pastures new.

Photo: my own

My life as a travelling gypsy comes to a welcomed stop tomorrow. Can I get a rapturous woop woop? After months of yo-yo-ing, to and from London for fashion-y related happenings, I am finally turning over that shiny new leaf. How, you ask:

IMMA MOVE TO LONDON AND LIVE THE FASHION JOURNO DREAM.

The first part is certain. The latter, well let's just say it ain't as easy as that. I have no set plan bar whispers of that and promises of this but I leave with the intention of putting my finger in every sweet-tasting pie.

My fan girl obsession for the capital will likely to develop into an unadulterated passion for the place. I can hear screams of anguish echoing from and throughout my various friendship groups. I promise not to subscribe to selling out.

I hope to bring you few horror stories of the fashion intern curse and an abundance of free bar, fashion frolics.

I just gotta get through moving from one end of the country to the other via a three hour, probably packed train with my worldly goods, namely, my wardrobe, squeezed into a mini suitcase.

Here's to starts fresh. Wish me luck.

Twitter will the best place to have a nosy.

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christmas for want all i.

Can't call meself a real fashion blogger without a token, festive wish list. By no means, comprehensive. Don't even get me started on make-up and other life essentials.

All: TOPSHOP -the multi glitter clutch which is UO.

Shiny, pretty things rule my world. Even more so, those curated by Mr. Green's designer elves.

A few other things that I'd quite like:

- Longer hair

- A blog branding designer

- A proper fashion job

If you can help with any of the above, do get in touch.

Excuse the lack of fashion, darling, as of late. I have can't remember the last garment / accessory I even bought; a champagne lifestyle on the lemonade budget of an aspiring fashion journo doesn't seem to be possible.

Anyone wanna send me a prezzie? Feel free.

Am off to catch up on the BFAs and reminisce sweet sweet memories of last year's fashion-fuelled frolics.

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INTRODUCING:ghd air.

ghd have only gone and premiered a hair dryer. If their profilic, god-send straighteners are anything to go by then I need one of these in my life. Pronto.

At the forefront of revolutionising hair care in its ten year lifespan, ghd air claims to blow you away. Literally, by the sounds of the product name.

As a shorty (hair-wise but arguably in height too) there is little versatility. A decent blow dry maketh the mane and for this you need a decent hair dryer. ghd hair straighteners are every girl's go-to gadget, it's difficult to remember life pre-ghd and for that I can only think why they haven't done this earlier.

I won't bore you with the technical specs but it's promise is to provide salon standard blow drying, in the comfort of your own home. It is the brainchild of many a hair styling expert and you ain't gonna get better than that.

It's ghd. 'Nuff said.

ghd air is available for purchase on the ghd website and at the top-end salons now.

Another addition to the never ending birthday / Christmas list.

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music to my ears: talk that talk

In an attempt to diversify my portfolio beyond frivolous fashion finds and, or a big fat wave to all you totes amaze magazines out there who'd love to have me on your team: "LOOK I CAN WRITE ABOUT MUSIC TOO."

Barbadian beaut's sixth studio album is on general release now.

What better place to start than Rihanna. As a self-confessed fangirl, while she tours the country, her new album suffices to satisfy my longings to see her live, for now. Is it any good?

Recently released 'You da One' (thought it sounded familliar) opens the eleven strong track-listing, setting the scene for mid-tempo, Caribbean cruising with dubstep influences making themselves known half way through. By the time the second track, entitled 'Where Have You Been' has a chance to unfold, its clear that Talk That Talk fancies itself as an all singing, all dancing, clubbers compilation, complete with mandatory ai ai aiiis. The lyrics of 'Where Have You Been' serenade over a generic electro beat with a heavier-than-we're-used-to-for-Rihanna's-standards bass line defining the penultimate quarter, fading out to remind us of her stripped back, soulful self.

Which paves the way for the lead single 'We Found Love'. If there's anyone to pull you out of your somber song habits- Calvin Harris be that man (or David Guetta but she's been there, done that). What can only be described as disco-ecstasy, 'We Found Love' is an instantaneous pick me up, begging for your dancing shoes to be danced in. I defy you to not so much as to tap your feet. Granted impossible. The accompanying visuals of 80's tearaways in denim and dms were enough, in themselves, to get my vote on this one.

Track by track, the album's premise becomes more obvious. If you haven't guessed yet, Talk That Talk, is Rihanna's two fingers up to tormented lovers previous. The disguised innuendos of 'Cockiness (Love it)' (the initial piano strokes are deceiving) are juxtapositioned next to Jay-Z's cameo appearance on title track, 'Talk That Talk' which transports Rihanna back to her roots; signature wailing over token, reggae drums coupled with affirmative, ghetto 'yeahs'.

'Birthday Cake' ain't quite up to the "go shortee, it's ya birthday" a la 50 Cent standard that I was genuinely expecting but on hearing the opening, guitar riffs of 'We All Want Love', 'Birthday Cake' is a welcome interlude, especially, after being told to "suck my cockiness, lick my persuasion" in 'Cockiness (Love it)'. Rihanna rectifies this temporary, rude boi return on reverting to her penchant for softer, acoustic tones and roaring sing-alongs in the form of 'We All Want Love'. 'Drunk On Love' confirms that aforementioned demons from a particular, previous relationship have been everlastingly, ousted. I couldn't be happier for her.

The lyrics of 'Roc Me Out' and 'Watch n' Learn' offer further suggestion that Rihanna is more than ready to introduce the next potential suitor to her life via clattering synths and bouncing, hip-hop melodies, respectively.

The rapturous tones of 'Farewell' offer an appropriate conclusion to all that have come before it. Reminding you of what lured you in to listen in the first place; the Barbadian beauty's, unadulterated charisma.


Admittedly, there were a few occasions where I actually forgot it was Riri I was listening to; backdrop echoes of euro-friendly thumps had her mistaken for your average Jo(lene?) female, club-song singer. It is evident that she has taken a temporary hiatus from song lyricing to focus her efforts on music making. The resultant product is Talk That Talk; a forgivably catchy, unmistakeably, toe-tap inducing, eclectic rebellion. 

The press seem to be happy that she's moved away from the darker themes that defined her previous two albums. I dare say, I prefer the former. I haven't been blown away nor disappointed. It may be a grower. 'We found Love' is a fucking good time tune though, minus Agy D. There is no doubting that. Kudos to the production team for making her happy dance once again.

There you have it. I have subscribed myself to music reviewing. Don't know about you but I quite liked it. Stick to the day job? Oh, isn't that ironic..

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if i were a boy 001: LUKE 1977

LUKE 1977

It may come as a shock to learn that I rate menswear high. I really think its appreciation and exposure is shunned under the limelight that womenswear collections consistently dominate. You just have to look at Fashion Week schedules for a synopsis of what I'm getting at. It is a shame, there's some real talent out there.

I am going to attempt to make this a regular feature; as regular as something from the opposite sex catches my eye, at least. I am on the look-out for some credible menswear blogs; if you know of any, please link me up in the comments.

The premise for these posts? If I were a boy, its what I'd be wearing. First up, LUKE 1977.

Self-titled, UK, menswear brand was founded and curated by a Central Saint Martins graduate and two life long friends. The threesome maintain their original brief in all modern collections, taking inspiration from surrounding figures to encompass all facets of the modern L.A.D: the gentleman, the working class hero and generic rogue; their product list reads like a lad's nickname book.

The trio protect the exclusivity of the brand by abiding by a strict distribution policy - stocking their collections in only select stores. And to their avail - the brand is firmly recognised up there with the top, designer dogs.

They even have their own magazine and we all know how much I love them. Here's a screen grab selection of my favourite pages:

Boys take note.

Stockists:

1 | 2 | 3

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who in here likes to P*A*R*T*Y?

If your response to that is a hell yeah, then aren't you in for a treat. As a my street chic, style representative of Newcastle, the glam girls over at the HQ have offered invites to their bloggers Christmas celebrations to all my doting followers, closet readers etc.

It'll be a priceless opportunity to mingle with other bloggers - beauty and fashion alike. The party also has plans to host an exclusive fashion show which will showcase the very latest lookbook from boohoo.

What? My Street Chic Bloggers Christmas Party
When? 16th December, 7-10pm
Where? Java, 9 Park Street, Bristol, BS1
How? Here
Who? Too many fashionable faces to name.

£5 (yeah, really) tickets include entrance to the party and fashion show, a complimentary drink on arrival and a goodie bag fulla fashion goodies, on departure.

Get on those dancing shoes and party dresses.

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leather leopard.

This is the resultant visual to the realisation that I'm spending today doing what I have occupied the main of my post-university hours with: mapping an escape route, booking meal tickets, promising myself prosperous (party) times lie ahead with the sporadic, gin-fuelled tomfoolery thrown in for good, sociable measure.

Making like the stereotypically vain, fashion blogger that I am and releasing intern application frustration unto that dslr of mine. Might as live up to something.

Shirt: charidee / old Warehouse, Skirt and Jumper: h&m, Bowler: TOPSHOP

Leather vs. leopard is a win-win ensemble. Obsessing over the two a little much often sees me mistaking one for the other i.e. this coat I'm selling - it has a LEOPARD collar, not a leather one as I have previously tweeted.

Bare with while a formulate a realistic life plan.

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velvet crush.

Been meaning to post this for long ting but real life got in the way / I rarely spend my days out of my pyjamas.

A few footnotes:
why is it impossible to take decent lit photos post 4pm?
this is the only suitable place to take such shit lit photos in my house so deal with half a face / half an outfit.
I have misplaced my trustee bowler and henceforth apologise for exposing you to my crying out for a hair cut mop.

Dress and collar: TOPSHOP, Jumper: h&m

NICE DRESS THOUGH INNIT!?

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the not-so secret diary of a fashion intern:The Times Magazine - accompanying instagram.

A signature, selective handful of accompanying visuals:

BRB LDN.

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the not-so secret diary of a fashion intern:The Times Magazine

Snapping back to the mundane realities of life as glorified house-wife (to my mother), I return to tell you tales of more prosperous times c/o The Times Magazine and the LUXX lot.

I ain't acquainted with the rules and regs regarding broadcasting this sort of thing but I figure as long as keep the cover star on the down low, I am a perfectly law-abiding citizen.

So I went to the Times and had a real good time - another proverbial notch on the bed post in the chasing of the fashion journo pipe dream. A worthy and enjoyable notch nonetheless. Every internship, placement and work experience I have done have had their house-style and their way of doing things but the resounding foundation of most fashion internships is a tricky one to dodge, not unless your mummy is Alexandra Shulman (if she is- good word ehy ehy). That bursting-at-the-seams-with-thousands-of-pounds-of-exclusive-designer-samples-wardrobe, more commonly known as the fashion cupboard for which a definition along the lines of; a hideously messy, back room filled with ridiculously expensive unorganised chaos is more aptly applied.

Dare you step out of that fashion cupboard mere intern and onto the territory of the real journalists...

To be honest, I have been lucky to avoid such intern / employee hierarchies.

I have spent a lot of time in fashion cupboards though.

As resident fashion assistant, for the week, (Charlie was taken ill. Hence, their priceless offer of work experience): I returned, I courier booked, I rail shuffled, I coffee dutied (only once), I PR pestered, I also tried on a pair of miu mius and was personally invited to a potential cover shoot by LUXX's stylist- literal babe. I didn't however, write the magazine. I think it is a naive view to firstly, have in the first place but to maintain it for the duration of your time at a publication.. the road is going to be a long. Journalists are struggling to keep hold of their own jobs, why would they let someone who is essentially, a stranger, take over their regular DPS?

The curse of the fashion intern:

More often than not, internships are advertised as a potential meal-ticket to pastures new and thriving, in the exact career you're pursuing*. You're lured in with empty promises, vague job descriptions and desperate hope of a paying job, one of these days. However, more often than not, it is, in actual fact, the case that you are doing that internship host the favour - a free pair of extra hands in times of encroaching deadlines - don't be disheartened that you're not guest writing the editor's letter, nar mean?

Breaking the curse:

Keep in contact with everyone you meet. 

Perseverance will pay off.

My eyes have been opened this week. I don't know it all - no-one does.

I also need to refine my pronunciation of Parisian curators' - it's er-mes not her-mees.

Am I sacking it off? Not yet.

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*FYI, The Times was far from this - it did exactly what it said on the tin. I am referring to the common perception of fashion internships, in general. Everywhere is different.