I had an intervention. It happened to me. I didn't know I had a problem, but my nearest and dearest sat me down over the weekend and let me have an earful.
"Your hair needs to go," one said. "You don't look like Bron with long hair," said another. "I saw some of you latest pictures, and you looked - well - old," said another.
"We're going to cut it," said the hairdresser who also happens to be my best friend.
It was six against one, I was the odd one out, everyone else wanted me to get the chop.
"But I've only just started growing it!" I yelped.
I'm all dressed up. Well, I was all dressed up yesterday, with nowhere to go. So I went home and swept out my carport while still wearing my party outfit. A lady walked by and stared - apparently I was a "well dressed sweeper". I should bloody hope so!
But then I'm the woman who dresses up to do the household chores. Hair wrapped in a turban, hoop earrings in and mouth lined with red lipstick, I dance and sing to Beyonce and other colourful divas. I figure if you have to do some rubbish jobs in your life, you may as well feel fabulous doing them. Same goes for New Year's Eve. Anything in life that has so much expectation and wind-up involved always ends up crappier than you imagined it to be. Sorry kiddies. Which I'm sure is why people dress up for the big occasion - at least you'll still look good whilst vomiting in that gutter and realising that another year has just gone by and you're yet another year older and no more sensible for it.
But not to put a downer on an already down event, I'm really here to talk about what one might wear to an event (or events) like this. It's a time to put your glad rags on, feel festive, find a random boy and snog him when the clock strikes 12 and then never see him again. A party frock is a party frock, right? It is if you have a penchant for skater dresses so short that they flash your bits. Personally I like to think outside my box and look to the runways not the skating rink for inspiration. And at a time like this when New Year's is about to come rolling by, I'm thinking texture. Tassels, feathers, raffia, tulle, sparkles, lace, I don't care as long as it's not boring.
Because in a time and place where the majority of skin about you will be covered either in drapings of Karen Walker or in lashings of Glassons, it's nice to know you tried to look different. Provided nobody else who reads my blog is at your New Year's party, that is. So without further ado, I give you three textural looks for a festive event:
Every now and then some stupid mistake happens that ends up turning into something awesome that ends up being useless to you but wonderful for others. Know what I mean? Probably not. I'll explain.
Also known as "how to get free shoes", it's an activity that you should definitely try at home, though I can't guarantee the results. I ordered these heels on Asos a few weeks back, perfect, frivolous specimens of fabulousness. I grinned and giggled as I hit the Buy button on my keyboard - it was the best $90 I'd ever wasted - like pubic hair for your toes. Ten days later an Asos box arrived on my doorstep. I was on my way out with a friend so I squealed and grabbed the box and rushed into her car simultaneously tearing the packet open and yelling "You won't believe how awes...what?" They weren't my shoes. There was no pubic hair to be seen. I had instead been sent a pair of River Island high top wedge sneakers, in metallic no less.
River Island sneakers accessorised with gangster chain. Because it seemed right at the time.
I was gutted. Not because I hated the shoes, but because they weren't my shoes. The sneakers they sent were actually really cool. The next day I took the shoes to work. Pissed off about having to spend $20 to send the order stuff-ups back to the UK, I was about to trudge to the post office when my flatmate texted me: "There's a parcel here from Asos." Inside were my shoes, the ones I actually ordered. So had I accidentally bought and paid for a pair of River Island sneakers? Checked my bank account, no. They just sent someone else's order to me by mistake.
Hi, Toby here.
She gave me the opportunity to guest-blog today, because I'm thinking of starting my own blog. It's about time I flexed my paws and branched out in my career a bit, I think. As Eva Longoria told my mum, who told me, even celebrities no longer have all their eggs in one career basket. They do it all, ya know? Eva has her acting, her failed restaurant, her Obama-following fundraising commitee and her L'Oreal contract, and I'm a model. And a shopper. And cafe hopper. And soon to be blogger, I hope.
A bit of background on me - I'm a long-haired Jack Russell with a designer hairstyle, and I'm a model. I did quite a bit of work in Wellington, but since I've moved to Auckland my career has really taken off. I mean, all the agencies and great photographers are here (though Maarty at the Dominion Post will always be my fav for taking my best picture, plus he tickles that perfect spot behind my right ear).
My career started off as it does for many fashion royalty spawn - from going to shoots with my Mum. I was attracted to the camera from a pup and would try to kill the flashing creatures (I later found out it was the flash going off - man I was lame), and often ended up in shots. My first big break was modelling alongside Top Model winner Danielle Hayes in the Dominion Post Fashion Mag. They also shot me for the cover, but the stupid editors decided they wanted the girl on the front instead of me. Laaayme. Especially seeing as poochy couture was so hot for that season.
People who wear layers look sophisticated. True story. Scrap the fact that Comme des Garcons' Rei Kawakubo took her famous layering inspiration from the homeless bag ladies in New York City - they be chic in their own way too. As them bag ladies can attest, it's all good and well done in winter - there's a bloody good reason for it - but summer poses a few problems.
Trekking the length of Queen Street no matter how chic you may look ain't a pretty sight when your pits are pouring and your inner thighs are chafing with sweat. Layering be hard in summer. Or so you might think. I give you two lessons in layering for the fabrically challenged. Shall we begin?
Ain't that sweet? Take lightweight underlayers that are short. In simple attire looking like a tweenage twaddle at a sleepover party, we have a basic T from Dotti, and Lonely Hearts shorties. Innocent enough, right?
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