Stylised Monologue

Monday, 13 February 2012

Valentine's Special (aka ONE LESS RED DRESS)

In case you live in a cave, I would like to inform you that tomorrow is Valentine's day. In case you've lived in that cave for long enough to have Backstreet Boys-resembling hieroglyphics on its walls, I would like to fill you in on how you should look/act on the day.

a) If you are loved-up, in a happy relationship and have generally speaking no imagination, let him spend £10 on one rose and three pieces of chocolate in a heart shaped box, chuck on a red dress and be a happy valentine.

If however, you happen to be

b) single/recently dumped/recently fed up or a closeted asexual, all you have to do this (and every) valentine's is get Bridget Jones on the TV, a tub of Ben and Jerry's, your least sexy sleepwear and some tissues (depending on whether you're a girl or boy, these can be used in different ways but will probably come in hand-y in both cases. line? what line? I see no line)  

These are your ONLY valentine's options. Yes, I'm putting you in boxes. Stereotypes. Black and White.

I know this is usually the bit where I share anecdote's about my past valentines day's experience but this time, I won't. I've been happy, sad, single, loved up, ill, too young, too cynical on the actual day over the years but despite my love life happenings, I've never been interested in the significance of it. It's just always been the 14th of February. Feline out of the tote.

Over the years, I've gone through all the stages of cynicism concerning this day. My angry brainwashed teenage self with lack of own opinions, breasts and therefore dates, preached about it being too commercial. My single, dumped on facebook and not ready to mingle early twenties self fought about the pressure it put on people. My last couple of years loved up self was determine that love should be celebrated every day. My doubting myself self wondered often if i was just trying to be alternative. My today interning self finds roses too expensive and a bit of a cliche. But I actually think, I finally got to the bottom of it and came to the conclusion that my one big problem with Valentine's day, under the spectrum of which all my little problems fall under is: painful lack of imagination. 
If you happen to walk past a restaurant tomorrow, adorned by paper hearts and roses, try and have a look at the tables. They're going to be packed with people eating over priced meals. More importantly, the vast majority of girls will be wearing red dresses.

LADIES! NYFW is happening, have a look, get inspired!! Designer's seem to be bumming those mid-lenght skirts at the moment... not sexy enough for you? right, step back a season and wear a nappy shaped pair of shorts. Not the right message? Fine! wear your silky Lipsy dress but pick a different colour.

I think I'm going to start a movement called : ONE LESS RED DRESS. For every photo of you not in a red dress, you get one shout out on twitter...

Fine, do whatever you want.

But just FYI I'm building a den in my living room because I am in love and despite being very happy about it, I don't celebrate it every day as I'm often tired, grumpy, annoyed by him. So I'll let some of my cynicism subside and celebrate it, with a picnic, under some sheets resembling a teepee tent with the loyal support of a couple of chairs. And I will probably be looking like this:

because, you know, I'm a rebel without a cause.

Sunday, 5 February 2012

GAY PARIS (happy, people, happy!)

In case you're wondering why it's been a while since I last posted, it's because I was in GAY PARISSS! (french accent please, and gay as in happy not gay as in shit. Just fiy). Now, I know there is a massive hype about Paris. It's meant to be the fashion capital of the world, the birth place of gourmet food and red wine and most importantly the most romantic city in the world! (it is, after all, where Tom (as in, Cruise) asked kat (as in Holmes) to become legit TomKat . BEAT THAT* *I hate them). The first time I went to paris I was eight. It was freeeezing and all I was interested in was how to consume as much chocolat chaud as physically possible and how to play as much footice (a rendition of football my dad and I invented where instead of a ball, you kick ice and give yourself severe frostbite) as I could before I turned into ice myself. The second time I went, it was in the last 20 days of a looong relationship that had long seen its best days. We went to all the romantic places and argued. We went to see beautiful art and argued. We had some nice food and argued. In the end, we missed our flight back and argued. I feel more romantic brushing my teeth every morning than I did during that trip to Paris.

So, having established my unconventional view of Paris, let me continue... this time round, I had a brilliant time. Not romantic, not even particularly fashionable but brilliant none the less. Cue to pictures.

As is the stereotype of any tourist and particularly tumblr or fashion blog owners, a trip to paris comes with an array of photographs showcasing a variety of dessert goodness. Macarons, croissants, berthillion sorbets. On top of that, it is also almost compulsory for any self respecting blogger to take photos of the locks on the bridges. I don't like to dissapoint my readers. So I did both. IN ONE!!

(i love that this person just wished to never part from cakes and pie. He/She has found the meaning of life, I think) 

Another photographic stereotype that comes all the way from Paris is ART. How many crowded mona lisas have you seen from visits to the Louvre? Thoughtful people imitating the Thinker? Monet's pond? and the list goes on.. Courtesy of Rodin's own back yard, I present you, a photo of ART:

(on a slightly more serious note, if you happen to be in Paris, you cannot miss the current exhibit of Rodin's scetches. It's literally one of the best things I HAVE EVER SEEN. After this arse, of course.) 

Lastly, Paris goers will always showcase FASHION. Wether it's designer windows or their own little ensembles, fashion will be present. Trust me. I happened to attend Paris with one of the most stylish ladies I've ever met, (I'm talking about my mum, how gay am I?!) so I could not pass on the opportunity to include her in all my outfit photos. She was, of course (she's my mum), happy to do so and even oblidged to the trademark I insisted upon continuing. So...

SAUTER (I think, my french is merde!) 

There were SOME (one) solo pictures ,  awkard posing. Oui madame!

and then, there was one nightmarish moment where my mum and I had to jump away from Hell. Literally. (ok, sort of) 

fiew.. close one!!!

A bientot...