#LFW: the basics.

source.

The hash tag has (prematurely) reappeared, the check and to do lists penned on various scraps of reporter's notebook. Four measly weeks - Y U COME ROUND SO FAST FASH WK? So, what am I doing resting on my lorrells when I should be typing out show requests to 100+ PRs? I come baring 'Fashion Week Survival Advice' for the virgins out there, among you.

I write this as second-timer so please don't take me as some sort of Fashion Week pro. Bloggers, buyers and press unite for my favourite season of the year -Autumn/Winter baby. Not harmoniously as you'd think though - there was outcry among bloggers, in September regarding their restricted access to the main venue. The BFC have obviously listened to this outcry as they have installed a separate bloggers lounge in Somerset House, for Feb.

This is what I wish I knew pre // what I learnt during my LFW début : 

* shy bairns get nout

    Talk to anyone and everyone - in the courtyard, press or bloggers lounge, Tom's kitchen and the queues.
    Am I telling you to queue for shows? That's right; put your best fearless face and hautest shoes on, you
    have as good chance as any of being granted the privilege. Even if it is in the photographer's pit - you'll get
    better runway shots and less of that supposed, big, fashion name's backside profile.

    'the more you put into it, the more you'll get out of it.'

* stock up

   A school boy error of my Fashion Week, first time.

   Business cards - avoids the "my blog is are u dressing up or.. etc"

   Food and water - fashion people do eat.

   Flat shoes - even just for the journey to and from the venues.

   Phone charger - it will inevitably die on you. Mine did day after day but I never learnt that lesson.

* you are not super(wo)man

    It's fashion; things overrun, start late, get re scheduled. Guaranteed you will not be able to make every 

    presentation and show. It grants the opportunity to find content that not every fashion editor will be 

    covering. Spend time absorbing the exhibitions, talk to the prs and designers, interview street style 

    subjects... Great journalism is all about finding a new angle. Also, few spots come better for people
    watching - soak it up.

Put your hands up if you're joining me?

I hope I have helped more than I have patronised.

See you on those cobbles in your sumptuous sorbets.

x

001: recently I've been..

Oh hi there unannounced hiatus. What can I say, drunk-ing and dancing have been higher up on my agenda than ferociously typing away to tell you about all the clothes I want but can't afford. Due to a losing combination of depleted funds and only collar and jumper (winning) combos within my creative grasp, my recent fash game needs to sort its life out. Hence, the lack of blogging. What is a fashion blogger without a fashion sense? A vacant one. Anyway, back for a quickie.

With London Fashion Week within frighteningly close touching distance, a best friend in tow and excruciatingly exciting prospects for the month of February, I say no more other than - it's going to be a friggan good one.

What have I been doing with all this FREE time? In between floating around London in all my freelancer glory I have gotten acquainted with my new ends some more and fallen a little bit more in love (read: become even more obssesed. I joke it is love of the truest sort).

Less fashion, more life :

Sampling the cuisines of some tasty eateries.

Discovering the joys of paying £10 plus for a Martini when you totally meant a Mojito.

Losing my 'Photo a Day' challenge V plates.

Still rocking the bowler hat.

Prepping for fashion week i.e. commencing the wardrobe overhaul. First step - mental mood board making.

x

street style spotlight: love aesthetics

HELLO 2K12. I come baring something I meant to post last year and way more extra baggage than is cool.

Ivania Carpio is the beaut and brains behind Love Aesthetics  - a fashion blog that documents her fashionable life through means of outfits, attainable inspirations and ingenious DIYs.

Hailing from Deutschland, Ivania ain’t no frivolous fashion follower, she formulates her own dressing rules. Experimental proportions coupled with twisted, scrunched and draped fabrics, she is her own mannequin.  

Iridescent, mermaid hair and perfectly painted lips provide the backdrop for this head to toe, blue hued ensemble. Sea blue angora wool and statement slicks of gold. Her blue suede shoes (well, nearly) are the token, thrifted finishing touch. Photographed neatly on the complimenting palette of concrete, I urge you to add this girl to your blog shelf / bookmarks / coffee table reads.

Ivania extends her talents to make up artistry; she is worth keeping in mind for her nail art ideas and MAC product recommendations. She has also recently posted a sweet DIY which is worth a look if you fancy getting all arts and crafts-y slash appreciate that sort of thing.

Here's to a year fulla giggles and galavanting. And a bit more blogging.

x

p.s. I have caved and given into the photo diary trend, admittedly a few days late. I am partaking in the Photo a Day 'challenge' via instagram. I am documenting it on tumblr tots.

retrospect: 2011

So I didn't really do the whole yayayay its Christmas thing did I? I am not all that keen on New Year either, if I'm honest. Yes, I am a total scrooge. No, this post hopes to dispel that misconception.

The celebrations might be a disappointment but I totally buy into the let's look back on months previous deal. I would like to think of this as a snapshot into the behind the scenes life of ayduodd. It's as good excuse as any to bring the nostalgia.

What did I do in 2011?

I practically got married. I dressed up. I dressed down. I saw Usher (I know right). I graduated. I moved a lot from York ---> countryside ---> London. I made a loyal friend named Gordon. Hendrick's on super special occasions. I LFW'd - backstage and FROW (ok, SCROW). I Notion'd. I went short. I press day debuted. I turned 22. I wore a collar with everything. I bet, and won. I discovered people queued for the library?? I got a bowler, and never took it off. I moved to London. I threw a friggan time capsule into a lake. Most of all, I had a ball with the best friends.

Here's the proof:

See, I'm not a total party pooper.

What are your NYE plans? I am back in the big smoke with not the foggiest idea of what to do. 

Shoot your suggestions this way. 

Less resolution making and more ruckussssing. I'll drink to that.

x

so this is christmas.

Seasons greetings, all the best, bla de bla de bla. Hope you all had a lovely day etc.
What to do now? What even is boxing day? One of life's many mysteries. I know fo sho I ain't stepping an inch near a shop.

ANYWAY, this is what I got up to (ate, drank and wore) yesterday.

So much food, not enough of an elasticated waistband. Not gonna lie will probs spend today chomping on cheesecake and cupcakes washed down with copious amounts of tea and Moët  daahaling.

x

INTRODUCING:Charlie May SS12

In the throes of Christmas present panic (still not one purchased, I'm chilling) and the accompanying colder climes, it's absurd to think we're longing for barely there spring / summer collections while we hug onto our flat whites and nuzzle into our faux furs, cashmeres and angoras. That's fashion for you, dah-ling.

Forget the ghosts of fashion week past, said designers have had their air time. I want new and not heard of and I want it now. Thus, I give you Charlie May - more than just a street style pin-up.

I have religiously followed Charlie's rise to fashion fame. She was one of the first blogs I formally followed, I poignantly remember a comment she left on (one of many) intern discussions. It read: "if you can't find a job in the industry make one for yourself." Kudos to her, she has made the dream a reality. Her glittery pins continue to stride from the cobbles of Somerset House to exclusive, invite-only press days. I have anticipated Charlie's début collection for as long as I can remember. The SS12 lookbook has been floating around the fashion stratosphere since early October, but it is only recently that she has officially cut the ribbon to her virtual shop.

Slick, audacious proportions? Check. Studded pony skin? Check. Eerie, derelict hospital? Check.

Photos by Daniel Nadel via Charlie May

Seasons greetings, etc etc.

x

the not-so secret diary of a fashion intern: RANT

*At risk of sounding like I am condemning all internships, I thought I'd point out before you read this and get all anonymous, nasty comment that I am not. What I am against is working full-time, unpaid to not gain anything from it. I want to be a journalist; returning mountains of samples will not make me a better writer. Nor, do I expect to have waltzed out of university and into the fashion director's shoes. Internships should be valuable experience and a step up the career ladder. Now form your educated opinions.

I debated subtly titling this piece but decided fuck it, I need to rant and so I shall. Psych yourself for a rant. A cohesive and valid one at that.

As the HMRC released their discovery (interns exist did you know!? No shit Sherlock) last week that interns across the media and fashion sectors (amongst others) are masquerading as full time, unpaid workers, my eyes have been opened and my jaw has not left the floor.

I understand the definition of an intern to be a role that is: 1. temporary and 2. additional. Interns, by dictionary definition do not run the press agency, publication etc. They're merely an extra pair of hands in times of encroaching deadlines. They should not be a fundamental part to the daily runnings of their chosen intern host. It surfaces that the reality paints a contradictory picture.

Call it blatant ignorance or genuine naivety but fortunately for me, I have never, in all of my countless placements from nationals to locals had the misfortune of being exploited just because I was a mere intern. I obviously didn't write the cover feature and there's the standard intern / editor hierarchy but I ain't had to sack off my out-of-work life in order to get through a mountain of returns, long into the night, to this day. I don't plan to make that a reality either. This week, I met girls who for that is a weekly event. And its not even thought of as a big deal, its compulsory, part of the pay packet. Except there's no pay-packet or even a whisper of a job after months of living on next-to-nothing, so called expenses.

What gets me the most is the fact that these CEOs are most likely rolling in it, in their made to order, silk, Versace suits, no less. If you're throwing lavish events, ordering Dom Perignon on tap, you can afford to pay struggling graduates who graft their arses day in, day out, for you. Frankly, its disgusting and I refuse to be caught up in that trap.

I have reached the point now whereby I started my twelfth, (as if) internship, on Monday and got the standard, introductory Q&A. "So do you do fashion?". It makes me think, did you even read my fucking CV? In my actual response, there are two facts that leave the fashion assistant of each intern host stunned. One is that I am old enough to have a degree (I have been assumed to be school leaver, more than once). And two, it is an English degree from one of the top twenty universities in the country. You would've known this had you read my CV. The dialogue that follows usually questions why I am there in the first place.

I have began to ask myself this very question and have reached the brutally honest conclusion: I am too good to be a returns bitch. There I said it. Fair, if I wanted to be a stylist or fashion assistant I'd happily lug suitcases up and down stairs. But no ta, I do enough of that in my actual life. Once, you've done one return, you've mastered the art. It's not rocket science. And if that's all you're 'gaining' and 'learning' then what is the point? I have served my time in fashion cupboards - some sweet, some not so great and can't help but feel that I'm overqualified and under paid to be a glorified skivvy. So, I shall return to the drawing board once the festive period is done with.

Back to the initial point. It infuriates me how this whole minimum wage debate is being publicised as a new discovery. Interns have kept the fashion industry ticking over for as long as fashion week has existed but its only now that they're threatening to do something about it. Something that will actually never be enforced, as as long as there is a queue of over-keen, wannabes the fashion world and others will continue to exploit the free labour. The words catch 22 spring to mind; can't get a job with an internship, can't get one without.

Who run the fashion world? Interns do. They at least deserve minimum wage or failing that, a whisper of a job promise after a mammoth six month stint. AT LEAST. Some credit wouldn't go a miss either.

-RANT ENDS-

Thoughts? My nosy nature revels in hearing other's stories - horror and fairytale.

x

NEW IN:birthday presents... to myself.

Since I ain't doing the whole growing old gracefully thing any justice, I have decided that I shall grow old stylishly instead.

With my precious, three hours of freedom yesterday I braved Westfield Stratford. I lived to tell the tale and brought home some premature birthday gifts, to myself. I dare you to do the same, it wasn't as manic as I had anticipated BUT I would say be prepared. I did want to punch everyone in the back of the head ten minutes in. I heard Oxford street was worse so I won that one.

 

Forever21 and New Look

Oh so very relevant to the big 2+2 this week. Oh, to be forever 21 for real.

Isn't that cardi the most beautiful thing you ever did see?

Feel free to send presents in the post.

Btw, LONDON IS GOOD. More on that soon soon.

x

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.

x