'You only work in a shop you know. You can drop the attitude." EDINA MONSOON

Thursday, 29 December 2011



I can't resist dead pale faces with dead dark lipstick. I just can't.

Also, I want that face ring.

Sunday, 25 December 2011


"Every hot girl who can aim a camera thinks she's a photographer. Oooooooh, you took a black-and-white picture of a lawn chair and its shadow and developed it at Save-On. You must be so brooding and deep. "
Stewie Griffin


Obligatory show-off photos of my Christmas presents to follow... if I can be bovvered and do not slip into goose fat induced food coma.

My quote of the year from a jumped up girl who mistakenly took 90s vintage VERY. SERIOUSLY. I rolfed A LOT when she uttered these words. Get over yourself love, it's only a Boy London T-shirt.

Thursday, 15 December 2011

Wednesday, 14 December 2011


I love a good Muff. Especially a furry one. No really! I had a super spectacular day out at The Secret Cinema but I'm sworn to secrecy about giving away more details. I can divulge that everyone had made a real effort and embraced the 40s inspired dress code. Lots of dapper folk. Think heavy wool coats, polished brogues, side-partings and three piece suits for the gents with LOTS of fur, red lippie and seamed stockings for the dolls. I had spotted this doll previously, and had kicked myself for not stopping her and asking for a quick snap. Her beautifully conserved 1940s muff was a sight to behold.

Thursday, 8 December 2011

Wednesday, 7 December 2011


As a child (you may be surprised to hear), I was a bit of a boffin, and (you will not be surprised to hear) a bit of a know it all. I blame my mother, with her constant trips to the local library. No sitting around playing video games and scratching my arse whilst my eyes turned square for me. What a lucky child I was. I would ingest books at an alarming rate, furiously regurgitating useless facts and stories. My favourite books, alongside the childhood classics, were inappropriate trashy tomes about master criminals, grisly violent murders and U.F.O.s.  

Whilst most little girls dreamt of large fairytale castles, prince charming weddings complete with meringue dress, I was wishing for a huuuuge library stacked from the very bottom to the very top with all these marvelous works. I wanted one of those ladders on wheels which you clipped onto the side of the bookcase on which I could whizz round my well stacked library. The closest thing I have found to this dream is when visiting the folks in Eastbourne. I always pop into this mysterious and crazy bookshop, aptly called,  'Books.'  No messing around there. 

Without fail I stumble upon something weird and wonderful. My last visit I found the most insane '70s book on customised denim, but that peculiar article deserves a whole post in itself. This time I was enthralled by the numerous books on 'glamour photography,' curious manuals offering advice on shooting scantily clad babes in white t-shirts under waterfalls. I kid you not. They are obviously from a more innocent time where the porn was, well, soft... the warm lighting,  the fluffy hair, the doughy boobs. Completely at odds with today's super-bright HD flashes of rigid tits and acylic hair. 

Tuesday, 6 December 2011


Being home allows me to catch up with the modern world via the sad and depressing world of reality TV. Having witnessed my first episode of 'Desperate Scousewives' I couldn't help but think 'yeesh, these girls don't half look rough with all that heavy foundation.' Never once in my life have I ever wanted to look like a man in drag, but apparently this resemblance is the key goal to their efforts. How laborious it must be to spend THAT LONG getting ready everyday to still end up looking terrible. And yes, they DO look terrible. Haggard, unnatural and devoid of any idividuality that might suggest an iota of personality under all that orange slap.  But the most repugnant aspect of their lives (and a reoccuring theme within this integrity deprived world of the faux celebrity) is their awful fixation with money, especially when considering potential suitors. Get a grip girls! Large wallet doesn't equate happy ever after! Did Disney teach you nothing?!  Combine this with an absolute and misguided belief that the more expensive something is, the more worthwhile or glamourous it must be brings a whole new level of meaning to the phrase 'money can't buy you taste.'

After ranting at my mum about not being able to understand this 'celebrity' culture and wondering who the hell buys the Katie Price paraphanelia let alone how people could ever find her a useful role model for young women (she's famous for her bouncey castle tits. Like, come on people!), I came across this (heavily abridged) attack on the insidious 'glamour' obsession of modern women in today's Guardian by Harriet Walker:

'Their style is more porn than practical and terrifyingly, we're told they exist in the same sphere as the rest of us. The rise of this sort of 'celebrity' doesn't just give rise to anorexia and insecurity- it also goes a bit further towards making us hate the every essence of being a woman. Our breasts are not big or pert enough, our skin not silky or hairless enough, the hair we haven't had compulsively waxed off must be supplemented with acrylic ringlets; our clothes must be tight and tiny....Our towns are filling up with pornified Barbies, with walking talking blow-up dolls. The cult of sex industry glamour, the beauty regime that takes up every waking minute, has become the most insidious aspect of our pbsession with celebrity culture.'

I couldn't have said it better myself, really, I couldn't.

Monday, 5 December 2011


The East London Design Show promised a 'hugely refreshing alternative to the humdrum conformity of the high street.' What it really offered was a twee plethora of  affectedly naive illustrations and prints, contrived 'vintage-inspired' jewellery, and a platform for the self-consciously 'alternative' to showcase their wares which ironically wouldn't have looked that out of place at Debenhams. OK. A little harsh? As I walked away I asked my boyfriend, 'Am I a horrible, cynical hipster snob?' But after doing the rounds and seeing a million gazillion stale prints of whimsical owls and sparrows, and jewellery with dainty miniature Eiffel Towers, hearts and wishbones the formulaic supposed 'quirkyness' of it all had made me thoroughly depressed. I wanted to spend my money, honestly I did, but not on something I could have easily purchased from Paperchase or Cath Kidson.

Not everything made me want to claw my own eyes out. Some of it was genuinely interesting, fresh and innovative. Here were my favorite pieces...
Stunning rings by Linnie McLarty. Seriously check her website, some amazing treasures all ethically  sourced.

Atmospheric and dramatic lamps by Latorre Cruz.

Feeding my current obsession for perspex and plastic jewellery, I fell for these odd, playful bangles by Nancy McAllister from student collective The Product Palace.