Chère Katya,
Je m'appelle Kirsty. J'ai quatorze ans. J'habite à North Berwick en Ecosse.
Dear National Stress Awareness Day,
Dear Blog,
We need to talk. You know I love you, right? So please don't take this the wrong way. I'm just trying to help you.
The thing is... it's your outfit. It's looking a little... I don't know. Tired. Outdated. It's just very 2011, if you know what I mean.
Don't get me wrong! I loved it when you first got it. It looked great on you. And obviously it's what's on the inside that really counts, let's not forget that. You have so much potential. I just want the way you look to really reflect that, you know? I don't want people to take one look at you and write you off because you look like a mess.
Frankly, I blame myself. I've let things get out of hand. I know I haven't been around so much lately, and I'm sorry. Partly, I think it's because - and I'm going to be completely honest here, ok? - it's because I'm a bit embarrassed to be seen with you. I KNOW, I KNOW, I'm a terrible person. But it's the truth.
Don't cry, Blog. It's okay. I have a plan.
How about you and me spend this weekend together, just the two of us, and give you a makeover? I've seen this font that I think would look amazing on you. And I have some ideas about column-width that I think will really bring out your eyes. We can keep the pink and the greeny-blues, I'm not trying to take away everything that makes you who you are, but we could just freshen your whole look up. Maybe work in a touch of sparkle to reflect your playful side. What do you say?
And I don't just mean cosmetic changes, Blog. We can spend the weekend really talking. You've changed so much in the two years that we've known each other. Let's talk about what actually matters to you, your plans for the future, what you're really trying to say.
Does that sounds like fun? Yes? Okay. Let's do it!
Here, do you need a tissue?
Me and the blog will be spending some quality time together offline, from 7pm GMT tonight. We'll be back first thing on Monday morning. Please come over then and say hi, and tell the blog she looks fabulous. (Yes, the blog is a she. Couldn't you tell?)
Image: Andrew Yee for Marie Clarie US
You know what's not helpful?
Saying to a stranger in the lift on their way to work, "Did you know that when you walk your skirt goes right up at the back?".
I know you were just trying to give me some friendly advice, but what do you expect me to say? "Yes, actually, I did know. Flashing my knickers at the mailman as I walk around the office is my new strategy for bagging a promotion! And by the way, feminism is for losers!"
Obviously, I did not know, and it's not like I can do anything about it now. You might not have guessed this from my nonchalant, skirt-shrinking gait, but I am technically meant to be in work by 9 and it's already quarter past. Which is why you might have noticed me frantically stabbing the 'close doors' button before you lurched into the lift at the last moment and pressed 'Level 1'. Changing my skirt is not an option.
So what, exactly, am I meant to do with this information? Roll around the office in my desk chair all day? "Hey, Mr Coffee Man, I'm down here! On my wheelie chair! Don't mind me, I'm just taking it easy today."
Next time (oh God, don't let there be a next time), maybe you should just not say anything. Because there's a chance I might reply, "Did you know that you can actually get the stairs to the first floor?"
Love,
Self-Conscious Office Worker Who Will Now Not Be Going To The Loo All Day.
{Image: The Sartorialist}
"There's no time like the present to start wearing wetsuit inspired dresses"?
There is no time, EVER, to start wearing wetsuit-inspired dresses.
Let me tell you, I spent a lot of time in a wetsuit during my teenage years, and I am not going back there. I don't care if "the super tight fabric makes for perfect body contouring". It also makes for the stench of rotting dolphin in your airing cupboard.
(Not literally. It's not like I was out harpooning dolphins in my spare time. And anyway, harpoons are so last season.)
What's next? High-heeled flippers?
No. Just no.
Love,
Blogger Who Refuses To Take Nautical To The Next Level
I really wanted to find a way to work Zena Holloway's dreamy underwater fashion photography (possibly the only occasion where a wetsuit dress and flipper heels might actually be appropriate) into this post, but I couldn't, so you'll just have to take a look for yourselves. Happy weekend, people.
Images: 1. Michael Kors Resort 2012 Collection via Fashionologie. 2. High-tide heels by Paul Schietekat via Metro.
Images: 1. Michael Kors Resort 2012 Collection via Fashionologie. 2. High-tide heels by Paul Schietekat via Metro.
Writing the words "Please" and "Thank you" in quotation marks kind of defeats the purpose.
Just thought you might need to know that for future neighbourly notes. You're "welcome."
Your Neighbour Who Is Now Secretly Plotting To Train Her Dog To Crap Beside Your Car
{Image via Passive Aggressive Notes}
WTF is this?
Is this for real? Are you just trying to make me feel old?
I was not aware that leotards had become (a) socially acceptable and (b) worth eighty-nine quid.
And I mean, where do you even wear something like this?
High collar + dark colour = work-type scenario.
And yet, see-through skirt bit + highly flammable fabric = PARTAY!
What happened, Topshop? How did it come to this?
 |
| Weird greige one-armed leotard thing, £89 (yes, £89) |
Is this for real? Are you just trying to make me feel old?
I was not aware that leotards had become (a) socially acceptable and (b) worth eighty-nine quid.
And I mean, where do you even wear something like this?
 |
| Scab-coloured sheer blouse/skirt/whatever, £35 |
High collar + dark colour = work-type scenario.
And yet, see-through skirt bit + highly flammable fabric = PARTAY!
What happened, Topshop? How did it come to this?
 |
| Yes, those are Brown. Crochet. Shorts. £36 |
I remember when Topshop used to be my first stop on Princes Street. My friends and I would excitedly swarm up the steps from the station, a giggling gaggle of hormones and pocket money.
You were the purveyor of my first pair of the finest jelly shoes. My first ever too-tight pencil skirt. My sage-green chenille cardigan that I wore with a beige v-neck t-shirt. I looked HAWT.
 |
| Trousers made from curtains! It's upcycling! Genius! £45 |
Were you always like this, and I, in my youthful naivety and chronic 1990s style-blindness, simply didn't realise? Could it be that my sparkly jelly shoes and my clunky chenille cardigan were - whisper it - not actually all that nice??
 |
| Crochet blanket fringe vest (that's its ACTUAL NAME), £32 |
No. It was never as bad as this.
So long, Topshop. It was fun while it lasted.
It's not okay.
Are you aware that your question could essentially be rephrased as, "So, having lots of unprotected sex?" or "So, you've been married for a while and still no baby - fertility problems?"
Do you *really* want to know the answer to either of those questions?
If you're my very, very good friend, and we're having a private discussion (preferably involving wine) about, say, the interaction between having children and having a career, or whether my mum being ill has affected our thinking on having children (newsflash: it kind of affects our thinking on everything, so, duh) then I'll let you away with it.
Or if you're my doctor, ok. MAYBE.
But if you're a casual acquaintance, and we're down the pub?
It's. Not. Okay.
Ever.
Ever.
Love and kisses,
Frustrated Newlywed
Image: Me, on my first day in the big proper cot that my aunty bought me. My mum says I was sort of excited and terrified at the same time. I think the face says it all.
