Bombshell

Bought about by my slow decline over the hill and my steady approach to an imminent quarter life crisis, I have been doing some serious searching of the soul lately. Journeying on as deep of a trail of self-discovery as my encumbered soul can muster, I have come to one important realisation.

My favourite colour is no longer yellow.

Having only just come to terms with this calibre of bombshell (measuring -1 on the bombshell metre, a bit like me), I am still finding it difficult to discuss openly. I am however, choosing to push through my fiery inner turmoil and break down the stigma, in the desperate hopes that my words help anyone else in a similar position.

I have spent the last 23 cushy years of my existence believing yellow, in all of its kind, warm hues was my numero uno – oh how wrong I was. I am now, after much internal assessment, announcing my allegiance with green and I encourage y’all to do the same.

If my laborious, overly-detailed and mildly-waffled explanation was not evidence enough, I bring before the court, my smoking gun – this Georgia Alice dress.

Ladies, gentlemen and our gender fluid friends, I rest my case.

Wearing: Georgia Alice dress found here, Celine necklace found here and jerky grin.

Minimalism

As you can tell, I’m a devout minimalist. With the help of Confucius, Socrates and of course, Ikea, I have transformed my cluttered, chaotic life into an austere and restrained existence. No longer do I indulge in the practices of materialism, exhibiting the finer qualities of the Minimalistic lifestyle, and it is just that, a lifestyle.

This emotional upheaval is a change that has transcended into my sartorial choices, with my clothing now representing the discreet nature of my minimalistic life. As you can see, my garmets adhere to a strict black, white and grey palate, and serving merely as practical, functional items of apparel.

If you two are looking to simplify your life and your fashion choices, feel free to contact me for tips, tricks and words of wisdom (bullshit).

Wearing: Rat and Boa dress & Josh Goot corset, similar here.

Dirty, stinkin’ toes

I have one rule I thought was never to be broken – if I’m wearing a jumpsuit and it’s not giving me a camel toe, it ain’t no jumpsuit of mine. You’d be as startled as me to find that this denim number has broken my cardinal rule, gasps. No camels or their dirty, stinkn’ toes in sight, who would’ve thunk it?!

In high school I was permanently settled up the asses of all of my teachers and was never a preacher of the ‘rules are meant to be broken’ passage, but as it turns out, not all jumpsuits give you camel toe – miraculous, hey?

Cotton On has me singing happy tunes of elation in this stretchy, denim onesie and boy does it feel good. Total comfort and all without a hefty price tag, you beauty.

Wearing: Cotton on jumpsuit, similar found here and here, vintage Chanel belt, similar found here and here, with affordable version here.

Like only animal print can

As a cold blooded creature and maybe even a medical step behind in the evolutionary process – see jawbone for reference –  I am at one with the animals.  Big, little, flea infested and all, I clearly have Bindi Irwin blood pumping through my icy veins.

Harnessing my innate animalistic spirit, I have translated my love for the animal kingdom into my sartorial choices – this Rat and Boa leopard number meeting all of the requirements. It’s glorious silky goodness is warming my snake-like heart like only animal print can.

Do yourself and Bindi a favour and get your greasy grubbers on this bad boy ASAP.

Wearing: Rat and Boa ‘Valentina’ dress & Balenciaga earring.

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Strawberry Dip n Dunk

I was a jealous kid, a real nasty piece of work. I once stole a fellow year three’s Tiny Teddies out of his lunchbox and ate them in front of him – savage to say the least. Aside from my parent’s ineptitude at providing me a decent bloody recess, they did, for the most part, manage to punish the evil, lunchbox-raiding ways out of me. My green eyed monster has since lived a reclusive life, wasting away without the sustenance of strawberry Dip n Dunk Tiny Teddies, that us, until recently.

Let me set the scene. I was meandering through a bustling H&M store stateside, sniffing out the cheapest deal I could get my grubby hands on, when I saw it – glistening in all of its sale rack goodness.

A shining light in a sea of synthetic materials and sweaty shoppers, green, silky and sexy. I had to have it. In hindsight I blame the holiday weight, but I was simply too slow. Another savvy shopper with equally as wonderful taste as I, managed to swoop in and grab my prize.

Out comes my green eyed monster, Tiny Teddy’s or not. I grappled with the idea of punching her in the crotch, grabbing the dress and making a run for it, but I fought the temptation of my old habits and did the right thing. I stalked her throughout the store, waited for her to try it on and eventually put it back on the rack – testament to hard work truly paying off.

It was at that moment, i noticed in my peripherals, the tucked-away rack that housed 17 dresses of the same variety. Call me a moron, call me a drongo, call me whatever you please, but you sure as hell can’t call me a green eyed monster.

Wearing: H & M slip similar found here, Amber Sceats bracelets found here and here, vintage signet ring similar found here, Nasty gal belt similar found here.
Photography: Gridcity.photo

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Back Rash

I’ve always had a mental block up against lace. It could be down to the psychological effects of my Grannies extreme fondness for doyleys and tablecloths on every surface, ever. Exquisite taste obviously runs in the family. Or it could just maybe, have something to do with my year 6 school disco outfit, a black lace crop that provided me with some lustful glances from a few pimply, prepubescent gremlins and a ripper of a back rash. Either way, I haven’t stepped foot in a lace thread for years, that is, until now. You see, there are sometimes people or things, objects or in my troubling case, clothing items that can help you move past your lifelong traumas and I think I’ve finally found mine.

This Alice McCall frock is everything I could have wished for, giving my aching soul a much needed breather and delivering some style (much needed) to my somewhat dulcet life. I’m not sure if I am a fully converted lace lover yet, I still have a few months of psychoanalysis and group meetings before that, but I am now well and truly on my way.

Wearing: Alice McCall ‘Like I Would’ lace mini dress (currently on sale here), Tom Ford ‘Nastasya’ sunglasses (silver version found here), Amber Sceats ‘Jet’ earrings (currently on sale here).
Photos: Anastasia Borrellli 15403152_10154468023519130_1730497994_n15403089_10154468023379130_460900154_n15403075_10154468024049130_1553034029_n15416181_10154468023424130_1006897688_n

Pretentious Tosser

I’m lazy, I know. I’ve been putting off writing about this Zimmermann beauty for yonks. You see, every time I go to put pen to paper or fingers to keyboard, the unsettling feeling of expectation washes over me. The very real fear of not doing this frock the justice it deserves reaches new levels, but today is a new day and I’m biting the bullet. Brave I know, so here goes.

This exquisitely constructed feat of design and beauty is tes— somebody stick a bloody sock in me. Being a pretentious tosser, although typically effective for me, isn’t good enough today. The idea of letting the images speak for themselves appeals too, but again, the pretentious tosser actually featured in photos rules that one out. Gross. So after exhausting all possible writing avenues I’ve settled on stating the obvious for you all and yes, you are so very welcome. This dress is pretty, very pretty. The kind of pretty that punches you in the throat every time you see it. It radiates quality and is a pretty badass option for summer or winter, day or night. Just go out and buy the damn thing; the best advice I’ve produced for you all today.

Wearing: Zimmermann Mischief Rosette dress
Photos: Anastasia Borrelli

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