Get Yr Knit On

It's done! It's finally all done!
Yup, somehow I managed to complete all four gigantico Uni assignments a week before deadline and now I'm free, FREE GOD DAMNIT, to sit in my living room eating pizza and knitting Christmas presents.
Did I mention that I learnt to knit the other week? No? Well, I did, as evidenced in the poorly-made GIF above. Yaaay! You can see how proud I am here:

 Scarf - hand-knitted by meeee, headscarf - given to me by a bloke in the queue for Clwb Ifor Bach in exchange for a fag, t-shirt - Jose Vanders merch, braces - H&M, skirt - secondhand from Rhi, tights - sheer magic.

So I made this scarf in a couple of days, and had so much fun doing it that I decided to produce a whole bunch of shitknits in time for the festive season, which means all my pals will be receiving lumpy woollen goods in their stockings. This has nothing at all to do with the fact that I'm totally skintos. NOTHING, I TELLS YA.
In other news, I based my childish outfit yesterday around these ridiculously awesome Roy Lichtenstein-inspired tights. I picked them up in Paris when I was fourteen, wore them once and promptly discarded them for the next ten years. Until last week that is, when I had a little rootle around in my tights drawer for something to jazz up my flagging paupers wardrobe and rediscovered them and all their pop art glory. Have a butchers, they're great.

In keeping with the throwback theme, today I channelled the spirit of my 13 year old self and looked back 11 years to a time when my life revolved around school blazers, Silver Ravenwolf books and unfinished chemistry homework. I was always an odd child, and my friends and I (I won't name the rest of them for fear of causing them embarrassment *coughLOZCOOKcoughZOEFJSUTTON*) would spend hours casting magic circles and boiling things up in my mums casserole pot and wearing pentacle necklaces and the like.

So today I dragged that old pentacle from my childgood jewelry box, paired it with a schooley ensemble - albeit in more flattering colours than my original high school uniform. A cat jumper, creepers, a vacant stare and some Picmonkey wizardry enabled me to emulate Robin Tunney in The Craft like I always wished I could do when I was a young'un.

Headscarf - stolen from Mammy, blazer and skirt - charity shop, cat jumper - Peacocks, socks and tights - Primark, creepers - Niche, bad photography - too cold to be outside, swanky special effects - WITCHCRAFT YO.

Speaking of editing, here's what happens when I allow Oli to contribute to my blog.

Adios, amigos!

Betti Baudelaire xxx

Rainbow Clara Bow

Following today's early morning photoshoot for the Phoenix (our new independent student newspaper, FYI) I've been revelling in the joys of eveningwear as daywear. The lovely Jess's 'down-on-her-luck dolly darling' comment inspired me to embrace what I am labelling the 'bedraggled razzle-dazzle' look. A little bit Catherine Zeta Jones with ripped hems and stockings at the end of Chicago, a little 90's grunge/gothy. Ideal get-up for a cinematically-inspired day.

Also, note the balcony. I HAVE A BALCONY! Ok, so it's a rusty fire escape, but it will do.

Betti Baudelaire xxx

Five Second Update

I have new hair! Praise Jebus, the two inches of bleached fuzz have been removed and a sleek bob'n'bow fringe have been cut in. But that's not all...

 Peach and ginge! Just the injection of bright grafitti colour I needed to cling on to the last remnants of an autumn I didn't even begin to appreciate enough. Thank you once again, Vidal Sassoon.

In order to highlight the new 'do (not that it needs highlighting - I'm pretty sure I'm going to be mistaken for an amber traffic light at least once over the next week) I kept it understated in a rolled-up grey marle skirt, toasty knee-highs and my trusty Goo tee, throwing in a dutty heart-shaped handbag so that at least one part of my ensemble matched my lippy.

Sonic Youth tee - Pulp
Gold collar necklace - Topshop
Grey skirt - donated by Ello
Knee-high socks - Primarni
Boots - cast-offs from Mama H
Bag - chazz

Khaki coat -  H&M
Scarf - found in a skip
Gloves - appeared in my wardrobe, no idea where they originally came from. Hrrm.

I know this khaki coat has appeared in about 5 of my previous posts already, but I can't get enough of it. It was an impulse buy last year and now BOOM, giant trend of the season. It's a brilliant wet weather student coat, goes with pretty much everything in my wardrobe and -as I discovered recently - has an adjustable waistline. Perfecto.

Adios for now,

Betti Baudelaire xxx

Rage

I'm giving up smoking for the 17465th time. It's not going very well, hence the title of this post and the following mishmash of staccato, passive agressive sentences. There's a cold, hard, menacing glint in my eye. My fag-hand doesn't know what to do with itself, the max-strength nicotine gum is giving me a sore throat and my hair smells strange. Like, fresh. Ugh, I just shuddered involuntarily.

It's been one day.

To combat the gnawing sense of loss that accompanies ditching the cigs, I did my best to pull together an outfit that didn't feature a single leisurewear garment. Right on schedule, I experienced a massive attack of the 'I HATE YOU, WARDROBE' neuroses. Seriously, every single bloody item of clothing I own has magically revealed itself to be woven from 10% cotton, 90% crap. I'm sorely tempted to give the majority of it to the poor, unsuspecting charity shops around the corner.
How does one beat the bad clothes blues? Help needed.

Bowler hat - Primark
Cardigan - Lily Vintage in Chester
Dress - H&M
Belt - River Island

I was dangerously close to curling up into the foetal position and admitting defeat, but then remembered this no-fail cardi from Lily Vintage that I picked up in Chester earlier this year. Its fuzzy mohair beauteousness and jazzy splashes of colour enlivens even the 'pleh'-est of outfits in much the same way that a brick enlivens a dull floor (guess the reference, British TV fans. The winner gets a rake. There's another one for you...um.) This 'ere cream glittery H&M Christmas dress gave me a much-needed sparkle injection. Glitzy dresses - better than Prozac. I cheered up a treat, resisted the urge to set fire to the mountain of clothes left on my bedroom floor and went for falafel. MMM.

The one good thing that has come out of this whole fag-dumping fandango is that I used the money that would usually go towards a pack of 10 Sterling to pay for my first dance class in almost a year. Progress indeed.

Adios!

Betti Baudelaire xxx

Workwear is the WORST

The ode to the Nan-slacks will have to wait (although they do make an appearance), because tonight I'm dedicating my ramblings to the joys of...wait for it...WORKWEAR.
Please don't fall into a dead faint.

I've been on work experience at GT Magazine in London for a week, and as such have not had much time for blogging. Well, not personal style blogging anyway. I've written a couple for the GT website already, which you can find here and here, and am assured the rest will be put up next week. Including one about Nicki Minaj, and you KNOW how much I love her...

I did try to take a few photographs over the week, but my phone camera is SHIT and as a result every sodding one came out like this.

Lame.

Luckily I've scrambled back to Cardiff this weekend to do a bit of reviewing for Media Wales, which means that my on-call photographer/lovely boyfriend was roped in for a retrospective snapfest of my outfits from the past week.

The term 'workwear' generally makes me feel like I'm about to lose my lunch. To me, it's a byword for mundanity. For boredom, pinstripe suits and the slow surrender of personal and style identity. And beige. Ugh. So when packing for my trip to the Big Smoke, I attempted to create a capsule "really, I'm a serious journalist, look at my flesh-coloured tights and sensible mid-heel" wardrobe that was as far from the dreaded W-word connotations as possible.

Piratey Blouse - Hobos
NAN SLACKS - chazz
Belt - River Island
Shoes - George@Asda

Puff sleeves! High-waisted woollen check! A scraggly beehive and pops of ballerina pink! On my first day at the office I opted primarily for comfort with a sly nod to crazy. Enter Adam Ant-esque blouse, which is light, airy and makes me want to go 'YARRR' every time I catch sight of my own reflection.

Bandana - Rebel Rebel
Jumper - Peacocks
Skirt - River Island
Boots - chazz

I woke up on day#2 missing Daveycat like mad so decided to pay homage to her in this natty kitty knit. The woman serving me in Pret A Manger got so excited about this jumper that for a moment I thought she was going to leap from behind the counter and try to stroke my belly. Thankfully she didn't.

Headscarf - Colours in Berlin
80s-tastic all-in-one - The Yellow Shop
Boots - chazz
Day three was a lazy day, so required a lazy solution. I'd predicted this mid-week slump so packed a jazzy vintage playsuit that, when worn, gives the beholder the impression that the person wearing it has carefully thought through their days attire. In reality, I rolled out of bed, slung it on and dashed out of the house, only just remembering to hop back up to the bathroom and brush my teeth. £22 well spent - this thing can guarantee an extra 10 minutes sleep in the morning.

Jumper - chazz
Skirt &shoes- as before

Oh, what to wear on a bitingly cold day with intermittent spells of torrential rain? Answer: Super-cosy embellished jumper to keep pneumonia at bay, plus nude tights and sturdy but easily removable shoes to ensure the rest of the day isn't spent shivering in wet trousers. Simples.

 

 Those on instagram feel free to give me a follow - it's torchthetreasure.

Adios, pals!

Betti Baudelaire

THE ONES

 
The sun has decided to man the fuck up and poke his little face through the clouds for the past two days, and I've finally been able to heave a massive sigh of relief and take a breather now that 90% of the work I've been piddling my pants over is out of the way. Rejoice!

This meant I was able to snap some style post pics. I know the 'but it's raaaiiinnning' excuse is tired and lame, but honestly - there is not A SINGLE DECENT PLACE to take a blog-suitable shot in my charming but ever-so-slightly tatty little flat. I've been waiting, camera in hand and foot impatiently tapping, for a sunny day so I could showcase my purchase of the year.

I do not say this lightly.

Look at them...LOOK AT THEM!!! These are the trousers I've been waiting for my entire life. They are my Ones (don't tell Oli). I'm not a massive fan of high street shopping - as if you couldn't already tell - but these cropped, tailored, floral and paint-spattered H&M beauts were so far up my street they were practically knocking on my door and inviting themselves in for a cuppa.

I'm not sure how seasonally-appropriate these lads actually are and I'm still not entirely convinced by the whole winter florals-and-pastels malarkey but I can't hide from the fact that when I slip these jazzy trews on in the morning, life just seems a bit brighter. Well-deserved BOOM, H&M.

Trousers - H&M
Jumper - Prefab second hand
Blouse - chaz shop
Shoesies - George at Asda

So I guess it's pretty apparent how enamoured I am with my statement purchase for this semester (student loans only stretch so far), but I could only handle the saccharine-sweet pastelmania for so long before I started feeling queasy every time I looked in the mirror.

The antidote was lurking, as it often does, in the menswear section of Primark where Oli and I discovered it on a routine boring sock shop. I'd all but vowed to never buy from a high street retailer again after the disappointing autumn/winter crop until my dream jumper literally jumped out and punched me full force in the face. Ok, maybe not literally. But it may as well have done.

 

THE BREAKFAST CLUB?! A still from one of my all-time favourite films featuring the cast looking suitably insouciant plastered onto a jumper of not-totally-tragic quality for just £12? Get in. Pastel induced nausea - neutralised. (Crap Instagram picture a result of another torrential downpour, boo.)

Next time - why high-waisted woolly Nan-slacks are God's gift to womankind.

Betti Baudelaire

Weren't you just a tiny bit excited?

God, September's rolled round quick. It only feels like last week that I was gleefully cracking into my loan installment and hitting the shops to stock up on an unneccessary amount of floral skirts (and a pair of badly-fitting chinos, but we'll skim over this).

It's definitely starting to get a wee bit nippier now, and the nights are drawing in. I've been reading a lot of posts mourning the end of summertime, but I couldn't be happier. This is partly because our so-called Great British Summertime has once again proved to be a Great Big Letdown. I'm beginning to wonder why us Brits still insist on holding out hope that maybe this summer will be like our idealised childhood memory of the year it was so hot that there were draught warnings and ice cream shortages and, y'know, people weren't supposed to use their hoses. Sorry to be the harbinger of doom, but it's never going to happen again folks, no matter how much the Mirror rambles on about how this July is going to be the hottest since records began. Let's all stop giving ourselves premature worry-wrinkles, accept that we don't live in the Med and invest in light-therapy lamps so we can sit wearing bikini's and drinking Cola Floats in our living rooms, imagining we're on the Costa Del Sol. Cheap, cheerful and you still get to watch the 2.30 showing of Jeremy Kyle. What's not to like?

The main reason, though, is that I love autumn openly and unashamedly. Those golden-brown piles of crunchy leaves, unpredictable rainstorms and iron-grey skies? Lay 'em on me! I love cracking out the thick ribbed tights, chunky woollen jumpers and sensible coats when it's chilly, yet still being far enough from Christmas to have enough time to fully prepare for all the obligatory enforced-festive-cheer. Yup, autumn sure is great. But I digress.

Oli was sent home from work early today so was able to rescue me from what could have turned into a full-scale, in-my-PJ's-til-7pm bed day. I'm a student, don't judge me. I'd been contemplating watching the Dreamers and wishing my life was as exciting as those crazy Parisian twins - prefereably minus the incestual element - but then JOY! I was presented with an opportunity to get dressed up in my Isabelle dress and indulge my inner mod.

For those who haven't read/seen the Dreamers, I'll provide a very brief explanation. It's a story about three film buffs and their increasingly twisted relationship with one another, set during the beginning of the 1968 Paris riots. The three wannabe revolutionaries meet at a film buff rally but slowly get sucked into their own little world, their lives revolving around Jean Luc Godard movies, sexual deviance and heated debates about Clapton and Hendrix. It's beautifully shot, and the 1960's beatnik student style that features throughout is so relevant right now too! Isabelle, played by Eva Green, is an inspiration. If I had a wardrobe of her dresses from this movie, I'm pretty sure the sheer happiness overload would send me cuckoo and I would end up running down the street, wearing every item of her clothing, drool running down my chin like an over-excited dog screaming 'LOOK AT ME! I'M A FRENCH MOD!!' Reading over that last sentence, it's probably for the best that the likelihood of Isabelle's wardrobe appearing on eBay anytime soon is next to nil.

Feeling inspired, I dug my old 60's mod dress that I bought from the antique store about two years ago. It's still a tad big on the waist so I chucked a skinny snakeskin belt around it and prayed to Jebus that there wouldn't be too much unsightly scrunching. The trusty ankle socks were out in force again - they seem to be my default 'jazzing up' item du jour. I added a pair of dove grey brogues (only because all my black shoes have broken and are totally unwearable, boo), a silver dove necklace and my fantastic nude satchel that I managed to dig out from the deepest recesses of my wardrobe, dust off and fix with the help of an earring in the same colour as the bag (FYI the handle had snapped. I was gutted.) YEAH! It was park time...again. I think it's time I got a life. (click to enlarge)