Shoes vs. Architecture: FIGHT!

Pierre Hardy vs. The Sydney Opera House

FOC vs. The Eiffel Tower

Mobius vs. The Empire State Building

Strangers on a bus

So, I was on the bus to university the other day and, just as it was approaching my stop, a petite and stylishly dressed girl hopped on. Having nothing better to do for the next two minutes, I decided to use this time to examine her outfit and see if I could take some inspiration from it.
Clinically examined thus, there was nothing particularly exciting about what Mystery Girl was wearing: a green jacket, presumably with a nice top underneath (I didn't have time to ogle her that much), jeans and a pair of green flats that matched the shade of her jacket perfectly.
Although the rest of her outfit was generally good, it was those flats that really caught my attention, in fact, I couldn't take my eyes off them. I'm usually a high heel girl, but even I have to admit that, when you think about it, heels are pretty fantastical creations both in their impracticality and their beauty - sort of like pink dragons in footwear terms. Uh, or something.
And so I'd been searching for a good month or so for a pair of flats that were as attractive as they were comfortable when Mystery Girl stepped onto the bus in hers.
My memory's pretty poor, but allow me describe to you what what little I can recall: the colour was a fresh shade of pea green that contrasted with the battered but clearly high quality leather they were made of and highlighted some interesting gold buckle details around the toe.
My recollection of them, even just a day later, is quite hazy, but the impression they inspired remains, and so, though the details are off, I can still remember seeing a beautiful pair of shoes.
How strange then that, browsing through ebay a few hours later that day, I should come across a pair of Chloe flats , red this time, that I thought, nay, I knew! were the same pair as those that had stood next to my bedraggled converse on the morning bus!
Sadly, with bidding already up to £92 and with still another 3 days of auctioning to go, my dream flats are already far beyond my means (hence my status as a window-licker), but perhaps the one or two people who do read this strange little blog would like to have a look.
Good luck!

Freakshow Gallery

What's right with this picture?

Oh, to be musical!

I often wish I had been born musical: manys the times I've stared out of the window and happily fallen into mad fantasies about playing flamingo croquis with Queen Alison Goldfrapp; going nuts and eating all the sequins with Karen O; or covering my face in a thunderstorm of Susie Sioux's eyeliner. Thus I recline, lazily allowing all these hazy, crazy
imaginings to mingle in my mind's eye with other, much more vivd daydreams involving myself and most members of the Strokes, until reality somehow imposes itself (a door is knocked, a phone is rung) and my startled fantasies evaporate, leaving behind only a sense of wistful melancholy that, alas, I am unable to express through music.
And now this beautiful and cool little butterfly guitar from Daisy Rock Monarch has given me yet another reason to bemoan not just my tragic lack of talent but also, as it's made strictly for the kids, the sad fact that
I'm growing up - and never even had one of these!

Hi - I'm the New (part-time) Intern!

Two days ago I went to the office of Fused Magazine for a "chat" with the editor. I say chat, but I felt that what this really was was an opportunity for magazine to weigh me up and decide whether or not I was the sort of person they wanted hanging about their teeny-tiny (but damned colourful) office, just as it was my opportunity to say completely the wrong things and wear completely the wrong outfit (yellow top under a houndstooth cropped jacket. Think human NYC taxi cab).
I must have done better than I thought though because the editor agreed to send me the dates for my internship just as soon as she's organized things with all the other applicants.
My only concern is this: as it's such a small office, and because they get so many people asking for work experience, it's not really feasible to have interns in all week long. Instead, I'll be asked to come in maybe every Tuesday and Thursday for a few weeks. I still feel incredibly lucky about this opportunity, but I sort of had a romantic vision in my head of hanging out in that bohemian little office, fetching cups of tea for bands and models, and then somehow the editor discovering that what an incredibly talented individual I am (talented at what I haven't exactly figured out yet) and insisting right there on the spot that I must drop out of uni and join the editorial team immediately. That's a little less likely to happen if I'm only there Tuesdays and Thurdays.

Windows of Opportunity - In Birmingham!

Well, remember a little while ago when I posted about my desperate and ever-thwarted attempts to find work experience at a decent fashion magazine (or, come to think of it, any magazine)? Now I have a very breathy, flustered and totally astonished update on that whole hopeless situation:

I-have-an-interview-tomorrow-with-the-editor-at-Fused-Magazine-holy-crap-o-christy!

Fused is a gloriously visual fashion magazine jammed with some of the most exciting illustrations I've seen in a while and, despite proudly being Birmingham's premier fashion mag, it's in no way provincial, reporting on fashion and culture from all across the UK and, indeed, the world.

Right now I'm only licking the windows of Fused Magazine's HQ, but tomorrow, I'll be inside the building. And then, who knows what could happen?

Separated at Birth?

I can't be the only one who sees this.

Lick my shiney, shiney shoes

In a shockingly elegant piece of ebay swooping I just nabbed these blue beauties for a clean half of their RRP (apparently).

They meet all the requirements I've been looking for in a Louboutin knock-off:

they're blue,

they're shiney,

and they're so high that they will literally kill me, which of course is just catnip to all those narcisscisstic/self-destructive personality disorders that lay behind fashion addiction. Perfect!

The Temple of New Look - Holy Crap!

So, a couple of weeks ago the sun was actually shining, warming the earth and helping all the little spring time plants to photsynthesise and bloom, but not forgetting to focus a fair percentage of its thermal energy on blistering my arctic white complexion.
Seeking shelter from this meteorlogical attack I did something I would not normally do - I ducked into a New Look: but reader, what a New Look.
I had unsuspectingly stumbled into the chain's newest, largest, shiniest, gimmicky-est store yet and, being but a simple country girl, I was for a second stunned at the sight so much stuff I didn't want all in one place. The achingly new and clean two storey cube was like a great, sparkling white temple of cheap fabrics and lame designs.

"But who cares about the clothes?", I thought, "everyone knows that the shoes are what New Look does well and, most importantly for a window licker, cheaply." And I was not disappointed, in fact, I was delirious. Rows upon rows of heels ranging from the kind of Christian Louboutin knock-offs that every highstreet shop has had a go at by now, to an astonishing pair of purest silver glitter high heels that awakened my desire to emulate Alison Goldfrapp and make an attempt at ironic Glam Rock chic and, in a nod to the urban cowboy trend we're doomed to experience this season, there was even a truly tacky pair of pink gingham heels. All the shoes were displayed on simple and cool lime green shelves with good lighting (presumably to heighten the glory of those sparkly heels).
The prices ranged from about £15-£35, so I say buy them all and have done with it.

Left To My Own Devices...

penelope-ricci
Originally uploaded by dizzyink1985.

When I woke up this morning I found a one pound coin imprinted on the side of my face. "Hmm, that's nice", I thought as I rolled over to sleep again. When, an hour or three later, I finally unstuck my lashes and opened my eyes up to yet another obnoxiously sunny day, I decided to demur shifting these old limbs a few moments more and examine the other treasures to be found on the bedspread. They were:
A blue towel, faded, damp and totally disgusting by any hobo's standards
Several plastic bags
A pair of shoes
A jolly assortment of underwear
Two pairs of jeans
A cup, contents unknown

The rest of the room was so unutterably filthy I couldn't bear to look at it, so I grabbed the towel, shuddered, and hastily made for the shower.
And so I realised something about myself: that, when left to my own devices
I.
AM.
PIG.
GIRL.

Licking the Windows of Opportunity

Well then, as I'm new to this blogging nonsense, I may as well make an attempt to offer a backstory that will hopefully make you all feel smitten with me and my bitter ways.

Unfortunately (or fortunately, whatever), I'm the mysterious type and would rather just allow you to enjoy and ponder over the little snippets of personal details that I will, goddess like, occassionally bestow upon you, my soon to be million-strong horde of followers.

And here is the first: for a while now I've been reduced to writing begging letters to literally dozens of magazines all over the country trying to explain to lunk-headed editors why exactly I am an amazing once-in-a-generation prodigy that they need to have aboard their publication, if only for one unpaid week, if they really want any chance whatsover of continued success. I have received five replies which all are, shockingly, in the negative.
The fight will go on!

Window no.1

This post will be the first of many detailing my endlessly frustrated hopes, dreams and desires.