I am trying something a little different. It seems this year is at least a little bit about the new.
If you know me at all you know I am a lover of clothes. To me what you wear says something about you. Something about your mood, where you are heading to, where you have been.
I tend to spend my fair share of time obsessing over pinterest and the clothing on there. As well as a number of other sites. I have just about perfected online shopping for myself, and am finding it more and more the place I go to.
That’s not to say I don’t also go into actual stores. That would be crazy talk.
So then, without further yabbering and needless justification, here are my latest lusts.
Alternate title: Things your daughter didn’t think she’d be photographing today. Bless her.
Confession. I love harem pants. Slouch pants, low crotch (google at you own risk) pants, happy pants. Call them what you will, call me what you will, I love them.
My absolute favourite pair are over two years old now. They have a small hole in a side pocket, but I am prepared to obtain and use needle and thread to fix them. Such is my love for this cotton garment.
I read an interview with an up and coming Melbourne designer a few weekends ago, in which he spoke of his love for this baggy arsed attire. He argued he loved the gender neutrality of them. I could not agree more. (I have searched high and low for the interview and can not find it – nor remember his name, if anyone knows, I’d love to know.)
I know this makes me tragic, and I am aware I am all kinds of hammer time wrong. But I just don’t care. My love of these pants began in the late eighties. I was a teenager, I went to a uniform free school for years 11 and 12. It was all baggy pants and big hair. MC Hammer – he may have made them famous, but I wore them first.*
What clothing item are you overly attached to?
*This may or may not be an entirely accurate statement.
Week one of the school holidays is all but over. Already. Damnit. It’s been a good week with a bit of mooching and a bit of doing. Time at home, time in the city, time to run and time just to sit. I could have done with a bit less of the weather. Really Mother Nature, do we need this much cold, wet, rainy, wind?
This week also saw Fox In Flats host a dress dare. The rules were simple enough. Wear a dress all day, every day for a week. Me and dresses, we go way back, so I was in. I did break the rules a little though… I mean running 20km in a dress would have been ridiculous. Ditto strength and abs training. But, apart from that I wore a dress every day.
Dresses make me feel better. They just do. More feminine perhaps. I think for me the trick is to wear cuts that I know work for my shape. I have a great vintage style dress all ready and waiting for my upcoming 40th this year… and another one custom made from vintage fabric for a wedding. Nearly every dress I own has the same shape or cut. Some of my favourite dresses I’ve been wearing for years. For me it’s what makes me feel good, not the latest fashion.
So then, that’s it really. Five days and five dresses. I have more days, and more dresses… I am just hoping for some nicer weather… fingers crossed!
Without further ado… here I am in 6 dresses, one jacket and way too much of my bathroom!
Wrap dress and knee length boots. Hello holidays!
Jersey maxi dress. Come on sun, I know you want to shine!
Racer back singlet dress. Still some optimism about the weather… but not much.
When on a dress dare, trying on & purchasing of new dresses while shopping for bedding is totally acceptable.
Wool dress. All but given up on the sun ever coming out again.
Stripes for Friday, and the mandatory Grand Final Eve Collingwood scarf! Go Pies!
Tell me, do you wear dresses? What’s your favourite shape or style?
It appears to have been my week for bloggy special attention. One of those weeks where my email runs over with exclusive invites and offers. And it’s not that I’m not chuffed. I am. It’s just I wonder how much attention some of these companies really pay to the blog and blogger they schmooze?
I wonder too if they realise I have little paid or you scratch my back I’ll scratch yours content. Don’t get me wrong, I’d be happy to receive goods in return for blogging content… *cough* wine *sneeze* 2xu *nose wipe* Apple Mac. I’d be more than willing to write about something I loved, *ah-tish-you* gin, or could grow to love *yawn* Nissian Dualis.
Some of the offers this week have been kind of big compared to most, and I’ll be honest, I saw stars. I felt all special and wanted and important. Then I got that feeling… the one I wanted to ignore. The one that says, tread carefully missy. The one that makes me think my Mum is watching. Then I though about it, thought some more, chatted to someone about it and realised something. If I had to think about it this much, if the shiny fanciness of it didn’t win me over and I had to begin to justify doing it, then clearly, it wasn’t for me.
Another smaller offer was (it seemed) more tailor made. It appeared someone at the company had at least skimmed some of my posts, and I kind of liked what they were offering… but not all of it. So I did something, for me it was kind of revolutionary (my usual tactic is to ignore.) I replied to the email outlining that some of the promotion attracted me, other bits, not so much… then I suggested a kind of middle ground. I know, crazy!
The result of this little revolution remains to be seen. ÂBut really, I think it’s time marketing companies started tailoring their pitch to the blogosphere. I know I’m small time, but that doesn’t mean I have to roll over and do things their way, and to be perfectly honest, nothing puts me off more than clicking through blogs and seeing the same promotion, give away blah de blah 50 gazillion times over. Slight exaggeration, but you get the idea. The other thought I had was that really, if the marketing company don’t like my tiny negotiations it’s no big loss to me.
I also need to be true to myself, and remember that actually there are some people who come to this part of blog land and read my ramblings. I’m not all that sure they want to see me flog something I clearly don’t use/want/like. I assume people reading this blog can see through the hype. And just to be clear, I have no issue with bloggers who do choose to take on more promotions. No issues whatsoever. But as I pointed out earlier this week I’m a soy latte sipping leftie, so I need to be sure my blog represents that. Need to be sure my blog represents me… you know… me, the wine drinking, 2xu running gear wearing, apple mac using, gin swilling, Nissian Dualis lusting Naomi from Under the Yardarm.
Forgive me readers, for I have sinned. It’s a little, big, in between sin. I tried, I really, really did… but I am weak. Obviously.
Remember when I challenged myself to buy second hand, vintage and hand made clothing this year? Well, all I have purchased this year is two secondhand dresses, two vintage dresses form the 1970′s and a hand made tea dress from vintage fabric. I am, clearly a dress girl. But, yesterday I faltered. The lure of one of my favourite clothing stores was too strong. No, scrap that, I was just weak. I willingly went in… and came out with a skirt, a jumper and a long sleeved T. Now, technically, I have not cheated, because I did say…
So, I lasted 5 months. Perhaps shopping months are like dog years… perhaps I should have just steered clear of the shops altogether. Perhaps I will still buy as much vintage as I can… I KNOW I will purchase another custom hand made tea dress, because one of those babies is just not enough. But, what I have learnt in these months is that I don’t need new all the time. That I do have a style of my own, and that dresses are definitely something I love. A lot.
So not a total loss. I have found some great vintage stores, rediscovered my love of the 70′s, and become a little more inventive with the outfits I wear. I am a little disappointed I didn’t make the full year. But I have shifted my mindset somewhat and the way I look at clothes, so there’s something.
Well, that’s it really. I have confessed my sin. Now, I’m off to put away my new pretties…
In a little over a week, I will be on my way to Sydney, cue excitement. While there I will be attending the inaugural Aussie Bloggers Conference. Cue more excitement. I will be meeting lots of bloggers I chat to on line sometimes daily, face to face. Can I get a squeee? I will be roomy with the ever so delightful Lucy from Diminishing Lucy. There will be hugs. (Yeah, did I warn you Lucy, I’m a hugger.)
On twitter, on blogs there has been a lot of talk about this conference. A lot of it has been around what to wear, and about feeling nervous at not so much meeting other people, but at what other people may think of the real as opposed to the online. People have been, some for the very first time, putting their real face as avatars. I am no different. I have obsessed about what to wear. I have worried people will not like me. I have worried I will be nervous and come across as aloof, which is what I have been told I do. I am already scolding myself every time I cross my arms, incase I do it at the conference and people read it the wrong way. I am clearly neurotic.
Being neurotic is nothing new to me. I have always known this about myself. I have always obsessed about clothes and what to wear. When I was five I even had a special outfit I changed into when I had been slighted wronged in trouble to make myself feel better… hello purple flares, purple T with white trim, thick brown belt and hand me down brown sandals. Funky.
Fear of not being liked is, no doubt a hangover from the combination of moving schools a few times, and not figuring out soon enough that being myself is better than yearning to be someone else and acting a part. As well as a healthy dose of square peg syndrome.
The thing is, since I started blogging I have revealed a lot about myself. More than I did to most people face to face. People come, read, some comment, others don’t… and through it all I have found myself part of an amazing, funny, supportive, and intelligent community of bloggers.
So, why then am I worried about meeting these people face to face? I have already met some bloggers, and it has been great. No need for chat about the weather, we know a lot about each other already so when we do meet, it’s more like old friends. These meet ups have been a pleasure really.
I have come to the conclusion that a little worry is alright. I think we are all, bloggers, non bloggers, if we are honest, at least a little worried about not being liked, about making a bad impression, about being left out. We are after all human.
So, as I make final decisions on what to pack, and work out how many just-in-case changes of clothes I can fit in my luggage I will remind myself that I will be meeting some amazing people, that I will not need to hide in the corner, and that we are all feeling the same way. And, as the title of my blog suggests I may partake of a wee drink before the official wine o’clock time, really, all I need to do is turn up with a glass of wine in my hand to appear as real as I do in my blog. No problem.
And if all else fails, I’ll change into purple flares and brown sandals.
I went shopping on Saturday afternoon. Now before you all start reminding me I am on a no new clothes for a year campaign… it was for the Green Eyed Girl’s birthday. And new undies for me. No way am I searching eBay for undies. Or op shops. Nuh uh.
So, there I was selecting undies. Cotton undies. Organic cotton no less. In a range of colours. Lovely. The style of said under garments? Granny. Not come-hither-you-are-getting-lucky-tonight-call-of-the-siren-knickers… just granny. Simple. Sensible. No bells. No whistles. High waisted, low leg knickers.
Last year I grabbed a pair of these organic-cotton-sensible-no-nonsense-undies as an after thought. I was looking at the control top undies, and decided that as I quite enjoyed breathing, I would not buy any more. Besides, when did it become so necessary to all have a perfectly flat (an somewhat unnatural) stomach? What message am I sending to children if I am ashamed of my body as it is? I digress.
Needless to say the afterthought underwear fast became my most favourite go-to pair. I loved them. And rightly so. They give no VPL*. They do not ride up and require the oh-so-hard-to-discretely-pull-out-from-between-butt-cheeks move. They cover my stomach without sucking me in, and they don’t do that annoying rolling down thing that control top undies do.
When I brought home my first pair, Hubby’s face fell a little. Ah yes, gone are the days of skimpy knickers. Well, mostly. My jeans (thankfully) are no longer so low I can’t bend down in polite society – I am not now, nor ever have been a plumber, neither has my arse.
I came across a few definitions in urban dictionary…
A pair of underwear which are usually A) larger than the woman who wears them. B) Very stretchy and elastic. C) The best pair of undies you’ll ever wear.
See that? The best pair of undies you’ll ever wear.
The definition goes on -
Most people frown upon them because, as we all know, the smaller your undies are, the cooler you are. But in terms of comfort and practicality they beat thongs by a mile or more.
Try (granny undies) once and you will never wear a rope up your butt again. (Besides really, come on! Why bother wearing anything at all if your gong to wear that little ropey thingy you call underwear) High cut pants* rule.
See that? High cut pants* rule.
I mean, it’s the urban dictionary. So it must be true.
And so it came to pass that I wear nothing but granny pants. Now, I might add they are neither baggy, nor grey through too many washes. Think Marilyn Monroe *cough*.
So, granny undies rule OK! ….OK?
Oh… and a word to the wise… be careful when you search for granny knicker images. Just saying!
*Visible Pant Line – come on… where have you been, even my son knows what this means. **
* the original urban dictionary version said panties… but that is one of the most evil words in the English language, so I hand to change it.
While I am in Tassie this time, I am having a girls night. Folding up a dress into my suitcase, and packing heels, I thought of a few posts I wrote about girls nights out in 2009. Some things have changed, there is another child… there are new partners, there are new friends… this time the dress will be blue. But the sentiment is the same.
So then, here is a post I wrote about a night out in Hobart A (bad) tribute to Where the Wild Things Are – without a doubt my favourite childhood book. So here goes my version (with apologies in advance!)
The night Nay wore her black dress and drank cocktails of one kind and another her friends called her Wild Thing! and vowed to not tell anyone she was a mother (or them either)
That very night in a bar near you, the camera flashed, the iphone tweeted, and facebook was updated until the drinks were drank, and feet were sore and Nay sailed away through night and day and in and out of clubs and almost over a year it seemed, to the place where The Wild Things are.
And the Wild Things laughed their happy laughs, and drank their terrible(ly good) drinks, and rolled their shining eyes, till Nay said don’t stop!
So the Wild Things roared their drunken roars, and danced their terrible dance, and staggered home through day, and night, with bunting (don’t ask) and into the dawn of their very own (fold out) bed (at Sis’s).
and the next morning they found their coffee waiting for them and it was still hot! Did I say it was a good tribute? No! But for the family that was made, much lurve to you all xxx
As I scheduled this post last night I saw a flurry of activity on Twitter. One of our own is in crisis. Lori form Random Ramblings of a Stay At Home Mum posted this. Her husband is in intensive care. Together they have two small children. She is asking for our prayers. Asking us to keep her and her family foremost in our thoughts. This weeks FYB is a special one dedicated to Lori.
Everything old is new again.
So, here I am with a thought that just will not go away. It’s been brewing for some time, and I have managed to ignore it for the most part.
But, here it is, tap, tap, tapping away at my head from the inside, and finally it’s coming out. For better or worse.
I have a lot of stuff. Clothes mainly. I love them. A lot. Too much to be honest.
Over the past few years Hubby and I have been conscious of the furniture we buy, and try to buy second hand when ever we can, as opposed to always buying brand new form perhaps less than equitable suppliers or resource users.
We have purchased furniture from local second hand stores and by scouring eBay. We have also bought from Ikea, and I really need to look into how they source their woods, factories they use, how responsible they are locally and globally.
It’s no secret that I vote Green. It’s no secret that I sometimes use plastic bags because I forget my shopper bags. It’s no secret that I commute to work in a car by myself. Often I don’t check the carbon offset when I book flights. But, you see being green, being environmentally aware, loudly asking for coffee that is fair trade is simply not enough. Sure all these things are important. But there are bigger issues here. Being responsible for the planet means being responsible for the people already on it, and for the way we purchase and throw away.
My sister has a rule about electrical goods. Her rule is that she does not buy new ones. Some items in her home have been given to her, others have been bought second hand. Recently she was asked at a dinner party (for no apparent reason) what size her TV was. Seriously. As if this would have some baring on the way she was thought of and judged. Really, is that what makes you successful? The size of your TV?
And that, brings me to my conundrum. While I am trying my best to ensure our house hold items are local, ethical, small footprinted as possible, I am less so with my clothing.
Clothes and I have a long relationship. I was born loving them. I have always loved them. I covet them on other people, I see a top and immediately my head whurs into action thinking of ways to wear it, what to wear it with, where to wear it, what accessories to go with it… on and on and on.
I’m not brave enough to say I will not buy any new clothes because I know I will not be able to do that. But I am brave enough to say this year I will try to source clothing from a range of places that mean I am not contributing to mass production as much. I will try to recycle the clothes I have that are worn out, by reusing them in new ways. I will remind myself that while those jeans I am eyeing off are fantastic, I already have too many pairs at home, and I am not a big wearer of them usually anyway. I will make more of an effort to visit places like Vinies and the Salvos. I will get off my arse and attend at least one clothes swap event. I will keep eBaying and I will use Made it and Etsy more.
I will not buy for the sake of it. I will get creative with what I have, thinking about new ways to wear the dresses, tops, skirts, leggings, boots, shoes, jackets, and accessories I have. I will challenge myself. I will layer like no bodies business. I will. I will. I will.
And you, lovely readers will hold me accountable.
This is the hardest thing I have ever decided to do. That may make me shallow. But there you have it. Even now as I type I am thinking of my Country Road card and all the lovely offers it provides me with. But I don’t like to think about just how much money I have spent in their stores to be given such offers, and that it is a marketing ploy that I have willingly fallen for. I am thinking of the lovely new cocktail dress I have in mind for my 40th birthday this year… while I already have perfectly decent ones in my wardrobe that have only been worn once. I am thinking of all the lovely winter clothes that will (some what obscenely) be hitting stores soon. But I need to remind myself that I can buy, swap, recycle these items without the need for brand new.
That if I really want to walk the green walk I need to do this in all areas of my life, not just the ones that I choose.
So, this is me, challenging myself to be mindful of what I wear, where it comes from, and how I come by having it. Hard? Yes. Doable? Yes.
Instant heat. Ah yes, Melbourne, four seasons in one day. Being able to flick a switch and have heat in an instant is something I try never to take for granted.
High heels. I really can not tell you how much I love to them. Wearing heels make me feel great, and makes me almost eye level with some people. I don’t wear them often, but I always feel good when I do.
My Hubby. He really is amazing. He is the love of my life, my support, my friend, and I tell him that, but really, I should tell everyone.
Higher waisted skinny jeans. I have started a new love affair with them. It’s all the new, soft fabric they are being made from, and the fact they have a higher waist line than before, so much kinder to a more *cough* mature woman.
So, that’s me for this week… have a lovely weekend