Friday, 26 October 2012

WWFW - inception of the Charitable Status Symbol

I have been writing and editing for about an hour.  Every minute spent is sacred as these are hard to come by with two small children, a furtively fluffy cat and a hairy boyfriend cluttering up my existence.  It is quite annoying then to realise that I have produced a massive pile of pants.  Like I needed more laundry gushing like magma from that Vesuvius of a linen basket!

I won’t go into detail, but my now deleted piece smacked of teenage angst and though grunge and its angsty compadre are back in Vogue (literally), I really ought to keep up the pretence that I worked all my issues out way back when (not that way back of course as I am still almost a spring chicken, not yet a crumpled kebab).  I am a very sound and sane person (no, really).  This is what ‘grown up’ means and if I am one thing it sure is grown up.  My ideals are size 39.  No more, no less.  Not saving the world.

I no longer feel the physical weight of landfill on my shoulders.  Nor do I see the future of a species so power hungry (double entendre there, aren’t I accomplished) through Nostradamus tinted glasses.  I’m deaf to the ludicrous lies I could be lapping up, dribbling and grunting like a senile Chihuahua with cataracts.  And those buggers suffer the worst because of their bulgy eyes.   I applaud the endless acquisition of new shit we don’t need from China and showing off about it before we toss it across several continents onto a festering, deadly dung heap in Africa where the components were pilfered from in the first place.  I honestly don’t lose sleep worrying about how I fit into all this and more.

I mean, I don’t recall anyone designating me saviour of the world right?!  Yes I suffer from Jesus syndrome, but no I am not he.  Or she.  I just fancy the dude is all.  Before his transvestite days. Obviously. So I have dug up most of my pitiful Christian Belgian roots and planted some seeds of British wisdom instead.   Call me phlegm, phlegm, phlegmatic, that’s the one, laissez faire Rodney and stoic like stodgy bread pudding.  Let it all wash over me.  Resistance is useless.  What does it all matter as long as we look good?

So without further ado, mainly because I can’t think of any more inappropriate, sarcastic, self deprecating, tongue in butt cheek background bulk for my new brain child: ME.  And how fabulous I am.  Mwah.  There is no more need to be ashamed of being alive and taking up valuable resources on this damned crammed earth.  Everybody else seems to be too.  And I didn’t ask to be born (see how this statement is still valid at my age, having given birth in turn?!)  My life is actually about me (my kids won't agree or even comprehend that I too have a self, albeit wee, so please let it be).  And though that does suck some of time, (because no matter how much I annoy myself I just can’t escape) I really ought to celebrate my protons (positively charged particles), namely art and fashion.  I can create shit hot and style Grace Coddington under the table along with the rest of the Chihuahuas.  And I do it all with peanuts, because that’s what normal people have at their disposal.  When I started my career as a stylist some ten years ago, the then editor of British Marie Claire, Marie O'Riordan, (now heading up John Lewis Magazine) was so impressed with my knack she ran a feature inspired by it.  Still trying to live that one up.  Peaked way, way, too early.

If you, like me, have had your fill of the same old (and young) privileged people harping on about how fresh they look in straight-from-the-designer-counter cuts, then you may well be interested to see a new face (new to you, not me.  Obviously).  Here is a sister doing it for herself.  No designer freebies.  No brand loyalty subject to contract.  No orgiastic spree at Selfridges.  No bank of mater et pater.  Born in a hospital, not into fashion.  No professional make-up.  Or hair.  Or photographers.  Just me, woman with occasional zits and several kids, a Poppins purse containing a few quid and a cornucopia of charity shops. 

I am the incredible, yet totally imitable (yes you can)  Charitable Status Symbol  (or css for short) (or the cascading style she) (but mostly the Charitable Status Symbol)

                                                                 Soundtrack of catwalkish proportions

And every week from hence forth and here on in I will share my fine thing findings with you.  As well as some asides and upfronts given the chance!  Do excuse the crappy iPhone quality on the first instalments.  These were taken a few weeks ago before a camera joined the team.  Hope to bring you a more polished product soon.

I hope you enjoy looking as much as I enjoyed making.

Midnight sequined bomber jacket, £2.99, H&M
Skull T-shirt reworked into vest, £1.50, Red Herring at Debenhams boys dept (you'll notice this is a treasured item)
Black silk maxi skirt, £2.50, xxx
Fascinator with turquoise and coral bejewelled badger skull, Exuvium (my own little label), £POA
Attitude, free

Tulip dress, £4, Vintage
Grey and purple leather tassel platform stilettos, £4, xxx
Navy floppy hat, £4, Unbranded
Real hair woven belt, £12, Unbranded
Knitted gilet, £2.50 Topshop
Skinny blue jeans, £4, H&M
Levi's belt, £2.99
Silver platform wedges, £20ish, DHavz by Terry De Havilland, from a sale long ago
Jewellery and vest as before
Floral dress, £4.99, Vintage
Belt and heels (originally Ravel sale £15) from existing collection
Snake ring was my mother's and has not left my finger for around 10 years
Cream lace biker jacket, £4, H&M
Vest and skirt as before
Coral pendant on gold necklace, £POA
Coral and silver bracelet, £POA, both Exuvium
Other jewellery my own
Floral jumpsuit, £4.99, River Island
Cobalt suede shoes by Red or Dead from esisting collection
Belt and ring as before

Purple tie dye hippy dress, £5, Made in India
Slip on brogues, £6, Ravel
Jewellery from existing collection
Tune in soon for more!

Disclaimer: none of the above, or below, can preclude my desire to nap (net a porter)


Unknown said...

i do enjoy reading these!
Hugs Anna

Unknown said...

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