Busty bovines

I have been thinking a lot lately about the preoccupation with the breast. Not so much the male preoccupation with the breast because we all know that's meant to be some wack Freudian thing where they subconsciously wish to return to the womb (or some damp and comfortable nook). Freud's so out anyway and if he weren't i'd be some hysteric suffering from primal repression (maybe). I'd rather not be classified - thanks! The thing that gets to me is the way we (as women) tend to classify ourselves and lately (or forever) these classifications have invariably impressed themselves upon our bodies or our protrusions or our absent protrusions in this hazy Foucauldian self-monitoring phantasm. The reality is boobs go south and when they do let them dangle! Let them hang from rooftops for all i care. But please don't reach middle age and decide to go all plastic fantastic as a way of restoring 'youthful' femininity(or for the young ones as a way of demonstrating you really are a woman?!). Because what I have observed is that the women who do end up 'getting work' turn into these wack Frankenstein/cyborg/trailer park/beast cretins with protuberances that interrupt my clear line of vision when attempting to cross the street. And quite frankly i don't wanna be flat stan-lette so you other gals can stick out for all the world to see. And don't defend yourself with the rhetoric of individualism and autonomy because that's just capitalism speaking through you -you idiotic dunce. Just get a better BRA!

Some stuff

In the relatively mundane moments I tend to find myself hypothesising about all kinds of things.

For instance: when I woke up this morning I began to think about the occlusion of time through teleportation. Temporal ambiguity has been a big theme lately for me. It seems that most things have a complex relational dynamic between past, present and future. Thus I suspect those leggings I have seen so much lately with jagged rips and faux denim have traversed some kind of space/time dichotomy for occularly challenged individuals who cannot actually see what it is they are wearing. It is not so much the catastrphic failings of their anatomy per se; rather they are trapped in a teleport-omatic vaccum where the real aesthetic of all things occurs as a bleary drift somewhere in their unconscious while the present aesthetic of an actual physical entity appears as a hypermediated photo montage of trash fashion rags.

Let's wage a campaign to support fashion victims the world over y'all!

Oh guys what happened to the blog? I liked our semi-regular posts about anything we could think of.

Cooing Slowly

Aren’t they sweet? I watch affectionately as they try to figure out how to use headphones and send sms’ with their expensive mobiles. I’m talking of course of our technological challenged peers. The average age group of my office is around mid to late forties, I am part of what is affectionately referred to as generation Y (although it depends on who you’re talking to).

We ‘youngeuns’ meet once a month for a good talk and lunch, but unfortunately we have come to emulate our old peers. The conversation begins promisingly of talks of this and that but eventually turns to work. It’s hard, considering we all use to be so full of life, ideas, prospects, in short ‘youth’. Yet I am under the sneaking suspicion that the old residents of my office are sucking the youth out of me, just like in Stephen King’s “Tommyknockers”, slowly my teeth will begin to fall out, skin pasty and translucent in my corporate rags. Fairly soon I’ll be have all sorts of nasty sex.

We are oldies in the making, dress in the latest styles if you can afford it, keep up to date with the most funky and exciting trends if you’re that cool, but eventually we all become our parents. That isn’t to say that we be exactly the same, no no, but take a snapshot of your parents now, this is a good guestimate of what you will be at 50. I’m already calling my friends “darl”, a bad sign.

there's life in the old girl yet

I feel current fashion is at one of those cyclical breaking points. I go shopping and am drawn towards nothing. I gaze dismally at cheap polyester floral and liberty prints, leather biker jackets already falling apart at the seams, the ends of some sort of relaxed weekend-in-the-mountains trend (big jackets, jersey dresses) and am alarmed at the presence of bling and gladiator sandals for next season. Don't forget the ever-present shift and babydoll dresses and inappropriately sheer blouses. Worst of all, some stores seemed to have decided that "boho" is back, and that we all just forgot we love tiered skirts (vom) and knitted vests (double vom). And I can't see relief on the horizon. Where to next? Save us Marc (your nautical themes have been co-opted by Supre), Phillip (see Country Road SS08-09 for their rip-offs of your last season), Luella (see Topshop) and Chloe (I'm sorry I contemplated buying a fake and I promise I never will).

"Let's hear it for the boys!" Lamentation

Did I do something wrong? Did I do something right?
I find your lack of compassion and inarticulate sms discourse disturbing.

Did your mother not hold you long enough as a child? Was your father a woman- hating misogynist? Did you have a nasty older sister?

You pulled away in public when I wanted to be affectionate, to show that you were mine. You preferred to sleep on the other side of the bed, and were awkward when I wanted to be held afterwards.

I saw you a hundred times in my minds eye metamorphosing into a human being, but of course it was only a fantasy.

I shudder to think of how many others have been fooled by your pretence to care. I wonder if you were this nonchalant as a little boy. I know I would not have asked you to play in the playground.

But now you are a man, and you do not realise the affect you have. Your hurtful words turn us to stone, and wring out every drop of affection. I am an ice-queen because of you. You son of a bitch.

beautiful bags

I've been obsessing over designer bags lately (mostly the Prada Fairy bags) but don't have a spare 3k (who does?) so I'm trying to find appetising alternatives. Etsy didn't disappoint and I found valhallabrooklyn.






This one has a really unique design but it's also quite classic.

I just need to decide now. They're a world away from Prada Fairy bags but far more practical and totally affordable. Opinionzzz?