Tuesday, 21 October 2008

I can see clearly now...I've invested in some geek chic specs.

After spending a good week and a half squinting at the TV, people talking to me, and the number of a bus which i repeatedly failed to catch, I thought it best to get the old peepers seen to. Also the horrible idea kept coming back to me that you can read people's lives from the lines and wrinkles on their faces, and my face would just say-nothing! we'll blatantly all be botoxed to Bognor and back by the time i have wrinkles! silly sausages!

'You have what is known as 'rugby ball' shaped eyes Miss Nightingale. Nothing to be alarmed about, it's called an 'astigmatism', the bloke with the breath that had a whiff of garlic-ness to it reassured me while blinding me with a mini torch.

rugby ball eyes? the only ball shaped body parts I actually want are the ones located on my chest. great. Also there didn't seem anything positive in the word aSTIGMAtism. My opinions were of the old school way, glasses were for geeks, school being an operative word. It was always the owly looking kids in my school who were picked on for their specs and now i was going to have to join the milk bottle mongtards (alright, that word is playground retro and you won't be laughing when it comes back!)

Yet when did the opinions of those kappa popper wearing, happy hard core listening, teenage baby producing bunch known as 'the popular kids' ever retain longevity? well, actually the first two trends in fashion and music are making a come back and all of Europe knows we hold the record for most teen pregancies...but hey ho on glasses they were wrong!

So the next day I bravely visited the specs shop and psyched myself up with thoughts like 'Lilly Cole for Paul Smith in harry potter glasses, sexy secretary, minxy teacher etc' and shoved a pair on and blinked and my newly framed face...hmm bit dame Edna.

unsurprisingly the classic Chanel and Dior frames were the best but waaay out of my price range. so I opted for a simple tortishell pair in a square style and hoped my critics, at college, would be kind. My own personal opinion was I was working the Daria (that American cartoon with a deadpan character) meets high powered lesbian look.

It wasn't until today when some sleazy Frenchman stopped me and waxed lyrical rubbish about me being sexy in specs, followed by asking if i was a teacher with a twinkle in his eye, that I realised I had accomplished at least one of my desired looks! Even though it resulted in me extricating myself from his oily charms and promptly hiding in a nearby shop.

Thursday, 16 October 2008

Lesbians are so hot right now

Katy Perry’s singing about it, Lindsey Lohan’s snogging one, and Agnes Deyn, lets face it just looks like one.

Yet she’s not the only one. I realised the other day, as I picked up my new Chris Evans/high powered lesbian style specs, and dressed in my ‘boyfriend trousers’, unisex converses and new specs, I was very much doing the lesbian look. Perhaps this was why the old bloke opposite me on the tube was giving me a good eyeballing. Probably didn’t help that my reading of choice was ‘diva’, a well known lesbian magazine. What? I read it for it’s amusing articles!

Perhaps I’m missing the boat and every other woman is merrily beating around the lesbian bush. So I put the question; would you? to my polish housemate, who is as traditional as Mr Kipling is about his exceedingly good cakes. Her answer was an adamant ’a thousand time no!’, which was accompanied by a suspicious darting look in my direction. Her reasoning followed that ’surely you would miss something?’

But other than that something extra men have which comes in a long package (if your lucky), what would we miss? Certainly not the way my boyfriend picks his bogeys then proudly reveals it to me on his finger like we are in ‘show and tell’ in class one again, or the way he never realises his bum crack is on show. Don’t get me wrong I like his bum, but not when I’m eating my dinner or he meets my housemates, or more importantly my mum, you’d think it’d get draughty down there.
With a lezzy chum you could combine wardrobes, watch endless Sex in the City without any complaints and come bedtime at least she would know where ‘it’ is, ‘cos she’d have one herself!
The lesbians have changed peoples stereotypes from the dungaree wearing, cat loving and body hair growing clan they used to be thought of. With their chart topping tunes, intelligent magazines, glamorous celebs and serious fashion style they could make a straight girl as queer as nine bob note as my Oma would say.

However, if after a fair amount of philosophising and self probing (oo-er!) you come to the conclusion that being a lesbian just isn’t your cup of tea, remember not to spill your initial thoughts to your conservative housemate, or you will find you’re treated more suspiciously then Amy Winehouse claiming she’s clean.

Tuesday, 14 October 2008

A 6 page photo story 'Plesae play nicely'

From country bumpkin to city chic

I have recently moved to London to do a course in fashion journalism. I thought I was pretty savvy and street wise, so I wasn't too scared of the big bad city.

I was wrong. No-one told me you don't have to hold doors open, say please or thank you, or that it is perfectly acceptable to ram into the tube forcing others do even more contorting yoga-esque positions.

Though it is those random moments when my friend told me to beware when riding on the number 1 bus...not of being harassed, or to hide my mobile phone...but to watch out for tree branches. Apparently some poor girl got taken out by some tree branch when sitting on the number 1.

Yet when I was riding between Canada water and London bridge at rush hour, and some suited w**nker was kindly resting his daily paper on my head, i channelled my rage to thinking about urban style.

no not the cool kind that the sartorialist photographs but almost urban survival dressing. Juggling the need to be trendy and chic while not damaging your back in heels, sweating, or revealing anything you, er, don't want to be revealed.

I'm talking the odd bit of boob when desperately trying to remove some layers in the jungle-like humidity of the underground. Or an unintentionally flashed patch of hairy pit when reaching for a bar to grab hold of.

So while I am avoiding any dodgy looking trees and occasionally letting slip a please or thank you, I am dressed to survive in copious amounts of deodorant, comfortable daps and some sharpened elbows.