A Passion For Fashion

Technically I suppose that’s a bit of a misnomer, since you could never in a million years accuse me of being a fashion victim. The whole purpose of “fashion” as far as I can make out is to ensure that you blend in with the rest of the herd; Gods forbid that you should step outside “the rules” and look different to anyone else. And it seems to me that it doesn’t matter which ‘clique’ you’re part of, even the metal community; if you dress differently it’s not fashion and you, shameful blight on humanity that you are, will never be ‘in’.

I am, very happily, not ‘in’. I wear what the hell I like; sometimes I’m a jeans and band t-shirt kinda gal; other times I go for full-on Goth; sometimes I channel neo-Victorian, other times I dress like a Woodstock-going hippy and sometimes I wear something so odd that it makes even my nearest and dearest go ‘eh?’ (Ducky Dress FTW!!) I mix high street, vintage and charity shop finds and if you were to ask me to define my style, quite honestly I’d struggle. So explain to me, please, why I spent the day at the ExCel Centre ‘up tahn’ (in London, for those of you who haven’t seen ‘This is Essex’ and don’t speak the lingo) at Britain’s Next Top Model Live?

Actually, for all that it was a shallow girlie-fest of clothes, beauty, shopping, makeovers and celebrities I’d never heard of (with the exception of the charming Mr James Nesbitt, who actually IS that fabulous in real life), it was pretty good fun. The people-watching opportunities were fabulous, both the so-called celebrities and the ‘real’ shoppers and wannabes. I saw vintage vixens, goth girl glamour pusses, high street cuties (I nearly said ‘high street honeys’, but that’s a whole ‘nother kettle of fish…) and designer divas; women of all ages (and a few bored looking men and some very excited GBF’s) strutting their stuff, most of them wearing whatever happens to be ‘in’ at the moment. It was a joy to see the occasional gem standing out from the crowd in whatever she felt comfortable in rather than the same old, same old, but it was a helluva time, I can tell you. We had VIP tickets (darling) and so, with air-kisses all round (sweetie) I channelled my best Anna Wintour impression (I can’t think of any other fashionista phrases) as we took in the fashion show. I have no idea which of the models on the catwalk were actually in the last series of BNTM (never watched it) but the clothes were pretty amazing. And yours truly was very, very good and only bought two very cute little vintage-inspired dresses and a very dinky little thing that goes over the button of your jeans, shaped like Dorothy’s ruby slippers. What can I say? It might not be fashion, sweetie-darling, but it’s very, very me…

Oh, and FYI…I was wearing Ducky dress, black leggings, a black cardi and my tartan shoes from Ness. Proper glam. Not…

The Art of the Tease...

So I hit the big three-oh in a couple of years (and yes, I'm having kittens at the very thought, because I don't feel 28 and - as anyone who knows me will testify - I sure as hell don't act it!) I always knew that the event would have to be marked in a big way, and from talking to my Baby Forumbat, GemGem, a few weeks ago, I'm leaning towards a full-on Burlesque Bash. All of which leads me neatly into my random babble for today...

I need to do burlesque. I have a deep-seated, burning obsession with it, which is ridiculous because I get stage fright at the drop of a hat and am not exactly Little Miss Body Confident (I need Gok-ing!) but I desperately, desperately want to go and have burlesque lessons. The only thing is, I'm not so sure that I'd want to go by myself, and I don't know that any of my friends would be up for it. But it would just be so much fun, and a big confidence booster; besides, who wouldn't want to get to dress up like a vintage sex kitten and strut around like Dita Von Teese or the uber-sexy Veronica Varlow?

Isn't she a doll? I have the biggest girl-crush on Veronica, and her clothes...I need to save up (or win the lottery or something) so that I can buy the Bonnie dress below, and then I can wear it to rob a bank (or an X Factor judge) so that I can buy all the other clothes and then go to the London School of Burlesque for private lessons. This is the plan...

All this before the big three-oh. Piece of cake. Hey, maybe I could burst out of a cake for the big event...?