My Fashionable Life!

A family friend once predicted that he would see my name up in lights. At the time I was eight years old and heavily into music and drama, and similar to many of my peers I dreamed of superstardom. Several years on, as I sat typing my first article for a student newspaper, I saw that my life was literally at the tips of my fingers. From that moment on, my love of writing dominated my ambitions, and like legendary English novelist, Rosamond Lehmann, I felt ‘destined’ to write. So I informed my family friend that he would indeed see my name, though contrary to his earlier prophecy it would be in print.



Having overcome the now prerequisite of childhood, divorce, I used it to my advantage - instead of dwelling on the unfortunate circumstances, I acknowledged the subsequent strength that it had instilled in me. This, together with my mother’s advice to be assertive, pushed me to pursue my goals. And so, armed with an extensive list of numbers and email addresses, I embarked on my mission to conquer the journalistic Holy Grail of “work experience”. I arrived at one of my first placements, Executive Woman magazine, to find a tiny, cluttered office; a place that would turn out to be a fundamental stepping-stone for my career, as three weeks turned into an ongoing freelance position. I devoured every morsel of advice that my editor offered up and let myself loose on the world to question a veritable array of important matters, such as, why the way you dress can determine your vocation and how to enliven your car using the principles of feng-shui! I was sent on press trips and encountered pampering at luxury spas in Denmark, nouveau cuisine in London and was introduced to designers and front row seating at fashion shows in France.

Realising my obsession with fashion was more than a girlie rite of passage into sophisticated womanhood; I applied to do a course in Fashion Journalism at the London College of Fashion. (Proximity to Bond Street - a definite bonus!) I look to life experience to fuel my writing. On July 7, 2005 - I was en route to an exhibition of diamonds at the Natural History Museum and found myself caught up in an event, which rocked London and realigned my perspectives. My train stopped short of the city and was evacuated of all passengers. My boyfriend (now husband) was in Birmingham at the time and all he could think of was getting to me as quickly as possible.

Reunited that evening we assessed the vulnerable and fallible state of the world and took comfort in the solidity of one another. It is important to know that you are heading towards a definite place, and this is what encourages me in my determination to succeed. I secured a place at the London College of Printing to do a Masters in Journalism. But, this was not before I left an indelible impression on an interview panel at another London University, who were left speechless after I handed them my portfolio cuttings, together with a stray condom from my bag - courtesy of the fresher’s pack I had been handed on my arrival! I eagerly anticipate the challenges that await me and just as I defied my vertigo with a terrifying yet exhilarating bungee jump off a New Zealand canyon, likewise, I will meet every future obstacle head on. That jump, has taught me that I hold the power to determine my fate. Sometimes, you just have to take a leap of faith.

What style means to me…

When I grow up I want to be… stylish? Most young girls’ aspirations revolve around popularity, potential superstardom and fairytale endings with their prince charming. Mine were a tad more tangible. I wanted to be a writer, so I made myself a writer. I wanted to have curly hair, so I teased, tamed and tormented my waves into pre-Raphaelite glory. I wanted a style all my own…

…so this is me. Today. Lamé purple leggings. A pink tutu. A cropped tee over a black body. A satin pink bow decorating auburn curls. And my prized pair of purple DMs.

Another idealistic ‘80s fanatic you might think. But my style is about more than what I wear.

Style pieces itself together gradually, garnering elements from one ensemble or another, fads, fashions and phases. And though it may not be discernable as one stumbles through puberty and teen angst, a style all your own is being woven into the fabric of your being.

I have been channelling Eighties chic for years, through a vestige of big hair, leggings, and brightly coloured ensembles constructed in a bid to emulate my ‘80s icons. Born in 1985, my style inspiration derives from the quirky individuality of Molly Ringwald, Madonna and Mary Stuart Masterson.

As children, my brother and I would play dress-up, raiding the “fancy dress” hamper stored in the bottom of my mother’s closet. The floral leggings and oversized sweatshirts we donned were remnants of a fashion age that would shape the woman I grew up to be. I must have intrinsically known that I was a born devotee to the era of excess, as many items found their way into my wardrobe and stayed there, resisting the many desperate ‘clear-out’ attempts by my mother.

I spent my early teen years trawling through markets for vintage finds and reworking garments to achieve my longed-for ‘80s look. So much so that one Christmas evening, I abandoned the traditional movie and mellowing to create my own adaptation of a Katherine Hamnett slogan tee.

The ‘80s was defined by a generation of young men and women attempting to discover who they were and express their individuality. More than that, though, the big, bold ‘80s silhouette was a nod to tough times gone by and a means of armour with which to face the world. Having always been naturally drawn to excessorising myself with ‘80s trends, I grew to understand that my clothes served to simultaneously convey who I was while shielding me from the painful and difficult events in my life.

From my parents’ divorce in the early nineties and my father’s subsequent exodus to New Zealand, to the passing of my beloved Grandfather last year, I have modelled my wardrobe around my feelings. I surround myself with clothes and accessories that evoke a time I recall mainly via family photos and home videos, but one that fills me with happiness.

From a young age I developed a self-reliance and control that enabled me to deal with the loss, the hurt and the utter chaos that other people create. I realised I was the only person I could rely on. I wanted to be sure of who I was and what I was going to do with my life. My fashion sense and personal style derived from wanting to look different from everyone else. I wanted a style of my own. I didn’t want my fashion choices to be dictated by the fluctuating and fickle trends barometer.

Coco Chanel once said, “Fashion is not something that exists in dresses only. Fashion is in the sky, in the street, fashion has to do with ideas, the way we live, what is happening.” Fashions evolve as we do, and so too our style punctuates each stage of our journey through life. Once we recognise this fact, we stop surrendering to passing trends and learn about who we are.

It is easy to mistake style as only belonging to the striking glamazons who stalk the runways at fashion shows and the girls we know, who seem to have everything. They appear to conjure this flair as though out of thin air, while we trip over countless fashion faux pas in an effort to achieve it.

At times, growing up, I felt I lacked this quintessential element of sophistication that was their key to success. I observed my peers’ effortless style, presumably thanks to wealthy parents, and I yearned for the insider knowledge that would instil me with that same “je ne sais quoi”.

Living vicariously through the fashions exhibited on cult shows including Sex and the City and Gossip Girl you can lose sight of your own style and look to adopt something else. I considered imitating the polished elegance of a Charlotte York or a Blair Waldorf, but ultimately I knew that wasn’t really me.

The high street continues to celebrate the 1980s revival and I have plundered my bank account to indulge my obsession, forgoing reason in a mad panic to buy before the retailers refresh their stock with the next fashion phase.

Yves Saint Laurent said: “Fashions fade, style is eternal.” My style equates to my history, the richness of it embedded in every memory, every event I have experienced and every moment yet to come. It is what makes me who I am. And to me, that is what style is supposed to be: a window through which the outside world can look in and see ‘the real me’.