Wednesday, 17 August 2011

LOOK who came from Fashion East.



I really love the idea behind Fashion East: how they help new designers find their feet and assist with showcasing their extraordinary talents: so naturally I was over the moon when I stumbled across this little beaute just a couple of seconds ago (from a little while ago- doesn't make it any less worth the watch though guys), on my vlog traipse around YouTube (courtesy of the lovely BipLing).

Hope you lot enjoy x

Tuesday, 16 August 2011

Stylist.



Okay so I know my original intention for this page, was for it to be like a directional fashion, style, and beauty blog: but the more and more I've been posting, I've come to realise that I like secret journal/ scrapbook (talking about the nice little pictures I've been finding, that I like to pair with the stories) feel it's got going on: so I'm going to keep going with that. BUT still with a fashion feel. SO DON'T. GO. ANYWHERE.
ANYWAY, here's a little piece I wrote for the Stylists 100 word microfiction competition...
I really liked it, so I just thought I'd pop it on (hope you enjoy):

"Robin"

We caught sight of her as she made her way from the car- an old rusting mustang- red. It all happened as if in slow motion. She wore those high wasted bikini bottoms, white, and also now visible: as she smoothly slid her blouse off: a white haltered bikini too. She caressed the water with her delicate toes, then, slowly eased herself in. Her skin golden, soft and incandescent: resembled something from the inside a honey pot. She gave off a womanly exuberance from across the pond: My insides melted.
I adored her, a little.
Robin.

My brothers girlfriend.



Wednesday, 10 August 2011

First.




I remember the very first time I decided that I wanted to start dressing for myself, picking out my own clothes. I was 5, and I begged my mother for freedom of my own wardrobe.
It was mid summer, and I remember the street was breezy, warm and crisp: Mum advised me sensibly to dress for the weather, after too much time listening to my sobbing.
I turned off the water works and scampered up the stairs. I headed over to the chest of drawers, which my sister and I shared, I knew what I was doing. I pulled open the drawer at the bottom: it was my favorite drawer of them all as the colours in this one where the best.
It was our pyjama drawer. I rummaged around it for a little while, until I came across what I was after. It was this really cool set that 'Santa' had gifted me with for Christmas- I never really wore as really adored it and liked to keep it good- so the the bottoms were going up my leg a bit, and the sleeves were a little short. Anyway, I pulled on the top- it was this washed out shade of lilac, with violet binding along the (now slightly cropped) sleeves and cuffs. But my favorite thing about it, was the beautiful print slapped right onto the front of it. It had a picture of Ariel and Sebastian from 'The Little Mermaid' printed using a mixture of that really fun, puffy, sticky expantex pigment, and like it couldn't get any better- GLITTER.

I started to get really excited pulling on the trousers, as I was thinking about shoes and socks, and dabbling around with the idea of a watch too.
God, I loved those trousers: the same washed out shade of lilac as the top, but they had that beautiful image of Ariel and Sebastian printed ALL OVER THEM also.
I ran into my eldest sisters room, to check out how my efforts were going- Great, I really did look good- As I checked my outfit in the mirror, I noticed the trousers had gone slightly lighter in the knees, in fact, one of them had a little hole: right over Ariel's face. Rachel must have been sneaking about in them, I started to get mad: but then I caught the reflection of my big sisters new trainers in her mirror. She'd just gotten them for her birthday, they were white and had a really cool pink stripe along the sides, and smelled like candyfloss. I grabbed them and ran into my room, forgetting about the fact that my sister had ruined my most treasured possession. I went into my mums underwear drawer, I remember seeing her put my new frilly socks in there. I popped them on along with my sisters new trainers- I was so glad she was out somewhere- She really would have gone crazy if she knew I was wearing them. I don't even think she'd had them on yet.
I remember feeling extremely satisfied at my efforts. I mean, I really did look great. Well I definitely felt a million dollars.

I ran down the stair to show my mum- making sure to be careful so the shoes didn't slip off, as they were a little loose- I felt so smug.

My mum looked at me disapprovingly with disgust, and requested I change into the shorts she'd left on her bed for me. I ran outside and sat on the kerb in the sun, sweating just a little as the fleece from the inside of my pyjama top was probably intended for winter wear.


What was I thinking.


LOOK. That's my sister.



Look what happened to my twin sister over summer- modeling contract with Elite London.



View Rachel's Profile.

Tuesday, 9 August 2011

Porque puestos a soñar.





Originally my plans for summer had been to go traveling for a while before I moved off for art school; visit Paris and see Venice just for a little bit, and then Rome too, to have a look see. I wanted to visit somewhere were the streets swelter with raw, gritty, emotion: I need to go somewhere I can really FEEL: I want it to take possession of me, and root me there: culture, and passion.

But then time & money made me realise I had to choose. Between: Art school, doing what I have a deep rooted lust for, for at least the next couple of years: Or, traveling for a little while, divulging in the magical fantasy, curiosity has cooked up in my head over the last little while due to too many alluringly charming books.

In the end, the (more) sensible option swayed me, after the realisation of the fact that I AM actually doing this of my own accord, it IS something I enjoy: in fact, it's something I crave, and feel deep sorrow when I don't divulge into often enough.
Now that I have made this decision, a tiny little part of me feels like I may have possibly made the wrong one, kind of almost like my head, and my heart (maybe my gut?) are two different people: almost like an over tired relationship, where the once lovers have grown in separate directions. My head wants one thing- it knows is safe and secure- but my heart knows it needs to try another.

So, I'm making a promise with myself, and meeting dreams and desires at the border line.


I will travel, one day.




Wednesday, 3 August 2011

Only ever in a dream.



Eva Mendes has to be one of the most beautiful women in the world. I WISH one day I could just wake up, but look like that. So beautiful.

Monday, 1 August 2011

Root to some sort of emotion.



June. 1995
It was noon and my twin sister and I sat in our dressing gown's, staring out the window at the results of a classic Scottish summer. The effulgent beauty the downpour had cast on the normally hectic scene outside, was lost on a couple of blasé young children.
Mum- able to sympathize- popped her book onto the top of the piano and smiled at us as she walked on past and up the stairs: my sister and I both oblivious as to where she had gone.

A half hour had past before we heard of her again, her foot steps heavier, and a little slower now, she popped her head through the door- smiling again- her face a little rosier.
"Come on then girls!" In she dragged a tattered looking cardboard box.
"Go on then, open it up."
Warily my sister walked over and pulled open one of the flaps, and as she did, her face brightened a little. She pulled out a dress: blue and reminiscent of Grace Kelly: underneath the dress hid all sorts of other outfits, dresses, and also shoes. We shared the feeling of that 'night before christmas adrenaline' often spoken about. You know, butterfly's in ones tummy, feelings of excitement.

The rest of the day we played dress up in the living room with our elder sister; and ate dinner as we tried to figure which shoes might go with which dresses, and also which of them we could integrate into our own wardrobe of pinks and powder blues; Mum listened, laughing in the background, realising how alike we all where- including her- and how little attention we now payed, to what exactly was happening beyond our living room window.

Sixteen years on, I can hear the rain splashing onto the rooftop, as I sit on an old rug in the cold loft looking through a pile of old books- with an old desk lamp sitting at my toes- and I come across an old, tattered looking, cardboard box...