Friday, February 27, 2009
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Tied up
Left: Repetto 'Garbo' Lace-ups €265
Right: Pointy Platform Lace-ups €18, Penney's (also available in brown)
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Preservation order
Just when I was about to make a cosmic order for some hair inspiration, Paramount goes and releases Dynasty Seasons 1 & 2 on DVD. Holy crap! Joan Collins, Heather Locklear, Linda Evans, the catfights, the shoulder pads... all I need now is a day off, a jug of Margarita mix and a large bag of Minstrels.
The release date is March 6th, until then feast your eyes on the hotness that is Joan Collins. Monochrome is generally popular in times of economic uncertainty (interesting article, written in '97 on that here), wearing it to work might be something to consider. Nobody's going to fire Joan Collins. If it was a straight choice between you and Joan Collins, even your parents would fire you and keep Joan Collins. They wouldn't even let you get your Muller Light from the canteen.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Sunday, February 22, 2009
The Irish Blog Awards- in blurry photos
We came, we saw, we didn't win, but we got absolutely hammered. For future reference, if there's going to be a giant inflatable game of any sort at any event I'd appreciate a heads up so I can stay at home. The lure of Twister was too much. Wild horses couldn't get me off the thing, I think I've broken my thumb, but I won't know for sure until the booze wears off properly.
As if my hangover wasn't bad enough this morning, I got a lovely text message pointing me in the direction of Victor Barry's blog, where there's a lovely picture of my arse displayed for all to see. I mean, it wouldn't be a party if someone didn't get their arse out, would it?
The lovely Val came out of the kitchen and got down on the dancefloor, I finally met
Raptureponies won Best Popculture Blog, woo!
Beaut.ie scooped Best Fashion Blog
The fabulous Ciara Crossan danced the feet off me and even let me wear her veil.
I met the very cool Sabrina Dent, who looked remarkably put together for someone who hosted the booze fest that was the Ladies Tea Party...
I had cigarettes with Adam of HiColour.com and interrogated both himself and his buddy about why they choose to live in Riverstick... although it's got to be better than Tuam.
The Macarena caused untold confusion at about 2am, I'm far too brain dead to caption these photos, which are mostly as blurry as the night itself, but do feel free to name and shame if you feel inclined...
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Coat of charms
Like so many things, it started in New York. A number of hours spent browsing the MOMA had this effect on me and I decided that this year's obsession would be finding the perfect camel coat.
I started my search and decided, given that I haven't grown any taller since I was 14 and the right one would probably last me a lifetime, I'd be willing to spend some serious clams on it. I always work out the cost per wear for big spends, like if you'll wear a €100 pair of jeans just twice in the coming year, they're pricey at €50 a go, but if you wear them 50 times, that's not bad for €2 each time.
The amount of money I was willing to part with made the search difficult. If I was paying the equivalent of a mortgage payment for it, this coat HAD to be perfect in every way. Typically, every luxe variation on the classic camel I tried on swamped me and the majority of the newer versions had comedy lapels so ridiculously fucking huge that if a gust of wind caught one I would almost certainly blow away.
There's nothing worse than going into an expensive store, trying on a €1,250 coat and having the sales assistant tell you it looks fabulous when both of you are acutely aware you look like Danny deVito in a hospital gown. I worked in a "posh" shop in Cork once and gave my honest opinion on a number of items to a number of customers who were cramming themselves into a variety of overpriced monstrosities. Needles to say, I only worked there for one day, and even during those eight hours, I was flapped away by the assistant manager (who felt I'd be far better placed polishing bottles of Creed) on four or five occasions when I felt it was my duty, as a human being, to tell the customer the truth.
This morning, to cheer myself up after the bore-fest that is the smear test (stop putting it off - book one for free at CervicalCheck.ie) I went for a walk around town. My first stop was the Oxfam store just off Oliver Plunkett St. I pushed open the door and spotted it immediately... belted, small lapels, button cuffed sleeves, wool/cashmere blend... the perfect camel coat.
It was just sitting there, at the very front of the rack, waiting for me to come and collect it. It fit like a dream - just the right length, not too heavy and ideal for the dress I'm wearing to tonight's Irish Blog Awards!
Pure satisfaction can be an expensive business, but not if you know where to look. The price tag? €12.
I started my search and decided, given that I haven't grown any taller since I was 14 and the right one would probably last me a lifetime, I'd be willing to spend some serious clams on it. I always work out the cost per wear for big spends, like if you'll wear a €100 pair of jeans just twice in the coming year, they're pricey at €50 a go, but if you wear them 50 times, that's not bad for €2 each time.
The amount of money I was willing to part with made the search difficult. If I was paying the equivalent of a mortgage payment for it, this coat HAD to be perfect in every way. Typically, every luxe variation on the classic camel I tried on swamped me and the majority of the newer versions had comedy lapels so ridiculously fucking huge that if a gust of wind caught one I would almost certainly blow away.
There's nothing worse than going into an expensive store, trying on a €1,250 coat and having the sales assistant tell you it looks fabulous when both of you are acutely aware you look like Danny deVito in a hospital gown. I worked in a "posh" shop in Cork once and gave my honest opinion on a number of items to a number of customers who were cramming themselves into a variety of overpriced monstrosities. Needles to say, I only worked there for one day, and even during those eight hours, I was flapped away by the assistant manager (who felt I'd be far better placed polishing bottles of Creed) on four or five occasions when I felt it was my duty, as a human being, to tell the customer the truth.
This morning, to cheer myself up after the bore-fest that is the smear test (stop putting it off - book one for free at CervicalCheck.ie) I went for a walk around town. My first stop was the Oxfam store just off Oliver Plunkett St. I pushed open the door and spotted it immediately... belted, small lapels, button cuffed sleeves, wool/cashmere blend... the perfect camel coat.
It was just sitting there, at the very front of the rack, waiting for me to come and collect it. It fit like a dream - just the right length, not too heavy and ideal for the dress I'm wearing to tonight's Irish Blog Awards!
Pure satisfaction can be an expensive business, but not if you know where to look. The price tag? €12.
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