It’s been another internet-free week in Casa del Hunter/Conway/Huggins, sadly. I would have uploaded the past couple of outfit pics I snapped in uni, but sitting in the library uploading photos of myself posing like a prick amongst the sombre-faced students hunched over their laptops doing real work is far too embarrassing a prospect for me to even contemplate.
Whilst having a post-Radio journo pint at Pulse with Efa, Ellen and Ellie on Friday, Me Hobocaust came to say Aloha and asked us if we were still up for being in his film. We nodded enthusiastically and confirmed that we were very excited at the prospect of bloodying up for our roles as homeless flesh-eaters. He then said that he had not yet cast the three leading characters, and asked if we’d like to do it. Oh holy cow. The only acting experience I have ever had was during AS drama, which was six years ago. I managed to scrape a C, which was more down to half-decent theory work than any actual theatre skills. However, Mr H said that a lack of any talent whatsoever would not matter in the slightest, as the plan is to make a hilariously low-budget Dario Argento style B-Movie. Um, AWESOME. After hearing that there was no way I could have turned it down, especially after I got to bag the part of ‘girl who dies first’. Blood-curdling screams galore! I’m very excited...
I’ve been conducting a little experiment in the past few days. Have you ever popped a song on whilst you’re getting dressed and found that the lyrics, tune or general vibe of what you’re listening to inadvertently affects your decision on what to wear? I’m pretty certain it’s not just me, but nevertheless I decided to give myself a mini-challenge for the next few days. It goes like this:
Step 1: Grab a CD. Any CD. Preferably with your eyes closed. Put CD in player, look away and bash buttons as many times as you like until you’re sure you have no idea what song is about to play. Alternatively, you could just press shuffle on iTunes, but that’s way less fun and wouldn’t work for me anyway. If I’d chosen that method, I would be flipping between sartorial interpretations of the Magnum PI theme tune and Jermaine Stewart’s ‘We Don’t Have to Take Our Clothes Off’ for the next week. Hang on, that sounds pretty good...
Step 2: Press play.
Step 3: Sit and listen...for about 30 seconds. Then commence a mad search through your wardrobe for an outfit that accurately reflects your interpretation of the song. You have until the end of the song. If you’re not fully dressed by then – tough shit. Same applies if you have forgotten to accessorise, missed a sock or just look utterly stupid. When the song fades out, your time is up and out the door you go.
You may not be surprised to learn that this game was borne from my chronic morning dithering and inability to make it anywhere on time. Sometimes I wish University students were required to wear school uniform. It would make getting out of the house at reasonable o’clock a damn sight easier.
Round one of THE CHALLENGE (as it shall henceforth be known) saw me doing the three minute dash around my miniscule room to this.
Isn’t it great?! I have had a long-running love affair with this band since my friend George first played them to me when I was 17. It’s all vacant vocals and bass-led attitude, and I feel like I should be chain smoking in the corner of a dingy club whilst wearing my best deadpan expression whenever I hear it. This would probably explain why I impulsively reached for my circular bad-ass shades and built the outfit around them – a heavy black cardigan, anger-boots and a bow-tie. Two minutes later I was dressed, the song was still playing, so I was able to dance around like a prat and completely blow the affected air of indifference I had been cultivating so carefully. Darn.
Yesterday’s outfit was a complete about-turn, as Lana Del Rey’s Video Games (DON’T JUDGE ME, PEOPLE) began blaring out of my little stereo.
Usually this song conjures up images of sultry French cinema vixens that live their life in black and white, sitting in smoky bars with doleful kohl-rimmed eyes and beehives and a cigarette perpetually dangling from between their ever-so-pouty lips. However, it was the officially the start of the Great British summertime and the weather was suitably wonderful so instead the chiming melancholia prompted me to think of the Virgin Suicides soundtrack, super 8 film and squinty eyes as the sun beams down on white lace dresses. I grabbed my two floatiest white garments and popped on a bow and pearl headband, which I made a while ago but completely forgot about until Friday when it migrated to the front of my underwear drawer. The boots were worn because I bloody love cats. No further explanation needed there.