Not
everyone finds it easy to get a date: firstly you have to find someone
you like. For me, specific type does not even cut it: certain height,
certain hair colour, certain sense of self. That or a professional rugby
player, either will work.
But that’s not half of it. They have to want you and the two don’t often come hand in hand.
So
wouldn’t it be great if there was an app you could use to find people,
see if they’re all that great and decide if you want them before meeting
them. There is. Its called Grindr and its used by guys to find hot
dates and anything else that might take their fancy. One of my friends
has met many a guy on it, spent many an hour getting to know people and
could go out any night he wanted. I have to wait for days where I have
found the perfect dress and stayed of the martini.
There is a heterosexual version: it’s called Blendr. However, it doesn’t play by the same rules.
Everyone
I know who has used it has done so for friendship and whilst I think
you can’t have enough friends, an app purely for dating can’t be a bad
thing.
But
would we really use it? Critics claim it works for guys because being
only 50 metres away from someone that wants you is a turn on. It is not
the same for women - one of my friends repeatedly declares her love for
someone who lives 300 miles away. What’s more, but one picture and a
small line claiming what position is your favourite is not enough for me
to go home with someone (no matter how amazing the position is). I
would take meeting someone in the flesh any day.
Wednesday, 16 November 2011
Tuesday, 8 November 2011
Disengagement.
In the last two months, four of my close friends and family
have got engaged. I'm not going to lie, when the first one of these four told
me I was over the moon - a wedding primarily means a new dress and a chance to
drink champagne in a nice venue.
However, by the fourth I felt a little different. How important is an engagement, really? It has been offered to us by many magazines that you must try to find ‘the one.’ Preferably, rich, hot, sentimental, clever and charming – probably even in that order. But paradoxically we are also told that marriage isn’t important anymore. Of course, this is all subject to opinion but as I am thrown into the world of wedding plans and dress disasters, I’m left to wonder whether ever I will prefer a wedding to living in a student flat eating cereal out of a mug because I possess no ability to wash up.
However, by the fourth I felt a little different. How important is an engagement, really? It has been offered to us by many magazines that you must try to find ‘the one.’ Preferably, rich, hot, sentimental, clever and charming – probably even in that order. But paradoxically we are also told that marriage isn’t important anymore. Of course, this is all subject to opinion but as I am thrown into the world of wedding plans and dress disasters, I’m left to wonder whether ever I will prefer a wedding to living in a student flat eating cereal out of a mug because I possess no ability to wash up.
In this bubble, I wonder what changes engagement brings to a
couple. For most, sex is no longer a thing to appreciate after marriage –
whilst society has not yet come to terms with openly talking about sex, it is
accepted by most that behind closed doors all manner of things happen. Why else
would Ann Summers and FHM exist?
However, it is not just sex. I recently had a conversation
with my flatmate which resulted in her asserting that she is planning two
marriages; after all, the first one will probably end in divorce. Whilst this
is cynical, it is most probably true which leads me to believe that nights out in
the student union dressed in a toga are
most probably more fun.
I’m not denying that I will probably hit a crisis at some
point due to all my friends being happily settled whilst I most definitely won’t
be. But for now, the only dress shopping
I’ll be doing is for my friends twenty-first.
Thursday, 29 September 2011
Amore
Three words, eight letters.
Eight letters which mould a hell of a lot of films, books and lives: we all know the famous moment where Rose tells Jack in the freezing water. Some of us recollect when Chuck Bass is unable to tell Blair (mainly because we wish it was us). A few of us have been subject, or at least we claim, to its powers.
The nearest my friends and I have come to it is the discussion of when you should feel it. It is an anticipation: a constant question. One of my close friends had her boyfriend say the magic words to her after three days - she was delighted, where as horrified suited my expression much better. Firstly, it was on the phone and nothing life changing should ever be determined over phone call. Secondly, it’s taken me well over three days to decide whether or not I like my new Topshop dress, let alone boyfriend - I’m all for carpe diem but there are limits.
Another story comes from the ability to read a text oh so wrong. After receiving ‘ILYF’ on the end of one message, my beautiful friend thought it was time to say it back. Only problem was, he had meant ‘I like your face.’ Awkward doesn’t describe the proceeding days.
But we are subject to constant pressure about when, where and who we should deem worthy. Open any magazine and there will be at least one feature on ‘the ideal man.’ What’s more but we are told how to gain him, how we should look when we gain him and how long to wait (months, days and seconds) until we can say those fatal words.
However, I’m more than happy to maintain the frivolity often linked with the words. Yes, in films and books it is sad when a couple who are ‘destined’ to be together can no longer be. But for now, my flatmate will continue to love professional rugby players and I shall love Topshop forever.
Eight letters which mould a hell of a lot of films, books and lives: we all know the famous moment where Rose tells Jack in the freezing water. Some of us recollect when Chuck Bass is unable to tell Blair (mainly because we wish it was us). A few of us have been subject, or at least we claim, to its powers.
The nearest my friends and I have come to it is the discussion of when you should feel it. It is an anticipation: a constant question. One of my close friends had her boyfriend say the magic words to her after three days - she was delighted, where as horrified suited my expression much better. Firstly, it was on the phone and nothing life changing should ever be determined over phone call. Secondly, it’s taken me well over three days to decide whether or not I like my new Topshop dress, let alone boyfriend - I’m all for carpe diem but there are limits.
Another story comes from the ability to read a text oh so wrong. After receiving ‘ILYF’ on the end of one message, my beautiful friend thought it was time to say it back. Only problem was, he had meant ‘I like your face.’ Awkward doesn’t describe the proceeding days.
But we are subject to constant pressure about when, where and who we should deem worthy. Open any magazine and there will be at least one feature on ‘the ideal man.’ What’s more but we are told how to gain him, how we should look when we gain him and how long to wait (months, days and seconds) until we can say those fatal words.
However, I’m more than happy to maintain the frivolity often linked with the words. Yes, in films and books it is sad when a couple who are ‘destined’ to be together can no longer be. But for now, my flatmate will continue to love professional rugby players and I shall love Topshop forever.
Tuesday, 20 September 2011
Gone Fishing
Fresher's
week: seven unadulterated, barely memorable (but only for alcoholic
reasons) nights out with people you don't really know.
Look at any form of social media in the weeks proceeding the biggest freshers weeks and you'll find condescending words. 'An excuse to drink' is a popular phrase but against the assumption that all freshers have unsafe sex with as many people as physically possible, one too many vodka and cokes is only a small issue.
But this year, we are hit with a new phenomenon. 'Fishing,' or the act of older students attending freshers week to pull those intoxicated or naive. It's true to the point that I know many second years and above who enjoy the, let's face it, much better entertainment that will ever be put on again throughout the duration of their time at university; when else would S Club 7 (alright, 3, but still) grace the sticky floored student union. But to attend in order to pull? Possible. But even that's not horrendous.
We certainly can't pretend that above years wait for the 'lightweights' to fall before reeling them in and taking them home. Firstly, vomiting is not an attractive look (I learnt that after a particularly unfortunate incident but luckily lack of memory equals a slightly smaller dent in my pride) and no one wants to take someone home who can't stand up.
Secondly, sex with someone a different age is not unusual. For 14 years you are subject to 'what year are you' being one of the determining factors in the opening conversation with any person you might be intimate with. Later on, age is less of an issue.
I can't deny first years go home with second, third, forth years. But in comparison to some of the things happening in the world, I'd take sex with a guy three years older than me any day.
Look at any form of social media in the weeks proceeding the biggest freshers weeks and you'll find condescending words. 'An excuse to drink' is a popular phrase but against the assumption that all freshers have unsafe sex with as many people as physically possible, one too many vodka and cokes is only a small issue.
But this year, we are hit with a new phenomenon. 'Fishing,' or the act of older students attending freshers week to pull those intoxicated or naive. It's true to the point that I know many second years and above who enjoy the, let's face it, much better entertainment that will ever be put on again throughout the duration of their time at university; when else would S Club 7 (alright, 3, but still) grace the sticky floored student union. But to attend in order to pull? Possible. But even that's not horrendous.
We certainly can't pretend that above years wait for the 'lightweights' to fall before reeling them in and taking them home. Firstly, vomiting is not an attractive look (I learnt that after a particularly unfortunate incident but luckily lack of memory equals a slightly smaller dent in my pride) and no one wants to take someone home who can't stand up.
Secondly, sex with someone a different age is not unusual. For 14 years you are subject to 'what year are you' being one of the determining factors in the opening conversation with any person you might be intimate with. Later on, age is less of an issue.
I can't deny first years go home with second, third, forth years. But in comparison to some of the things happening in the world, I'd take sex with a guy three years older than me any day.
Wednesday, 7 September 2011
Sexting
noun: [ mass noun] informal the sending of sexually explicit photographs or messages via mobile phone
Forty years ago (probably ten), the new craze would have never happened. Perhaps it was due to the fact that mobile phones weren’t glued to everyones side but it’s more likely that the chastity belt has been removed from society. Or so we like to think.
Now, sexting is deemed a legitimate word - well it’s been added to the dictionary at least. I don’t know how, or why, we didn’t think of it sooner. With power and sex becoming closer than ever, we can’t deny it’s good to know the other person is thinking of you when they shouldn’t be.
However, we must be aware all dirty texts are cheesy. If someone actually ever said one out loud to me, I would die of embarrassment but read on a screen? Absolutely fine. In fact, better than that: a force to be reckoned with. Of course, a few small white lies are needed - it is very rare for someone in an office to be wearing no underwear. But with reality bent and the other person miles away, suddenly you can feel the sexiest woman alive.
Of course, we all know it can go wrong. My personal favourite is the proof that you should never run simultaneous conversations at the same time as sexting someone.
But still. It’s a pretty good way to occupy time: just be careful if your boyfriends name is 'Dave.'
Forty years ago (probably ten), the new craze would have never happened. Perhaps it was due to the fact that mobile phones weren’t glued to everyones side but it’s more likely that the chastity belt has been removed from society. Or so we like to think.
Now, sexting is deemed a legitimate word - well it’s been added to the dictionary at least. I don’t know how, or why, we didn’t think of it sooner. With power and sex becoming closer than ever, we can’t deny it’s good to know the other person is thinking of you when they shouldn’t be.
However, we must be aware all dirty texts are cheesy. If someone actually ever said one out loud to me, I would die of embarrassment but read on a screen? Absolutely fine. In fact, better than that: a force to be reckoned with. Of course, a few small white lies are needed - it is very rare for someone in an office to be wearing no underwear. But with reality bent and the other person miles away, suddenly you can feel the sexiest woman alive.
Of course, we all know it can go wrong. My personal favourite is the proof that you should never run simultaneous conversations at the same time as sexting someone.
 | |
| wrongnumbertexts.com |
But still. It’s a pretty good way to occupy time: just be careful if your boyfriends name is 'Dave.'
Thursday, 1 September 2011
Trying to Make It
You know it's bad when the alarm announces itself in the middle of a dream about Ed Westwick. After four hours sleep and rather too much champagne the night before, the only thing I succeeded in doing in the first confused minutes of the morning was thinking the wall was my pillow when throwing myself down in frustration at the fact it wasn't light and commitments required me to role out of bed. Quickly.
This was it - I'd been offered a dream opportunity marketing for an amazing, dynamic company. Any normal person would be brimming with excitement but the tube virgin I am caused me to feel only dread. I should probably mention at this point the only time I've visited London before was to go to the zoo when I was rather small and even then I had more than one 'responsible adult' with me.
Now, I was expected to navigate the tubes, streets and people by myself; I had a bad feeling. With no time for breakfast I practically ran out of the door, heels clattering and trusty hand written (read: messy scrawl) directions in hand.
But with the train pulling into the platform I felt slightly more optimistic; the new suit jacket I'd rushed out to buy did it's purpose by hiding the fact I was a 19 year old amateur with no clue and the lack of rain at least meant my perfected messy bun had stayed in place.
Unfortunately, this didn't last long. As I stumbled along the carriage, my mood was darkened slightly by the fact my neighbour on the train suffered from a love of knitting and was engaged in stitching a cardigan (or rug) the duration of the journey. With her elbows out and needles clicking away I don't know how I managed to sleep but the unattractive mouth open pose and occasional fall onto her shoulder certainly made up for the incessant clicking.
Two and a half hours of head bobbing later I arrived. Revealing I didn't know where I was going to a lady in the carriage proved to be a ridiculous idea with her mouth dropping at my inability to determine exactly what colour the circle line was.
'But it's a circle, I can't get lost' didn't satisfy her horror and she proceeded to guide me off the carriage until I'd found the correct coloured line on the floor. 'Think of yourself as Gretel' she shouted hopefully after me as I side stepped people in suits. The only problem was I wasn't heading towards a house made of sweets.
Inevitably, the tube came next. As I watched three tubes pass by I mustered up to confidence to master the 'every man for himself' approach. With the third tube pulling away it dawned on me that all I had to do was loose my politeness and pretend that my commitment was more important than everyone else. Head held high I even succeeded in gaining a seat: and with only a small lapse in moral integrity.
I proceeded to listen to the small talk so that’s so rare on the tube.My favourite snippet coming from a friend telling his boss he was late to work as he 'looked in the mirror and realized I'm a tiger.' Brilliant.
The day continued on a positive note. Not only were we provided coffee and wine (key ingredients to a successful business day) but the other employees were interesting and friendly. The sheer size and beauty of the buildings made me feel very humble, as i was transformed from girl on an adventure to aspiring individual in minutes. After a day of services, systems and strategies it wasn't just my brain that was pumped but my determination to succeed too. It wasn't until I stood on the tube on the way home that I realised how exhausted I was and exactly how much my feet hurt.
On the train home two things struck me. Take every opportunity however daunting it is. And don't pretend you can wear heels slightly to small just because they look pretty: telling yourself to 'walk through the pain' just won't work.
This was it - I'd been offered a dream opportunity marketing for an amazing, dynamic company. Any normal person would be brimming with excitement but the tube virgin I am caused me to feel only dread. I should probably mention at this point the only time I've visited London before was to go to the zoo when I was rather small and even then I had more than one 'responsible adult' with me.
Now, I was expected to navigate the tubes, streets and people by myself; I had a bad feeling. With no time for breakfast I practically ran out of the door, heels clattering and trusty hand written (read: messy scrawl) directions in hand.
But with the train pulling into the platform I felt slightly more optimistic; the new suit jacket I'd rushed out to buy did it's purpose by hiding the fact I was a 19 year old amateur with no clue and the lack of rain at least meant my perfected messy bun had stayed in place.
Unfortunately, this didn't last long. As I stumbled along the carriage, my mood was darkened slightly by the fact my neighbour on the train suffered from a love of knitting and was engaged in stitching a cardigan (or rug) the duration of the journey. With her elbows out and needles clicking away I don't know how I managed to sleep but the unattractive mouth open pose and occasional fall onto her shoulder certainly made up for the incessant clicking.
Two and a half hours of head bobbing later I arrived. Revealing I didn't know where I was going to a lady in the carriage proved to be a ridiculous idea with her mouth dropping at my inability to determine exactly what colour the circle line was.
'But it's a circle, I can't get lost' didn't satisfy her horror and she proceeded to guide me off the carriage until I'd found the correct coloured line on the floor. 'Think of yourself as Gretel' she shouted hopefully after me as I side stepped people in suits. The only problem was I wasn't heading towards a house made of sweets.
Inevitably, the tube came next. As I watched three tubes pass by I mustered up to confidence to master the 'every man for himself' approach. With the third tube pulling away it dawned on me that all I had to do was loose my politeness and pretend that my commitment was more important than everyone else. Head held high I even succeeded in gaining a seat: and with only a small lapse in moral integrity.
I proceeded to listen to the small talk so that’s so rare on the tube.My favourite snippet coming from a friend telling his boss he was late to work as he 'looked in the mirror and realized I'm a tiger.' Brilliant.
The day continued on a positive note. Not only were we provided coffee and wine (key ingredients to a successful business day) but the other employees were interesting and friendly. The sheer size and beauty of the buildings made me feel very humble, as i was transformed from girl on an adventure to aspiring individual in minutes. After a day of services, systems and strategies it wasn't just my brain that was pumped but my determination to succeed too. It wasn't until I stood on the tube on the way home that I realised how exhausted I was and exactly how much my feet hurt.
On the train home two things struck me. Take every opportunity however daunting it is. And don't pretend you can wear heels slightly to small just because they look pretty: telling yourself to 'walk through the pain' just won't work.
Sunday, 28 August 2011
Neverland: Fashion to help us maintain our innocent side.
“You’ll never, never have to think about grown up things again.” Or so Peter says in the famous scene where he whisks Wendy away to a land of crocodiles and fairies. Now, Tinkerbell is a popular character to dress up as, as we wish to maintain the innocent yet mischievous quality she manages to portray.
But now, we don’t have to wait for an excuse to dress up to play the innocent role. The new mega microtrend of Peter Pan collars take us back to our childhood whilst maintaining an element of sophistication and sexiness.
Whether it’s a shift dress, a billowy blouse or a play-suit, collars are appearing on everything. Not only can they be used when you are required to pick something ‘respectable’ but on the right garment, ‘fallen Angel’ says it all. Teemed with a pair of heels, collars become playful and endearing: a perfect mix.
Here are some of my favourite Peter Pan collars:
So whether it’s a night out, a date or one of those times when you’re expected to make yourself look presentable: the Peter Pan collar is perfect for both innocent parties or fallen Angels.
But now, we don’t have to wait for an excuse to dress up to play the innocent role. The new mega microtrend of Peter Pan collars take us back to our childhood whilst maintaining an element of sophistication and sexiness.
Whether it’s a shift dress, a billowy blouse or a play-suit, collars are appearing on everything. Not only can they be used when you are required to pick something ‘respectable’ but on the right garment, ‘fallen Angel’ says it all. Teemed with a pair of heels, collars become playful and endearing: a perfect mix.
Here are some of my favourite Peter Pan collars:
 | |||||||
| http://www.riverisland.com/Online/women/dresses/shift-dresses/black-peterpan-collar-shift-dress-608982 |
The monosyllabic colouring makes this dress perfect for business or pleasure.
 |
| http://www.riverisland.com/Online/women/playsuits--jumpsuits/playsuits/beige-polka-dot-playsuit-606918 |
Days on the beach or evenings out: the polka dot pattern oozes playfulness with the belt accentuating your curves: very sexy.
 |
| http://www.topshop.com/webapp/wcs/stores/servlet |
The slightly lower neckline on this dress makes it perfect for a night out: teemed with a pair of heels, the colour and shape will only add to your mischievous nature.
 |
http://www.asos.com/ASOS-Africa/ASOS-Sleeveless-Peter-Pan-Collar-Dress-with-Chiffon-Panel |
Perfect for formal occasions, the chiffon panel and Peter Pan collar portray sophistication.
So whether it’s a night out, a date or one of those times when you’re expected to make yourself look presentable: the Peter Pan collar is perfect for both innocent parties or fallen Angels.
Wednesday, 24 August 2011
The Ex Factor
Logic is a funny thing. When trying to sort out a dilemma, what to wear on a date or how to diffuse the attention of the person you just won’t like (ever), you do your best apply a reasonable amount of thought - even if it’s only to think of a good enough excuse.
We go to the effort of applying this much consideration to many part of the dating sphere, but there’s one shady area that logic will never be applied; often considered the crux of evil. The ex’s new girlfriend.
We’ve all been through it. The moment where you meet them. A friend of mine was particularly unlucky in the fact that she had to serve the newly adorned ‘couple’ in a fast food chain; sweat and kebabs, there really is no worse way. We’re not all so unlucky, but guaranteed after the worlds most awkward moment you wish you were wearing the skirt which makes your legs look longer, or had actually bothered to get the hair cut instead of shoving it up in what can only be described as a mess.
So we resort to unconditional hatred. The ability to think of everything that is (or could be - maybe) wrong with them. So what if they have a pool, you have a better car. Anyway, they can’t be as good as you because you were clearly the best - including in the bedroom. Say goodbye to satisfaction. The only way to get through the awkward moment is to believe that at that moment, the ex is looking at both of you and thinking ‘what have I done?!’ Unlikely, but believable when in such a dilemma.
The worst part? What if they’re actually nice. The kind new girlfriend - an oxymoron many of us certainly aren’t up for considering just yet. In this case, we could all become authors in the ‘stories to make ourselves feel better’ range. Find one bad picture of her and that’s it, she couldn’t be uglier.
It is one of the only times our friends will forgive us for being arrogant and self-centred - at no other point can we reasonably use the phrase ‘I’m better than her anyway’ and be greeted by a sea of nodding heads by those who love you. It is said friends who allow you elaborate and don’t scorn you for issuing the longest stream of swear words ever when you bump into them in a club. And it’s the best friend who runs away with you so you don’t have to see them dancing: running away no longer becomes cowardly but an insanely good idea until you’ve had a little more wine.
Maybe one day, a person with exceptional compassion, will great the girl with a genuine smile. Until then, I’m happy with ‘I don’t have to like you yet’ rule.
We go to the effort of applying this much consideration to many part of the dating sphere, but there’s one shady area that logic will never be applied; often considered the crux of evil. The ex’s new girlfriend.
We’ve all been through it. The moment where you meet them. A friend of mine was particularly unlucky in the fact that she had to serve the newly adorned ‘couple’ in a fast food chain; sweat and kebabs, there really is no worse way. We’re not all so unlucky, but guaranteed after the worlds most awkward moment you wish you were wearing the skirt which makes your legs look longer, or had actually bothered to get the hair cut instead of shoving it up in what can only be described as a mess.
So we resort to unconditional hatred. The ability to think of everything that is (or could be - maybe) wrong with them. So what if they have a pool, you have a better car. Anyway, they can’t be as good as you because you were clearly the best - including in the bedroom. Say goodbye to satisfaction. The only way to get through the awkward moment is to believe that at that moment, the ex is looking at both of you and thinking ‘what have I done?!’ Unlikely, but believable when in such a dilemma.
The worst part? What if they’re actually nice. The kind new girlfriend - an oxymoron many of us certainly aren’t up for considering just yet. In this case, we could all become authors in the ‘stories to make ourselves feel better’ range. Find one bad picture of her and that’s it, she couldn’t be uglier.
It is one of the only times our friends will forgive us for being arrogant and self-centred - at no other point can we reasonably use the phrase ‘I’m better than her anyway’ and be greeted by a sea of nodding heads by those who love you. It is said friends who allow you elaborate and don’t scorn you for issuing the longest stream of swear words ever when you bump into them in a club. And it’s the best friend who runs away with you so you don’t have to see them dancing: running away no longer becomes cowardly but an insanely good idea until you’ve had a little more wine.
Maybe one day, a person with exceptional compassion, will great the girl with a genuine smile. Until then, I’m happy with ‘I don’t have to like you yet’ rule.
Tuesday, 16 August 2011
A Fairytale Ending?
Once upon a time, in a far away land, a Prince and Princess fell in love. After a little subtle and, of course, moral courting, the Prince and Princess get married and live happily ever after in a castle far, far away.
Comprehend?
Probably not, as the majority of us aren't Princes and Princesses and let's be fair, life isn't that easy (or kind).
But behind the fairytale story, there is some sense. Take away the royal status and easy-going courtship, the concept of two people meeting and ending up married is not unknown. Perhaps it's the fairytale status which makes it easier to believe.
But do we really want to exist in a world where the Prince finds the Princess in a tower, saves her from the evil step-parent before whisking her away on his noble steed to a feast with his beloved parents. Maybe but probably not. After all, where is the awkward 'getting to know each other' stage, the excitement or the crazy, passionate sex. If you need 27 mattresses to make the Princess comfortable, position number 23 in the Kama Sutra is probably off the cards; and where's the fun in that?
Plus, horses are uncomfortable to ride if you don’t know how: passenger seats are much more accommodating for heels and a little black dress. Can’t have horse hair on a first date. Plus then there's the problem of cutlery: seven courses equals a lot of forks and I definitely wouldn't want to determine the difference between a fish and dessert fork in front of a King and Queen.
Fairytales may be easy to believe but fairytale endings do not seem so much fun. Instead of the perfect complexion and mannerisms of a Prince I'd rather take dinner with an 'ordinary' guy any night.
Comprehend?
Probably not, as the majority of us aren't Princes and Princesses and let's be fair, life isn't that easy (or kind).
But behind the fairytale story, there is some sense. Take away the royal status and easy-going courtship, the concept of two people meeting and ending up married is not unknown. Perhaps it's the fairytale status which makes it easier to believe.
But do we really want to exist in a world where the Prince finds the Princess in a tower, saves her from the evil step-parent before whisking her away on his noble steed to a feast with his beloved parents. Maybe but probably not. After all, where is the awkward 'getting to know each other' stage, the excitement or the crazy, passionate sex. If you need 27 mattresses to make the Princess comfortable, position number 23 in the Kama Sutra is probably off the cards; and where's the fun in that?
Plus, horses are uncomfortable to ride if you don’t know how: passenger seats are much more accommodating for heels and a little black dress. Can’t have horse hair on a first date. Plus then there's the problem of cutlery: seven courses equals a lot of forks and I definitely wouldn't want to determine the difference between a fish and dessert fork in front of a King and Queen.
Fairytales may be easy to believe but fairytale endings do not seem so much fun. Instead of the perfect complexion and mannerisms of a Prince I'd rather take dinner with an 'ordinary' guy any night.
Saturday, 13 August 2011
Just Cavalli
Work hard, play hard. Balance your career and social life and you will achieve greatness: or so we’re told. Need some inspiration? Just Cavalli’s Autumn/Winter 2011 collection is guaranteed to help. Think sophisticated, yet mischievous; leopard prints and lace babydolls.
Roberto Cavalli gained inspiration from within and moulded his designs on his greatest moments - after 41 years of show-stopping creations, it's not surprising that the new collection is beautifully crafted.
All hail the metallic trend which made these clothes possible - what could be hotter than metallic leathers or gold embellished leggings. The look is sharp, tight and bright; enough to transform anyone into a Goddess for a day.
For those a little more subtle with their desires, the cherry blossom prints in shades of pink and black will ooze sexiness in a geek sheek way. After all, Cavalli is Italian and from my experience, Italian's need no help perfecting the playful look.
As any girl would tell you, an outfit wouldn't be made without the right shoes. And it's the shoes which make this collection. Brogues and healed loafers will never be more flirtatious, with gold embellishment and leather lace-up boots adding an edge to the collection.
The Autumn/Winter 2011 collection epitomises the modern day girl - collected and calculating but with a playful edge. We might as well dress the part.
www.robertocavalli.com
 |
| www.cheriecity.co.uk |
Roberto Cavalli gained inspiration from within and moulded his designs on his greatest moments - after 41 years of show-stopping creations, it's not surprising that the new collection is beautifully crafted.
All hail the metallic trend which made these clothes possible - what could be hotter than metallic leathers or gold embellished leggings. The look is sharp, tight and bright; enough to transform anyone into a Goddess for a day.
 |
| www.cheriecity.co.uk |
For those a little more subtle with their desires, the cherry blossom prints in shades of pink and black will ooze sexiness in a geek sheek way. After all, Cavalli is Italian and from my experience, Italian's need no help perfecting the playful look.
 | |
| www.cheriecity.co.uk |
The Autumn/Winter 2011 collection epitomises the modern day girl - collected and calculating but with a playful edge. We might as well dress the part.
www.robertocavalli.com
Thursday, 11 August 2011
No One is Innocent (even when it comes to fashion)
As the punk wave swept the UK in the early 70’s, the Sex Pistols titled a song ‘No One is Innocent’ and concentrated their lyrics on sin and transgression. Years on, and the old taboos still stand; provocative dress is frowned upon not just by those with picket fences and perfect lawns and a relationship between sex and society is pretty much non-existent.
In the 21st century, sex is understood better in hushed tones - we know it happens and behind closed doors, all hell breaks loose, but its enough to say that after ordering something from Ann Summers you get told at least three times it will be arriving in a ‘discrete package.’ And that’s if you order a bra. It seems to be bad enough for friends to know what your up to, let alone neighbours.
But we do have certain ways of expressing our lusts and passions - showing the world we can be sexy. How we dress is a good way to attract the attention of the male species, and we women have had that art mastered for years. Whether it’s world's tiniest denim hot-pants, the LBD or the ‘enhance your cleavage by two sizes’ bra, we certainly know how to draw the eye.
The strong and sexually confident woman is epitomised by Vivienne Westwood’s new Autumn/Winter 2011 range. Whilst it is no secret that Vivienne Westwood often encompasses transgressive themes, after all it was her who was chosen to dress the iconic Sex Pistols in '76, her new designs step away from saving society and towards something a little closer to home: satisfying the individual.
On top of the strong cuts and bold colours, the models strode the catwalk with primitive and wild make-up and hair. Instead of the neutral look placed on a pedestal by many in 2010, black stripes and a heavy ‘eye mask’ was applied, bearing close resemblance to tribal markings. There were no more flowers or hats to transform an outfit, but helmets instead to fully highlight the empowered women status: everything centred around power. And power is sexy, however you swing it.
The buckle ankle seditionary boot or leopard print jersey jacket are perfect examples of androgynous, powerful wear: dominating and mischievous, bearing the marks of bondage but worn with the right thing, sophisticated and professional. Whilst the skin tight leggings show off the feature guys love most, the oversize knits create the allure of innocence. Good girl gone bad? I think so.
It seems to be no different now than it was 40 years ago: back then Westwood was synonymous with the new wave of punk - a genre which pushed the boundaries and questioned societies values. Now, many awards later, she does it again. It's time to rediscover the gingham dress and outrageously small buckled belt. Lets hope it sweeps the nation - a little bit more va va voom can’t really hurt.
A Socially Acceptable Form of Stalking?
EVERYONE who has Facebook is familiar with the phrase 'Facebook stalk.' We all do it; whether its with a cup of tea, with a group of friends or after a night out - the term refers to looking at someones profile who you don't plan on contacting.
But can we really call it stalking, a term widely used for a crime which is condemed by courts and is certainley not a joke. True, we probably shouldn't be looking at people we don't know, but isn't looking at someones profile equivalent to ogling at a 'hot guy' walking down the street. Everyone tells us not to objectify, but lets be honest if Jonny Wilkinson or Brad Pitt was to walk past you on the street, nine (probably ten) out of ten times you would look. No one condems the posters on the wall or screensaver you made featuring a montage of rugby players. So why do we question so much looking at someones photos online?
The question is about obsession. Its fair to say we all check someones pictures once or twice, maybe even click on one of their friends. At what point does it becomes weird, maybe even a little wrong. One of my very good, but slightly wishful friends thought it a brilliant idea to add a proffessional rugby player on Facebook - of course, she was not lucky enough for him to accept her but the fact she thought their was a chance shows the ease at which we let ourselves into someones elses life. Or perhaps it was just wishful thinking, we all have the dream where someone famous happens to fall for you. I certainley wouldn't call her a stalker.
The problem is when 'Facebook stalking' goes to far. There have been some horror stories and no matter how you sugarcoat it, social networking can be used as a mechanism for those with wrong intentions. In 2008 a man was cleared of “Facebook stalking” after sending a "friend request" after clicking on his ex's profile "out of curiosity” (Wednesday 26 March, 2008. http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/west_midlands/7315635.stm).
To me, to have a court case based on the addition of a Facebook friend is unbalanced when networking sites such as Twitter have been built in order to ‘follow individuals.’ Certainly, I don’t expect Lady Gaga to personally know her 11 million followers and whilst there is clearly a difference, it is the same concept of the relationship between a person and the unknown.
Whilst there are clear wrongs in the world of social networking, it is up to personal preference how private your own individual profile is. People are not forced to accept friend requests and can limit the amount of personal information seen to the world: as this is the case I believe the phrase ‘Facebook stalking’ can only be used ironically and not as a term fit for court.
But can we really call it stalking, a term widely used for a crime which is condemed by courts and is certainley not a joke. True, we probably shouldn't be looking at people we don't know, but isn't looking at someones profile equivalent to ogling at a 'hot guy' walking down the street. Everyone tells us not to objectify, but lets be honest if Jonny Wilkinson or Brad Pitt was to walk past you on the street, nine (probably ten) out of ten times you would look. No one condems the posters on the wall or screensaver you made featuring a montage of rugby players. So why do we question so much looking at someones photos online?
The question is about obsession. Its fair to say we all check someones pictures once or twice, maybe even click on one of their friends. At what point does it becomes weird, maybe even a little wrong. One of my very good, but slightly wishful friends thought it a brilliant idea to add a proffessional rugby player on Facebook - of course, she was not lucky enough for him to accept her but the fact she thought their was a chance shows the ease at which we let ourselves into someones elses life. Or perhaps it was just wishful thinking, we all have the dream where someone famous happens to fall for you. I certainley wouldn't call her a stalker.
The problem is when 'Facebook stalking' goes to far. There have been some horror stories and no matter how you sugarcoat it, social networking can be used as a mechanism for those with wrong intentions. In 2008 a man was cleared of “Facebook stalking” after sending a "friend request" after clicking on his ex's profile "out of curiosity” (Wednesday 26 March, 2008. http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/west_midlands/7315635.stm).
To me, to have a court case based on the addition of a Facebook friend is unbalanced when networking sites such as Twitter have been built in order to ‘follow individuals.’ Certainly, I don’t expect Lady Gaga to personally know her 11 million followers and whilst there is clearly a difference, it is the same concept of the relationship between a person and the unknown.
Whilst there are clear wrongs in the world of social networking, it is up to personal preference how private your own individual profile is. People are not forced to accept friend requests and can limit the amount of personal information seen to the world: as this is the case I believe the phrase ‘Facebook stalking’ can only be used ironically and not as a term fit for court.
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