Snapped Up and print-clash experiments

Mammy, Dark Mavis and I took the Betti Baudelaire rail on the road today, and boy, what a corker of an afternoon we had!
Snapped Up Market takes place at the Printhaus, which is a whole 4 minute walk from my house. Mammy has been busy whipping up some of the designs - I've been woefully lax on the sewing front since starting my new job - and so we were able to debut four new pinnys, two new skater skirts, a ditsy floral dress and a few vinyl cake stands that Oli and I whipped up in the wee hours of last night. DM also brought down a bunch of beautiful t-shirts and prints by his newest collaborator Pyklops, whom I may be working with in the near future...watch this space!
The market wasn't as busy as we had hoped it would be (I reckon the heat + Sunday = BEACH TIME equasion was a factor there) but we managed to shift a little bit of stock, gorged ourselves on sweets and coffee and still found time to pose for the ridiculously cabaret photo above.

I made a doofy decision on looking out of the window this morning. I spotted a grey cloud - a cloud, would you believe?! - and therefore assumed that our moody British weather had returned to normal. Not so. I was clammy.
I've never been a big one for print clashing. The whole thing renders me slightly bewildered - hell, I have trouble remembering what colours match on the best of days. Whenever I attempt to put together a so-wrong-it's-right combination I end up squinting at my reflection in the mirror, unable to figure out whether I'm rocking the clash with panache or looking like a poor woman's Iris Apfel. I played it semi-safe and opted for an old Chelsea Girl leopard print midi, breezy polka dot jersey and big-ass specs that I hoped screamed 'I DO FASHUN THINGZ, HONEST'. I'm not sure it worked...

Polkadot top and headscarf - hand-me-downs from Mama H, skirt - Chelsea Girl, belt - chaz shop, cigarette - definitely not in my hand

Pissholes in the snow eyes are a result of my hate-hate relationship with make-up in these face-melting conditions, by the way. Over and out!

Betti Baudelaire xxx

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)