Fashion Zoo

I'm full of Mexican food and mocktails; quite content (see photo, right). Dinner at Montezumas on Bridge Road with Paul after a day of gallavanting? Happy ending to a day that began with a less than happy outlook.

Not sure why, but this morning was not as sunny inside as it was outside. I decided I needed something to cheer me up and picked Fawkes as the likely accomplice for a trip to the Crabapple Bakery for a cupcake. Unfortunately he couldn't be swayed - I jumped on his bed, said "Please" in a million different ways, changed into a cute little red-and-denim Parisian ensemble to try to sway him. It didn't work, so he suggested I take my iPod in place of a playmate.

Disaster struck - iPod was playing dead. Nothing would revive him, so I set off feeling despondent and cursed. Paul was promptly messaged and we caught up in Prahran for some fun at the Chapel St Bazaar which I am ashamed to say I had never visited before. It was brilliant, I saw more than a few vintage red telephones that I needed, except for the price tags..

But once again my fashion-phobias were tested. I ended strutting out of the house wearing my new trenchcoat over jeans and a black petticoat (worn as a dress), with my ruby slippers, red beret and red lipstick. I was angling for 'quirky-cute-French' and did a little social experiment.

For part of the day I hunched my shoulders, frowned, looked at the ground, tugged at my clothes and exuded uncomfortable, vulnerable vibes. For the other part (when I was with Paul), I practically danced down the street, smiling, laughing, standing completely upright and basically being confident and exuding happy and pretty. The way that people reacted to me did change quite a bit - it seems that seeming vulnerability invites judgment and antipathy more than confidence does. Another thing I noticed was that the people who gave looks of approval were the ones who I would consider well-dressed, whereas girls who had obviously fallen prey to phenomenons such as the 'muffin top' were the ones who reacted with disdain. I'm not quite sure what this all means, but I realising in my crusade to understand street fashion and aethetics that you simply can't please everybody.

Too late, bedtime. Oh, and a sidenote - Demosthenes, if you read this, email me!

Materialistic? Me? Never!

I went shopping yesterday, in a big way. It was magnificent, especially after a year and a half of doing no such thing. So, here is what I bought: a pair of cute indigo straight-leg jeans, a crayon pink swing cardigan, a creamy-beige trenchcoat with a cinched waist and full skirt, some pretty necklaces and bangles, an in-tray and an out-tray for my desk, some embroidered silk shoes and a shiny new clear umbrella alla Lost in Translation. Now I just have to buy the perfect boots and some new underwear then I'll be set. Until midyear sales...

But buying some new clothes from relatively mainstream brands comes with a problem. The last couple of years of my life my fashion sense has adhered to the 'starving artist' ideal - op-shops, vintage, hand-me-downs, and random handmade things. People have commented on my eclectic taste, but honestly I was just scraping clothes off my bedroom floor, then slapping them on along with a "I don't care what I look like" sign on my forehead.
Last night in my oh-so-cute cardigan, spiffy new jeans and a pair of gorgeous little red sparkly ballet slippers I bought last week, I felt like I was suddenly under intense scrutiny. Women do dress for other women, and with my warning label removed I was suddenly up for judgment - like a World of Warcraft character who flags themselves for player vs. player combat, I had a reasonable chance of being slain.
I guess having been out of the loop for such a long time, I am feeling a little clueless. I bought what I liked with little regard to popular fashion, and now I am wondering whether or not I have the confidence to pull it off.

I saw a man today wearing tight, white leather pants with orange swirls and an aqua canvas crotch. He also happened to look suspiciously like George Michael. But he didn't care what anybody thought and swanned around like he was gorgeous, and the charisma oozed. I'm wondering more and more how much of the way you look is based on your skin, your hair, your clothes, and how much is based on your innate style - how you 'work' it?

Right now I am supposed to be working feverishly on my Literature and Cinema essays, due on Monday, but I'm somewhat lacking in motivation. My Lit essay is practically writing itself, so I should be alright.
But woe is me - what a drag two/three impending due dates can have on a girl's weekend! Suki invited me over for a sleepover where we were going to make nachos and watch every episode of The Extra. It would have been brilliant. Perhaps the reason why I am now shirking my work a little is because I'm mad at it, for denying my fun.

Lucien visited me last night. He had a party with some of his law friends at the Belgian Beer Café and came home drunk on cherry flavoured beer. I was less than impressed and shunned him somewhat by going to sleep. In the morning I was surprised by a big bunch of white tulips - he snuck out in the morning before I woke up to go get them. It was so sweet, and unexpected.

Consequently, I was officially in a good mood, so we jetted off up Bridge Road to go hunting for some brunch. After walking past lots of beautiful, atmospheric restaurants and cafés, we settled on an incredibly cheap, tiny one with laminex tables and yellow plastic chairs. I was dubious, but we ended up having a lot of fun. Here is Lucien tucking into the greasefest he ordered - toast with fried eggs, bacon, sausage, mushroom and onion.

There isn't an accompanying photo of me though, but I was munching on sourdough toast topped with spinach, scrambled eggs, smoked salmon and hollandaise sauce... exactly what a girl needs on a Saturday morning! Note: he isn't actually fat or hunchbacked, he was just being silly - in the photo he is pulling a silly face as well.

Seeing as I am in the spirit of photos, here's one of me. Ignore the greasy hair - this was Christmas morning at 3am, and I had spent the previous 7 hours making ridiculous amounts of sushi and pork dumplings.

I love this photo because I was unaware, half asleep and genuinely smiling.. I guess it shows the real me more than any posed photo. Enough, bed time.