Signs You're Getting Old(er)...

It's happening whether you like it or not. Here are some of the signs.

Karl Lagerfeld for Hogan - how come he gets away with it?

1. Street style blogs leave you bemused at why girls wear parkas with bare legs...in winter.


2. You’ve used any of the following words alone, in conjunction with another or together in an exclamatory rage in a clothing store: too...short, fitted, high, low, bright, busy, Jersey Shore.


3. You secretly admire Kate Middleton for popularlising kitten heels and wedges.


4. You find yourself saying, “I never used to shop in LK Bennett but....”


5. You can’t understand the relationship between tights and shorts (see: #1).


6. The midi skirt is your friend.


7. You experienced the `70s, `80s and `90s trends the first time around....and they sucked then.


8. The last time you spent €1,000 on something, it was last month’s mortgage.


9. You don’t know whether to loathe or love Mary Kate Olsen for making falling out of bed look socially acceptable.


10. Finish the following sentence. Malls make me: twitch, give me crowd blindness; erase my will to live.


11. Word association time! Granny chic, oversized and ironic = Young, thin and clueless.


12. Ripped tights, matted hair and chipped nail varnish were synonymous with the walk of shame in your day.


13. Finish the following sentence. I love the colour black because: it’s chic, it make me look thin; it stops me from having to think.


14. You refer to colours in terms of ROYGBIV; not the local farmer’s market – raspberry, mint, salmon, chocolate, espresso.


15. You thought The Devil Wears Prada was a spoof.


16. Alaïa is an untruthful person from Boston.

Why Don't You?

I'm in a bad mood. Boo! Yes, that's me being angry. Cross me at your peril. With such indignation abrew, I thought it best to channel my sucky feelings productively, so I took to reading a more sprightly tome on the life of Diana Vreeland. Damn, that chick was positive. So upbeat was the former fashion colmunist and editor, her  "Why Don't You?" column for Harper's Bazaar achieved cult success among the women of great means. Offering outside-the-box lifestyle thinking, the suggestions were both outlandish and seemingly achievable.

1) Why Don't You...wash your blond child's hair in dead champagne, as they do in France.
2) Why Don't You...have an elk-hide trunk for the back of your car? Hermès of Paris will make this.
3) Why Don't You...have your cigarettes stamped with a personal insignia?


There are several reasons why this doesn't work for me; see reasons below:

a) Any champagne that crosses my threshhold normally has a 60-minute lifespan; its death being bought about by consumption; not lack thereof.
b) I don't have a car.
c) A personal insignia? Really?

Curmudgeonly disposition in tow, I've decided to write a few of my own suggestions which begs the question -Why Don't You?

...step away from the Herve Leger bandage dresses. They're common. End of.
...realise that certain trends act as a one-way ticket to celibacy. If you want any sort of future sack action, contact The Man Repeller for a list of what to avoid.
...Juicy Couture is an oxymoron and an insult to the word 'fashion'. Unless your intentions involve some twisted form of postmodern irony, leave the towelling to the bathroom honey.
...stop using the word 'fashionista'. You are only contributing to its smelly virulence!
...buy a decent bottle of wine and down it with a stellar friend if having a fat day. It's cheaper than therapy, cleaner than colonic irrigation and unlike a shotgun, you don't need a licence.

There. I feel better already...

Shopping Excuses - A User's Guide

Excuses to go shopping /for having been shopping / for getting caught shopping...again.

1. I need to buy tights shoes. 

2. I have nothing to wear on weekends.

3. I have nothing to wear to work.

4. I have nothingto wear out.

5. New? I’ve had these for ages two days.

6. These are my “Don’t you want to rent me this apartment pants?” (see: Friends: Season 6, Ep. 3)

7. This jacket is ideal for walking the dog (note: does not have dog).

8. I need it for my job.

9. I need it for my sanity.

10. I need it to get a new job.

11. I just need it OKAY!!!!!!

12. My dog ate the contents of my wardrobe. (note: still does not have dog)

13. I need to break in this new credit card.

14. I’m just looking...really.

15. I’m holding it for a friend.

16. 70% off? It’s practically free!

18. I feel fat.

19. I’m helping the economy.

20. It’s cheaper than therapy.

21. I’m actually a ghost shopper. Don’t blow my cover.

22. It only cost €150.

23. It’s an investment buy.

24. I don’t shop often but when I do, I like to buy quality expensive sh*t I don’t need.

25. It’s late night shopping.

26. I’m drunk.

27. I’ve been framed.

28. I’m doing research into the dark underbelly of shopping addiction.

29. I mistakenly pressed the ‘buy now’ button and before I knew it, the item had been dispatched.

30. My aura specialist tells me red is bad for my energy field. I’ve gotta stock up on some blues and greens...fast!

31. Define need...

Dear Acne...

Image: from Thinkstock (with a little help from Paint)

Dear Acne,

I hope all is well in Sweden. Seems your Krona is faring strongly in these uncertain times. Anyhow, the reason for my letter may cause you to consider a bailout, despite your fortuitous circumstances.

It pains me to have to write this but some things just need to be said. You know we’ve always had such a special relationship. Your tuxedo pants always made me feel supermodel thin; not least those slinky silk tops. But lately, things have changed. 

It all started with those flimsy hems. I was prepared to overlook having to Bondaweb my red Pearl maxi skirt, especially when I received so many compliments upon wearing it. You always knew how to make a girl feel pretty, didn’t you?  So much so that I foolishly bought another in black, only to have you let me down in the same way again. How could I be so stupid?

But a hem seemed such a trivial thing in the greater scheme of things. You were my brand and damn it;  I’m the kind of gal who stands by her brand! So I bought your ‘Truth’ maxi dress for my trip to Rome only to be embarrassed by yet another hem indiscretion; this time with stretching!  P.S. Ironic name for a dress, no?

Despite all this, I just wasn’t prepared to let go; not until the zip incident that is. How could you just let it burst apart like it was a trifle – on Grafton Street of all places! It literally happened behind my back and I was just too stupid to see it. All I can say is, thank God I wasn’t wearing a thong. Now I can never wear that skirt again. How could I ever trust that you wouldn’t do it again?  And don’t you dare say it’s because of the junk in my trunk (corr: lead in the shed).  I’ll have you know I’ve lost a lot of that post-holiday weight!

So this is goodbye. Don’t think you can tempt me with your  A/W 11 mohair offering. I’m not falling for it.  You’ll just shed all over me again. I’m through.

Please don’t return my calls. And I hope I never run into you on a certain internet shopping site ever again!

Yours (erstwhile),

Annmarie  

I Want

A few helpful markers for reading the September issue of Vogue UK this evening. Put on the kettle!

Food for Thought

Supermarkets. It’s a wonder I’m not a toothpick given my propensity for completely missing the food aisles when doing the weekly shop.  Somehow the magazine rack has become “the missing fifth food group” with Vogue my calorie-free Sunday roast.  

Although this seemingly acts as a welcome distraction from the baked goods section, I can’t say it’s had a positive effect on my waistline. Perhaps that’s because I wind up going to the takeaway when discovering there’s nothing in the larder bar Kate Moss’ face beaming up at me.

Ironic, no?

Gym Excuses - A Litany

Image courtesy of
http://elizabethharmonblog.wordpress.com

Below please find a sample of excuses used exclusively but not limited to persistent gym avoidance. Despite Carlisle Fitness being squarely visible from my bedroom window, I find myself using a combination of said samples in tandem; sometimes simulatneously. My powers of eschewal are sterling. I deserve an award; but not before I have some ice-cream....

Why I Can't Go to the Gym Today (or any day for that matter)...

      1.      It's Monday
2. I'm cleaning out my closet.
3. The floors need a good scrub.
4. I have to weed the garden.
5. I'm going to the cinema tonight.
6. I want a glass of wine later tonight.
7. I had a glass of wine last night.
8. I have an article to write.
9. I just ate a dougnut; there's no point.
10. It's Tuesday.
11. Is Cougar Town on again?
12. I have an article to write.
13. I'm giving my muscles a rest.
14. There’s someone at the door.
15. I feel fat.
16. The cat needs to be fed.
17. I have to wash the windows.
18. I forgot to wash my gym gear.
19. It’s Wednesday.
20. I must write that article.
21. There's ice-cream left in the freezer?
22. Catching up with friends tonight.
23. There's more to life than killer abs...
24. I should really do more charity work.
25. You know what they say about 'too much of a good thing'.
26. Wait, that's my phone.
27. Is it that time already?
28. It’s Thursday.
29. The cat ate my homework...I mean, my gym bag.
30. My knee hurts.
31. I’m alphabetising my collection of Douglas Coupland books.
32. This Wikipedia entry has me hooked!
33. What’s the meaning of life?
34. Cleaning out my spam folder.
35. Did you see that? (points to the distance and runs)
36. Dungeons and Dragons? Count me in!
37.  It's nearly the weekend; I'll start next week.*

      * and repeat

The New Handbag Semantics

It wasn't too long ago I acquired a Vivienne Westwood bowling bag - my treasure. I even christened it Viv; and when Viv wasn't tucked in her cotton monogrammed covering, her handles were wrenched granny-like in the crook of my arm.

Viv wasn't just a bag; she was a stylish keeper of secrets – receipts, schedules, make-up and stealth purchases all dutifully zipped from the public eye. She once even harboured an iron – but that’s another story.

You can therefore imagine my consternation upon hearing that the a/w 11 catwalks have espoused a new accessories semantics one which renders my own capacious mála - 'déclassé' and 'démodé'.

 Thou shalt now 'grab' thine bag; rather than carry it. Bags shall be bijou to allow for clutching at the breast; or crumpled and held away from the body as if disposing of an offending article. Never do, 'trophy', 'big' and 'stuffed' - too gauche and by all means ditch the handles, lest you be tarred and feathered.

This was all too much for me. A bit of lower back pain and carpel tunnel syndrome never hurt anyone. Not only am I being encouraged to trade in my own overfed friend; but I must also acquire the methodology and attendant patois necessary in ‘grabbing’ a bag.

I should have paid better attention. Vogue pre-ordained the advent of grabbing back in 2009 (but of course) when they featured a lexically-puzzling feature delineating The Scramble, The Dangle, The Cuddle and The Twiddle – all precursors to The Grab. I couldn’t help thinking then if its conjugation applied in similar manner to that of Twitter. If I twiddled, did I twaddle or have I twiddled?  Similarly, would grabbing a bag indicate pilfering on my part? Oh, the confusion!

Such lexical hijinks would be bound to flummox even the likes of Strunk and White. Although, one wonders whether The Elements of Style is required reading at Conde Nast.

Still, I can’t bear to part with Viv. Fashionable or not, her beaten black leather exterior belies a host of juicy gossip; something which a clutch-come-brooch could ne’er come close.  I shall therefore continue to carry her proudly around town. After all, one never knows when they may suddenly require the use of an iron.

Rain - Boo!

This is an artistic representation of how I feel about rain. Although I'm sure the grimacing priest locked cement-like in Dublin 8 probably has some other meaning; I'll allow myself to skew semantics for the purpose of illustration.

Today was a fine example of why I hate rain. Hoodwinked - yet again - by illiterate meteorologists, I left the house in Converse,a leather jacket and a maxi dress. By the time I reached my destination, the puddle that is Dublin managed to migrate up my hem, penetrating a rather thick jersey rendering me a human sponge.  I had no choice but to squeeze out the excess water so I could actually walk without squelching. I couldn't even go home to change. Four hours of pulling clothes later, I put the key in my front door...and the sun came out. Nice. I'm convinced I've grown spores.

Procrastination

Image courtesy of Productivitycoaching.com/au

Procrastination is a bit like sex - lots of dithering and foreplay before actually getting down to business. This blog post may as well be an ear nibble as there's a job staring me in the face that I just don't want to go near. Beset by multiple-deadline syndrome, I've reached the end of my bandwith. Plain speaking - I'm wrecked. In fact, I could easily cite a headache and roll over but I'm no where near a bed. Instead, I'm tapping away at my keyboard hoping that something might spurt out. It's going to be a long night.

Jordan Becomes an IT Girl

Katie Price unveils her own brand of iPods

From: Andy
To: Neil, Annmarie
Subject: I'm wiping out the Pritt Stick and iPods

Check this out. It says 'techie yet practical'.


From: Neil
To: Andy, Annmarie
Subject: Re: I'm wiping out the Pritt Stick and iPods

This is exactly what the IT gays have been waiting for, the collision of of tech & tat. Next up will be Girls Aloud being shot around the Large Hadron Collider.

From: Andy
To: Neil, Annmarie
Subject: Re: Re: I'm wiping out the Pritt Stick and iPods

I thought it was the Sugarbabes getting loaded with Froyo; or maybe that's Katie Price as well.

Do Not Adjust Your Set...

We are experiencing technical difficulties. Do not adjust your set. Blogger.com is messing with my mojo and has plum gone and introduced a new template designer which has wiped some of my layout design. So if you are a link on 'Sartorial Sites' and have noticed er...you've gone missing; I have not wantonly deleted you. Please also note, this hoo haa has extended to bolding, italics, links and general formatting. Major apologies. Will have to sort this out...somehow. Interns? Anyone?

Seriously?

I know rain is a given on our sodden isle but the recent sunshine is most certainly responsible for lowering my guard (and umbrella). Exhibit A: I wore my floral palazzos and suede brogues to The Ryan Tubridy Show this morning in conditions both sunny and dry. I swished in my new trousers - peachy pleased with their elegant silhouette. Cut to the city centre in conditions both dark and wet. I squelched in my shoes, holding up the ends of my trousers like a poor manna offering to the sky. "Look what you've done to my prize pants oh Nimbus - thou harsh taskmaster!" That'll teach me for not listening to Martin King.

Camilla Skovgaard

The 'big freeze' that has befallen our mild and misty isle is wrecking havoc with my wardrobe choices. Unused to such Baltic conditions, I've taken to wearing my sister's climbing boots to avoid slipping and breaking a leg in my leopard print booties which have no ice grips and are potentially lethal. But of course...
That's when I actually venture outside. New Year's Eve saw me pushing the cab out of a snow bank in 5-inch heels after it skidded off the road. Thankfully there were no witnesses. With this 'winter wonderland' due to hang about for while longer, it's made me consider better boots. I'm thinking these Camilla Skovgaard 'tread' beauties will do the job quite nicely: uber chic with a grip as tight as a gaggle of broads at a Balmain sample sale. Nice one.

Dressing the Tree

I'm watching Ab Fab, eating Betty Crocker icing from the jar and wondering what the hell went wrong. Lest you think I'm experiencing a premature midlife crisus; I'm actually decorating the Christmas tree. A lot more challenging than dressing models I can assure you. The waxy fronds on Chez I Blog's kitchen palm tree are not made of the same mettle as a sturdy pine. Hence, after 20 minutes of struggling with sliding fairy lights, I relented and covered the f@ck*r in candy canes. Ho ho flipping ho.

I Blog Fashion Digest

It's been a long week. Preparing for photoshoots, meeting long lost friends, ditching the diet and surviving dodgy manicures. Read on:

1. Decidedly underwhelmed at the Jimmy Choo for H&M range. Tried on the blue suede shift dress. Verdict? Sack-like. The black suede tassel dress rated slightly better. Could have done with no fringing at the neck. Felt like I could have been going to a fashion-y barn dance. The returns policy? A painfully thin 5 days.

2. Neil is back from India. Yay! Bought me a Tibetan necklace, pashmina and the Diana Vreeland book he's been meaning to give to me. Had a fab catch up in Fallon & Byrne complete with cheese, meats and wine - the second time this week I blew my pre-photoshoot diet.

3. Sunday Times Style shoot this Wednesday. Can't look too bloated. I wonder if Satturday night's X Factor goodies and vino sesh with sis will be cancelled out if I drink some of that herbal detox tea I bought? May have to drink the box I reckon.

4. Found out I have carpel tunnel in both hands due to maxing out my laptop and carrying heavy bags. Am forced to wear 'sports' bandages on hands to bed and while typing. Not v. attractive. Am thinking of investing in some leather fingerless gloves to cover the offending articles. Wooly ones would be cute too. Not while sleeping of course...

5. Recession ending? I'm thinking - not so fast yon economy seers. Paid a visit to chq to pull clothes for a shoot only to find my fave boutiques - Kohl and The Pink Rooms - have vacated the premises. Yikes!

6. Furthermore, my bank balance is fast resembling an Eastern European supermodel - skinny and surly looking. If I withdraw any more money from the ATM - it might just spit my card back out at me. Hence my reticence to pony up for fancy 'shapewear' undies. I've discovered that M&S tights do the same job. Got some gorgeous leopard print beauties (€8) with a built-in tummy eliminator. Feel as svelte as a young springbok!

7. A.N. Other thing - what's with the dodgy craftsmanship on the highstreet these days? First my Carvela loafers, then my Zara trousers, now the lining in my new All Saints coat? Only bought it this week. Not impressed.

8. While I'm on a rant - had a rather questionable manicure the other day. After the lady painted my nails, was asked to pay while they were drying as she had to go on her lunchbreak. She even offered to go into my wallet and take out the money and put it back in my bag. A bit of 'here's your hat and what's your hurry?' End result? Nails smudged. Came back and asked them to fix the offending digits. Still looks tacky and horrid. And another thing - where was my tea? Everyone else got offered a cup. Consistency folks - get familiar!

9. On a happy note, I'm looking forward to wearing my Isabella Oliver pencil skirt on The Afternoon Show this Tuesday. It's magically subtracted about 5 inches from my waist and makes me feel like Jane Russell and Lana Turner rolled into one hyper sex goddess. Love it! Love it! Love it!

10. Camera on BlackBerry Storm (in a teacup) still kaputt! Counting down the days til Dec 9th when my contract ends and I can nestle in the warm fuzziness of a new iPhone. Sigh....
Image courtesy of Mikes4345 photostream

Fashion Roadkill

I'm feeling a bit like fashion roadkill today. Had a fabulous sophomore shoot in Cork yesterday with the Irish Examiner (out Nov 14th) and am prepping for Friday's slot on The Afternoon Show; all the while finishing two articles and starting a third before Thursday a.m. Add in some to-be-touched-up roots, a waning mani/pedi and some unruly brows and hey presto - carnage. Before you know it my blog will file for emancipation and start writing itself. Thank God I'm not wearing heels...

Image: courtesy of Zazzle.com

Chubbies

Chubbies. They're everywhere. Pink and fluffy, black and hirsute; even ones with their arms cut off. I wanted one - badly. I had images of Bianca Jagger floating through my head - all louche and rock chick; and then I tried one on. Holy sweet buttering baby Jesus! Fashion fascism at its most cruel. I looked more like a lumbering yeti than a Studio 54 hipster. Clearly size matters when wearing a chubby. In other words you need to be skinny - the kind in need of ankle weights to stand upright. Ridiculous - yes. Bitter? Moi? Perhaps just a tad.

Image: Charles Anastase @ LFW, AW09-10

Fat?

O.K. I know I'm no Erin Wasson. At six foot tall, I'm a typical pear - UK 10 (US 6) on the top and UK 12 (US 8) from the waist down. Save my thighs and bum, I've got a very boyish frame - no waist, no hips, small boobs. So, I'm thankful for the nice curve that discerns me as a woman. Clearly that's not sufficient. Walking down Dame Street today, I had three young tourists laugh at me and call me fat. I must admit I was pretty taken aback - firstly at being jeered in public; secondly, for the sheer size-ist nature of the remark. Since when did a woman's size - whether she's a 2 or 22 - become cause for comment? It's like the pages of Heat taken to the street. Unnerving.
Image courtesy of Dale Harris

The Races

I'm off to the races tomorrow - the Darley Irish Oaks to be precise. Being the organised gal that I am, I have my flutter threads at the ready. Vintage black dress - tick; Fly Now pierrot silk jacket - tick; snakeskin heels - tick; Queen Alexandra-inspired pearl dog collar - tick; RSI-inducing cocktail ring - tick; clutch bag - tick. Am I missing something? Deliberately - perhaps. There's no way you'll find this filly in a fascinator. No siree. My quest to abolish the offending article continues. If you hear of any arrests at the Curragh for aggravated assault that would be me wrenching feathers from the heads of the offending. I've got my work cut out for me.