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

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