Capsules

With an inundation of 'reality' TV shows boasting fantastic entertainment and overflowing wardrobes, our already short attention spans have spread to clothing. Why can't we change what's in our wardrobes as often as the cast of our guilty addictions Made in Chelsea and The Only Way is Essex?

Having started my new job as a PR and Marketing assistant, I've spent many an hour musing over the perfect working wardrobe. As so much is made of it in endless publications, it seems only right that I should contemplate it. My list has come down to the following:

• Nude heels
• Trench coat
• Black skirt (pencil or other)
• Black dress
• Waterfall cardigan
• High waisted trousers
• thick and thin waist belts
• selection of colourful tops
• white shirt
• camisoles
• snakeskin flats

In my bid to be eternally stylish, accessorising is required (in moderation). I vote for pearls, faux or real, a selection of rings and a simple necklace. A watch, of course, is imperative, but dangling bracelets are not. 

Fashion is gorgeously fun, but I believe it is detracting from our ability to interact; we squabble over someone buying the same as us and focus more on what we will wear out than what we'll do when we get there. At work this refined approach is more important than ever in a world where ostentation is no longer revered, but sniggered at. 

Grids and Chaos: the beautiful juxtapostions of NYC.

Just one week ago I was leading three sodden members of my family down a seemingly endless London street, two hours after we should have eaten, searching for the tube station.

Right now I'm sitting in a slightly faded twin room on E 47 St, New York City. It's the kind of post-consumerist simplicity championed by my champion, Carrie Bradshaw. Ripped out advertisements from the image-led bible, ELLE, litter the comforter on my bed, yet the flat is devoid of a Kettle or Wireless internet (I'm currently coasting on a network from a flat that is either above, below, or alongide our own).

Yesterday saw me walk from Times Square to Henri Bendel. From 7th Avenue to 5th Avenue; yet it felt like a transition from one nation to another. In this city where the walk from Tack to Taste is only two blocks, my confused sould feels understood. There is no need to be calm or to be peaceful. You can choose: NYC or New York City, DKNY or Donna Karan. Both mean the same, both quintessentially New York, but you can choose. Whatever the choice, Busy is the Keyword.

Joanne Hynes

Think Ireland, think Westlife, Guinness and rain, no? Well, from ttheir Irish locations Joanne Hynes and Helen Steele created a stonker of a collection, inspired by Grayson Perry and their own Irish roots.

Fur, Red, Snakeskin, CableKnit, Plaits...you name it, the eclectic duo had it.

As part of Vauxhall Fashion Scout, the duo took over Freemasons Hall and gave the viewers 20 minutes of extraordinary showmanship.

D.Rat - that's Downing St. Rat

So, finally we have a real solution to a real problem at the forefront of the PM's mind. 

I am relieved that instead of spending valuable public funds on unnecessary rat poison, the Camerons have made a trip to Battersea Dogs and Cats Home to rescue a rat-chasing feline friend. 


Embracing natural order whilst eradicating potential health risks? An elegant and simple solution. 


But which domestic creature will chase national debt away?

Style, 2011.

Every year the Elle Style Awards are big news. This year is no different. As the dictators of fashion, glossy magazines have a lot to say, and those in the fashion world sit up and listen.


So, for Emma Watson it must have been a fantastic night. Her transition from precocious big screen movie kid to serious fashion contender. Beating off stiff competition from stalwarts such as Alexa Chung, Cheryl Cole and the likes of Kate Moss (whose inspirational glow seems eternally alight!), Emma has deservedly joined fashion royalty.


As real film roles, Chanel muse-ship and degrees from Ivy league stud her horizon, Miss Watson must be extraordinarily excited. I envy her.

Paris. City of Reality?

Today is Valentine’s Day, and I am freshly back from Paris, the city of lovers. I am certainly in love with it. Pont des Arts provided endless entertainment and dreaming as I imagine couples high on Love immortalising their feelings as they close their engraved padlock.

Paris is a city of so many old clichés; berets and baguettes, Art and Artisans, the Tour Eiffel and Tart Tatin. But here they’re real. Paris is a living, breathing cliché, where dreams can become reality.

In the beauty of the city it would be easy to forget the grief of the world, but the exhibition at the Maison Européene de la Photographie, nestled just on the right bank, refuses to let the casual dreamer delude themselves about the beauty of society.

The Henri Huet exhibition, currently resident in the basement, is harrowing to see. Portraits of war-ravaged Vietnam and the desperation of the military have staggering powers.

Against the backdrop of fantasy, harsh reality is all the harder to bear. Painfully beautiful, as we celebrate pink, frothy love we must remember the raw, painful love of soldiers and of sacrifice. 

Mental Health - Let's break the taboo.

10% of youths develop a mental health issue at some point during their childhood. Recent government promises to increase help for children and teenagers suffering from mental health issues are necessary and long overdue.

When I returned from university following the return of my depression and eating disorder, I had to wait nearly two months to have my first CBT session and was told by my doctor that anti-depression medication was not only unnecessary but potentially detrimental to my mental development. By the time my first session arrived I had purchased a CBT self-help guide and taught myself a good part of the 'syllabus'.

What needs to happen even more than an increase in available help is the removal of taboos. Mental health is seen as dangerous, embarrassing and weak. It is none of these things. The majority of those experiencing such problems are victims because of a combination of nature and nurture. The dangerous spiral of insecurities present not just in teenager girls but in both their male counterparts and their parents must be stopped before an epidemic of anorexia throttles the development of our nation.

Do you think I'm exaggerating a problem? I am certain I'm not. Every time I go out or attend a party a considerable proportion of the revellers who are present will not have eaten. This is not just in a bid to get more drunk, more quickly, but also a desperate (and decidedly counterproductive) effort to avoid weight gain.

Warped associations are more dangerous than we realise. Why would starving oneself temporarily, and inevitably bingeing later on, bring either health or happiness? Similarly, why do so many people associate the gym with weight loss? It should be a haven for relaxation and fitness, albeit one where a potential side-effect is slimming down. Why is shopping associated with credit card debt and materialism? It is a necessary part both of our economy and our survival.

To return to basics is not only advisable but essential. CBT is one of the most effective treatments of depression, but perhaps it should be integrated into schooling from an early age, when minds are being formed. It will permit those who understand the technique to question ridiculous assertions and break the vicious cycle which threatens global development.

Relocation, Relocation, Relocation.

So, the end of the country era has landed. Courtesy of my lovely Aunt, Uncle and cousins I am now a lodger in the South with the subtext of a new job. Independence and liberty call keenly, but since my last bid for freedom (university!) I've learnt not to expect too much from life. Not every minute of every day will be unbelievably fantastic; but parts of each day will be. Lulls and times of empty time are to be expected, and one discovers the best things by accident, not by searching restlessly.

What's stopping you, except yourself? Rarely, but occasionally, there is a real obstacle. Today, for me, I have jumped the hurdle and am ready to tackle the world and my dream. To journalism, to fashion, to fun. Cheers.

x

Listen to your Gut - that means no Yakult.

It's been quite a while since my last post; I would apologise if it weren't entirely justified. I've spent the past two weeks rushing across the country on various placements. The first was at a Magic Circle Law firm, which was a fascinating experience, but for sure isn't what I want to do for the rest of my life.

This week, however, has been a real highlight. A week at a local magazine has let me indulge my love for writing, with the prospect of someone actually reading it! In addition I have learnt mountains about Marketing and the Publishing industry in general, whilst feeling myself and not having the strange sensation of playing dress-up in my own clothes.

It occurs to me that I have followed (what I believed to be) the wishes of my parents. This is, I hasten to add, not their fault; it was entirely my choice. Yet why strive to do what will please those above us? Is it because I am afraid of the resulting conflict if I question the ideals of those who raised me? I believe it is.
Finally I am progressing in the world with a lesson more valuable than the illustrious Oxbridge halls could have taught me; I have learnt how to listen to my own preferences, and how to make myself happy with my own decisions.

If anyone does happen to be reading this, please take my advice: listen to your gut. I don't mean head for the Ben&Jerry's at 9am. What I do mean is if you feel like you're too exhausted to embark on a MA, then take a year out. If you feel like you don't love your boyfriend any more, then take a raincheck. Life's too short.

x

New Feminism

Last year spawned the latest Sex and the City release. Yet again Carrie poses endless rhetorical questions and is rewarded for the tone by a fat pay cheque and a free trip to Abu Dhabi.

Carrie is an icon for many a modern day woman. Why? Because she manages to juggle glamour, a career, her girlfriends and a man in one exciting walk down Madison Avenue, Manolos clacking.

But it occured to me just the other day that Carrie Bradshaw is, in essence, living the life of a man. Those who love the show will be familiar with the episode where she tries to have sex like a man, but this intention itself demonstrates that she sees herself 100% as a lady, a woman, a female.

Carrie Bradshaw doesn't have children. Carrie Bradshaw does not cook, famously using her oven to store her overflowing wardrobe. Carrie Bradshaw does not clean. She used to paint her flat to overcome problems, in a way that reflects a stressed man donning his 15-year-old t-shirt come Saturday to indulge in some escapist DIY. Carrie Bradshaw engages frolicks with endless, nameless men.

OK, so she buys shoes, has long hair and wears makeup. But does she possess the fearsome yet gentle motherly instincts of Miranda? Does she exude vulnerable femininity like Charlotte? Does she embrace her role as sexual magnet like Samantha, who exploits her body to her own physical ends? She does not.

In my mind, Carrie is an icon because she is a women masquerading as a man. There is a reason she took so long to settle down, a reason why gay men love her so. Her success is on a masculine level, and yet the illusion of her feminism makes her a shining light for so many women quashed by their responsibilities. They can forget the baskets of ironing, cupcakes to be baked and dinners to be washed up because Carrie never even thinks about those things. And unlike many career women of today, she doesn't feel guilty about it.

New Year. Same You.

I resolve not to resolve ridiculous resolutions. I resolve to:
1) Drink less (those with me on NYE 2010-2011 will be thrilled to hear this)
2) Eat more
3) Sleep more
4) Think less
These are not legal clauses, they do not have '3 times a week' or 'every day' in them. They are true lifestyle changes, but achievable ones, and not gratuitous.

Last year I resolved to be a happier person. I am now happier, after two nervous breakdowns and a lengthy depression. Did I complete it? Considering that 11.5 of the months were spent in dire straits, I'm not sure, but the end result is a rejuvinated me.

The glossies will print endless 'New Year, New You' or 'New Year, New Body' articles. These irksome titles are futile, because at the end of each year, we are not new people. Why try to evade the inevitable; we are who we are, and can only polish up the best aspects of ourselves and learn to live with the flaws. Aspiration for perfection may drive the world, but the inevitable failure to reach it leads down a dark path.

This year, resolve to be the best version of yourself.