28 August 2014

Corset Complex

Again, I'm manically rifling through my closet - which now pans out into the living room/kitchen territory - looking for something fresh to wear. Of course, my definition of 'fresh' remains cheekily-ambiguous and often equivalates to a new item of clothing. So after scanning my wardrobe from every possible angle, but with futile results, my eyes somehow ended reverting to my breasts, and a most titillating (lol) thought came to mind: perhaps I should wear something that highlights my breasts chest, or at least the lack of it. Oh yes, yes, yes ladies... I've taken one risk-kay step forward in sartorial-offense by provoking my way into corsets. Say whaaaa? No, say corsets! Cross calf-hair whipstitched corsets to be exact, thank you Peter Pilotto and Christopher De Vos! So much for normcore. Surprisingly, layering this hairy bodice over a buttoned shirt didn't feel as restrictive as one would've guessed, but then again I don't possess D-cup boobs that in this case would compress my lungs rendering me out of breath around Shoreditch. So there are benefits to being flat chested, I mean, I have to see the bra as half full over half empty, just basic optimism. Now with my torso delightfully styled and all my vital organs safely intact, then comes the bottoms. Personally, the only trousers that could seamlessly and unpretentiously compliment such statement upper body attire would be these vintage mom jeans, since boyfriend ones could cheat on you. I refuse to bid this summer farewell just yet, and it's still considered sandal season, so I went out and found Sally, who you know, sells seashells by the seashore. I kidnapped and forced her to sew those bloody seashells on my seashoes. Okay that doesn't make sense, I mean my sandals. So what you're seeing on my feet are the craftsmanship of Sally's slave labor, you like? At this very point, I now find myself so deeply enthralled by any tops that approximate a corset or bustier without the obvious implications of a typical bra. So besides having unresolved inferiority complexes, I've also - through no fault of my own - developed a not-so-classic case of 'corset complex', whatever that may be.

 jeans LEVI'S

20 August 2014


There isn't a day that goes by that I don't ponder about gender roles, and how much these politics have dictated my life. Only until recently, I've grown to realize how much of a lesbian I really am. Err... That's a sentence I'd never thought I'd utter. *Clears throat* Allow me to reiterate. What I meant to say is I am likened to butch lesbians in the sartorial sense where my personal style often draws upon inspirations from them. Consider frumpy trousers, unfitted men's shirts, oversize blazers, zero make up, Birkenstocks (they wore them before it was 'hip'), and anything that conceals any remnants of a chest and flatten the twins. Now add on a dash of emasculation and a half a cup of new-world feminist beliefs and you got yourself one cool bitch you're willing sell your left kidney to hang with and start a gurl band in Dalston. As well as wanting so desperately to partake in women's trends without completely compromising my male identity (what's left of it), I chose to be a tomboy, a boy-tomboy. So this outfit pretty much sums up how I usually feel most at ease in. Most of life's problems can be settled by wearing baggy dress shirts, don't quote me on that. And when you throw on some pompom embellishments around my armpits, I can never resist. Then of course the bottoms that summed up this summer, le culottes... Always high waisted, A-lined and flared, showing just the right amount of anklage to waddle in! I think I speak for all of us when I say thank you Mr. Konrad Birkenstock of the Birkenstock franchise for his 'corky' contribution. Hence I shall pair this look with white birks (ironically not by Birkenstock) to stay both street-kewl and temperature-cool in this muthafuckin' summer heat.


11 August 2014

Ahoy Breton!

As I open a wardrobe full of clothes - perhaps even overfilled -  I proposed the inevitable statement: I have absolutely nothing to wear... I need new clothes (insert sympathy here). On days like this, I make a beeline for a white tee as the ideal styling foundation. Unfortunately all my white tees are inconveniently preoccupied in my washer, ridding themselves of summer sweat stains (I perspire so profusely it's medically fascinating). In this case, I opt for the next best unpretentious, trusty upper body piece; say ahoy to the breton shirt! As much as I'd love to werq this french-navy striped top as well as the likes of Taylor Tomasi-Hill, or Alexa Chung in her dopey dungaree-cut-offs paired with those long ass legs, I'd have to settle for an alternate updated spin, something a bit more nautical that can persuade even the biggest of boat-haters to sing an old sea shanty. There's no better time than now to strip off and stripe on! Here, I went for an oversized, extra large men's breton shirt since Sacai ones were sold out, with some obligatory white denim trows that's basically now remarried to this top. Then, we swing on a red purse with foulard accoutrement, in case we ever feel like turning that into a sweat band that conveniently masquerades as a bandana. Next, the novelty footwear which comes in a Sicilian-printed canvas material in the form of a humble low-heel. But the accessory swag award surprisingly does not go to the cat-eyed skull-floral trimmed shades or the novelty shoe, but to the starry number here on my wrist which, like many of my accessories masquerades itself as something else. As for this instance, what may seem like a piece of designer jewelry, once undone, instantly reveals its true identity: a modern mini-medieval mace. Fear me as I swing this spiky-mace bracelet (macelet) as I make my way through the crowds. Protect the children! Alright, alright... I've apparently digressed way off from the nautical theme I initially tried to stick to, but I still feel I'm ready to sail the high seas in this confusing ensemble. Just imagine having me on board... not being able to tell the difference between port and starboard, consuming all the emergency rations for no reason, whilst unpredictably flinging my macelet at the captain. #AbandonShip!

sunglasses KAREN WALKER | top TOPMAN | jeans J BRAND | sandals DOLCE & GABBANA | purse PERCHÉ | necklace KURSHUNI | bracelet DRIES VAN NOTEN

04 August 2014

Hawt Diggity

I'm sort of dressed in way like my arms decided to fuck the dress code and get high on acid but still end up attending the all-white party as if nothing was wrong. Every party needs some of those people just to make it slightly off-beat, like sprinkling a little salt into your chocolate milk, or dipping McDonald's fries into ice-cream. Currently, it's so bloody hot I had to emphasize it by altering said word signifying it's magnitude, rendering it as 'hawt', dayyuuum! Which leaves me no choice but to only accept thin crispy white cotton-piqué tops as upper body coverage. Listen up! All crop tops move to the front of the line, anything else please wait until September (if skirt-shorts are skorts, are crop-tops trops? How many hashtags will it take to make it 'a thing'?). I swear I'm thiiiiiiiis close to just wrapping myself up in a bath towel as a sarong. But let's not forgo all sense of personal style just yet, observe as I pair such a top with some textured high-waisted trapeze shorts to highlight my pelvis and provide easier breeze access. And as if double-whammy wrist-bandanies weren't superfluous enough, let's go right ahead and put on tweed leather gloves with painted pearls because my mother always said it's rude to arrive 'empty-handed' at a social gathering, particularly when food is involved (I might have took that too literally). So just in case the foulard bracelets and hand condoms still weren't enough, I also settled for a speech bubble clutch, a novelty I picked up to break the ice; literally, since I was told there'd be an ice sculpture of sorts? ...Okay, now about the shoes, perhaps one should always shave their legs before baring such hairy limbs in such elegant footwear; but I thought these days it's all about blatantly looking carefree, so I went with it and took the whole 'effortlessness' deal literally (again) and put NO effort in grooming. Don't be shy, go ahead and brush my calves, they're prickly fuzzy. #DanceWithMe!


Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...