. The dress is an ancient one from Whistles - had always wanted a Whistles dress and found this one in the sale. Like most of my old clothes, it's too big now. They have another dress in their sale at the moment that I love. Hmmm...

I had to go back to my old place this weekend and the less said about that the better, but I will miss the views from the South Bank.

I just thought this was very pretty sky - like wisps of hair.

And to round off this pointless-image-heavy post...

...now I feel like a proper blogger, posting pictures of my dessert. It was very tasty though.

Fresh flowers

2011-04-10T21:47:00.000+01:00

So...yeah, who turned the heating up? I think I feel spring coming on!

Yep, while most bloggers take closeups of their dinner or their shoes, I take closeups of trees.

Actually, I do still have a maccaroon in the fridge. It's pink. Maybe I'll artfully photograph that next.

But not today. Today I try to mix brogues with biker, and fail...

Today I enjoy the sunshine in my mustard dress...

...and today I enjoy posing for photographs in my new place. Yes, this is an en-suite conservatory. Yes, it is all mine.

Yes, this dress is entirely see-through with the light behind it.

And yes, I am wearing the same shoes in every picture. You'd think I only had the one pair.

Bright ideas

2011-04-05T23:12:00.002+01:00

I am wrestling with actually writing a constructive and interesting post, but like all great writers *ahem* I've hit a wall.

So while I get my chisel, please feast your eyes on this beautiful creation from Gucci SS11. This is basically how I wish I could dress from May to September.

In-your-face colour. Now that would brighten up the commute.

Thank you very much

2011-04-04T10:44:00.002+01:00

I'm technically going to hell. I love this site with a passion.

I also love the fact that I appear to have snuck over the 50,000 blog hits mark without me even noticing. So thank you all very, very much.

Oh, and incidentally, I have written something vaguely called a post recently. See it here - about The Sartorialist, of course.

Satisfying outcome

2011-03-31T13:37:00.000+01:00

Getting my advertising hat on for a second...there are a lot of good campaigns. There are a lot of great campaigns. And then there are the ads that you just love.

This campaign really brightens my day every time I see it. Even though the guy at the front looks a bit like Jude Law and I'm not a fan, the warmth of the colours bring an instant smile to my face. It serves as a good reminder of why, before all the louts in wifebeaters got their hands on it, Stella was chic.

And because I have a strange obsession with the woman in the adverts.

Unlike previous Stella girls, she's not a semi-naked blonde pin-up. She's not in an excessively revealing dress or killer heels. She's not staring wistfully/sensually at the man. Sure, she may still be associated as a pleasant side effect of drinking Stella, but this isn't the traditional woman of chauvinist ads.

Maybe I'm reading too much into this. But there's something about the look in her eyes, the nonchalant pose, the awkward way her knee is locked and the fact that they obviously painted this awkwardness in deliberately. The fact that she's in (no longer on-trend) sensible shoes and a bright, bold, Sixties dress that is either a total turn-on or a massive turn-off. The fact that she's drawing attention to herself but challenging you to meet her eyes, not stare at her legs. And the fact that she's just a little bit Peggy. Who knew that a product that seems so blatantly aimed at men could produce an ad that so empowers women?

(Image from here.)

I'm still here

2011-03-29T12:29:00.001+01:00

I know, I know....I've been rubbish recently. Trying to organise moving house, and trying to juggle the workload of several holidaying colleagues makes for a bad blogger.

So while I get my s*** together, here's a little light music.

How do you look?

2011-03-17T23:53:00.001Z

Because I get to spend a large portion of my day with one toe dipped delicately in the social media pool (this is a diplomatic way of me saying I spend way too much time on Twitter) I spotted this tweet earlier today.

"@drivingequality: Has disordered eating for women and girls become the norm, as entrenched behaviour patterns are now acceptable? "

This was particularly interesting considering I'd just tweeted a comment about whether it was weird to consider a friend saying you're looking really thin a massive compliment.

I was having a conversation with a medic friend of mine earlier in the day. She been reading this blog, and spotted a couple of the outfit posts below. Combining a comparison of these photos with ones of me about a year ago with her medical training, she quizzed me, seeming genuinely worried, about my health.

Now, in case you didn't notice, I've been banging on about the media's warped attitude to dieting for a good while now. The hypocrisy of a magazine printing an article encouraging women to drop to around 500 calories a day in the quest for the perfect bikini body while lambasting the recent skeletal girl who walked for Lanvin has put me right off them. But, it would seem, I'm not immune to their influence. For when said caring friend started expressing genuine concern over how much weight I've lost since she last saw me (nearer 2 stone in a year and a half), I couldn't help but feel a little thrilled. The last time she saw me in person, I was just finishing university, almost two years ago. I was around a UK Size 14. I was massively unhappy (for reasons aside from my weight) and genuinely despised what I saw in the mirror.

Now, a year and a half later, after dropping two dress sizes and two stone, do I feel any better?

Well, yes and no. Because where previously there was a demon on my shoulder saying 'lose weight', now there's the, arguably, far more destructive demon saying two things: 'keep it off, you can't get fat again' and 'imagine how much better you'll look if you lose a bit more'. Now, I'm not here to belittle the daily struggle that people with actual eating problems have. But, as my concerned friend rightly said, I do agree that it sounds like I'm treading the fine line. And again, whose fault is that?

We all know that beauty magazines are bad for your health, because they encourage us to hound women for putting on weight or losing too much of it while singing the praises of living on nothing but baby food or celery in the same breath. As I once said in a letter to Grazia, the public who demand the removal of Size Zero models while making snide comments about Tyra Banks putting on weight are in no position to criticise the media for doing the same, but you have to wonder who started it. The playground bullies did, but it's the playground bullies who grew up to control the press that are causing the real problems now.

Case in point - everyone's favourite champion of self-esteem, the Daily Mail, who recently pitted Kate Moss' world-conquering physique against that of supposedly 'normal' women to prove a point. I won't give them any more space on my blog but I recommend you read the most recent post on We Mixed Our Drinks for exactly why their recent headline 'Why Do We Women Hate Our Bodies' is quite so hypocritical.

I've spoken before about how I consider my appearance as armour, but it's often a defence mechanism against what is apparent - that I am not the type that men have been programmed to find attractive, and what's worse, the type that women believe is attractive. We are the reason we hate our bodies.

And the problem is that we've lost respect for them. Instead of treasuring our bodies, we resort to punishing them when they, and we, aren't perfect. And because we've be conditioned to believe in perfection, we'll take any method, however unconventional, to maintain said perfection. Said behaviour patterns are simply a testament to how hard we have to work in this quest for perfection. A 174 calorie lunch is not an act of stupidity. It's a stepping stone to slimness. And to destruction.

And it was thanks to a conversation this evening with another friend that I came to realise exactly why we hate our bodies. So it saves us from the surprise of someone else hating it.

EDIT - But wait! It goes on! Apparently it's not the fault of an industry whose job it is to convince people they need to look a certain way, it's the fault of a social networking site! How very original!

Contented Flame

2011-03-15T22:14:00.000Z

Couple of outfit posts from the last few days...

Naturally, badass new hairdo needs to crack out the badass Christopher Kane for Topshop dress. I never used to like Christopher Kane because he was massively overhyped, but I did love his animal t-shirts (and his way with galaxy prints). I remember how this dress sold out in every store in London but Bristol had loads left on the shelves. We weren't quite so cool in the south-west.

Colour Block Monday came back round again. With a bright red top and a bright orange skirt, and my hair, I looked like a flame.

The last thing I bought before my shopping drought began...though most of my first paycheck will be sensibly put towards bills and deposits, I used a small portion to buy something I've wanted for a while - some Docs. And not just any Docs...Union Flag Docs.

Poetry in motion

2011-03-14T17:32:00.000Z

The Times have finally started to engage their client base in a more tech-savvy way (get me with my marketing slang) by implementing the 'Tweetbeat', where, in a similar style to Grazia (who for all their faults are pretty good at social) they tweet a question to their followers and print the best answers.

A few weeks ago the question was 'our favourite fashion moment on film. There were a lot of conventional ones - Atonement, Grease and Pretty Woman to name but a few. Mine snuck in there, I think, on the grounds of being a bit unusual.

Hero - speaks for itself.

Guard of the Hawk

2011-03-10T23:17:00.000Z

Just wanted to show off my new 'do...

Spring Palette

2011-03-09T22:57:00.000Z

I'm giving up shopping again for Lent so I'm going to have to get inventive.

Nothing new here, just some good new colour combinations. I think it was Gucci that did that great colour combination that Freja modelled in UK Vogue this February of purple and green. It's not very Joan and it's certainly not very Peggy, but it's definitely got merit. I must have written off SS11 too easily. It's got potential.

Wondergirl

2011-03-04T11:28:00.000Z

I'm not gonna lie - though I consider myself of refined tastes, loving good poetry, fine wine and folk music, there are times when a bit of grimy hip-hop (or whatever the hell genre this is) is all you need.

The haters couldn't get to where I am with a full tank of petrol.

A storm in a teacup

2011-03-03T13:29:00.000Z

So, you would have to have been living under a rock not to have known how very in vogue it is for celebrities to get caught on camera saying offensive things. The world went into meltdown when Mel Gibson's anti-Semitic side got a good ol' public airing, and the exposure of his horrendous drunken phonecalls to his ex-partner only fanned the flames. Everyone's favourite trainwreck Charlie Sheen is in similarly hot water for...well, I'm not even sure WHAT he's done this time.

And then, the issue of celebrities not being able to control themselves when under the influence became shockingly clear when famed maverick designer and flamboyant enfant terrible of British fashion, John Galliano, was caught on camera doing a Mel Gibson.

In the video (which I recently brought myself to watch on The Sun's website and now feel like I need to bleach my eyeballs - because of The Sun, not Galliano) he is seen verbally abusing the hapless tourists who are quite clearly disturbing his nice civilised piss-up in a cosy cafe, referring in no uncertain terms to the Holocaust, Hitler, and the Jews. Y'know, those three buzz-topics that you just don't mention (unless, as Ricky Gervais observed, it's in relation to winning an Oscar. Incidentally, when are they going to make a biopic of Hitler?)

The cyclone began. Rumours surfaced of arrests, of suspension from Dior, and then, mid-Fashion Week season, a sacking of Galliano from his prestigious post as Head Designer at Dior. Then, probably poked very hard in the back by her new benefactors, Natalie Portman, the new face of Miss Dior - Cherie (which, incidentally, I'm wearing today) stepped up to the plate to condemn Galliano's remarks.The designer himself has made a public apology and asserted that he will be getting help to deal with his problems.

The aftershocks are still resonating - every magazine under the sun will cover this in upcoming issues, and magazine Twitter accounts continue to publish 'Breaking News' stories about four hours after the rest of us are done talking about it. The dark angel of British fashion has fallen, and his wings have left streaks across the sky.

And supposedly, they've landed Dior in serious trouble.

Now, let's make this very clear - I am in no way in support of what Galliano said while, by all accounts, severely intoxicated. But I think there are a few keys things that need to be considered here before we all congratulate ourselves on condemning him.

First, he was drunk. Yes it's an excuse as old as time, but what you say when intoxicated is not always a reflection of how you would behave otherwise.

Secondly, he was, himself, being harassed. Put it this way - if you were sitting alone in a nice quiet restaurant, enjoying a bottle of wine after, no doubt, another day's hard work making magic happen at one of the world's most celebrated design houses, and some people at the table next to you start asking inane questions and videoing you, what would you do? Yes, I acknowledge that you'd probably be gracious and politely ask them to leave you alone, but factor in alcohol and a reputation as being a bit of a wild card, and who knows how you might have responded? (I refer to a hilarious piece of Youtube footage that circulated a few weeks ago showing a drunken teenager verbally abusing a carriage-full of burly blokes on a night train).

Sure, these are pretty thin arguments in defence of what he said. Especially as he said it to strangers.

So let's move on to the second argument - was Dior right to fire him?

Well, in the short term, yes. Having a loose canon who maliciously hisses racial slurs when under the influence is not good PR. But neither is dropping the designer who basically made you into one of the most exciting and innovative fashion houses of the last decade.

Galliano, like McQueen and Westwood, lives to make outlandish statements both on and off the catwalk. I'm sure he's not the sort you'd invite home to meet your grandma, but he sure as hell is the person I'd want at the head of my fashion empire if I wanted to make big things happen. Exuberant off the catwalk as much as he expresses on it, he's one of the greatest things to happen to British fashion and I think Dior will regret this decision. I imagine, if they have any sense, they will hire him back once the buzz has died down.

No? You don't think a man who has, admittedly, been shrouded in controversy like this before, deserves a second chance?

Let's bear in mind Mr Gibson. And then (I hate to sully my blog with his name but I'm proving a point) Ashley Cole, who has time and time again proved to be not only scum of the earth but stupid, most recently demonstrated by his accidental shooting of a student. And then his vile little ex Cheryl, who rose from chavvy, criminally convicted squalor to national treasure in a few short years. Lesser people than Galliano have done far worse and been let off. And yes, the old adage of celebrities getting off lightly should come into play here, and again, I assert that he should pay for what he did. But if the media, the fashion pack, and Dior, allow one of the greatest designers in recent times to be damned forever for this episode, it'll not only be a travesty, it'll be a tragedy.

The power of red

2011-03-02T23:40:00.001Z

What is the human fascination with the colour red?
I've started watching True Blood again from the beginning, and while the series itself makes light work of the regular appearance of blood, the early promotional material made sure that there was only one colour we associated with the sex'n'violence theme of the show.

I dyed my hair again tonight, a new dye with an additional vial of colour enhancer that transformed the relatively benign liquid into something that looked exactly like blood. It was slightly creepy, but in a weird primal way, it felt incredibly.

I've called red lipstick warpaint before. It must be a throwback to the animal instinct to brand oneself with the blood of an enemy. Or, as red lipstick is also a mark of allure, to the rising bloodflow of desire - I'm thinking of how Natalie Portman's character in Black Swan daubs red lipstick onto her sweet virginal mouth in an attempt to seduce and inspire courage in herself.

I make a habit of wearing a series of black items with a splash of colour somewhere about my person, be it just my hair or a statement piece of jewelry. But when I want to make a statement, I wear red lipstick. It's a power thing, as every girl-power moment in films will testify. It gives the wearer a feeling of allure, of superiority, of maturity and power. It makes them untouchable but it is designed to draw attention. Like in the picture above, it draws attention to the mouth. Whether that's to words of an argument or to a coy smile doesn't matter. I just know that when I need to put on armour, to feel strong and untouchable, I wear red lipstick.

And this comes just as I discover that my favourite red lipstick ever (Cherry by No7) appears to have been phased out.

Edit - panic over nothing: Cherry is not being phased out, just not stocked in a few places. I've discovered a lovely new red by Maybelline that's more glossy than most lipsticks I go for, making it long-lasting and moisturising as well as bright. And it's called 'Pleasure Me Red', which, I'm not going to lie, is part of the reason why I bought it.

Lady in Red

2011-02-28T09:21:00.000Z

There is literally only one thing filling my inbox this morning.

Phwooooooaaaaar.

More Oscars photos to follow.

Womens' magazines - the last taboo

2011-02-23T00:06:00.000Z

A post appeared in my Twitter feed a few days ago from Lorraine Candy, Elle UK's editor, telling us tantalisingly of a shocking piece in the upcoming issue about the secret sexism that we take for granted. We, she assures us, need to read it.

Once again, a high-end magazine has tapped into the psyche's love of the tantalising headline, something lesser publications are fond of and lambasted for doing by more esteemed blogs than this on a daily basis. The allure of a headline that just cries out for a furtive glance and whispered exchange while expecting to be read by women sitting side by side on the Tube (you can tell I'm a Londoner) is just too much for most of us.

My esteemed colleagues at Wannabe Hacks have just finished a series of articles for Magazine Week, featuring, among other things, a debate between two magazine journalists on the merits and pitfalls of the sphere. While the 'for' article safely asserts the addictive nature of the magazines, their quick fix of lite content and fresh celebrity gossip (often gleaned from a gossip blog several days earlier) and their glossy, glossy fashion spreads, the 'against' article highlighted the way that said magazines are training women up to have massively conflicting views about how to treat eachother, suggesting we celebrate our beauty in the same breath as feverishly telling us how Kate Bosworth lost all that weight, as well as making the vapid seem like a viable path through life. My Twitterfeed was, today, awash with comments and retweets about the crisis in Libya, except for my old friend Grazia, who took the opportunity to tell us that Jennifer Aniston has had a haircut.

Repetitive headlines are commonplace, but the most alluring of all the features in today's common or garden womens' magazine is one that includes the phrase 'the last taboo'. Over the last year, there have been more of these last taboos than you can shake a stick at. Possibly the best one was from Vogue's March 2010 edition, a fascinating piece on poo. Of course, the topic of this piece was kept off the front cover, leaving merely the compelling headline 'The last taboo: we need to talk' next to an artfully posing Alexa Chung. But cast your eyes around and you'll find that our world is littered with less-than-just last taboos, from the retro (abortion) to the obvious (larger women in fashion). The end result is that, given the right spin, anything we could possibly talk about is taboo.

I'm currently rewatching a fantastic US drama called Angels in America, a multi-award-winning miniseries that, in it, encapsulates many everyday taboos set against the backdrop of the insurgance of AIDS in the 1980s. Among the taboos discussed are, of course, sex and sexuality, but also identity, ethics, religion and politics, to name but a few. Hence the need for a rewatch. Because although all these things are massively commonplace, their popularity in the popular sphere fluctuates, meaning that, at any time, there is the potential for them to become taboo. All that it would take is for someone to declare it taboo, and the rabid hunger surrounding it would start.

There are two types of awkward topic - the one that you would rather not think about, and the one that is too complicated to answer. Vogue's piece on poo falls into the former category, which is what made it so excellent, but the majority of other issues declared taboo over the years will remain largely taboo for the second reason, in the same way that one does not discuss politics, religion or ethics. Therefore, I have to declare that the only taboo that will truly always remain, is ignorance. Cast out into the cold by these hostile fashionista sisters, be we ignorant of the taboo of abortion, the size zero debate, motherhood, class, race, or whatever else has been daubed 'downbeat cause of the month', we are at a total loss. Clue up, or bow out.

I didn't buy this month's Elle. I haven't actually bought a magazine yet this year, as part of my mission to save money and to stop getting wound up by some of the idiotic thought that is permitted to enter the public sphere (and here, I know Ms Candy will disagree, having made a snide comment via Twitter earlier about how much 'twaddle' there is on blogs and how they need editing as much as magazines do). But, yes, I am intrigued to see the secret sexism that has the Twittersphere so hooked. I'd hate to remain ignorant of that. But, of course, like all the other tabooed topics, I imagine I already know what's going to be said.