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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