Then I started studying Journalism at university, which was a right laugh, only our lecturers kept banging on about how we had to start blogging. It's of the utmost importance, they said. All would-be journalists should have one. I kind of agreed, but also couldn't help thinking that it was a bit of a self-indulgent exercise and one that required far too much effort on my part. As I may have mentioned before, I'm pretty lazy. Getting out of bed and pulling on something that isn't a pair of PJ trousers proves quite challenging most days, let alone turning on a laptop, having thoughts, translating said thoughts to vaguely coherent and readable paragraphs etc. But then I thought, maybe it would be helpful to have somewhere to post my (admittedly horribly misguided) ideas about what constitutes style and fashion. Maybe our lecturers were right, and blogging would give me a slightly better chance at one day writing for an actual magazine and stop me from using Facebook status updates as my only creative output. So here we are. My bloggy blog blog blog. I can only apologise, and hope that the above paragraph goes some way towards justifying the horrendous amount of utter bilge I will no doubt be posting in the coming weeks/months/however long I can be bothered to write this darned thing.
In recent months, I've had to think long and hard about the contents of my wardrobe. A pressing issue, I'm sure you'll agree. Thing is, I've had to come to terms with the fact that I am fast approaching my mid-twenties. Lovely as it is getting mistaken for a 17 year old when attempting to buy cigarettes, I've had to accept that it may be a tad difficult to be taken seriously as an aspiring fashion editor when my idea of a 'really ace outfit' consists of Converse and a tatty old t-shirt with a hand-drawn dinosaur motif. I remembered the halcyon days of, oh, say a year or two ago, where I would actually put thought, time and effort into an outfit. I was even sad enough to develop a 'character' to wear from time to time. It goes without saying that I have a lot of spare time on my hands. But boy, was it fun, even if I did get a couple of bizarre looks and even the occasional jeer from time to time. It's with admiration, nostalgia and a tinge of jealousy that I read the blogs of Tavi Gevinson, Marlena, lovecatsinbinbags et al. These girls are rewriting the fashion rulebook, siphoning inspiration from Enid Ghost World, Twin Peaks, The Damned and teenage bedrooms and creating amazing outfits that my awkward teenage self would have been far too timid to wear. These days I would jump at the chance to wear such quirkily uncoordinated yet completely awesome attire. Unfortunately, I end up looking in the mirror and thinking 'Erm, aren't you a bit old for that, love?' Sadly, at the grand old age of 23 it's probably more acceptable to be wearing pussy-bow blouses than 'party til you puke' tees. Le sigh.
So today I decided to go back to my old character-building roots. I effing LOVE all the Bottega Veneta eccentric lady-of-the-manor pics that have surfaced from the A/W shows, and since I have started re-reading Bright Young People, with it's tales of decadent youth and champagne-guzzling debutantes all I've wanted to do is waltz around in swathes of lace and brocade with a glass of bubbly in one hand and a cigarette holder in the other. The luxe fabrics and layering made me dig out my old Skins box-set to have a butchers at my old style crush Cassie, with her brocade dresses, blazers and little-girl ankle socks. The results were as follows.
Hat - vintage, blazer - H&M, blouse - chazza, skirt - ASOS, socks - Topshop, shoesies - Peacocks, brooch - handmade.
Bit of a crap finish. It's 1am and work calls on the morrow. What a bastard real life is.