Thursday, 29 August 2013


Ok, so the last time I wore a slogan tee I'm pretty sure I was 14. If we're pushing it, maybe 15. In fact, it was with horror that a couple of months ago I discovered an old, green travesty folded unobtrusively in the bottom of my wardrobe - emblazoned on the front of it were the words 'SHOPPING IS BETTER THAN BOYS'. Cringe.

You see, tongue in cheek t-shirts lost their novelty in the ball park of about 5 years ago. What was once the coolest way to let the world know that you are in fact made of 'Sugar, Spice & Everything Nice' has now been replaced with Facebook, Twitter and just about every other Internet supported means of updating the world with every last detail of your life. Slogan t-shirts make me think only of Stag Dos and Girls on Tour team vests in Malia.

BUT with talkative tees popping up all over the high street, I think I've come down with the feisty fever. Yes, they may be just as squirm-worthy as my alliteration but they're just the right amount of ironic to have something of the nonchalant New Yorker about them or the pouty-faced Parisian who was clearly born cooler than you'll ever be. And who doesn't want to ooze apathetic? Remember, nobody smiles at Fashion Week.

Tuesday, 23 July 2013

GETTING JIGGY WITH IT: Royal Babies vs. Riotous Raving

As much as I am pleasantly delighted for our Prince Wills and Kate, what with them having a new royal son to welcome to Buckingham Palace, I can't help but accept that the ensuing hysteria has been all but lost on me since the announcement yesterday. They're wonderful creatures, babies. Especially when they're not yours and you get to hold them, cooing in delight, until your 5 minute slot is over and you can return to your normal childless duties. So, it is understandable that it seems the whole nation is simultaneously sighing at the thought of a little sovereign prince in a little silky cot. However, it did occur to me that - after witnessing countless displays of baby stalking - we are all investing ourselves far too heavily in a little boy that happens to be just like any other (bar the very large exception of his royal title) and was, in fact, made the same way *cue stifled giggles*. Ok, so maybe picturing the little lad's conception isn't the best way to go about it either but, if we're going to be untiringly chatting about the direct result of some regal rumpy-pumpy, I know which way I'd rather be getting jiggy with it. Babies and blankets are all good and well but I'll stick to throwing shapes on the dance floor.

So, although we still don't know whether we'll be treated to a bank holiday BBQ or not (we may have to make that an indoor affair if the storming doesn't stop), here's my pick of's top 5 party heels. If we don't get to cradle the baby for all of this enthusiasm, we at least deserve a celebratory shop!

1. Black Spiked Heels, £54.95
2. Flouro Pink Wedges, £44.95
3. Neon Lime Courts, £42.95
4. Nude Studded Heels, £44.95
5. Colour Block Chunky Heels, £259.95

Wednesday, 12 June 2013


Ever heard of Anna Lomax? She's got one of those names that rolls off the tongue and makes you feel like surely you've met her before - in an East London underground club or on the streets of Brick Lane - even though you probably haven't. But it's not the plausible sense of deja vu that makes Ms Lomax so unforgettable it's her art pieces, an amalgamation of bizarre influences from pound shops and junk to today's pop culture. The South London illustration graduate has already racked up an impressive client list since her transition into the professional world in 2007, including Nike, Topshop, Selfridges and Garage Magazine.

Her pieces are fantastic, seriously cool. They seem to make no sense at all but make complete sense entirely. A modern Alice-in-Wonderland-whimsical spin on everyday objects and the world today. I think that what I love so much about her work is the fashion influences. Her art is aesthetically pleasing from the point of view of inspiration - like it belongs on some kind of mood board, a fashion students dream, alongside conceptual pictures of buildings and blooming flowers. It's not the kind of art you pay an extortionate price for, hang in your front room and pay no notice to from thereon forward - a symbol of status and wealth rather than an eye for the fantastical. It's the kind of art that makes you want to put on that fuchsia lipstick because Why not, it's a Wednesday? It's the kind of art that makes you want to wear neon trousers to work because casual Friday should be every day. Ultimately, it's my kind of art. And, since I'm an outspoken, opinionated Loudmouth, it should be your kind of art too. Just saying.


Monday, 10 June 2013


My love affair with Missguided continues. After seeing their hotter than hot Project Ibiza campaign, I'm all revved up for summer. Who doesn't want to parade around and pose amongst smoke bombs on a sexy Balearic island? I for one am wholeheartedly for those kinds of activities. Although I will not be sunning myself on the white isle this year, I will be looking to the Missguided edit for fashspiration. A little tanning oil and a prime spot in Hyde Park will do just as good.

Saturday, 8 June 2013

This season I'm pioneering 3 key trends: oriental flair, neon pop and urban cool. I'm thinking floaty kimono style jackets, sports jerseys and super stunning maxis. So, here's my edit from the go to brand for all of you darlings and divas out there. If you're looking for insta-cool, you're looking in the right place.


Friday, 7 June 2013


It is undeniably a fact that every living, breathing, normally functioning woman will at some point inadvertently find herself browsing the virtual shelves of Asos looking for something shiny and new to top off the day - which is exactly what I was doing this fine Friday, when I discovered the joy of Funky Bling. Brainchild of Tatum Mazzilli (cool name, huh?), the accessories are punchy, fun and just the right amount of acid rave 90s thug to be supa-dupa cool. Think Jenny from the Block bling bling with an extra side of sassy and a twist of ghetto fabulous flava. Did I mention they're embellished with Swarovski crystals? I just can't get enough and I've fallen hard for their fabulicious headgear. The Billy Badass bandanas are edgy enough to make any festival outfit killer and the neon pop beanies make me want to join a girl gang and become best friends with Brooke Candy. Ok, so maybe that's unlikely but it never hurt to play dress up.


Wednesday, 29 May 2013


I'm majorly style crushing right now. As in, wide-eyed, heart thumping, mondo crushing on Jessica Virgin of eclectic fashion blog Vintage Virgin. There is nothing I love more than a fierce and fearless fashionista who has no qualms about showing the world that it isn't just celebrities who stomp the streets like a runway. If she ever wears track suit bottoms and spends the evening in with womankind's best friends Ben and Jerry, you wouldn't know.

Friday, 17 May 2013


Cruel is the mistress of life. It is only when she sees you broke and penniless that she plants the seed of undying lust to twist and turn in your mind like a steel-bladed turbine. A time when you are most vulnerable and susceptible to buy whatever you want because really you 'need to catch a break'. Then there's the 'Limited' effect - the cloaked dagger in every retailer's tool kit. Throw in the words 'limited edition' and everybody's in a frenzy. You have to have them because you may never get the chance to again and, surely, you will regret this for the rest of your life, reflecting bitterly from behind your bifocals long after your golden days are through. If you don't buy them now, you'll never get them and how could you let the best thing that's potentially ever happened to you sale (excuse the pun) straight out of your life?!

Tuesday, 14 May 2013


Don't you love when you get a new follower on Twitter? For a second you get that mini rush, a virtual upvote of acceptance from a fellow web explorer. I love it even more when that follower leads me to find really cool t-shirts with Lana Del Rey's face on it. Need I say more?

Prand is a French brand that, until two days ago, was completely unknown to me. It's a cool little E-Shop with something of the skateboard hipster about it (minus the the battered Vans and petulant attitude). Apparently loads of French celebrities wear it and the Swedish House Mafia too. Cool. But before we have a Mean Girls 'army pants and flip flops' moment, it's the awesome prints that have got me wishing I had discovered them earlier.

The Lana and Frank Ocean tops are affordable (and French) and are perfect paired with high-waisted denim and fringed leather for a festival cool look (and French). Debit cards at the ready.

Monday, 13 May 2013


When you find a pair of shoes that fits - literally as well as embodying your personality in a perfectly bound amalgamation of leather and rubber - it feels like the heavens have opened above you and marshmallow rainbows are raining down in heady abundance. I exaggerate not.

Shopping for shoes, in an age where there are enough options to make your head spin in one or two shops alone, can be a nightmare and a half. They're too expensive, too small, too tight, bad quality, the wrong shade of chartreuse. Sometimes by the time you've made your way out of the shop, clambering for air on the bustling high street, the freshly purchased shoes seem more like a burden than anything - a bitter reminder of the claustrophobic cinch shared with half of the other shoppers on the planet. That's why, when you find the right ones, it's like an angel has hugged you. I do not lie.

Wednesday, 1 May 2013


Last night, I discovered Dina Goldstein, a fantastic photographer and notable innovator when it comes to emotive imagery. I stumbled upon her work almost by accident, it was one of those little pop ups on a comedy thread I had unwittingly found myself reading off the back of a university advice column. Labelled 'The Reality of Barbie's Life at Home' and laden with bright pink imagery, I decided to give it a flick through. There were only 3 images and I was left wanting to know more, what happens to Barbie? Never did I think I'd be spending my Tuesday night frantically trying to figure out whatever became of the plastic pin-up but, nonetheless, I traced the photos back to their original source via many a diversion.

The series of photos are dark and comic, portraying a perfect woman with a perfect life and an equally as perfect husband. Except there's this one thing - Ken prefers the company of men. As you flip through the photo set, your smile gradually melts away and you can feel your heartstrings tightening as you follow Barbie's disintegration into depression and madness. The reality of perfection is far from flawless.


Friday, 26 April 2013


Now. Before you turn up your noses, scoff from the enviable comfort of your significant others' arms or all of the above, hear me out. 

I woke up this morning and turned over to scroll through Facebook on my phone - as you do in this age of Instagram models and Google glasses - when I came across one of the hardest hitting statuses I'd seen in a while. No, it wasn't about lab-tested bunnies or soldiers in Iraq. It wasn't one of those love stories that you have to like and share otherwise you'll be cursed with misery and romantic barrenness for the rest of your sorry life - although my tendency to dismiss them may explain a lot. It simply read: How did I end up on And immediately the world around me closed in and my lilac jacquard duvet cocoon suddenly felt like a fortress of shame.

I'm 20 and newly so. I've always been independent and, unlike a large portion of my friends, haven't already chosen every detail of my wedding down to the colour of the ribbons on the bridesmaids'  bouquets. I haven't named my unborn children already, illogically decided their sexes and written a list of all the traits my future husband must posses or bust. In fact, the closest I've ever gotten to that was planning weddings for my Barbie dolls as a child and, even then, relationships were a formula that played out something like this: boy meets girl -> boy kisses girl's feet -> girl is princess -> boy is man slave. Yet, on more than one occasion - I am ashamed to say - I've found myself tentatively hovering on their brightly coloured homepage wondering if I could find my knight in shining armour with the click of a button.

You see, here's the thing. Everywhere we turn, we're hit with love like a club in the face. A big, shiny, fluorescent pink club that makes you feel similar to how Goliath must have felt when he was beaten by a tiny guy with a rock. 'It all starts with a date', they say, as if in this day and age dates just rain from the sky. That's about as likely as Channing Tatum landing in my lap during that Weather Girls song (Happy Birthday, by the way). lulls you into a sense of security. Hey, you're young and you're single and you spend half of your time laughing at memes on the Internet. That's ok. It all starts with a date. So, on you go, full of rose-tinted hopes that you too can find a man that likes carrots and mango chutney as much as you. And, maybe, you might even perform an accidental duet in a quirky shop full of dinky nic-nacs and realise, like the couple in the advert, that you both like the Godfather 3 (which, by the way, I have never seen).

There's the guy top left, he doesn't look so jolly. Next. Then there's the guy three rows down, far right. He's jolly enough but he's not even looking into the camera. What does this say about his lack of commitment? Next. Then you realise that the default age bracket in the sign up box is 25-45. That's 5 years older than me and none of these men seem to posses the right balance of jolly and devoted. 

With head hung low, you slink back to your jacquard printed fortress of shame. It all starts with a date, a date you're yet to secure. Until then, you'll continue to be hit with the shiny, pink club whilst you listen to your friends talk about why they want an ivory dress instead of pure white and, 2 months down the line, you'll probably find yourself back where you started. On 20 and desperate.

Monday, 22 April 2013


Seriously, go home paisley print and shearling gilets. You are not invited to my party and you can't sit with us.

Yes, the Jamba Juice swigging hipsters of yesteryear are grinding on my nerves like Camembert on a grater at a wine tasting party. They're deceivingly expensive and they smell funny.

To me, nothing seems less appealing than looking like an underwashed teenager with a pretentious affinity for playing the starving artist and the sartorial imagination of an oak tree.

No, Boho. You are a no no.

Here are 3 ways to ditch the longstanding Bo-NO addiction and cruise into SS13 a brand new woman:


Monday, 1 April 2013


...Because I am obsessed.

The original bomber was a boring, basic wardrobe filler. A collegiate staple, normally comprising of an athletic stripe and an oversized A on the left breast. Yawn.

Fast forward to AW12 and bombers were doing all kinds of things they'd never done before. Contrast sleeves, controversial textures and clean lines - not a left-breasted letter in sight. Still, I was yet to be convinced by their boyish charm.

Monday, 25 March 2013


Yes, really. I'm asking. Is 20 the new 40?

There was a time when it felt like we were moving forward. One small step for fashion, one huge step for womankind and all that. SJP teetered down the streets in Sex and the City, giving housewives everywhere a run for their money and making it ok for women to be women and not young, hitched, baby-making machines before their time. The Devil Wears Prada came along and made it glamourous for women to be successful with an enviable career, to see the world and babysit nothing more than their wardrobe. It was a time for power women. Life started at 40. Girls were being girls for longer and women were living out their pre-baby dreams without feeling that society was perpetually frowning at them. So why, as I sit here 2 weeks before my 20th birthday, do I feel like I'm about to be pushed down a slippery slope towards crow's feet?

Having spent the last 3 weeks in female dominated offices, it couldn't be more obvious how many hours have been knocked off the biological clock in recent years. There are women in their mid and early 20s - all either pregnant or desperate to be. There's talk of puppies (for the children), maternity leave and prospective engagement rings. There are even women that vehemently deny their age for fear they'll be considered old at 27. If this is Earth, then send me to Mars.

What bothers me the most, however, is the new meaning of 'mutton dressed as lamb'. Apparently, short shorts are out of the question once you lose the teenager title and it's time to consider a new sophisticated way of dressing. Not that I was keen on pigtails in the first place but I'm not ready for the pearls and twin sets!

With 14 year old girls taking to the tiles - fake IDs and stilettos at hand - is there room for us 20 year old wash outs? Am I destined to a life of breast pumps, cats and powdered milk?

Who am I kidding? Here are my top 4 Topshop mini dresses to steal every gaze at a birthday celebration. I might just get a bejewelled Zimmer frame to match.

1. Colour Block Mirror Dress - For a quiet Corona & Lime with friends, try Brick Lane for the coolest bars in East London.
2. Organza Lantern Dress - This is one for the Mad Hatter's Tea. Cocktails in tea cups and cutesy cakes from the Hummingbird Bakery. Throw one in your back garden if the weather permits or deck out your living room with coloured scarves and cushions for psychedelic Bohemian feel.
3. Florence Dress by Jones & Jones - Perfect for sushi and sake at Nobu. Slick your hair up in a high pony and you'll give the VIP clientele a run for their money.
4. Bow Front Prom Dress - This one's got something of the cutesy dominatrix about it. Head to the West End to party in style. Whisky Mist, Movida or Jalouse will do the trick!

Saturday, 23 March 2013


The past 3 weeks have been crazy - hectic in a way that is diabolical in comparison to the prior duvet days and slow-moving sessions of those before that. University is a different world to everything else. A bubble, if you like, in which there is a completely different clock. You often forget about the world around you, the cold drawl of the 9 to 5 and 'grown-up' life. Cue 4 weeks of Buying work placements and I'm hurtling back to Earth. If I thought I needed Gatineau before, the dried out, flaky skin reflected in the mirror in front of me is a horrible reminder that life does get worse after uni. I need a lifesaver, a magic bottled potion like that of the fairytales that turned Shrek from an Ogre into a sexy, chocolate-haired man. I need the Aquamemory Moisture Replenish Mask.

I must admit, I was skeptical when greeted by a duck egg blue, gel-like substance easing out of the sleek white bottle. Given, it felt like liquified silk but drew little to no comparison to the 99p sludge (which mind you has always worked a treat) found in garishly coloured sachets at Superdrug. How could this light as a feather substance fix the train wreck that I am now confronted with?

The bottle instructed me to 'apply in a thick layer', which I did happily - never one to do anything sparingly - and leave on for 10 minutes. The gel glides on clear and gives you that fresh laundry feeling with it's clean, refreshing aroma. It's soft, satiny texture provides an everlasting feeling of hydration while it's on - almost as though you've just splashed your face with cold water...repeatedly. No drying, no cracking. It literally feels as though you've just put it on for the whole 10 minutes. If you're looking for a quick and easy wake-up call, this may be your buy. If you're just looking for a little slice of pure, unadulterated facial luxury, you may as well whip out the debit card as well. The Aquamemory mask feels like a plush blanket of velvet hugging and draping every dry, unloved crevice of your face. 

The results? Smooth, plump and hydrated skin with not a single sign of oily sheen. My face definitely felt in the best shape it had been for a while and the quick use time means that it's a product I could easily fit into my busy schedule.

The cons? Not many of note. If you have any bad spots or open abrasions the cooling/tingling sensation can feel a little like burning and/or be slightly uncomfortable. Nonetheless, it was not painful and didn't leave any damage on my skin. Furthermore, the mask does take quite a while to wash off with hot water and required quite a good scrub to remove all residue.


8/10 - This product is most definitely an investment and a staple in one. It is a skincare saviour for anyone like me - a student nearing her 20s with a schedule that's split between Birmingham and London - who is left with dry, flaky skin and no time to pamper it. Like Fairy Dust in a bottle, this bad boy will be a new must have in my beauty bag. So, what are you waiting for ladies? Get clicking!

Saturday, 9 February 2013


Last year, I blogged about what I would take in my imaginary suitcase if I were to take a city break to Paris. Now, I sit here amongst debris and fabric rubble excitedly preparing myself for a trip to the city of love in 4 days (yes, I will be spending Valentines day eating chocolates by Diptyque candlelight melting at the staggering view beyond my window - boyfriend not included). Expect pictures galore and copious Instagram (therealnaomio) references to baguettes within the next 2 weeks.

Before then, however, I'll be compiling an imaginary suitcase for New York - inspired by the mannequin dressing I've been doing recently on a university project. They say lightening never strikes twice but, who knows, the charm of the (virtual) holiday holdall might well do.
All Topshop

Tuesday, 5 February 2013


Some behind the scenes shots that I took on the set of our Kinetic Aesthetic sportswear inspired look for a visual merchandising concept created for Topshop:


Thursday, 31 January 2013


Now Playing: Long Live A$AP - A$AP Rocky

Recently, I've had the strangest dreams. Vivid hallucinations of the whimsical nature. If dreams really do have a meaning, I am most certainly destined for something weird and wonderful in the near future - a tea party with the Dalai Lama in a funhouse full of mirrors perhaps or, more likely, a mystical trip into the world of Narnia through my bedroom closet (obviously). Either that or I could listen to A$AP Rocky and watch kaleidoscopic videos on Youtube before going to bed, much less accessible than Narnia but surely categorised in the same box as the weird and the wonderful?

Parka, Primark
Jumper, Boohoo
Trousers, Primark,
Studded pumps, River Island

Photography:  Laura Gulshani

Sunday, 27 January 2013


Is this real life? Do you ever get the feeling that your head is literally going to explode 'David After the Dentist' style? When your mortal brain is just too minuscule to comprehend the obscurity of a situation or chain of events? Today was that day. Bizarre to say the least.

I'm not a fan of queues. I like to get things done quickly and efficiently. Out of the way. I don't even like to queue for the restroom when I'm likely to spontaneous burst. Sitting on the carpeted floor of the Barbican in a 2 and a half hour queue, I must have been barely recognisable. What followed - a room full of rain - was worth the wait.

Yes, the Rain Room is what it says on the tin. A shadowy room, lit only by one spotlight, was empty apart from the simulated rain cascading from the ceiling. So what? After being prepped by the guide to "move slowly", we edged towards the water - worried about what our leather shoes and heat-styled hair would have to say about it. Then, it parted. The rain parted. Around us. Where you stand the rain parts and around you streams a glittery downpour. And on your face (and just about everyone's faces around us) sits a fixed grin. It feels like some sort of paradise - a world outside of our world - where you see and feel nothing but the simplistic beauty of the exhibition enveloping you. It's inspiring - a burst of guerrilla catharsis. In saying that, I mean that once you step out of the rain you feel like you've just watched a soppy film with a really happy ending. The telltale choke at the back of your throat that threatens to turn into a shower of happy tears. It's weird, given, but it's true. Back to reality. Back to real life. 

Safe to say I won't be looking at rain the same way.

But then, as though my day couldn't get anymore surreal, we decided to stop for dinner at The Breakfast Club by Liverpool Street Station. It's a cute little hipster haunt - somewhere between an '50s diner and an old school playground - with the most fantastic halloumi wraps I've had so far. A vintage fridge - a white Smeg, to be exact - sat against the wall adjacent to me. It wasn't at all out of place until a group of urban cool kids disappeared behind it's doors (yes, disappeared) and never came back. What lurks behind it is an underground cocktail bar. Dimly lit, relatively unknown and with off the scale cool credentials - it's set to be my new haunt. 

So, rain without getting wet. Magical Narnia fridges. Is there anything else you'd like to throw at me today, life?

Thursday, 24 January 2013


Frost bite gains a new meaning once the festive season has passed. Nobody's wishing for snowflakes - I say nobody in referral to those that are clinically sane - or chilly evenings in. Fireplaces are no longer novel and marshmallow hot chocolate becomes tired. Sleigh bells ring... lingers in the distance like a ghostly whisper and the thermostat threatens to freeze over completely. There's no fun in -2 degrees. No fun at all.

Nevertheless, it's not in the rulebook to respond to Winter with a meek whimper - the fashion rulebook that is. No, you fight fire with fire (or ice with ice). When is there ever a better excuse to layer like there's no tomorrow and shroud yourself in opulent (faux) fur?

The ground may be covered in down trodden snow and, yes, it may be impossible weather to wear heels in but the winter hasn't gotten the better of me just yet.

Famous last words.

Face earrings, Topshop
Polo neck, Primark
Tartan Dress, (can't remember)
Faux fur coat, Topshop Vintage
High top trainers, ASOS
Handbag, Zara

Photography: Laura Gulshani

Tuesday, 8 January 2013


Today's inspiration is moody, dark, bad girl vibes.


Monday, 7 January 2013


Yesterday's look was an amalgamation of 1990s MTV, granny chic and East London hipster kid. I had tons to do - dropping my brother at the coach station, working on FAB Magazine and sending off email after email in regards to the Fashion Buying work placement I've been looking for. With a day that hectic, my brain was in bits and all I really wanted to do was chill in my Snuggie Bruno Mars style. Nonetheless, a girl's got to think of her street cred. Snuggies = zero fash points. Zero fash points = sartorial depression. Not good.

I decided to run with the hip hop inspiration I've been basking in for the past couple of weeks and paired my brand new boyfriend jeans with an MTV tee and my favourite red beanie. Beaten up Nikes - hand-me-downs from my brother - completed the look (sorry, no pictures - I told you I'm a busy girl!)

Red knitted beanie hat, Primark
Grey marl hoodie, Primark
Cream oversized granny cardigan, River Island
MTV t-shirt, River Island (Menswear)
Dip dye boyfriend jeans, ASOS


Saturday, 5 January 2013


Did anyone else order just about everything on the internet over Boxing Day? I was so click-happy that, after placing one order on ASOS, I had to go back and make another! 

One of the things I bought were these ├╝ber cool, dip dye boyfriend jeans*. They have a really urban feel to them and will work great with the androgynous trend that I'm currently obsessed with. Think sports luxe sleek with a hint of the oversized trend and a dash of Harlem hip hop.

Here's how I'll be styling my jeans:

Friday, 4 January 2013


Alright. Who's seen it? Company Magazine, January 2013 issue.

I've always been a Company fan, especially after that makeover with that recyclable paper, (yes, who doesn't love a good slice of fashion with a side order of ethical, guilt-free, fat-free goodness?) but, after reading the newest issue, I think I'm officially hooked.

Now, I must admit - and, if you're reading Victoria White (Company's Editor), cover your eyes - I've dabbled here and there in different magazines. I've committed literary adultery, sometimes bypassing the little, eco-friendly magazine, for Grazia or More on my weekly trip to the corner shop. Hands down, I confess. I haven't been the die hard, super committed issue collector that I should've been.

Enter the Superblogger Issue.

I'm hardly 5 pages in when I decide I'm taking the plunge. I'm going to do it. I want to subscribe. Cue series of gasps and startled intakes of breath. I never subscribe. In fact, when it comes to things like this, I never commit. I'm like the really annoying guy that you've been seeing for 6 months who doesn't want to admit that he's basically your boyfriend now or the "best friend" that only wants to be your "best friend" when she needs to borrow your shoes. Not a loyalty card, not a magazine subscription. Even a gift card feels like too much obligation to me. But I want to. I want to be a Company Girl.

Maybe it's just me but I can't help but think there's a hefty handful (or two) of girls nationwide that are feeling a swelling sense of self-affirmation after reading it. It could be the fact that it's all about bloggers - real women, real people who've made something of themselves purely through resilience and drive. It could just be the fact that Company gets cooler by the issue and the ideas more innovative. They had me at the headline 'Win A Pair of Louboutins' and the model in the marl sweatshirt reading 'Who The F*ck Is Mick Jagger?'.

So, I'll be taking the plunge. Sealing the deal, taking my vows, down on one knee. Everyone's invited. Don't wear white. You can't upstage the bride.

Thursday, 3 January 2013


Yes, you read right.

If, like me, you feel that 2013 came way too quickly, you barely had a chance to finish what you started in 2012 and missed the start of the midnight jubilations because the MC at your NYE bash kicked off the countdown 2 minutes late - then you probably haven't taken much time to think of a decent New Years Resolution. Maybe some rehashed cliches from the years gone by: you know, eating healthier, cutting back on the wine, generally banning yourself from focusing on your failures. Maybe you set out to find love, 2013 is your year. I, on the other hand, have set out to stop myself from being sucked into the Black Hole of Sartorial Criminality towards which I have been barrelling at unparalleled speed.

You see, being a university student has a funny way of making you a) lazy, b) disorganised, c) plain or d) all of the above. I peer into my wardrobe, a cluttered box of incoherent colours and prints, and am greeted with the sorry sight of shapeless jumpers and - I shudder as a say it - Dad jeans. What on Earth happened? Honestly, what in the name of slingback mules is going on with my mojo? I used to gaze at my closet - cluttered nevertheless - with an unwavering content. I was sure and, in my own right, deservedly so that there were plenty of style stalkers who would happily snap up 3/4ths of what I owned should I take to tossing it out on the streets like some kind of crazed Carrie Bradshaw-Santa Claus love child. Granted, it was always more dime deal than designer - catwalk style on a charity shop budget - but now, now I have nothing to show for myself but a sorry collection of oversized t-shirts and a pair of ankle boots that look like they've been through the wars.

Maybe it's that I've lost my courage? But I still covet the brightest, most cutting edge pieces and I buy them too - forking out chunks of my student loan just to leave my purchases hanging in complete closet isolation. No, my problem is convenience. I've let convenience lock me in a chokehold, contradicting everything that makes me, well, me. My boldness, my love of fashion, my university degree.

So, from here I put my foot down. 2013 may not be my year, it may not bring everything I expect and will certainly throw at me what I didn't (whether I like it or not) but it certainly will not be the year of the Soccer Dad. It will not be the year of shapeless, indigo jeans and beaten up trainers - unless, of course, they were intended to be so. Year of the Snake? More like Year of the SFB (that's Super Fashion Blogger to you).
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