Thursday, 30 September 2010


Michael Mouris is an effing genius. If you haven't seen A Lohan Christmas or Miley and Zaquisha you should slap yourself round the face and watch them now. Well, after you've watched this.

Tuesday, 21 September 2010


The fashion industry has always been seen as alluring and glamorous, glossy magazines have existed for years and born the brunt of ridicule, hatred and blame for the neurosis of women worldwide – as well as the envy of a pretty hefty majority. With the latest swathe of freshly educated graduates now tracking their way to the front doors of publishing houses, waving credible CV’s in the faces of editors and fatigued human resources staff wanting a piece of the action – what hope is there for them?

When I decided early in my teens that I wanted to be a fashion journalist, the concept was met with confusion and a great deal of head patting. The general misconception was that I desired to be a designer, and no matter how many times you reeled off names such as Suzy Menkes, Hadley Freeman or Colin McDowell they still ended any conversation with “well just think one day you can be the new Chanel!”… er no. Well, after a great many fraught hours staring at the UCAS pages, searching for the right course with enough credibility to ease me into the career of my dreams, I was finally an undergraduate on a respected programme and desperate to be thinking up headlines and stand firsts; all whilst remembering the five W’s (who, what, where, when and why obviously). As luck would have it, during my first term, The Devil Wears Prada was released at the cinema, everyone suddenly knew what I was trying to do and it was great… for about five minutes. Then came the Hills, then the City and now there are too many TV shows depicting what I want to be doing to count on some WAH! embellished fingers.

We were always taught at Uni that everybody moves around in this job, meet the right person, they’ll know a vacancy et voila – you’re in. All this was of course pre recession and before the idea that anyone can do it kicked off and some 13 year old in Miu Miu nicks your ‘entry point’. Nowadays, as much as I love the internet, you need to have a blog novelised and featured in the New York Times bestseller list before anyone will bother reading past the first three sentences of your cover letter. So what are we meant to do? Intern, intern and intern again apparently – despite the fact that you have already interned for over two years and have the managing editor of one of the world’s most renowned magazine’s as a reference, oh and not to mention that you’re poor, poor poor not just “shouldn’t buy those shoes” cash short – we’re talking £8 to last you the week and never mind the rent. Alarmingly, getting a ‘normal’ job is now just as difficult as getting one you actually want, as when all your working experience and demonstrable ‘team playing’ attributes come from successfully organising the return of some invaluable shoes to New York, or ringing and managing to warble in Franglais to Celine to check they still had the same address in Paris for the mailing list of a certain publication.

I’m in no doubt that a proportion of this years graduates are probably already in jobs I can only salivate over whilst straining through the Guardian Jobs pages day after day – I just wish someone would give me the chance to be one of them.

Friday, 17 September 2010


So it's my 100th post... bit embarrassing I've rambled on that much isn't it?

Its all been a bit sporadic recently, lots to tell but not sure if it's all a bit yesterdays news by now... One thing I did do though was a short review of The Hit Ups new EP. It's free to download at the minute so if I were you I would get. on. that. shit.

Do it HERE

This four piece collective have done it again with this latest EP, not only proving that they are able to evolve seamlessly and without contrition, they’re making some pretty reckless waves that you can’t help but feel the reverberations of. New track Unforgivable is British in the best possible way, the band’s notorious party ethos is seeping out of every riff – if you were after something to make a room of people smack into each other like a bag of angry snakes this definitely fits the bill. Perhaps more commercial in the sense of radio friendly play to their more recent work, but that’s no bad thing. Any potential hook is exploited ruthlessly to make this tune as addictive as crack. Outstanding rhythm has always been one of the Hit Up’s strong points and this EP is no exception, with a slicker sound and a tighter composition; Josh’s vocals course through the tracks like opium in a pumping vein. 66Sexy is similarly as promiscuously delicious as its title suggests – a dirty, writhing incarnation of a song that deserves a sweaty, hair tugging audience, glassy eyes half closed through the bridge until the thrashing chorus shatters your spine. The always evolving band have made something truly rare these days with this EP – credible, unique and defiantly decent music that blows a lot of the competition clean out of the water.

Tuesday, 7 September 2010


So don't laugh at my provincial put-togethers. 

H&M have got some cracking stuff in this season and this is what I like and how I'd like to wear it. Been playing about on their website for lack of something more productive to do with my time. If anyone wants to donate to my AW clothe the unfashionable cause feel free.


Whenever I say that in my head it sounds so sinister and Freddie Kruger-esque(?) I scare myself. So I've been away, to France as per usual, and now that I am back I fully intend to post lots of things I've been thinking about whilst by the pool doing my best Ray Winstone. Lisa Love (of Hills acclaim) once famously said "France changes you" - well really she said Paris but who's splitting hairs it's pretty much the same thing - and I've been contemplating if this is, in fact, true. As far as I can tell, apart from gaining 10 litres of red, 500g of Golden Virginia, some nude leather espadrilles, a gold St Christopher and a chunky silver necklace akin to Carrie's when she meets Big on the boat in season 3; all I've got to notice about myself are some rapidly fading freckles and an overindulged palette.

A certain "post-vacance" whimsicality bordering on the morose could be present as is expected when one travels from 32 degrees and enough vitamin D to make your own supplements, to the rather non existent dregs of British "summertime". Distance obviously encourages personal evaluations, and reality can somewhat bite when re-confronted after a jolly absence. 

Cor, talking about bringing down the mood. On a lighter, more hopeful note, I've lots of things to put up so stay tuuuned as they say. 

Bisous x