A Song For A Sunday Morning.

 

My younger half sister posted this song by Daughter on my older half sister’s facebook wall. It is so pretty so I stole it for you to have a listen. Enjoy.

Ode to a Haggis.

Happy Belated Burns Night everyone!

Yesterday was the wonderful Scottish holiday Burns Night, to celebrate the birthday of poet Robert Burns, in case you didn’t know. My Mum is Scottish, and my Dad will make any excuse to eat some meat, so we toasted to Burns’ poem Address to a Haggis with a glass of whisky. Then we ate a haggis. Have you tried haggis before? I have to admit I hadn’t, and the idea of eating a sheeps stomach was enough to turn mine. However, I gave it a go, and it was pretty damn tasty (if not a wee bit too spicy for me).

I keep seeing bloggers wearing tartan recently– I hope they all respected the tradition and adorned themselves for the occasion! I just went for this super cozy blanket/scarf/ cardigan thing. I don’t know what it’s called really- apart from awesome. Any suggestions?

This morning I went to the hospital for my final appointment and to hand back those crutches. The man kindly explained once more what exactly they did to me, as last time he tried to I was in recovery and was letting the anesthesia and morphine do its thang.  To be fair, hearing it completely sober didn’t enlighten me too much but I did see some pictures from inside my ankle. And he told me they drilled my bone with some fake cartilage and took all the excess scar tissue away from it. Fun, huh?

Right now I have a very important date with a cup of tea. Bye.

Boots: Barratts, Leggings and Under T-shirt: Marks and Spencer, Red Dress: Tesco, Cardigan: Gap, Blanket/Scarf/ Cardigan thing: Korean boutique.

The White Tights.

I swear there must be some kind of law about doing outfit photos during winter. Like- ‘Under no circumstances should you do it’. Instead, we could just describe what we are wearing in a sensuous and sexy way, and the reader could visualise it. Then, maybe, they could draw what they think the outfit would look like. That would be fun, wouldn’t it?

Anyway. I finished my 120 hour advanced TEFL course this week. And I got a distinction. You know what that means? I am badass and awesome very hard-working and a swot. We also accepted jobs on Jeju island. That means another year in the land of Korea and Kimchi*. I’m quite excited to live on a volcanic island really– I love lava and beaches.

Do you like my new scarf? My boyfriend’s Gran knitted for me in the colours of my favourite football (soccer) team, Aston Villa, and I love it. She is wonderful.

My sassy blogging friend Ashley from Two Eyes in the Mirror set herself a challenge to wear more of her coloured tights. I read her post and it made me smile– I have so many pairs of coloured tights and I wear them all the time. I don’t half get funny looks, but I don’t care. These white tights are from the kids section of M&S, so it’s a double win really.

Boots: Tesco, Tights: Marks and Spencer, Dress: Vera Moda, Jumper: Topshop, Scarf: Handknitted by my man’s Gran, Hat: Thrifted, Fingerless Gloves: H&M. 

 * I am allergic to spice, which has made life in Korea a bit of a challenge.

Colours of the Rainbow.

You know how cameras have a blink detector? I think I need some genius to do a stupid feet detector on my camera. Why I automatically point my feet together, I’ll never know.

I also wish I could have a wrinkle detector. You wouldn’t think at the tender age of 22 I’d have so many lines on my fore(or six)head. I tell you, before I started teaching I looked so much more youthful.

And those bags under my eyes? Seriously, I sleep about 10 hours a night. Pfft. I really need to learn how to edit my photos. Or my face.

Anyway, I digress. Life is moving very slowly at the moment. I am doing anything I can to avoid completing my online course, and the deadline is coming closer and closer. I am the Queen of procrastinating. And spending money I don’t have. Put the two together and what do you get? Online shopping. YAY.

I hope everyone is having fun on this frosty January day.

Cardigan: Primark, Dress: ASOS, Tights: Marks and Spencer, Boots: Tesco, Scarf: Korean Boutique.

On A January Day.

Hello all. I shan’t stay long as today is my boyfriend’s birthday. The big 2-6, don’t cha know. While he spends some time playing with his portable playstation (yes, I said 26) I thought I’d pop by and say hello.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Argggghhh. The mega-elipsis comes from what just happened. Said boyfriend just dropped said Playstation on my bad ankle. You know the one I just had surgery on? Yes, that one. Looks like that colourful bruising will be rearing its ugly ankle again. He’s lucky it’s his birthday and so I can’t really be mad. Excuse me while I go lay-down. Laters.

Dress: Topshop, Cardigan: Primark, Tights: Marks and Spencer, Shoes: Tesco.

Mince Pies and Long Lies.

I’m baaaaack. Awww yeah. You’ve probably been crying every night missing me since my last real post over three weeks ago. To re-cap…during that time I have:

• had ankle surgery with a lot of morphine and spent a night on a ward with a lot of snoring old ladies who had all had hip replacements.
• lost a bit of my self-respect as my man had to help me bathe with a plastic bag on my foot. Several times.
• had that violent stomach bug, which wasn’t great as I hobbled to the bathroom on crutches every half hour to vom be a bit poorly.
• had a lovely Christmas and New Year with my boyfriend’s family and mine on the respective occasions. Both of which involved minimum partying and lots of board games (which, according to news reports, was the safest place for us)
• held a flash ebay sale of a ton of my beautiful clothes which was awfully stressful and not too cleansing. Can I have my clothes back now please? Also, sorry if you saw an item you were desperate for on the e-flyer but didn’t see in the sale. Sorry, but ebay stopped us at 54 items. We actually pictured and prepared 120. If this is the case, please email me and we could sort something out separately.
• Thought about studying lots of times, but actually just ended up sitting on my bottom doing other irrelevant things.

Anyway, that period of my life is almost over – I should be signed off by the physio at the end of the month. For now, I am a lot less like bambi and I’ve given up my crutches. My boyfriend and I are trying to figure out are next move on the travel front, and heading back to South Korea for another year is looking more and more appealing. Otherwise, I’ve not much else to report. Except thanks for sticking with me. Peace.

*you may have noticed that I ate too many mince pies and roast potatoes and did approximately NO exercise in my invalid state over the past few weeks. Please do not draw attention to this. I will finish my boxes of chocolate and then get to work.

Cardigan: Dorothy Perkins, Skirt: H&M, Tights: Topshop, Boots: Tesco.

Guest Post: Two Eyes in the Mirror.

Guess who’s back for my fabulous final guest post? That’s right, the amazingly inspiring and absolutely stunning Ashley from Two Eyes in the Mirror. Final guest post, I hear you scream? I know you’re probably gutted, because that means you don’t get to know one of these amazing girls every other day of the week. Well, you know what I’d say to that? Suck it. I am off my crutches, and while my ankle might still be an interesting shade of purple, I’m ready to get my life back. Hell, today I even managed to fit a proper shoe on it for the first time in 3 weeks. Anyway. For today, Ashley has a little story for you. Enjoy.

 

My name is Ashley.  I’m a 21 year old girl, and I’ve had plastic surgery.

You might know me from my own blog, Two Eyes in the Mirror, or you may remember the series of posts I wrote earlier this year for Amy on Beauty Standards in Korea.  Well, I’m back, and I want to discuss with you a vaguely related subject, but on a much more personal level.  Let’s call it “plastic surgery and me.”  It kind of has a ring to it, no?

Wait, what? YOU’VE had plastic surgery? But aren’t you “that girl” who tells everyone to love their body as it is?

Yes I am.  And yes, I’ve had plastic surgery.  And yes, I’d totally recommend it.

I don’t understand. What kind of plastic surgery have you had? Oh, I know. Your boobs aren’t real, are they?! I KNEW IT!

Actually, my boobs are real, thank you very much.  You can tell because they aren’t situated within my collar bone.  But we’re getting off topic here.  My ears!  I had plastic surgery on my ears!

This was how I was born. No, I wasn’t born in DisneyWorld in a pair of shitty drawstring shorts, but I was born with the ears. Big ears. Dumbo ears. Whatever ears. I’d heard it all before the time I was twelve.

People can do a number on you when you’ve got the ears, and although I’ve been moderately cocky confident for most of my life, that’s one thing that always got to me, mostly because I knew it was true. The ears didn’t do anything for me. They didn’t make me cute. They didn’t make me charmingly quirky. The ears didn’t do anything but make me insecure. So I decided to change them.

Okay, so, it wasn’t as easy as all of that. It took years and years of teasing, of insecurity, and of me hating my appearance before I finally worked up the nerve to just go for it. I had a consultation appointment when I was eleven, which is the first step in the otoplasty (ear pinning) process, but I lost the nerve to go through with it after hearing that I’d have to be knocked out and wear a headband around my ears for two months after. Let’s face it–if kids are going to tease you for having big ears, they’re sure as hell not going to pass up the opportunity to make fun of you if you’re wearing a sweatband every day of the week. So I gave up on it.

For a while. And then, when I was 16, I’d had enough. I had my consultation in November. I had my pre-op physical on January 6 and my surgery three days later. I was knocked out for two hours while some guy gave my ears the antihelical folds they were missing. Then, I woke up. Then, I was told to go back to sleep because I had woken up too early. Then, I woke up again. And, after two trying months of wearing the headband, I no longer had the ears. I just had ears. And it felt good.

Maybe you’re reading this right now and you’re thinking how weak I was because I wasn’t able to accept my difference. Until you’ve been in that situation, you really can’t judge. Everyone can look in the mirror and see things they don’t like. “Ugh, look at my thighs! They’re so huge!” or “OMG. I HATE my gut!” But these are things that can be changed easily enough. You can get on the stairmaster and carve yourself out some killer thighs. You can eat nothing but soup for a week and your gut will probably be gone. But to look into the mirror, hate what you see, and know that there is no way you yourself can change it is probably one of the biggest blows to one’s psyche. To know that you could probably be an attractive, confident* person if it weren’t for one minor detail kills. It’s always hanging in the back of your mind. “Oh, I look nice today! …But I still have the ears.” I didn’t want to feel like that for the rest of my life. Who would?

If you don’t like something, you have two options: you deal with it, or you change it. Is one option better than the other? I don’t know. Everyone’s different. Do I have any regrets about having the surgery? Absolutely not. No way. That tells me I chose the right option for myself.

Me, five years later, rocking the man-made ears (and man-made hair color).

* Because let’s face it. Attractiveness and confidence are basically the same things.

Guest Post: Mademoiselle Sonushka.

Today, for the penultimate in my series of guest posts, I am welcoming the lovely Sophie-Marie. I guest blogged for her back in November, discussing my two passions, fashion and travelling, and how they hate each other. You can read that here. For now, she’ll be discussing something I really have a problem with; elegance. (I tend to over think all my outfits and it looks like a charity shop threw up on me).

Hello ladies! My name is Sophie-Marie F, I live in Washington DC and I write the blog Mademoiselle Sonushka. It is my greatest pleasure to be guest-blogging here on Fashion’s A Stranger!

Elegance. As any ideal, it is as hardly achievable as it is hard to define. We may know what it contains: a delicate balance of beauty, class, style, wit, glitz, simplicity, fanciness. Achieving elegance is the ability of finding this delicate balance and, like the perfect soup, the attempted definition is more than variable. It varies with cultures. It varies with people. It varies with eras.
Yet an elegant person strikes. Radiating perfection, she makes heads turn on her path and creates inspiration, envy, and admiration. Who is the elegant woman? She can be the courtier at Marie-Antoinette’s court, in a beautiful gown and carrying herself like a queen. She can be a woman in the 1950s or early 1960s, in the iconic Dior New Look silhouette. She can be the stylish Parisian girl, in skinny jeans, a cashmere sweater and Repetto flats, walking out of the metro with her hair flying behind her in a light cloud of Chanel perfume. She can be the celebrity on the red carpet, wearing an Elie Saab evening gown that sculpts her body to perfection. She can be the aspiring politician in Washington DC, dressed in a suit so perfectly tailored and Louboutins, and standing out from all the others, ready to get to the top. She can be this mysterious femme fatale walking alone in a bar, in a sheath dress of dark silk and a sable fur coat, ordering a martini in a dark, luscious voice like the 1930s Hollywood film stars. She can be Desperate Housewives’ one and only seemingly-perfect Bree van de Kamp (who doesn’t love her!).

No matter who the elegant woman is, details of her strike. So when one wonders how to emulate elegance, how to reach it, it is those details that should be looked at closely. Having lived myself in Paris, France, and in the French community of Washington DC, I had more than enough the opportunity to observe how French girls and women do it, for they seem to have elegance in their genes. Here’s what I found.

-          It’s in the attitude: to be an elegant girl, one must think elegant. One must have an open mind and look farther than what is popular. One must be cultivated and smart. When you are, it transcends. Be sure to have enough general culture. Learn a new language, read your classics and more, listen to opera, classic rock, anything is earlier than the last five minutes.

-          Money isn’t all: celebrities and socialites with the ghastliest tastes are only a sad proof that dressing head-to-toe in designer fashion and cosmetics doesn’t do the trick. If you wear the wrong shade of foundation, it will look horrible, whether Chanel or Cover Girl.

-          Tone it down on the labels. Shirts and clingy jewelry with the designer’s name or logo on it looks like you’re trying too hard, or that you’re desperate to flash people with your collection of designer items, and thus you have serious self-esteem issues.

-          However, quality is important. You may want to moderately invest in good basics, a nice leather bag, a beautiful piece of jewelry, a mythic perfume.

-          Introduce a little bit of luxury without breaking the bank: a cashmere sweater, a vintage silk scarf, diamond stud earrings. You can find these online or in second-hand stores if you look well enough.

-          When in doubt, start with a clean canvas: nice, fitting dark jeans, a classic white tee or a black or navy sweater or cardigan, dark leather heels or flats. In itself, it doesn’t look boring. Then accessorize moderately, keeping the outfit balanced. When in doubt, take it out.

-          Three words: little black dress. (I have so many of these in my closet!).

-          Start with simple, natural-looking make-up: foundation, concealer, (if needed), matifying powder, some blush (my favourite is Benefit Coralista), a bit of lip balm (I love Smith’s Rosebud Salve) and some mascara. Don’t bother too much with bronzer; it looks fake unless applied by a pro. Keep in mind that there shouldn’t be a drastic difference when you’re wearing make-up and when you’re not. Then add one striking element, like winged 1960s eye-liner, or red lipstick.

-          Have a signature fragrance. One that people will recognize you for. Make sure you feel yourself in it. My signature fragrance is Chanel n. 5, although I switch to Opium by Yves Saint Laurent in the winter. And obviously, don’t apply too much. It goes without saying.

-          Own a vintage piece. I own a fur coat, a few rectangular leather handbags from the early 1960s, and a lace evening dress, among others. It can be a scarf, a bag, a clothing item, a necklace, anything that you loved at first sight. Make sure it’s good quality and doesn’t smell bad.

-          Be preventive for “those days”, when you’ve been cramming all night for final exams, or you’re just tired/hangover/sick/[insert reason]. When I lived in Paris, I knew I simply couldn’t walk down the street in pajamas or sweatpants to get Chinese food (yeah, I said “those days”). I treated the problem at the core by packing dark, opaque leggings and long tee-shirts which I wore when I was home, for lounging/sleeping/studying/etc.

It can be tricky. You may try, and try too much, and look and feel like a joke. But at the end, the effort is worthwhile: not only will you get ego-flattering compliments (they’re always nice!), but you’ll feel good about yourself and more confident. Isn’t that what our individual relationship with fashion is about, after all?

As a bottom note: Amy here asked me if I could tell her readers about a frightening surgery I had. I was lucky enough never to have had major surgery yet, or broken a limb, although it’s quite miraculous because I’m quite clumsy (my friends nicknamed me Miss Catastrophe). I do hope that with all the Christmas preparations I still have to do until tonight, today won’t be the first time. I did have two teeth removed two years ago, and I remember it was extremely painful. Not to mention, the dentist, who was a family friend, kept making jokes that would have been funny in a different context, if someone else was strapped to that seat instead of me. The only positive aspects were that I got to eat tons of my favourite ice cream (peppermint and chocolate chips), and that my lips were swollen, like I always think they should be (I would have liked a little more plump). It didn’t last to the moment where I felt good enough to go out. More recently, I was at the dermatologist getting a cortisone shot (my skin tends to misbehave), and my best friend starts humming the “Jaws” theme song… Epic scary.

It was my greatest pleasure to guest-blog for Amy, and I wish you all a merry Christmas and happy holidays!

With love, S

Guest Post- The Closet Shopper.

Today my wonderfully witty and charming blogger friend Tracy from The Closet Shopper will be sharing with us how her fear became her passion.

Hi you guys. My name is Tracy from The Closet Shopper. Amy asked me to write a guest post while she’s recovering from surgery. Get well soon, my funny and stylish friend!
Amy suggested the topic of FEAR for these guest posts. Well, honey, I can definitely relate to fear. So, here’s my story.
I’ve been terrified of heights my entire life. I couldn’t walk across a bridge without having a panic attack. It was anxiety producing to even drive over a bridge. I would have to stay in the middle lane. I was too afraid of what might happen if I drove near the edge.
About seven years ago, I decided to try to deal with this fear. To face it head on. So, do you know what I did? I took a flying trapeze class. That’s right. I know! Stupid. But let me tell you what happened. I walked into the circus school and I looked up at the platform, thirty feet in the air. A very small ladder leading toward it. I couldn’t breathe. I thought, “Get me out of here. What was I thinking?” As I was thinking this, I was being inundated with rules and being fitted with a safety belt. Before I knew it I was climbing up that ladder. My knees were sweating. Standing from the perch, my breathing was shallow and I couldn’t look down. The instructor on the “board” grabbed my safety belt and led me to the trapeze bar, holding it in front of me with a hook. She told me to grab the bar. WHAT?? I don’t think so. But the only way down was to swing. They won’t let you climb back down that ladder.
I was crying and shaking but I grabbed the bar. The instructor said, “READY……HEP” and I jumped. I JUMPED. And I screamed. And I flew through the air. I was flying. And it was the most terrifying thing. And by the end of the class I was ready to make a catch. This is the most exhilarating part about flying through the air. The catch. You have to trust that the person on the other trapeze is going to grab you and not let go while they swing you through the air.
I actually made that catch. It was thrilling and freeing. It was the feeling I got from my very first catch that kept me coming back. I was hooked. Not to the adrenalin as much as to the freedom. The letting go of the fear. The trust and courage it takes to just let go completely.
Since then I’ve been addicted to the circus. I not only became a flyer, but an aerialist. I perform on the side and it’s a huge part of my life. I’ve attached a video below of me flying without safety lines. This video was taken after I became an advanced flyer. I’m also attaching photos of some of my favorite moments in the air on static trapeze and aerial tissue.
I hope you enjoyed reading about how I gained a deeper respect of heights. I can’t say I conquered my fear because it’s still very scary. But I’m working on it.

A video of Tracy at Work – How amazing??!!

2011 in Blogging…

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2011 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

The concert hall at the Syndey Opera House holds 2,700 people. This blog was viewed about 12,000 times in 2011. If it were a concert at Sydney Opera House, it would take about 4 sold-out performances for that many people to see it.

Click here to see the complete report.