Remember that scene in Mulholland Drive where Naomi Watts and Laura Harring enter Club Silencio and the lady with the Boy George-inspired eye make-up starts singing Llorando, a Spanish language version of Roy Orbison’s Crying? That has nothing to do with this blog post. Or maybe it does. Maybe I’m deliberately referencing the illusory nature of life and this blog is my own ‘blue box,’ an un-live cabaret where my images and words are merely an artificial representation of who I really am. Maybe I’m my generation’s answer to David Lynch. Probably not though.
You may notice that I am smiling pleasantly in the picture below. However, were I to reveal the dark and macabre circumstances surrounding this picture, you may not be so quick to accept that smile as the external manifestation of my general contentment with life. After hoisting myself onto the wall and pulling muscles in the interim, I was forced to forge a smile that hid my internal chagrin. Outside I was smiling; inside, I was expressing my woes through the medium of thrash metal. You may remember in my last post, I referenced my lack of any type of physical grace or motor skills. Instead of P.E. class in school, I would bemoan my lack of co-ordination and opt out by conveniently ‘forgetting’ my tracksuit. You might also want to note that when I went to Paris for the first time on a school tour I came back with a pair of Adidas rip-offs. Paris – the fashion capital fashion of the world – and I bought Tracksuit pants. For fashion. Well, it certainly wasn’t for sport. As I sat on the wall below, nature herself began to mock; taunting me with the following words; ‘You shouldn’t be outside. You’re made for the indoors. Your weak limbs and feeble genetic make-up make you more susceptible than other humans to the trappings of the wild. You are made for luxury goods, champagne dinners and warm fires, toasting marshmallows with your hairy hunk atop a shearling rug in a cosy log cabin.’ By cruel twist of fate, about two minutes after this picture was taken, I fell off the wall into a ditch. Lying there spreadeagled and weeping, I was rescued by six of my nieces and nephews.
And now to the fashion bit. I’ve long been an admirer of Shrek’s fearless fashion sense. Thus, I dedicate this post to the ogre who was rocking crop tops long before they were trending. And don’t get me started on the waisted belts. That man knows how to dress for his figure. Obi belts were heavily featured on the runways of MM6 Maison Martin Margiela, BCBG Max Azria, Isabel Marant and Alexander Wang this season. Shrek’s love of camouflage and muted winter tones is reflected in his choice of colour palette which totally complements his complexion. And those flouro green and brown disco jodphurs? He’s an American Apparel campaign waiting to happen. Am I right? I adore wearing greens, beiges, burnt orange and mustard as my eyes are green/hazel and these colours accentuate my colouring. I’ve often thought about dying my hair strawberry blonde but perpetually refrain due to my height and the likely tree stump comparisons which would inevitably ensue.
If this jacket could speak, I think it would tell a few stories. One of them would involve an analytical scientist with a penchant for Elvis Costello and maternity dungarees and a fabric scissors. It may or may not also involve a flagon of Strongbow. I dare not ask the one whose name I shall not speak. The jacket belonged to my Mam in the seventies but started its life as a coat She bought it on a trip to London and it is real suede, natch. The bag is also borrowed from my Mam and the Pinafore is a Zara sale purchase. I’ve begun to detect a pattern emerging in my shopping splurges recently. I’m still dressing like I’m in my twenties. If it’s a pinafore, dungarees, playsuit or romper, I’m there. In April this year, I turn thirty two and I still can’t get my head around wearing a ‘nice black pants.’ At what age does one cut her hair short into the generic ‘older woman’s’ hairstyle? I’ve often wondered when I turn a certain age, will I automatically begin to dress differently? Is it appropriate for a woman over forty to wear a hoodie? On the eve of my fortieth birthday, will I unwittingly begin a purge of my closet, ridding myself of any graphic tees, all-in-one outfit and slogan jumpers? Who knows? I adore Anna dello Russo because there is a woman who obeys no convention. She has no fear when it comes to appropriately dressing. She wears Jeremy Scott for Moschino teddy bear bags and SpongeBob logo dresses with pride. Much to my delight, I just googled Jeremy Scott and found out that he has designed a Shrek ready-to-wear collection. I am just so on point right now! I’m as hot as Hansel walking the fw15 Maison Valentino runway. And on that note, I’m off to perfect my Blue Steel pout.
Coat: 70s Vintage, salvaged from my Mam’s ‘collection.’ Similar styles linked below. Also, try the charity shops on Camden Street and Capel Street. The St. Vincent de Paul does a great Vintage section now, as does Age Action on Camden Street.
1. Vintage jacket @ Asos Marketplace €47.50., here.
2. Vintage brown suede jacket @ Ebay, $22.
3. Vintage John Paul Richard suede jacket @ Ebay, $7.99 here.
4. Vintage J. Percy For Marvin Richards suede jacket @ Ebay, $8, here.
5. Camel shearling lined biker jacket @ New Look, €74.99, here
Tights: Urban Outfitters, €9. I also spotted yellow tights in Penneys last week and TK Maxx is great for coloured tights, especially Jonathan Aston and House of Holland.
Boots: Debenhams.Similar on Ebay or in vintage stores. Check out The Third Policeman, Siopaella and Lucy’s Lounge.