Not Cartier

Forget diamonds, costume jewellery is a girl's best friend. It's lavish, dramatic, sparkles and if you are as clumsy as me, it doesn't matter if you break it.

Since natural resources have hit the roof price wise, original vintage costume jewellery has become more sought after. As stylish as the expensive stuff they aim to imitate, the only difference is the price tag (and probably that these glass jewels are not robbing developing countries' ticket to equality).

There is this gem of a stall in Bath Guildhall Market, where vintage costume jewellery covers the the cabinets, tables and ceiling. Tucked in a corner of this Aladdin's cave is the lady who seeks all the pieces for her stall, she is exactly how I want to be when older; surrounded by treasure and interesting finds, though she is minus a cat.

Among the faux pearls and 60's plastic bangles, I found really exciting items like original cameo brooches and extravagant corsages for just five of your English pounds. This is the kind of sustainable fashion I like!

Web addresses on Primark, War on want and Blast

These are a few websites I have come across which are informative and lets you know how to get involved with their campaigns on poverty.

This is a youtube video for anyone who missed Panorama's exposing documentary on Primark's crimes against the third world (it is just a snippet):
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HZCt5XSsFM4

This is a brilliant website encouraging people to be clued up on third world exploitation and do something about it all:
http://www.waronwant.org/

This is a BBC initiave aimed at young people but it is still very informative (and has nice graphics!):
http://www.bbc.co.uk/blast/fashion/

Can I supersize on my McPrimark order?

Speed has become addictive in the 21st century. As consumers we expect our food to be fast, our internet to be fast and now our fashion to be as equally fast.

However, it is quickly being discovered that it is as difficult to shift those pesky pounds from a fast food binge as it is to clear your conscience from a bargain buying bender. High street stores are lowering their costs and distracting shoppers from the credit crunch with their cheap prices.
Stores like Primark and Tesco encourage consumers to buy in bulk and due to fashion turnaround being that much quicker and new styles being on the shop floor within the month, fast fashion supports the decadent sins of an already throwaway society. The question is though; if you are not paying more, who is paying that cost?

I am sure it is not a revelation to anyone that the UK outsources most of its manufacturing to countries like Asia, Africa, South America and Eastern Europe. Resources, lax laws and of course cheap labour make the benefits worthwhile. Though perhaps (the naive and hopeful shopper might think while clutching their armful of bargain outfits) the jobs given in the factories by these multinational corporations and large companies put people in paid employment and as a consequence contribute to the country's economic growth and GDP? I mean, after all the newly industrialised countries of Asia began developing in this way, so surely we are just giving them that kick start they so desperately need.
This idea could only seriously be entertained by the type of person who also believes Amy Winehouse does not have any drug based mental illness and merely has an excitable disposition.

Unfortunately, child labour, long hours, low pay, poor conditions, abuse and no labour rights are a common practice in this industry. According to the campaign group 'War on Want', employees work as much as 'Eighty-hour weeks for 5p an hour, forced overtime and potentially deadly working conditions'. The driving motivation of capitalist production within the fashion industry is the force of supply and demand which is set against a backdrop of exploitation, inequality and the reality of an international division of labour.
In order for manufacturing costs to remain low, work is subcontracted to sweatshops where 'homework' is encouraged as workers are paid by 'piece rate' and not per hour. These middle businesses are illegal and evade tax. To avoid being penalised they can shut down at a moments notice, resulting in no profits going back into the country and hindering rather than helping the country's progression.

It seems ever glaringly obvious that it is an unsaid rule of the government's not to help the third world but instead to shift the blame on to the public. So with this growing sense of guilt we should do our bit, even if it just means putting that fabulous top declared this weeks 'must have' by Cosmopolitan back on the rail, and putting ourselves on a fashion diet.

As Tesco ironically said 'Every little helps'.

The colour purple

Trudging up the Rialto bridge in Venice and panting slightly from the heat, I suddenly get a sharp nudge in my ribs as one of my travelling chums feels the need to inform me that he has, yet again, spotted some member of the public, Venician or tourist, wearing the colour purple. I had stupidly told him over pizza and vino the previous night that I was scouting Venice for any visible or unusual fashion trends. Lucky for me it seemed I was not going to get the chance to complete this grand mission on my own, I now had a voluntary sidekick to hand.

'Look, they're in purple. Purple tops and shorts', I squinted following his gaze and took in the view of two elderly women clad in lilac t-shirts with the slogans 'I heart Venice' teamed with matching lilac pedal pushers. I took one look at his beaming face and didn't have the heart to inform my accomplice that these ladies were less dedicated followers of fashion and more likely part of a pack of tourists following some guide with a plastic sunflower. If only he had read September's issue of Vogue he would have known that tomato reds and hot oranges are the autumn girl's colour palette. So instead I ignored him, smug in my Bible-like Vogue knowledge.

There are two questions I wanted to know the answer to from my few days in Venice; firstly why were there so many tourists wearing faux straw gondola boating hats with ribbons emblazoned with the words Venezia (why? why?! When would you ever where this item again except at a never-going-to-happen Venice themed fancy dress party, also do you just want to get ripped off with tourist prices?) secondly and more importantly, why do girls perceive fashion so differently from boys?

Well I don't have the energy to rant about the ludicrously irritating former observation, so why tourists wear hats with corks on in Sydney and t-shirts with the Eiffel tower on in Paris, (though interestingly, these items never reappear outside of these top touristy destinations) will remain one of life's great mysteries.

In attempting to tackle the latter mystery surrounding gender perceptions of fashion, a few explanations should probably be dismissed, Such as the age old stereotype that men see clothing as purely functional. The rise of very metro sexual male identities in the twenty first century, from pretty indie boys in tighter jeans than girls to emo boys with their precision styled hair, shows men see fashion as central to being recognised as part of a certain subculture.

Maybe the question is not; why do girl's perceive fashion differently to boys, but perhaps, just perhaps there is too much information advising, contradicting and essentially confusing girls. You only need to walk in to your local WHSmith and compare the voluminous rack of women's magazines on fashion, lifestyle, health, and bridal wear to men's sports and 'interests' (which we all know is a censored word for gay mags). Even when I have accompanied the boyfriend shopping with the aim of proving him wrong, that there is variety in men's high street clothing, I have been genuinely flabbergasted at the lack of individuality, noticable change in seasons and the general void of diversity. As he aptly stated 'it is all boring sh*t'. Whereas men's fashion seems to be promoting the minimalist meets subtle look, women's has exploded in a firework display of colours, fabrics and structures.

It seems this season there is for women a definitive trend of black lace, tartan, check print and the staple chunky high heel, whereas for men it is the usual 'smart casual' but of course we are going to describe it as “smarter than casual look but less smart than tailoring” according to David Lamb, Associate Fashion Editor at GQ (http://insider.asos.com/) Sure sure darling.

Oh having just checked the women's section of asos.com it informs me to 'Reign supreme in regal, jewel encrusted purple. It's the colour of the season.' Humph. Not only am I now confused with my Vogue palette of tomato red but I am now thinking that those lilac ladies of Venice were not so stale after all.

When a hat is not just a hat

Note to self- a trilby hat is good for messy hair, smartening up a summery outfit and avoiding sunburn of the scalp which inevitably creates your very own personal, flakey snowstorm of dandruff.

However, this juicy little tip flies out the window when the toddler on the plane seat behind you sees your fashionable accessory as nothing more than a bit of light entertainment. Not only does the trilby do all the benefits noted above, it is also doubles up as an essential item in a game of peek-a-boo.

Unfortunately this game is compulsory.

How to sweat with style

My travelling chums and I are now in Croatia in Hvar to be precise and we are are all positive in bag numbers and very much minus in fluids, I won't go into gory details but the loss of fluids involved a lot of toilet trips, one hospital visit and a never ending supply of chicken soup. God bless the good people of Sarajevo and the Lord Immodium.

I have travelled a few times before to Australia, New Zealand and Thailand. The first two countries I visited, my clothes were functional and my accessories non existant, combats- great for hiking up a mountain, not so great for a night at Sydney opera house! So with a slightly more open mind I went to Thailand and quickly ascertained that floaty dresses were a vital staple part of a girl's wardrobe diet.

Now with my knowledge I am in Eastern Europe; the weather has soared from freezing Bosnian rain to scorching Croatian sunshine and my clothes have had to be just as versatile. Without a doubt the most useful items have been my straw trilby for those windswept beach hair days, a vast handbag to hold not only my snorkel set, passport and purse but also the boys stuff (why can't men embrace the man bag?!) oh, and my turquoise pop-coloured nail varnish!
All this I remembered and of course I forgot sensible covered shoes and an anorak. My mum would be tutting under her breath at this characteristic revelation!

Wizard dressing

So after writing that post yesterday and emphasising getting to the point and all that jazz, I was rudely interrupted to go and watch my third graduation ceremony. Yet another event which was a blur of weepy parents, ancient chancellors in fancy robes, tingly hands from clapping and a foggy head after the complimentary glass of fizz. Oh so I am being a bit cool and objective but it is hard not to after three of them!

Though I must admit when it is you stood up there waiting for your name to ring out in the monotone call of names, and you are getting a bit sweaty worrying about your mini catwalk to the crusty old intellectual, and do your heels match your hood. Suddenly your name barges into your thoughts of you thinking you look like a member of Hogwarts and you mechanically trot out beaming in front of the crowd. It all feels quite worth it and that gown feels quite powerful. It also looks quite good swishing out behind you when you are striding about in a Loreal for gowns kind of way.

Anyway, I am currently sat in a small hostel in Budapest, typing on a keyboard made in the Communist era so I apologise for any poor grammar. What I will call my stream of consciousness (or really verbal diarrhoea( cant find other bracket there! will attempt to discuss any moments of cultural interest, with a fashion direction, that I come across on my travels in Eastern Europe.

I am slightly groggy from a nap and half listening to my boyfriends irritated call to the airport demanding his lost bag. Here would be a good point to end this unstructured drivel, wash the furry animal out of my mouth that creeps in when I sleep and be a caring girlfriend.