Baudelaire Boutique - new additions

We made more! The following are now available at Cardiff Fashion Quarter, and also at my newly established Etsy shop. These babies are all designed and handmade by mother dearest and myself in her kitchen from upcycled curtain and pillowcase material. Don't worry, we washed them first. For these ones in particular, I was inspired by simple 90's silhouettes (predictable, I know, but my brain doesn't do flouncy), the collection of Monet's Waterlilies at the Cardiff Museum - whenever I get a spare minute I duck into the echoey galleries to see them - and the floaty, girly wardrobes of a few of my closest lady-friends. What do you think? Are they wearable? Or a little bit too saccharine sweet?

 'Melissa' shift dress, upcycled one-off, size 10, £25

 'Melissa' tunic, upcycled one-off, size 8, £18

 'Monet' floral brush-stroke midi dress, upcycled one-off, size 12, £30

 Tropical flora upcycled skirt, size 14, £15

Also, lovely Mark of Dark Mavis fame got me a mannequin to dress. What a G-Unit! Tata for now.

Betti Baudelaire xxx

Birthday Ballgown

It was my birthday on Tuesday, and after flapping about with various substandard outfit choices and getting thoroughly flustered by the whole affair I went for broke and rocked a vintage ballgown for the entire day. Because really, what better time is there to sport daytime velvet and tulle than on a day celebrating the frankly miraculous fact that I've managed to survive a full quarter-century despite my chronic common sense impairment and inability to cross roads.

Dress - Northcote Lane Market, headscarf - Oasis vintage, Converse - "borrowed" from Sian, sunglasses - H&M

I embraced my inner creep and pitched this look in the no-mans land between cybergoth, pastel-grunge, a Givenchy-esque silhouette and Lily Allen circa 2006. I usually buckle at the idea of pairing scruffy trainers with my vintage ballroom babies (the whole rough/polished contrast strikes me as a bit contrived and, well, dated), but a lack of suitable footwear + a desire to stomp around the park feeding the geese = this actually quite thumbs-up ensemble that had me tripping the light fantastic down the sun-drenched lanes of Cardiff to my mothers house.

My favourite thing about this birthday suit (ha...ha...) has to be it's ridiculously low cumulative cost. I picked this velvet ballgown up at Northcote Lane Market for a mere fiver a couple of years back after I fell in love with its full midi skirt and structured, waist-contouring v-shaped pelmet. Pear-shapes the world over take note - this here dress is the perfect antidote to a slightly heavier rear end. The headscarf was £1, the specs £7, and the shoes borrowed, taking the entire combo to a grand total of £13. Jog on, Topshop. Arrivederci, American Apparel. I sniff disdainfully at your painfully mediocre skater-style party dresses, and opt for bargain-basement flamboyance any day of the week.

FRIENDS BANDS WHO REALLY REALLY DESERVE YOUR ATTENTION: This week it's the turn of Lung, aka James Ellaway, aka my little brothers best man. James has been producing slick-as-an-oily-fish D'n'B and liquid dubstep since he starting DJing in Cardiff about five years ago, and is now on the cusp of releasing his debut album through Med School Music. 'Afterlife' is by far and away his best track (if a bit of an oldie). Spine-chillingly awesome sounds.

Betti Baudelaire xxx

ALL THE COLOURS

Specs - Primark, jumper - Internacionale, jeans - donated by Jenny, Converse - borrowed from Sian (sorry!)

This week I've thrown myself headlong into my quarter life crisis and dyed my hair bright purple. I'm 25 on Tuesday, I've just come back from a week of work experience at the NME offices (which was awesome, FYI. I actually contemplated chaining myself to the chair and singing 'We Shall Not Be Moved' at the editor until he called security) and now have an infinity of unemployment and uncertainty staring me in the face.
...
I couldn't be more excited!

To celebrate my stumble into full on grown-up-dom I resurrected my trusty party sweater and stole some bouncy white Cons from my lovely housemate Sian. Again. Because even though I know that very soon I will have to suck it up and grow some responsibility, right now I still harbour ambitions of dressing like a Playdays presenter circa 1994.

Now here's a picture of a really happy squirrel nomming on some bread. Oli and I met him in the park a couple of weeks ago. Enjoy!

'FRIENDS BAND WHO REALLY REALLY DESERVES YOUR ATTENTION' OF THE WEEK:
My long-time Cardiff pal Tom-Hass has teamed up with two other great Toms and an Andy to form Masts, a punky/post-hardcore maelstrom who combine the best bits of From Here To Infirmary-era Alkaline Trio, At The Drive In and Tubelord. I popped to see them play in Brixton last week and they rocked it so hard one of the Tom's glasses fell off. Here's their fantastically-named 'Chewbacca Kaboom' for you to enjoy:

Betti Baudelaire xxx

Betti Baudelaire Boutique - a rather surreal two weeks

The above picture should explains why I've been so quiet on the blogging front for some time now.

Though my adoration of fashion remains untainted, my focus has shifted - entirely accidentally, you understand - from personal style to designing. No, I'm not quite sure what's going on either.

What I can tell you is that after my last brief, cryptic update about the possibility of me setting up shop, things cranked up a notch. Mama H and I set up our workstations in her back garden and spent five long days grafting to make my designs a reality. It only took 50 hours, reams of upcycled fabric and more than a few glasses of cider to create an 18 piece micro-range for the spectacular Dark Mavis stall at the Cardiff Fashion Quarter.

 Venetia A-Line upcycled skirt, size 8-10, £22

 Venetia upcycled circle skirt, size 12-14, £25

 Kinderwhore upcycled crop top, size 10, £18

 Venetia panel upcycled skirt, size 8-10 and 12-14, £22

 Petal party dress, size 10, £75

 Tartan shorts, size 12, £22

I even got my incredible friends Zoe, Celyn and Efa to model a couple of them for me! Unfortunately, my photographic skillz are nowhere near good enough to show the ladies and the clothes off in all their glory. Le sigh.

 

Tartan pinafore dress w/elasticated waist, size 10-14, £30

 Polka dot poplin skirt, size 10, £22

Mark threw a fantastic launch party down at the Fashion Quarter, where I got to rock a handmade jumpsuit and drink gallons of Babycham whilst surrounded by a bunch of my favourite people whilst Hoffman blasted some CHOOONS.

As you can see, things have kicked off massively in the last 12 days, and they took an even more exciting turn this afternoon. But that, friends, will have to wait for another day. MOAR ENIGMAZZ!!

Mama H and I are already working on the next load of designs, which will be hitting the stall when I return from my work experience at the hallowed NME offices (SO excited about this!!) Meanwhile, you can like the Facebook page here if the mood takes you, or pop down to the Fashion Quarter and throw eggs at my rail if you decide my clothes aren't to your tastes (note: please don't do this).

ALSO, as part of my 'friend's bands who really deserve your attention' series, let me introduce Efa Supertramp. Efa (who modelled some of the above clothes for me, FYI) is one of the most motivated people I know. Not content with merely setting up her own record label, underground club night, fanzine and Food Not Bombs group, she sings amazing acoustic political punk songs about freedom and TV-smashing in both English and Welsh. LISTEEEEENNNN. You won't regret it :)

Betti Baudelaire xxx

Something to BRAG about

I’m not in the habit of reviewing companies on my blog. I’m more at home critiquing dance in than dresses, and the occasional e-mail I receive from ‘the next big online retailer’ offering me the chance to write a sponsored post inevitably end up languishing in my inbox. However, when the kind folk at Brag Vintage got in touch regarding a collaboration, it only took one look at their  corker of a website to get me on board. For one, they are purveyors of this beauteous creation (which I hope to get my hands on as soon as I come into dolla again – purple batwing jumpsuits are my kryptonite). More importantly, Brag openly embrace individuality and diversity and have been rejecting high-street monotony since their inception in 2011.

“We’ve always had a passion for vintage clothing because it gives you that unique look,” says Brag’s Ashley Dye. “We started out selling a few select pieces on eBay and it just took off from there. When you wear a piece of vintage, you know that when you walk down the street you’re not going to catch someone wearing the same item.We also find that the majority of vintage clothing is better quality than much of today’s high-street fashion.”

Blouse - c/o Brag Vintage, jeans - New Look, shoes - Primark, headscarf - Oasis vintage, sunglasses - found in my old bedroom last week.

The crew at Brag meticulously hand-pick each and every item, ensuring that they meet Ashley’s seal of approval before they make it onto the site. Their selection process alone earns Brag a ridiculously enthusiastic digital high five from my end. Though nothing will ever beat the bliss of browsing through overstuffed racks of mothball-scented jumpers in a dilapidated second-hand emporium (ya rly), sometimes even us hardened vintage aficionados crave the luxury of a sleek, streamlined collection from which we can take our pick.

That’s why I put my faith in Brag’s capable hands and asked them to pick me out a mystery piece to review. I was not disappointed. Ashley and co are clearly a) sartorial genii b) digitally clairvoyant or c) spending far too much time scoping out my blog in an attempt to determine what item I would be most likely to fall ridiculously in love with. This 80’s double breasted blouse, with its ditsy, busy acorn print, ever-so-slightly puffed shoulders and elegant, Betti-acceptable peplum silhouette had me grabbing a pair of high-waisted skinnies and matching heels. In this power ensemble, I feel like I’m striding off into a sharp-talking, high-octane future of investigative journalism and Lagerfeld-esque tailoring. It doesn’t matter that in reality, I strode off to the nearest Japanese restaurant to gorge myself silly on ramen with Oli’s fam. THE DREAM REMAINS, FOLKS, and it’s fuelled by noodles and Sake.

But I digress. I’m crazy-glad that Brag chose to inform me of their existence, so I thought I’d pay it forward and inform you lovely followers (yup, all 55 of you!) too. But make sure you hop over there for a nosey before all the good stuff gets snaffled, because Ashley has big plans.

“Our prices are really competitive compared to other online retailers and we have a huge selection, so we hope to carry on growing and building our website and eventually open some retail outlets,” she says. “We like our customers to feel they are not only getting a piece of vintage clothing, but also a bargain.”

However, Ashley's modest market-dominating ambitions pale into significance when she reveals Brag's overarching goal. When I asked which celebrity she would most like to dress in Brag apparel, I expected the list of usual suspects - Zooey, Alexa, Jameela - to burble forth.

“Honestly?" she laughs. "We’d love to put Justin Bieber in a vintage floral dress."

Given his current meltdown status, I wouldn’t say that’s all too unachieveable.

Shop @ www.bragvintage.co.uk

ALSO, as part of a new post feature which I have tentatively entitled ‘friends bands who are really REALLY deserving of your attention’, I’d like to point your attention to my pal Craig’s band Best Days, who I stupidly didn’t properly check out until last month. They are cocking INCREDIBLE. You really need to listen to them, especially if you’re a fan of Two Door Cinema Club, Peace, Girls or Foals. Here’s their track ‘Something’ – perfect summer tuneage.

Betti Baudelaire xxx

The Sordid Face of STYLE

 Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

Hi everyone. It’s nice to meet you. My name is Betti, and I’m a self-confessed fashoholic. 

The dull rustle of a deep burgundy taffeta sets my pulse racing. The way spun silk grabs the light so mischievously makes my fists clench with excitement. I look forward to the first glimpse of the new Meadham Kirchhoff collection more than I anticipate a visit to my own grandmother, and she always stocks Southern Comfort by the litre. I will happily spend endless hours trawling through the style blogs of green haired pre-teen Harajuku gurus to find my next hit of visual bliss.

But an obsession with the sartorial world comes at a steep price. In the 21st century, ‘fashion’ is edging ever closer to dirty-word territory, eliciting sniggers of distaste and assumptions of vapidity by those who assume that an appreciation of a perfectly cut A-line skirt and functioning critical faculties are two mutually exclusive qualities to possess. “She spends her time thinking of ruffles, can you imagine?” they sniff, before turning back to their expensive cheeseboards and adopted opinions on Thatcher’s funeral. Such stifled giggles and pedantic jibes sail over my head. The growing, burbling cesspit of unease in my gut is not so easy to ignore.

You see, when the industry you blithely feed your hard-earned bucks into is unmasked time and again as the arch-villain of the economic world, the sheen on that spun silk loses its lustre. It becomes increasingly difficult to justify an appetite for cheap and cheerful spangles when a disaster as huge and as horrific as the Bangladeshi sweatshop collapse strikes and points an accusing finger at the retailers we blindly support.

The deaths in Dhaka are not a one-off. Since 2005, 700 sweatshop workers have been killed in Bangladesh alone. Worldwide, the figure is close to 1000 work-related fatalities every year. Labourers also have to contend with being viewed as living, breathing production lines and are paid a miniscule piece rate for their efforts. Predictably, women workers are particularly vulnerable. Sexual abuse is rife, and some employers even force workers to take birth control and regular pregnancy tests in order to dodge costly maternity benefits. Rose-tinted, romanticised imaginings of wild-eyed creative genii throwing cotton and colour around an airy studio flanked by jolly seamstresses hand-crafting couture lace are shattered in the face of the reams of hard evidence provided by world-weary employees and undercover journalists. That Gucci show doesn’t look so pretty when you’re painfully aware that the factory workers who stitched the garments were denied access to clean drinking water by their employers.

The false economy of a Primark t-shirt is more bogus than first understood. So why aren’t we all cutting up our Topshop store cards and picketing the doors of New Look? Perhaps it’s all too simple to shrug off another report of inequity and suffering with a callous reference to economic necessity. Maybe we just don’t give a hoot, although I’d hope that our cultural apathy towards other nations hasn’t advanced that far yet.

My suspicion is that we fashionistas are just not ready to relinquish our love of style, and have been conditioned for too long to see no other option other than complying with the status quo. After years of being told that our choice of dress defines us, we’ve reached breaking point. Not owning that season-defining statement piece is not just an oversight, but a deeply personal failing indicative of a severe and alarming lack of style savvy. No one wants to hear that their inner psyche is passé. And so we resume our places at the tills, key in our PIN, and clutch our purchases tight to our chest. We show off our acquisitions and congratulate each other on our ability to spend. We try to disregard that gnawing feeling in our bellies, and force ourselves to forget that a human hand made our trinket and suffered for our gain.

But there is an alternative, and it involves – as most solutions do – running back to the rulebook, ripping it up and starting over. For fashion is more than the slavish pursuit of trends and the thrill of the splurge you know you can’t afford. It’s about embracing the personal style you cultivate over years of absorbing external influences and following internal trains of thought. It’s the vintage shawl your mother passes down which still smells faintly of Rive Gauche. It’s developed during conversations with friends, through admiration of strangers and honed by hours spent browsing second-hand shops that smell vaguely of cat wee. It’s less about what you spend, and more about what you save. It’s an injection of pure creativity that an ‘It’ product will never replicate.

Choose swap shops, not sweat shops and rediscover your inner sartorial spark.

The blogger formerly known as Space Cadet Betti (?!)

Jesus Christ. I haven't slacked off the blogging this much since the Great Travel Fiesta last summer. I'm truly sorry.
In my defence, the reasons for my absence (apart from the overarching fact that I'm beginning to abhor the internet) my reasons for neglecting Blogger this time are threefold:
a) My handy on-call photographer boyfriend has been cramming like mad for his seven horrendous exams, and has barely left his bedroom. Right now, the chances of me grabbing him for a sneaky outfit post are way below zero until well into next month.
However, I do have this one superb fashion snapshot of the Weekend We All Wore A Lot Of Denim. Accidental co-ordination and fantastic dance moves were the order of the day when we traveled up to Manchester en masse to see The Postal Service.


^ALL THE DENIM

b) Since giving up smoking and throwing myself head-first into settee-based, cheese puff-chomping academia I have gained no less than a stone and a half. Yes, really. Though I'm by no means overweight, the fact that half my wardrobe is now unwearable due to those extra couple of inches on my waistline is a bummer that my little brainbox is getting a tad upset about. As much as I hate to say this, it's hard to have outfit picture fun-times when you don't feel comfortable in your own skin. BOO TO BOLLOCKS 'BEAUTY STANDARDS'. I'm trying not to be thwarted by the fascist fash-army's dictates on how my body should look, though. Normal service will be resumed once I have finished elasticating my waistbands.

c) 95% of my waking time has been taken up with an exciting new fashion-y venture...faventure?? No, that doesn't work. ANYHOO, My pal Efa has a lovely pal called Ellie who saw my Bedtime Stories dresses and put me in touch with her lovely pal Mark. Mark has just opened his new stall, Dark Mavis, at Cardiff Fashion Quarter and has asked me to create a collection of one-off items to sell. Exciting times ahoy! The labels have been ordered, the fabric has been sourced and production has commenced. Look, here's a picture of me at my sewing machine to prove it:


I'm looking a bit rough around the edges as a result of hours of home-based design work, so I've super-imposed a mortar board and Lemmy 'tache for a little comic relief. Just thought I should clarify that in case you panicked and thought I'd cracked up/developed some kind of wonder-grow female facial hair formula in the past two weeks. I haven't.

I'm keeping schtum about the details until everything has come together a bit more, but I can confirm that a website will be going live soon and that Dark Mavis will be launching the range in just under two weeks. Here's a few little sneak-peeks to whet yr collective appetite!


I promise I'll be back fo'realz soon. Honest.

Betti Baudelaire xxx