Archive | March, 2013

the imperfection

31 Mar


As I type, I listen to Playground Love by Air. It makes me want to float away, drinking a martini in the bath, hair clinging to the condensation of my face.

I am in Sydney again, after being in Bowral (my hometown, southwest of here) for several hours. I bought a new book.

On the train, reading this new book, the phrase caught my attention and held it:

It’s the imperfection of actual life.

Yes! yes!

It’s the imperfection of actual life.

I am tired of fashion’s tendency to omit this imperfection. Tired of some fashion and lifestyle blogs that present the idea that beauty is perfectly polished and well-kept (“here’s the latest nail colour, the best skin care, this is what I’m wearing today from this shop, this shop and this shop”). Tired of the refusal to admit that much of life is full of tired eyes, nail-bitten fingers, bad colour combinations and — god forbid — boredom.


I’m tired of the idea that an enriched life must be busy, full and always glamorous. Bloggers never blog about the mundane (obviously). But because of that, there’s the pervading idea that a successful, fashionable life is one that is constantly stimulated, a perpetual high-point, a series of brunches, lunches, dates and dining: all in the finest Celine and Louboutins.

But isn’t there something to be said for the “unglamorous”? Can’t beauty be found there too?


We forget about the beauty in silence, the beauty in darkness.

The importance of behaving, moving and dressing with no regard for cyberspace (that facebook persona we’ve all been conned into creating), or street photographers or that horrible pretence of “fashionable”.

How real are we being? How much of our lives are lived for other people, and how much of that is surface-value?

For me? Far, far too much. But it’s come on slowly: none of us would consciously choose to live our lives according to the dictates of those around us. But we do all want to be liked and approved of, and in order to do that we subconsciously decide to talk, dress, live in the way of those we want approval from.

Ugh. I’m so tired of facades, and pretence.

I want the imperfection of actual life. My actual life. From here on, there’ll only be real.

Instead, I’m looking for beauty in the everyday, even in the boring. Even though I’m a fashion student, I’m not interested in what’s “fashionable” right now. I’m interested in genuine style and personal expression, dictated by nobody but the wearer.

The imperfection of actual life.

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Witchery Fall 2013 Runway

17 Mar


Can you believe how bad a blogger I’ve been?!

This past month has been a whirlwind of an adventure. Fashion school has begun! I have neither the time nor ability to express what those three weeks have involved: the amount I have learnt, the people I have met… I get home at the end of a full day of illustration, design lectures and pattern making and I don’t even know how to channel my thoughts into something coherent. Everything becomes white noise at the end of the day.

But I won’t bore you with the generalisations of my experience. Instead, from now on I’ll let you in on the process as it happens. And from here on I’ll be diligent. No more of this month-long silence. Promise.

To begin:

Two weeks ago, the Australian fashion label Witchery launched their AW 2013 line at David Jones. And as an excited and enthusiastic fashion student, I was lucky enough to volunteer behind the scenes as a ‘dresser’.

See this here?


Look #7, as dressed by me. Sheer skill. Ha.

There were about 25 other volunteers; really all we had to do was iron the clothes and put tape on the soles of the shoes. And then eat the catered sandwiches and be intimidated by the models. Oh, and of course: actually dress the models, in the outfits already prepared and styled. Never have I been within such a high concentration of beautiful people: and these girls really were Amazon women, if a little more thin.

Before the actual show was the dress rehearsal in the afternoon. But because my model didn’t show up, CUE MY MODELLING DEBUT: holding the outfits in front of me, I stomped down the runway looking completely ridiculous but having the time of my life (not really, I was mortified). A total goof and clearly not of the model breed.

Thank goodness my model showed, leaving just enough time for hair, makeup and even a nice bit of reading of her Penguin classic before the show. I know I was biased, but I thought my model was the prettiest. Of course. Meet Kori Richardson (total babe):



So I made sure this pretty lady was dressed in her three outfits at the right time, whilst trying in vain to make some sort of small talk (the latter proved wholly unsuccessful).

The runway show was perfect. No issues whatsoever: the safety pins attached to my shirt in case of a broken zip (!!) or spilt seam (!!!) remained untouched. Kori of course wore all the right pieces of clothing just the right way at the appropriate time, and she with all the other models impressed the crowd in this season’s new colours.

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Afterwards, my Instagram feed was filled with RUSSH, Vogue and Bazaar images of the show, all showering praises on the new designs.

I was like a proud mum: inside, I was shouting “But I saw them first!! I was backstage! I was responsible for looks #7, #27 and #49!”. But outside, I was all cool reserve: I didn’t make a single Instagram comment. So chic.

So my first fashion show is done. It had the same feeling of anxiety and anticipation as before a piece of theatre; indeed it is theatre. But the strange thing is that the ‘performers’ only had to walk in a straight line for 40 metres: in this type of theatre, it’s not about the performers. It’s about the clothes on their backs. Finally! Validation and due attention for the costume designer!! This is totally my scene.

Until next time, I’ll just be practising my catwalk.

(Feet directly infront of the other = ultimate hip swing. Got it.)