the devil is a teeze, and the lady is a vamp

 It's been a little break I've taken from Devilishly Pleasurable, the clocks have adjusted, and in the thick of an extremely busy week leading up to a huge make-or-break event for me, I have fallen sick. My head is in the clouds and everything is dancing. Which is really bad news. Once every few days, the devil standing on my left shoulder whispers into my ear, "Blog! Those shoes!" and then the angel standing on the other coos, "Blog! Those shoes!". And so I've caved in while sniffing away. So yes, Those Shoes. Bordello Teeze in red and white polkadots. The most comfortable six-inches I have ever worn-- after all they are made for dancers (whilst I pretend that I am one).

One Thursday night D told me about some event called Lock In At The Rock Inn and I said, "ooh I can dress up!".

"That's what I told the friend who recommended me, 'The girl would be so excited to dress up!' ". And dress up I did. This beautiful vintage dress I got from Cambridge but had never worn thus far got belted up with my mom's awesome soft red leather belt. But prior to that, I had wandered into a shop and found a black bob wig which looks a little like the pink one Denise wore for Halloween. And I danced around the flat pretending to look like Catherine Zeta-Jones in Chicago, stuffing my thick crown of hair into it. Recently, too, we stumbled upon this brand of feather eyelashes called Stargazer. If you thought that my previous feather eyelash exploits were mad enough, this brand carries those with enough flamboyance to end all flamboyance. Although the base is a little flimsy, the lashes are SO huge I feel like there's a glamorous arachnid on my eyelids, flanked by sparkly gold tips. Funnily enough, the extra-large eyes as a result, coupled with the bob makes me look so much younger, and friendlier for a change. .  With yet another new face, I told the lucky devil he had a new girlfriend for the night. Normally he calls me P44124, P92738 (kinda like Stargate planet addresses haha) and then that night we reverted to my real name, for a change.

 

 

 

Strangely enough, the contrasting Flower Of Life pattern tights from Pamela Mann (which he picked out) worked wickedly with the shoes. It was an experiment-- as was the contrasting of the blue with the red-- and I accessorised with some diamond stud earrings, a large gold necklace and a red Diva fabric rose ring, before slipping on a red trench coat and a quilted Chanel handbag. Off and ready for the night! Unfortunately, the event was extremely bizarre and it was slightly discomforting when people started asking me, "Are you going up to perform?". Still, we had a good time chatting over drinks after the event, and then headed back into Brighton town proper for some live music. . And of course, D had taken me more amazing photographs I was drooling over. .

 

Meanwhile in some underground bar, some girl came over and asked to take photographs of my legs/shoes because she was rather amazed by it. Actually the whole night, I was approached by many girls regarding my shoes/tights/wig (shiny hair!)/feather eyelashes, and I had to explain that I went to some event earlier on. And that I don't normally walk around looking like that (even if that isn't necessarily a bad thing). So she happily snapped away, and took some for D and myself. Following which I became trigger-happy documenting my shoes too. .

 "This is like some CSI crime scene shot with a disembodied leg"-- D. Hah!

And of course I have to thank D for helping me decide on the colour of the shoes. I was having a tussle between black/white and red/white, where this Rational Practical Self keeps telling me I need practical shoes (or at least practical colours) because once in a while do I look at all my shoes and realise I have no practical ones save for knee-high walking boots. And he convinced me to accept my Real Love for the red/white pair. . which I keep prancing about it indoors. Hey, it's my first pair of new shoes in more than half a year. . and also a reward for an entire week of non-stop hard work earlier this month :)

I hope to be able to drop by your sites when the mayhem of this week (and the illness) blows over. . Have a glorious week ahead xxx

do you hear the people sing

D and I found this pair of Wartime Secretary Pants during the Zara sale and I had to try it on because it was so cheap. It fit like a glove so I bought it, but unfortunately they ran of sizes for the matching jacket. We then discussed a French Resistance look-- I think he gets the kicks out of all the different looks that I like playing around with. And I remembered I have a green beret, bought years ago from ASOS, that I knew I would wear someday, and lo and behold, it's gone one full circle and has been used in the UK itself.

My mother's gorgeous red pussybow top was kidnapped by me. . and I've worn it quite a few times over here. It's so soft and silky, and it fits very well-- I love its classic look. Of course you'll need more red here, so on goes Chanel Passion slicked on the lips, and the red Dolce & Gabanna pumps which I wear everywhere. Other items are: vintage gold earrings (Mom's); Diva ring; long black satin gloves; green Miu Miu bag; green ASOS wool beret.

 

 

And somehow everytime I think of Revolution or Resistance, I think of El Che and his fighting spirit (I named my cat after him, unfortunately he turned out to be a bit Sissy-ish, so I now call him Ernesto Che not-Guevara) and how sexy he looked smoking his pipe. Someone used to laugh at me for 'liking dead men' but I think he was just jealous. Lol. I think of The Boxer Rebellion. I also think of May 1968 even though I was only born in '86. And then I also have the song Do You Hear The People Sing from Les Miserables blasting in my head, getting all roused up. That's one of my favourite songs, I think I once shocked my mom one night when she came downstairs to see me all engrossed in that song which I play on some nights. If you have seen how Alex DeLarge looks all musically-intoxicated everytime he listens to Ludwig van in A Clockwork Orange, that's the effect Do You Hear has on me. One day I really must go watch Les Miserables, having read Hugo's amazing piece many times over, crippled my fingers practicing the pieces on my piano when I was much younger, God I love the story and music.

Have a fabulous weekend! x

morphing chameleon

I think I experienced some metamorphosis of sorts at the end of 2002. Since then I have always been told that my face is always changing, which I never realised until I started taking photographs with a vengeance. D says he gets confused sometimes, "It's like you come out of somewhere and you become another person altogether", swearing that even my mouth changes when I so much as remove my glasses." Sometimes he makes it sound like I have an assortment of facial parts that I can remove and wear at will like false eyelashes. It is quite hilarious, and he'll label each look "Girlfriend 75", "Girlfriend 483", etcetera. I actually enjoy this constant change in the face, and play it up with makeup. Here's eight faces in the last three weeks. .

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The Assassin, of which the word's etymology is derived from "Hashashin", a Nizari branch active in Iran from the 8th to 14th centuries. I've met at least ten people who've told me unanimously I look  like an assassin, especially when I'm in my Spygirl getup of tight black jeans and long black top, complete with boots with shiny buckles. Someday if I ever write a novel inspired by my days as a private investigator, that will be the cover look. Even D's friend thinks I look like a ninja assassin. There are two assassin looks though, even if both have a general uniform of black-- one has hair bunned into a high ballerina knot, an evil stare and nude lips. In that look, I remember how when I used to tutor or handle animal adoptions, suddenly my student/client would burst out, "Miss do you know who is Tomb Raider? I think you look like Tomb Raider". This one requires bold red lips, hair let down, fake bangs, and loads of mascara.

Photo taken on a Saturday night during an Italian dinner following which two mad drunk women were making a ruckus and were hauled out. Drama for that night.

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What I do best-- The Cheeky Face. Probably how I look like on most days-- hair messily knotted up, lips au naturel, and a light wash of eye shadow. Complete with The Most Vocal Cat In The World who loves to scream in photographs. God I miss her!

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Tuesday's face. I woke up looking a bit Oriental, which doesn't always happen. Since I was 17, I realise a rather annoying pick-up line is, "Are you mixed. No you can't be Chinese". Some even fought with me insisting that I'm not, which gets me really upset because I know what I am, thank you very much. Then from University onwards, I got accosted by "Hello, are you foreigner" and had to insist that I am born and bred in Singapore-- as though I would lie about that! It got so bad that I started biting back, "have you ever seen a foreigner in your life?", I can't help having a Question Mark Ethnic Face. My father has really tiny eyes with a single eyelid (and no eyelashes, as I like to tease him) and my mother has thick double eyelids. Somehow I came out with thin double eyelids and long lower eyelashes (that's from my maternal grandmother) but the biggest eyes in the family. In fact they even used to bulge a little probably due to early myopia my father would joke that if I kept progressing towards looking like a goldfish he'd put me in a tank, which scared the hell out of me. Lol. On some days my eyes look smaller than usual, so I play them down even more. All that's needed is pale eyeshadow, a thick line of liquid eyeliner with a Cleopatra flick, two coats of mascara, some blush, and nude lips. And maybe a pearl earring.

Looking a bit Oriental does scare me a little here at times. You walk down the streets and people go in some odd sing-song voice, "Heeeello, Orieeental", and then they think you can't speak English at all. Or worse would be people calling you "Suki", telling you "Mushi mushi" or "You're the first Japanese I've seen all day" which really makes my blood boil because no, I'm not Japanese. I even remembered arguing with some guy in Melbourne who insisted I am Japanese and kept asking me about cherry blossoms when I kept insisting I'm from Singapore and am ethnically Chinese. I speak three Chinese languages-- as though I wouldn't know what I am. Pffft. As you can probably guess, I have strange encounters with people, including having to insist on what my ethnicity is.

 

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Wednesday's face. Looking a bit more like my regular face again, i.e. the face I know and see most of the time. Although D would tell you there is no such thing, I insist there is. One slight wash of eyeshadow, and clear lipbalm, and I'm no longer the girl I was yesterday. With this face I get less people accosting me for reasons of playing Guess Your Ethnicity game. Really, sometimes I think people are too free. But I will shut up now. Not going to complain about people too much. 

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The deceptive faux sweet girl face a.k.a. butter wouldn't melt in your mouth. That name also made up by D, whenever I insist I look innocent. Taken in Singapore, based on this post. Makeup here requires loads of dark washes of eyeshadow blended meticulously together, some liquid eyeliner, three coats of mascara on the curled-to-death upper and lower lashes, NARS blush, and nude lipgloss. Sometimes I am amazed at how friendly I can look, because I like to insist there is not a single sweet bone in me.

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Bold lips from my Polesque Cabaret night. The general look here is red/maroon lips (or purple if I want to look like a Demonness or Vampiress), loads of dark washes of eyeshadow and boldy-lined eyes, and highlighter on my cheekbones. Generally involves feather eyelashes too. Also one of my favourite looks,  and a little like my Vintage Pin Up Girl look.

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This would be the Cyber Gamergirl look, where I feel like I've just emerged from a computer game. I love computer games, except that the moment I start playing I won't stop until I reach the highest levels or break my old records, which translates to a most almighty waste of time. The look here is nude matt lips, cheekbone highlighter, high hair and fake bangs. Eyes are done with loads of gold and Mermaid shades of teal, green, aqua, and sea foam, before lining them very boldly with a mixture of liquid and gel eyeliner. Accessorised here with the Upper Echelons necklace that I made

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Another nude matte lips look, with colourful eyes, involving shades of gold, green, blue and purple, many coats of mascara, and kohl eyeliner. Complete with blusher. Colourful eyes always make me feel like a peacock (although technically peahens are plain), and I love this t-shirt with a rather naughty-looking girl illustrated on it.

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 Hope you're having an awesome midweek so far, and thanks for all the sweet comments on the previous post! xxx

the vampiress' tale

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Sometimes I wonder how bad can I get. These shots were taken eons ago, on the day I caved in to expensive haircuts in the UK and snipped off part of my thick locks since they were driving me crazy. The hair stylist (a really nice girl!) decided to give me a volumising-cum-straightening blowdry, which I had to take photographs of, because it's not everyday that my hair is straight. Walking back from the pub, I told D I wanted Vampire Shots, because of The Vampire Lipstick (also seen here). So he directed me to the dilapidated-looking estate (well, it looks like that in the dark), turned on the flash, took about ten shots and ran off before anyone could see us. Today I decided to atone for my badness and am hence posting another one, complete with some story I conjured. I've been awake for 17 hours, and am about to run off for the weekend. Happy weekend everybody xxx

Henne red cashmere coat; Dolce & Gabanna shoes; thrifted mini skirt; Mango top; no brand black tights; Diva ring; Marble Ink black leather bag.

if love were liquid it would drown me. .

"Who knew heaven was in Singapore?" fellow fashion blogger Serene a.k.a. The Elegant Bohemian quipped in response to one of my responses about a chocolate buffet in my tag post here many weeks ago. Forgive my tardiness in posting it up-- there's hell alot of photographs since it's a monumental thing where your camera is saturated with shots everytime you go there. Yes, I have been there several times, the first time when I was eighteen with The Best Friend. Ever since then, I've always brought someone there for their first time, it's as though I am some sort of Chocolate Buffet Induction Extraordinaire a.k.a. I Who Lead Thee Into Chocolate And Vanity Temptation. This time, when I went back to Singapore for a holiday a few months back, I brought my very good friend Vee over for her virgin Chocolate Buffet Session. .

fuchsia sari on a waxwork flowerchild

I was doing up my proofreading/writing/CV doctor portfolio site*, a project I've procrastinated on since forever when I realised, 'Oh, there have hardly been any outfit shots on the blog!' And wait a minute, even though I haven't been taking loads since I moved to Brighton (no idea why), there are still so many sitting happily in my expanded hard disk drive. So have I vowed to start posting outfit shots more regularly-- not forgetting those others I have been meaning to write up on-- and possibly even summery shots as a visual respite from the blazing cold. On Monday, D texted me after his tai chi class that there was live music around. Thinking, 'Yay! Live music!' and 'It's going to be three-hours tops', I absentmindedly grabbed this vintage wear-in-many-different-ways silk sari skirt, purchased a few years back for only. . 20p, and tied it high-waisted below a vintage black midriff top** that I've owned since twelve, and which I found the other day to layer beneath a jumper***. A little tired of wearing boots all the time**** I slipped my feet into a pair of velvet Charles & Keith shoes with five-inch silver heels, cushioned by a comfortable pair of black Primark socks. And time to adorn myself! Lately I pulled out my entire flower collection and put some downstairs with my trinket collection and up went a red fabric rose, a pretty pair of fuchsia-studded earrings******, the fingerless lace gloves, a fuchsia cocktail ring from Diva, and stuffed some possessions into a Christian Dior handbag*******. Dressed in ten minutes. And because it was supposed to be three hours tops since the bars shut at about 12am in Hove, I simply painted on lipstick and eyeliner, thinking, 'Who cares about makeup'. Same thing that I told the fluffy nosey-parker cat who tears into your house and sleeps on your couch and looks like a Chocolate Robber-- "Hey, I'll be back soon! Come visit then!" at about 830pm. I hadn't eaten all day (or drank much water) and was actually envisioning a nice, warm dinner. Except that, it was 10am and about 30 shots of dark rum between us later that we arrived back. Well, at least we had a greasy, overpriced breakfast before then.

thai food at the wick inn

A week ago, I came back home to find a note from D that he had gone for Tai Chi. Interesting, I thought. I realised that my fingerless lace gloves had arrived in the post, in my attempt to replace all the four pairs of gloves that mysteriously 'disappeared' from my carefully-packed possessions* in my dorm room. So I decided to meet him for drinks and dinner, changed my outfit to one more befitting of the gloves** and put on my Icarus Grew Oriental Wings top, slicked on some red lipstick, dramatised the black liquid eyeliner and the appropriate accouterments-- a ring with a burst of pearls and another sheer red fabric rose one, both from Diva, and bronze chandelier earrings from Forever 21. I also threw on my gold Bebe brocade coat and a Dior handbag with pretty embroidery, feeling in my element. As I walked there, I kept texting him to order wedges-- my pub staple-- fantasising about warm hearty and slightly spicy potato chunks I would anoint with vinegar and pepper, but he kept telling me to be patient. For what? I wondered. And then as I walked into the charming old pub The Wick Inn, with a gleeful smile did he hand over the Thai Menu to me. And all cravings of wedges shimmered out of the many windows in the establishment. .

*Because you don't screw with the memory of an elephant, much less a photographic one. Alas, how is one to raise a case that 'four pairs of gloves and two letters were selectively stolen from my room?'
** You know how you might have no sense of delayed gratification and must wear new stuff now?

prawn and mussel medley: international edition

D's been busy so I've been gladly taking over chef duties. Life during your 'gap year' is limbo when you are researching/applying for your next course and have no idea about the outcome, you're waiting for your work visa in the meantime and . . everything is a big fat question mark. Which means I try my best to stay in lest I go out and spend money, as distractions abound with gorgeous shoes and clothes everywhere-- you will always want new clothes and re-define 'want' as 'need'. So I end up thanking heavens that I have an aesthetically-pleasing lair, living off my savings. . and basically I've never felt so financially-challenged before my whole life. Sometimes I wake up and think, "Hey, when in my whole life have I ever been so free before?" I worked insanely hard during my undergraduate years (otherwise I'll probably be starving now and selling my shoes) and it feels odd to neither have class nor work. There are moments when I bemusedly think, "Oh, is this how a Trust Fund Kid or Kept Woman feels? Wake up, do no work, no nothing". It feels odd. Which also gives me time to cook. And therefore, the concoction of two recipes based on a prawn and mussel medley-- one Italian, and one Indonesian.


*On a side note, the header photo is entirely irrelevant but just another of D's breakfasts the first day I woke up in Brighton; I realise I have no photos of me cooking over in this gorgeous kitchen but rather only those of me cooking in my not-very-pretty Cambridge dorm kitchen.

the vintage pinup girl in the haunted manor

You might remember that I mentioned two costume changes this Halloween-- The Best Friend and I agreed that the more, the merrier. Plus she had bought too many props the evening before she came, meaning we should use them all. After we finished our Beach of the Dead Zombie Walk, I brought her for a tiny tour around Brighton before heading back to the flat where D was whipping up a delicious South Indian curry from scratch. Denise and I excitedly ran upstairs (we do that all the time whenever we go to each other's homes) and shortlisted outfits for the night, pulling out all our props onto the bed. In the end, she settled on my floral jumpsuit to match her pink wig. And I decided, what better excuse than to do my favourite vintage pinup look? 

devilishly pleasurable foodies: sweetcorn and beef soup recipe

 

D makes the most spectacular meals ever, so much so that I always suspect he is a chef masquerading as a designer/architect. Coming from Singapore and growing up loitering around my grandmother's kitchen as she whipped up her incredible dishes, food is in my blood. The appreciation of and creation of food courses through my veins, so I was absolutely delighted to discover that D really can cook, so much so that I often tell him we should stay in and cook because his food tastes better than alot of what you get outside. Half my camera is loaded with photographs of the meals he has made, and ever so often do we drool over them together before he goes, "Hey I have cooked you so many meals!", ooh and ahh over the details of each one, and then he starts to threaten to start a food blog except he never has time to. In particular, his breakfasts are divine-- and he has never repeated a single breakfast before. For instance, this meal was whipped up when the stoves in my building in Cambridge were spoilt, and he cooked the eggs ingeniously with hot water. They are in a league of their own, and so sacred that I dress up* for them. So as I have always been threatening to put up food-- my other great love in life (well let's face it, love should be multiplied and hence you can love a lot of things)-- on Devilishly Pleasurable, herein do food photographs and recipes kick off. Let's hope they'll be a regular feature with all the other posts screaming out to be written, designed and posted. . .

winter reds

With the coming of winter staying warm is absolutely essential. Time to break out those gorgeous heavy faux fur coats that break and bend your hangers mercilessly. Some mornings when you get up you feel glamourous and amazing (great way to start the morning) so you curl your hair slowly, and get dressed properly before leaving the house, loving the addition of red to your look. Quick fuzzy bursts of reds, blues and browns courtesy of Photobooth. Red pussybow top belonging to my mother and kidnapped by me to the UK tucked into a Valleygirl denim high-waisted mini, flanked by a red ostrich leather handbag that D insists looks like a strawberry, whilst height is elevated gorgeously by a brown F&F lace-up boots and kept chic yet warm with a huge fuzzy vintage faux fur coat. And of course, gorgeous River Island navy blue socks peeking out, accesorised with red lips, thick gold Forever 21 hoops, and red fabric rose ring from Diva. The living room (and actually the whole lair) has just been upgraded. . which is exciting. Even though I know it will be further upgraded as we speak. Photos of that soon too! Have a glorious week ahead x

zombies marching through halloween misguidedly as schoolgurls

I cannot begin to tell you how much I adore the gorgeous Brighton. From the first time I set foot here, I fell in love with it and decided it was where I was going to stay. It's been slightly more than a month since I left Cambridge and slowly built up my lair, and wander about the place exploring the multifarious delights it has to offer whilst I await my work visa. This year, for the fourth year running, Brighton held its annual Beach of the Dead, where zombies were to march about town. The Best Friend was planning to celebrate Halloween in Brighton, so I googled about for things to do, knowing full well that Brighton wouldn't disappoint me. Indeed, I discovered the event, and rather frantically, we began to plan for it. Being a last-minute thing and because I was tied up with a few other stuff, we didn't have much time to fully execute our costumes. Smugly, we decided we'd go as Zombie Schoolgurls-- the easiest look, right? The night before, she was texting me excitedly how many items she'd bought. At 1pm the next day, I left the soup to simmer on the stove and walked to the station to pick her up. . .

baby steps to better blogging-- graduating to new heights!

The emergence of the blogosphere as a considerable force needs no introduction. It used to be the question, how to be a better person, that philosophers such as Epictetus, Balthasar Gracian and Marcus Aurelis would meditate upon-- a contemplation that remains even more relevant today. Hyperfragmentation in post-modernity, however, dictates that separate, distinct pigeonholes of categorisations, and guides on how to be a better (insert title) abound. And so it is for fashion bloggers in this week's Friend Friday, focusing on the blogging process and evolution, best encapsulated as 'Baby Steps to Better Blogging-- Graduating to New Heights!'

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icarus grew oriental wings

hello from brighton!

a page torn from the risque lacey fall/winter diary

"i've had the time of my life. . ."

Moving, moving, whoosh!
Moving can be so fun and you can spend hours on end trawling through sites looking for the best bargains to suit your budget (I have sworn I will not go mad). I think I am at least 30% better in bargain-hunting now. Apart from 50-cents clothes and books I was always so proud of in Sing, or the occasional amazing sales haul, I think I am stupendously bad in thinking what a good bargain is. I would pick out something that is 50% cheaper than I thought it would be, present it proudly to my gurlfriends, who would in turn find something even cheaper and. . well, I give up. Maybe it's a Singaporean thang--they give you the best money-saving tips ever lol. Or so I discovered when I moved here and befriended a handful of fellow locals. So I've been too excited I cannot sleep. This is bad. I look for stuff and realise, oh no, it's 4am, so I lay down. But you know how when you're awake life can be so wonderful you don't want to go to sleep (and when you're asleep you enjoy it so much you don't want to wake up!), I get up half an hour later and do more! The day has begun and it is a rare day when I see the sun rise so I dress up and go out and pick up stuff. I move on Friday so I want to set up most of the house over the weekend and therefore have gotten a complete game plan of how and where to store what, and assembled an array of things to deliver over to my current place so I can get crackin' immediately. You know, things like towels, incense, wall hangings and satin sheets. Except that posting suddenly seems slower than I remember. Which is getting me slightly worried.

roll on your red socks & rock your mini

The thing about women is that we invariably tend to link outfits with occasions in our memory-- e.g. "Oh! THAT event, I remember now, you were wearing (insert shoes) and (insert dress)"-- or worse still, have an extremely acute recollection of the last time we wore some item. This condition is particularly accentuated when you have enough pieces to last you at least three years if you wore a different look every day without buying anything new. I know how I tell my mother or D that I have worn something before "three times!" triumphantly, and they'd go "Oh, great achievement huh?". Well, there are people with loads of clothes sitting in their wardrobes still with the tag on from five years ago-- clothes they bought but do not dare to wear out because they have some mental lookbook in their head following the diktats of Latest Trends Everybody Wears, which really defeats the purpose of even buying anything. I maintain that my ethos is still much healthier. Hey, at least the clothes get worn! And as long as I remain the same size (fingers crossed!) it should all be alright. One danger of having too many clothes, though, is that if you suddenly pluck something out and wear it, you'd get questioned "Is that new? I have never seen it before" and a big smile lights up your face whilst you recall how happy you were to discover that piece in some boutique or jumble sale or the oohing and ahhing your best friend and you did over that, whilst doing mental sums and jumping up in semi-fright at how time has passed by.

"No! It was six years ago! I got it for Christmas during the Mango sales, and I picked it up from this branch in__ and. . ." was my latest retort. I was telling the truth. Well, I'll be honest, sometimes I still wear clothes I bought at 12 (err. . they look good still!), which was a bone-chilling twelve years ago. I figured that if Wear History all the time with vintage clothes and pieces from my grandmother and mother, why not old pieces by me. I have a confession to make. Half the time I walk around with no idea what the latest trends are (not that I really care), it is only when I see enough people in a certain Look that it starts to dawn upon me. By which I am even less bothered after being visually desensitised. After all, Latest Faux-En-Vogue (let's face it, loads of them are really ugly and a dime a dozen and often quite boring) always has prices jacked up ridiculously and everybody wears the same thing, the last time I remember wearing uniforms was when I did my ALevels in junior college. Plus I also am attracted to odd stuff-- shiny things, ostentatious decadent looks, curtain prints (yay for wearing curtains!), and humongous jewelry-- way before anyone will start telling me "How are you gonna wear that? It's too __" a.k.a. nobodywearsthem. Well sometimes I am too glad I don't have this StyleDiktatGhoul whispering into my ears as auto-reflex and thus putting the brake on me buying odd stuff. After all, another amazing thing about odd stuff is that if nobody buys them, you'll be guaranteed great bargains during the sales! Well I could write an entire treatise on that.  I also have no idea what goes on during the various Fashion Weeks save for the blogs I surf around-- hail blogosphere education!-- and, well, enough confessions for now. Inspired by the lovely stylish Collette of Statements in Fashion's upcoming RE-Style section where she discusses re-wearing clothes bought eons ago and even charmingly labels their ages in a photograph, I thought, why not!  I trawled up old photographs of the other times I wore certain pieces-- a way to examine how you've evolved or revisit ways of styling something. My first attempt-- a colourful printed mini I wore recently; and then back in July 2008. Well, actually the only two times I've worn it.

chiffon ghosts presenting tributes