Turning 26 is a wonderous thing.
OK, OK, the Wrinkle of Incredulity on my forehead is deepening; I’ve got some fine lines growing around my eyes. My knees make that wet-cardboard creaky sound, and I’m doing lots more ‘reflective listening’ at noisy pubs, clubs and house parties. Not because I’ve become mature and wise and patient, but because I can’t actually hear what’s being said (years of earphone abuse), so I settle for ‘mm hmms’, ‘oh’s’ and what I hope is a thoughtful expression.
But back to what’s wonderous about being 26.
Being 26 means that I’ve been an Adult Woman, physiologically at least, for ten years, and have a wardrobe that is well established enough that I can pull together pieces that are, to borrow Maggie Alderson’s term, ‘Vintage Me’.
‘Vintage Me’ means clothes and accessories you’ve had for many a moon. ‘Vintage Me’, in my book, carries the ultimate styling cred. Why? Well, not only were you spectacularly chic, you are, still, spectacularly chic, AND had the foresight to keep great pieces even when they weren’t trending.
Basically, ‘Vintage Me’ = Swag + +
Particularly when the ‘Vintage me’ piece has swag already. Enter my two pairs of Doc Martin Kicks.
I bought my kicks when I started college (year 11 and 12, to all you non-ACT peeps). My college didn’t have a uniform, and, as such, 2003 was a great year for me, stylistically. My crew were rolling an early 90s look (and our own cigarettes) long before it was cool to do so.
(Insert your favorite hipster insult here)
My first pair of kicks – the classic Doc Martin boot, in an abstract black and white printed leather, purchased at Redpaths in Garema Place – were a momentous purchase, my first steps into the grungy look that would see me wear corsets, crochet cardigans, and torn, graffiti'd jeans to school.
Those kicks, along with the cherry red pair my parents bought me for Christmas, were my footwear of choice through 2003 and 2004, and well into my first year at uni. During the middle of my degree, my look took a turn towards the ladylike: my kicks were replaced by the highest of heels (my favorites: pale blue crushed velvet, gold trim, channeling Marie Antoinette). Moving out of home into cold, draughty houses and flats, I grew to love knee high boots, in all their manifestations: flat, heeled, elasticated, zippered.
Now, as a Young Professional (worst term ever – blergh) I’ve come to appreciate a Sensible Pump and Ballet Flat on a 9-5, Monday to Friday basis. But on my weekends, I’m all about putting the Sensible Pumps and Ballet Flats on one side, embracing my inner rebel and kicking it to the man - at least until 8am on Monday.
And there’s no better shoe for kicking it to the man than kicks. Particularly when said kicks are ten years old, and still kicking on.
Showing posts with label Experimental. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Experimental. Show all posts
Saturday, April 27, 2013
Saturday, September 22, 2012
Cellulite: Not a Problem, Just a Solution Waiting to Happen
Cellulite. An ugly word for an even uglier phenomena. I’ve denied its existence this winter (the magic of America Apparel tights) but, as the days get longer and hemlines get shorter, denying the dimple is nigh on impossible.
I can’t, I won’t, accept what science tells me: that cellulite is always with us. I hope, I believe, that cellulite is not a problem, just a solution waiting to happen.
(And, yes, in case you were wondering, I’m a glass half full girl. For instance, I really, truly, believe that one day Julia Gillard and Tony Abbot will admit that they’re passionately, deeply, sexually-magnetically-pheremonically in love. The last three years of parliamentary debate? That wasn’t well informed political discussion. That was foreplay. DURH!).
In addition to my usual I-suppose-I-should behaviours of walking lots, going to the gym, not smoking - massive sadness - and eating all the good things (behaviours which are supposed to help say kthxbai to cellulite), I’m going to have a go at some possible cellulite solutions.
And, because I’m all about the caring and sharing, I’m going to run a series of posts on the efficacy of said solutions in removing thigh wobble, ass jiggle, and general unattractive lower body dimpling.
I could tell you what I’m thinking of trying, but I won’t, because that would spoil the fun. But I will share with you, this week, the first possible cellulite solution in my series of experiments.
Believing that classics are thus for a reason, I started with a product that, whilst not explicitly marketed as a treatement for cellulite, has a high impact factor in key discussions around cellulite solutions. That product is Palmer’s Cocoa Butter.
I bought some last Friday at Coles. In the interests of declaring experimental biases, my first impressions of Palmer’s Cocoa Butter were that the retro-cool packaging evokes a hard working authenticity. There is an air of: this is a product that works, without illustrations of remorselessly blasted fat cells to prove it.
Upon first application, a few principal advantages of Palmer’s Cocoa Butter emerged:
• it smells like chocolate;
• if you apply enough of it, you, too, will smell like chocolate:
• you can get it at Coles;
• it costs less than $10 a bottle; and
• it comes in a pump pack. (I always opt for the pump rather than the squeeze when it comes to beauty products. Every second counts when you run as late as I frequently do).
One week into the experiment, there is a general increase in thigh and bottom smoothness. While the cellulite is stilla problem a solution waiting to happen, its incidence has decreased.
Arguably, an uncontrolled variable could be skewing these results. The increase in smoothness could be attributed to the strong, circular motions used to apply Palmer’s (it’s thick, you really have to work it in). Extensive literature published in reputable journals - Cleo, Cosmo, Marie Claire - suggests massage as an effective anti-cellulite intervention.
Confounding factors and alternate solutions will, of course, be explored in further experimental research.
Which means: watch this space, beauty geeks.
I can’t, I won’t, accept what science tells me: that cellulite is always with us. I hope, I believe, that cellulite is not a problem, just a solution waiting to happen.
(And, yes, in case you were wondering, I’m a glass half full girl. For instance, I really, truly, believe that one day Julia Gillard and Tony Abbot will admit that they’re passionately, deeply, sexually-magnetically-pheremonically in love. The last three years of parliamentary debate? That wasn’t well informed political discussion. That was foreplay. DURH!).
In addition to my usual I-suppose-I-should behaviours of walking lots, going to the gym, not smoking - massive sadness - and eating all the good things (behaviours which are supposed to help say kthxbai to cellulite), I’m going to have a go at some possible cellulite solutions.
And, because I’m all about the caring and sharing, I’m going to run a series of posts on the efficacy of said solutions in removing thigh wobble, ass jiggle, and general unattractive lower body dimpling.
I could tell you what I’m thinking of trying, but I won’t, because that would spoil the fun. But I will share with you, this week, the first possible cellulite solution in my series of experiments.
Believing that classics are thus for a reason, I started with a product that, whilst not explicitly marketed as a treatement for cellulite, has a high impact factor in key discussions around cellulite solutions. That product is Palmer’s Cocoa Butter.
I bought some last Friday at Coles. In the interests of declaring experimental biases, my first impressions of Palmer’s Cocoa Butter were that the retro-cool packaging evokes a hard working authenticity. There is an air of: this is a product that works, without illustrations of remorselessly blasted fat cells to prove it.
Upon first application, a few principal advantages of Palmer’s Cocoa Butter emerged:
• it smells like chocolate;
• if you apply enough of it, you, too, will smell like chocolate:
• you can get it at Coles;
• it costs less than $10 a bottle; and
• it comes in a pump pack. (I always opt for the pump rather than the squeeze when it comes to beauty products. Every second counts when you run as late as I frequently do).
One week into the experiment, there is a general increase in thigh and bottom smoothness. While the cellulite is still
Arguably, an uncontrolled variable could be skewing these results. The increase in smoothness could be attributed to the strong, circular motions used to apply Palmer’s (it’s thick, you really have to work it in). Extensive literature published in reputable journals - Cleo, Cosmo, Marie Claire - suggests massage as an effective anti-cellulite intervention.
Confounding factors and alternate solutions will, of course, be explored in further experimental research.
Which means: watch this space, beauty geeks.
Friday, June 15, 2012
In the interests of transparency…
Sartorial experimentation is a wonderful thing. At best, you discover new and different ways of dressing, and therefore being, that you very much like.
At worst, you look like an idiot. Which, incidentally, also has a transformative effect on your way of being – humility is hard to come by any other way.
Of late, my sartorial experiments have involved a headlong dive into what I like to term High Casual. High Casual involves jeans, looser tee shirts and jumpers, and cardigans, but with understated jewellery, a subtle colour palette, and classically shaped bags and shoes.
High Casual is a little early 80s Slone Ranger - a look for which I’ve always had a bit of a soft spot – and a whole lot of it’s-the-weekend-and-I-refuse-to-think-about-anything-more-serious-than-my-next-e-purchase-of-american-apparel-tights.
In short, it’s a highly enjoyable way of being.
But, I’m one of those restless types, which means I stride, some would say fecklessly, toward further experimental modifications.
My forays into High Casual are no exception to further experimentation. Keeping everything else Slone-y and respectable, I’ve lately taken to flashing a bit of bra, and not via the usual accidental flashpoints of low necklines and flimsy shouldering.
No, my bra flashing has been of the intentional variety. I have been deliberately pairing a coloured bra under a light, semi-transparent tee or jumper. For example: royal blue lace Marks and Spencers bra/white linen blend Country Road tee shirt.
I readily confess mixed feelings about this increasing transparency (see above statement C/F risking idiocy).
On the one hand, I like the fact that there’s subversion here. An otherwise respectable outfit is roughed up a little, and I do love a bit of ruggedness to keep things interesting. There’s also something aesthetically and ideologically pleasing about the practice of exposing layers, an implicit acknowledgement that clothing, and life, is complicated. Less esoterically, peaches are best enjoyed when they are ripe, and I’m only going to be 25 once. These are The Years where, rightly or wrongly, I can Get Away With It.
On the other hand, I wonder if exposed underwear, in any context, is ever OK. How is intentional exposure through a flimsy tee or jumper any less exhibitionistic, obvious and déclassé, than exposure via a plunging neckline, a practice which I outgrew a long time ago? More worryingly, could my sartorial transparency cause offense to the general population?
I’ve spent the best part of this evening turning these questions over in my mind, seeing how they look in different lights. I’m still no closer to a definitive set of findings from my experimental research. But, transparency, and all the issues it brings to light, can wait for some other time. It’s Friday, the weekend is just beginning, and it’s time for all of us to enter a state of being where we think upon nothing more serious than our next e-purchases of American Apparel tights (or events that give you equivalent enjoyment).
At worst, you look like an idiot. Which, incidentally, also has a transformative effect on your way of being – humility is hard to come by any other way.
Of late, my sartorial experiments have involved a headlong dive into what I like to term High Casual. High Casual involves jeans, looser tee shirts and jumpers, and cardigans, but with understated jewellery, a subtle colour palette, and classically shaped bags and shoes.
High Casual is a little early 80s Slone Ranger - a look for which I’ve always had a bit of a soft spot – and a whole lot of it’s-the-weekend-and-I-refuse-to-think-about-anything-more-serious-than-my-next-e-purchase-of-american-apparel-tights.
In short, it’s a highly enjoyable way of being.
But, I’m one of those restless types, which means I stride, some would say fecklessly, toward further experimental modifications.
My forays into High Casual are no exception to further experimentation. Keeping everything else Slone-y and respectable, I’ve lately taken to flashing a bit of bra, and not via the usual accidental flashpoints of low necklines and flimsy shouldering.
No, my bra flashing has been of the intentional variety. I have been deliberately pairing a coloured bra under a light, semi-transparent tee or jumper. For example: royal blue lace Marks and Spencers bra/white linen blend Country Road tee shirt.
I readily confess mixed feelings about this increasing transparency (see above statement C/F risking idiocy).
On the one hand, I like the fact that there’s subversion here. An otherwise respectable outfit is roughed up a little, and I do love a bit of ruggedness to keep things interesting. There’s also something aesthetically and ideologically pleasing about the practice of exposing layers, an implicit acknowledgement that clothing, and life, is complicated. Less esoterically, peaches are best enjoyed when they are ripe, and I’m only going to be 25 once. These are The Years where, rightly or wrongly, I can Get Away With It.
On the other hand, I wonder if exposed underwear, in any context, is ever OK. How is intentional exposure through a flimsy tee or jumper any less exhibitionistic, obvious and déclassé, than exposure via a plunging neckline, a practice which I outgrew a long time ago? More worryingly, could my sartorial transparency cause offense to the general population?
I’ve spent the best part of this evening turning these questions over in my mind, seeing how they look in different lights. I’m still no closer to a definitive set of findings from my experimental research. But, transparency, and all the issues it brings to light, can wait for some other time. It’s Friday, the weekend is just beginning, and it’s time for all of us to enter a state of being where we think upon nothing more serious than our next e-purchases of American Apparel tights (or events that give you equivalent enjoyment).
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