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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