SEE ALSO:

1. You can never have too much glitter in your life. Or on your face.

2. If you have the option, always choose time over money.

3. Never wear anything less than factor 30 in the sun.

4. Don't read women's magazines. They make you stupid.

5. Marry the person who feels like home.

6. If in doubt, have a nap.

If I had a daughter, these are the kinds of things I would teach her about the world. None of that follow your dreams, reach for the stars, we can all be Beyoncé if we want it enough crap. I'm not buying it.

What would you tell the next generation of girls? And the one after that? What have you learned in your one messy and confusing life that is worth passing on? My list is worryingly short. I'm hoping it'll get longer over time. Maybe by the time I'm 80 I'll have, oh, I don't know, ten whole things.


This Saturday is International Women's Day, a yearly ritual that will forever be tangled in my head with blogging and with Any Other Woman. Unlike previous years, when they asked their readers and blogging pals to send in full posts on a particular theme to be run throughout the day, this time they're seeking wisdom. (Aren't we all?)

From the AOW team:

This year, on Friday, we want to do something a little different. We want to run snippets of advice throughout the day from our readers. And our question is this: 

What advice would you give the next generation of AOW readers? 

What do you wish someone could have told you? Email (anna@anyotherwoman.com), or tweet @AnyOtherAnnaK or @AnyOtherAisling whatever advice you'd like to give - it can be a few words, a paragraph or a whole post.

You heard the ladies. Get involved.

Now here is my final piece of advice to you: if you don't already read Any Other Woman, Friday might be a good day to start.

EVIDENCE OF IWD AWESOMENESS:

and bonus kittens:
→ Dear National Stress Awareness Day


Images: Vintage glittery glasses and vintage tortoiseshell glasses via Etsy. This place will fit prescription lenses to vintage frames. I suspect this could become an expensive discovery.

Do you ever get sick of reading blogs that are nothing but round-ups and mood boards and wish lists and sponsored posts and no actual content whatsoever?

Yeah. Me too.

Don't get me wrong, I love a good-looking blog as much as the next girl (and I'm no stranger to a mood board), but sometimes what I really want is a well-written insight into someone's life. I want a sense of what makes them tick, what makes them laugh, what keeps them awake at night. I want to know who they are, and I want who they are to be witty and bright and quirky. I want them to tell me their story.

Essentially, I want to read the kind of thing I try to write here, but way better.

That kind of blog seems to have dropped out of fashion of late, in favour of the fluffy sponsored crap referred to above (must capitalism ruin everything?), but fortunately I know where to find the good stuff. Turns out they were all hiding in America.

Another Damn Life

How to Live in Ohio on Purpose

I followed Evie on Twitter for a long time before I realised she had a blog.  I'm on record as saying that if the only two people I followed on Twitter were Lyn and Evie (who follow each other and often engage in hilarious back-and-forth), I would probably enjoy Twitter about a million percent more. Evie's tweets delight me: an addictive mix of sharp observations, awkward confessions and bone-dry humour that gets me in all the right places.

I hoped her blog might be like a long-form version of her tweets. It is not. It's so much better than that.

How to Live in Ohio on Purpose is an excellent name for a blog and just an excellent blog all round. It's not really about anything, as such, but Evie draws you into her world so skilfully that you don't even notice. It's just... lovely. Like this post, about running (except it's not really about running, it's about life, but Evie is so sneaky that you don't even notice until the end and then you're like ohhhh. Also it's a little bit about pizza, which is one of my favourite topics).

Evie also shares my make-them-laugh-while-providing-no-practical-advice-whatsoever approach to How To posts, which makes me like her even more. Practical schmactical.

Update: Evie has moved her blog to a new location - you can find her at Oh Evie. She also sends out a weekly newsletter which you can (and SHOULD) subscribe to here.

Nothing But Bonfires

Let's just get the obvious out of the way first, shall we? Holly who writes Nothing But Bonfires is a stone-cold fox. I mean, ridiculously good-looking. She also had the most stylish wedding ever to the love of her life, has a gorgeous home, a high-flying creative job and a glamorous international past, and recently gave birth to an adorable child. I should probably hate her.

But I don't, because (a) she writes about it all with such warmth and humour, and (b) she posts terrible pictures of her teenage self to make us all feel better.

I have now officially run out of steam with this post (told you I was bad at writing these) so I will just say that someone once told me that A Safe Mooring was like the British Nothing But Bonfires, which made very little sense since Holly is in fact British herself, but nevertheless it made me want to kiss that person on the mouth.

There you have it, a few of my favourite blogs. Care to share yours?

MORE BLOGS I LOVE:

Images: 1. Erin Hearts Court 2. Lauren McGlynn 3. From Evie's blog 4. Sean Slinsky

1. You cannot read everything. Stop trying.

This time last year, life was pretty much exactly the same as it is now. I was living in the same flat, walking to the same office, sitting in the same ergonomic chair for eight hours a day. Today, it all feels so settled, so normal, so nothing-to-see-here. Last year, I was reeling. I'd lived in three different flats in the space of a month, my belongings scattered across Edinburgh like shrapnel, and I had just returned to work after three hectic months of moonlighting as an intern for Breast Cancer Care.

My day would start on the 8.37 train to Glasgow. I took the scenic train, the slightly longer one, because it took me directly where I needed to go without having to deal with barriers or lifts or platforms or commuters or tickets. I'm not good in the mornings.

People always say, when they're trying to sell internships, that every day is different. I probably ought to say that, too, but the truth is most days were the same. In many ways, it resembled my job as a lawyer, at least on the face of it. There were differences, of course: the technology wasn't as fancy; the office chairs were pink; I didn't need to record my time every minute of every day (blessed relief); the team meetings all involved cake. I was still sitting at a computer all day, though. I still organised things, recorded information, cajoled and persuaded people. I chatted and joked with the women sitting around me (and they were all women), asked them about their weekends, got to know them and like them and admire them greatly. It felt like any other job. Work is work, whether it's paid or not.

That's one thing that I found interesting about the whole experience, actually. It turns out that salary, or the lack thereof, holds very little interest for me. I was no less motivated as an unpaid intern than I am in my overpaid job as a stuffed shirt. I tried just as hard, cared just as much, took it every bit as seriously (which isn't always very seriously at all). I don't think it was the idea that I was "doing good" that motivated me, either; most of the time, it was difficult to quantify what good I was doing, if any.

To be a good fundraiser, you need to be a person who thrives on targets. You need to see totals inching up on a whiteboard and want nothing more than to smash last year's total, or blow this year's budget out of the water. I am not that kind of person.

If I learned anything from the experience, it's that fundraising does not and never will come naturally to me, and that's ok. I have other talents. I can find the best place to bulk-order pink heart-shaped sunglasses and feather boas. I can write letters to law firms, highlighting an obscure provision in the solicitors' accounts rules that lets them give stranded cash to charity and suggesting they might like to give it to us. I can work an event for 19 hours straight, directing and setting up and taking down and generally getting shit done, and I can do it with a horrible infection and a smile on my face. I'm a doer, not a blagger, and I'm glad I had the chance to find that out.

While "doing good" wasn't a daily motivation for me, it was, of course, a huge part of the reason I took up the internship in the first place. I've written before about Breast Cancer Care and the work they've done in raising awareness of, and supporting people living with, secondary breast cancer. They're still leading the way on it (this handy guide on what not to say to someone whose cancer has spread is just perfect). They've also, somewhat controversially, changed their primary colour from pink to orange. Given my ambivalence towards pink, naturally I'm completely on board. It's a fantastic organisation, run by wonderful, talented people, and it was a privilege to give them my time.

Of course, my interest wasn't just charitable. It was personal. I applied for the internship the day after I found out my mum's cancer had spread further. An unsurprising reaction, if an extreme one. It was an attempt to counteract my helplessness and take control of an overwhelming situation.

One year on, how do I feel? Helpless. Overwhelmed. Out of control. Some things, you simply cannot change.

My day would end back on the train, nestled in a corner, more often than not with a book in my lap, more often than not asleep as the train jostled through the countryside. Commuting is hard. Shaking collection buckets is hard. Making ends meet when you've given up getting paid for three months is hard.

Would I do it again? In a heartbeat.

SEE ALSO:

Image: Christina Winkelmann for ban.do

In my first year of blogging, I wrote 200 posts. It's taken me over 15 months to churn out another hundred, but here we are: 300 posts and still going. Not going strong, exactly, but definitely going. Hooray.

And what better way to celebrate than to share the love? I've given my Blogs I Love page a spring clean and added some new favourites. There are many smart and hilarious women on there, generously chronicling their lives, and a few stubborn wedding sites that I just can't quit. Plus ça change. What's noteworthy is the recent emergence of a style and design category, something that was barely on my blog radar 100 posts ago. Over time, my own blog has gradually become less about pondering and fretting and more about getting off my arse and doing things, so I've been increasingly drawn to blogs with a visual, creative emphasis.

It's a difficult genre to get right, though. I have a not-so-secret love of admiring beautiful things, but I've also come to realise that empty beauty doesn't hold my attention for long. If I just want to look at mindless images of nice stuff, I can go on a Pinterest binge; the content's better and I don't have to put up with the badly-written copy that seems to be the trademark of the amateur style blog.

If a style, design or fashion site is going to hold my attention, it needs to offer something more. It needs to be funny, or clever, or just plain well-written. In my experience, blogs like that are surprisingly hard to find, so I thought I'd share a few that have captured my interest lately.

Style by Emily Henderson

Emily Henderson won a TV interior design contest in the US, but that's not why I find her blog so compelling. Emily is a stylist. Her job seems to involve making over expensive homes in tasteful ways for wealthy clients and arranging expensive things in tasteful ways for glossy photoshoots. Doesn't sound like the most thrilling premise for a blog, but there's something in the way she writes about it that draws me in. Despite her success, she writes in a refreshingly natural voice that is funny, engaging and a little bit awkward. If you know anything about me at all, you'll know that being funny, engaging and a little bit awkward is pretty much the key to my heart.

Of course, she has impeccable taste as well. Her styling work is gorgeous, full of bright colours and quirky things, and she's generous with her advice. If you have even a remote interest in making your environment more attractive and pleasant to live in, I'd highly recommend perusing her blog. Plus did I mention she's funny and engaging? And awkward? Go, read.

THE BRICK HOUSE

Empty Emptor

And lastly, something completely different. Empty Emptor is described by its creator, Jess, as "a whole lot of over-thinking and navel-gazing," and it is, but in a good way. Jess explores issues of consumer behaviour, wardrobe politics and the ethics of style. She makes exceptionally good points. And she's funny. And she's a NEUROSCIENTIST. How many blogs do you read that are written by neuroscientists? Exactly.

Empty Emptor makes you feel cleverer just by reading it. It also makes you examine your motivations before splashing cash on disposable fashion. Her series on the classics  (1, 2, 3) should be required reading for anyone with an interest in building a longlasting wardrobe, and is especially relevant given my ongoing search for a classic of my own (thanks for your suggestions, by the way).


So, there you have it. Enjoy. And here's to my next 100 posts. If my current pace is anything to go by, expect them to be finished some time in 2017.



Images: 1. If you think I'm going to credit 100 posts, you are very wrong, my friend. You'll just have to read each individual post for the deets. 2. Laure Joliet and 3. Monica Wang both via Style by Emily Henderson 4&5. Morgan Satterfield 6. A Little Bird Told Me 7. Andrew Biraj via Time via Empty Emptor 

SEE ALSO:

Image: via Pinterest, original source untraceable. Why are all the hair ones so damn hard to find? Pie chart made at piecolor.com.

SEE ALSO:

Nothing makes me happier than being included on somebody's blog love list. Well, dogs wearing hats and making silly faces probably make me happier. But it's a close-run thing.

This week, I was delighted to see that a friend had included me on the list of blogs she reads most religiously (I'm assuming this means she puts on a special robe and lights a candle whenever it's time for some dogs-wearing-hats blog action. I'm not sure though).

I can't deny it stung a little to see that the first thing she had to say about A Safe Mooring is that I'm "not updating it quite so often any more." This is unquestionably true - the dwindling numbers of posts per month speak for themselves - but nobody likes to be reminded of their failings. Especially when the rest of the description was ridiculously flattering. "Hilarious, a bit angry and very eloquent"? I'll take that, thank you very much, but I can't say I've particularly earned it in the last few months.


I've said before that blogging is a conversation, and I still believe that to be true. Lately, I guess I just haven't felt like talking. I've been indulging the worst of my introverted tendencies, lurking around reading other people's blogs, eavesdropping on other people's conversations, then skulking back to glare at my own blank page.

It struck me last night, at about half past bedtime, that today is our second anniversary. Not Fin's and mine - that was last year - but yours and mine. You, the readers; me, the blogger. I've spent the last two years of my life in varying degrees of devotion to filling this blank page. You've left me 2,580 comments and I've squirrelled away every single one of them, to keep me going when words are sparse.

This year, there's no bunting, no celebratory blogiversary background (I was weirdly organised last year). Instead, some small gifts. First, a dog wearing a snood. You're welcome.


Along the same lines as the ever-popular Google Reader 'Next' button (if you missed it, scroll to the end of this post for all the ways in which the Next button is ace), the following tip could change your life. Or make your blog-reading experience slightly more pleasant. Which is practically the same thing.

Have you ever added a blog to your reader, only to discover that the blogger in question has utilised the single most irritating tool in the blogger's box of tricks? I'm not talking about referring to themselves as a "mommy" when their only child has four legs and licks its own balls. I'm not even talking about signing off every post with some pixel-wasting nonsense like "Love and light! xo," or "Kisses and fairydust! xoxo," or "Dandruff and wheelie bins! xoxoxoxox". I'm talking about... THE TRUNCATED FEED (dun dun dunnn).

You know, that thing where the blogger gives you the first seven words of their latest post, and then just expects you to click through to their actual blog to read the rest? Well hey, guess what, annoying blogger? If I wanted to click through to your actual blog then I wouldn't have SUBSCRIBED TO READ IT IN MY READER, WOULD I? HMMMM??? I will not click through! I will control my own clicks! And my next click will be on the unsubscribe button! How do you like THAT?

Okay, maybe nobody else finds it quite as annoying as I do. Ahem. But I genuinely believe that the role of the blogger is to make it as easy as possible for people to find and connect with them, and let the reader choose how to access their content. Unfortunately, not everyone follows Kirsty's Rules for Not Being a Dickhead on the Internet. And there are some good reasons (avoiding nasty incidents with scraper sites) and not-so-good reasons (clicks mean cash, folks) why bloggers use truncated feeds, so it's a practice that is unlikely to die out any time soon.

If you, like me, find truncated feeds intensely irritating, then I am about to give you the best present ever. It's called fulltextrssfeed.com, and it does exactly what it says on the tin. You copy the link of the feed you want, paste it into the url generator, and out pops a lovely full text feed that will deliver the entire post straight to your reader. Boom.

To accompany this top tip, I would also like to humbly propose that you use it immediately to subscribe to the Writer's Almanac. I stumbled upon this a week or two ago and, once you get round the truncated feed thing, it is an absolute delight every single day. Literary snippets + heart-stopping poetry = a daily reminder of what good writing really is. I've even done the hard work for you: here's the full text feed.


And with that, I'm going to shamelessly steal the line that ends every epistle from the Writer's Almanac, because it sums up everything perfectly (and doesn't end with xoxo):

But of course, I'm being simplistic too. When it comes to breast cancer, pink is more than just a colour. It's not like someone's colour-coded all of the cancers so we can easily find them in a great big cancer filing cabinet. "Testicular cancer? Try the bottom drawer, blue folder, labelled NO GIRLZ ALOWED". Hardly.

No, pink is not just a colour. For starters, it's a shorthand; a silent expression of support and solidarity. It removes the need for questions and explanations. It can shout to the rooftops, "I'm going through something really shit!" It can whisper, "Me, too."

Pink is a banner around which the troops can rally. Under which they can charge forwards towards greater awareness, improved standards of care and a strengthened community of support and understanding. Pink means business.

It's also a way for the rest of us to show our support. I might not be able to offer a cure, but I can offer to bake a dozen pink cupcakes and charge my co-workers for the privilege of eating them. I can put on a pink t-shirt and slog my guts out in the rain to raise a few hundred pounds. I can turn up to a secondary breast cancer awareness event as my mum's date wearing a fabulous fuchsia pencil dress.

Sure, pink sometimes stinks. But it can also be something wonderful.


These musings on pink aren't entirely unprompted. Remember that interesting news I mentioned the other day? Well, it has something to do with the colour pink. No, I'm not going to be Miss Piggy's stunt double. More's the pity. What I am doing is taking three months off my day job as a lawyer (unpaid! eek!) to take up a Community Fundraising Internship with Breast Cancer Care (unpaid! eek!).

Am I crazy? Maybe. I really hope not. After my mum's last setback, I was suddenly overwhelmed with a desire to do something, anything, to help. I can't make her magically well again, but I can contribute my time and talents to a charity that has been a constant spark in even the darkest moments of the past three years.

I'm still not entirely sure what my role will involve, but I do know that a big part of it will be promoting and coordinating BCC's Pink Fridays campaign in Scotland. Time to reconcile myself with pink, then. In general, I think - I hope - that there will be plenty of opportunity to work creatively and take myself outside of the little lawyer-shaped box I've spent the last six years building. We shall see.

So, that's my news. Have any of you ever done something like this? Voluntarily abandoned a nice, comfy, well-paid position in favour of financial ruin and moral superiority? Am I completely insane? (Actually, don't answer that last one.)


I feel compelled to mention that any views expressed on this blog, whether about cancer or pink or dogs wearing clothes, are my own and not those of Breast Cancer Care (or, for that matter, those of my "real" employer). But you knew that already, right? Right.


Images: 1. Antigoni Chryssanthopoulou 2. Ben Giles, both via Society6, with which I am currently obsessed. Can a girl ever have too many iPhone cases?

Well, this is awkward. I don't blog more than ten words in over a week, and now I'm asking you a favour? Who the hell do I think I am? Don't I know you're busy people?

I know. But the thing is, I need you. At least, I'm hoping it's you I need, because you're my final hope. Something needs to get me off my couch and into a pair of trainers, and if the prospect of raising money for charity won't do it, if Penny's excellent running advice won't do it, if the sight of this weekend's sunshine glinting off my pale, wobbly thighs won't do it, then some good, honest public humiliation had better do it.

Otherwise I'll be dragging myself round this 5k on my hands and knees, and it won't be pretty.

I'm running the Race for Life in less than three weeks. The last time I engaged in one of these half-arsed athletic endeavours, I kept you fully informed of my progress. Every worry, every blister, every illicit pizza fantasy.

You might be wondering, then, why I didn't mention this year's race earlier. Why haven't I been updating you on my training? Where is the thrilling blow-by-blow account of my ongoing issues with my sports bra? Well, I think we can all guess the answer: I've done bugger all training. And the first third of the run is almost entirely uphill. And did I mention it's in less than three weeks? Aarrgghhh.

So I'm putting it out there - I'm doing a run. This run. And the favour I'm asking of you is this: if you happen to see me anywhere on the internet moaning or lounging or whining or eating pizza instead of trying to run up and down some hills without throwing up, I need you to give me a virtual slap in the face. I mean it. Okay? Thanks, folks. I'm counting on you.


(If you really want to up the guilt levels, you could sponsor me. It's for Cancer Research UK, so, you know. Every penny, etc. No pressure, of course. Right now, I'd rather have your encouragement than your cash. And by "encouragement", I mean VIRTUAL SLAPS IN THE FACE.)


{Pink couch by Gabe Aceves via Ruffled}

Images: 1. Rodarte for Opening Ceremony Fall 2011 lookbook via Fashion Gone Rogue 2. Lillian and Leonard 3&4. Steph's own

Fin: "Hmm. You could write about Smidgen?"

Me: "Erm..."