Wednesday, 5 March 2014

Hold On To Your Hats: Let's Talk Kym Ellery

Wearing:  Roxy Hat, L'AMERICA Dress, Nomadic Clutch, Senso Shoes

I have long been an admirer of Kym Ellery's unrivalled eye for elaborate nonchalance, feminine structure and glamorous cool.  She possesses the ingenious ability to manipulate any and all fabrics into visionary, geometric masterpieces at the mercy only of her limitless imagination.  She constructs wearable architecture; avant-garde for the every-woman.  

I have only once had the opportunity to buy myself a taste of Ellery's geometric wonderland, and yet I continue to covet every garment that she produces.  So I was overjoyed when Kym Ellery debuted her more affordable, street wear line; L'AMERICA.  

Her latest collection for L'AMERICA is a genius amalgam of sultriness, feminism, minimalism, ingenuity and edginess.  I struggled to commit to just one piece amongst man-repellingly cool rompers, pirate-chic puff-sleeved tops and no-need-to-say-more drop-crotch pants, but in the end my inability to resist a midi-length prevailed.  I allowed myself to indulge in the halter dress's milkmaid allure.

All that remained was the matter of accoutrements.  

I could easily have conformed to bohemian cliche, throwing on a flower crown and flouncing around barefoot on the beach in a series of colour-bleached artsy shots.  But I knew a piece designed by Kim Ellery deserved more than this.  In keeping with Ellery's theme of juxtaposing blunt modernity with frivolity and femininity, I diffused the quaintness of the dress with bold, contemporary adornments; resulting in an unexpected and engaging aesthetic.

Of course my favourite straw boater hat was an inevitable and essential addition to this sartorial equation, if only to provide me with an excuse to pull the 'nonchalantly holding my hat' pose in each and every photographic instance available to me.

In this perpetually changing world there are only two things we can rely on; sartorial structure and hat-holding always looking good.  

Tuesday, 18 February 2014

Equin Everyday

Wearing:  St&ard Jean Co. Denim Shirt, Finders Keepers Skirt, Prism London Espadrilles, The Mode Collective Clutch (Similar here and here), Sarina Suriano Earcuff

I've never been one to abide by dress code or be hindered by practicality.

I can recall many a childhood argument with my Mum regarding my tendency to overdress.  Whilst I had no qualms about wearing my fanciest party dress to the beach or the grocery store, my Mum remained a constant hindrance to my sartorial over-ambitions.

I could never understand why one's best and favourite garments must eternally be reserved for some elusively elite event in the impenetrable void that is the future.

Now that I have long surpassed the age during which my Mum has any degree of influence over my fashion choices, I continue to maintain my disregard for all variations of sartorial constraint.  I see no reason in hoarding your most luxe and beautiful possessions for an unfathomable date in the future.

Maybe I'm just impatient, but I think you should have full license to wear your Sunday best every day of the week.

This outfit is an embodiment of my instant-gratification philosophy.  In a singular outfit I have chosen to adorn an earcuff that epitomises bling; a metallic skirt that convention would dictate should only ever be worn at night, in order to make its gaudiness justifiable and a pair of pony skin shoes whose price-point is enough to send even the most exhibitionistic of over-dressers fleeing to seal up the shoe box with masking tape.  By utilising the all encompassing powers of a denim shirt to make any outfit appear casual, I have been able to get away with wearing such indulgent pieces on an uneventful day.

So I say 'power to the people'.  Throw on some sneakers with that new party dress and wear it to run errands.  Slip your most extravagant necklace on over a plain white tee and unapologetically head out to lunch.

#YOLO and whatnot.

Photography: Deneale Sanders

Sunday, 9 February 2014


Wearing:  Roxy Hat, Zimmermann Shirt, Lioness Shorts, Vintage Bag, Rollie Brogues

It's always been floral print.  No other print has ever held the same allure for me.

And I'm not talking dainty, nondescript petals either. I'm discussing big, vivacious, dramatic blooms.  So bold and outrageous that they exist in a perpetual state of instability, teetering on the precipice of overt gaudiness, balancing on a beam thats exact destination cannot be precisely determined by anyone.

Not that I'm one to discriminate.  I'll take floral print in any of its permutations, gaudiness not withheld.

I'm unsure when exactly my fixation on floral print began. Perhaps it was in the early stages of my childhood, when my Mum would dress me in coordinated floral crop top and shorts, not unlike the ensemble to which the shorts you see above belong. Or maybe it was during my 'hippie' phase at the tender age of 12 when, for an entire year I donned nothing but environmental slogan t-shirts and floral maxi skirts; taking immense pride in my collection of long, beaded necklaces.  Thankfully, all that remains of this sartorial era in my life is a continued love for all things floral and a hippie-esque tendency to neglect any leg-shaving endeavours for as long as is hygienically forgivable.

No matter when my floral fetish began, it is an unappeasable addiction that has become inextricable from my sartorial identity.

I've never been the type of girl who particularly appreciates flower bouquets on display.  I prefer my flowers on my person at all times.

Photography: Deneale Sanders

Thursday, 30 January 2014

Chickens, Eggs and Turbans


Wearing:  MINKPINK Top, MINKPINK Shorts, Senso Shoes, Lovisa Fringe Necklace

It's a classic chicken-egg scenario.

Which came first, the wall or the outfit?

I like to think it was a simultaneous cognition.  That I was both inspired to bring this outfit to fruition by the street art and motivated by the conception of the outfit to begin seeing such a familiar, unextroadinary wall as the perfect compliment to all my sartorial dreams.

Either way, the combination of the two is a chromatic extravaganza.

I am of the irrevocable opinion that the print-clashing trend is one which will never plummet into extinction, although it teeters ever-closer to the precipice each time someone's fashion-misinformed Dad wears a Hawaiian shirt with coordinated printed board-shorts.  Tricky as it can be to pull off, it never fails to grant its wearer an instant surplus of happiness and confidence to take on the day.

Any excuse to wear a turban and any number of articles of floral clothing on my person at a time, and I am all in.

Photography: Deneale Sanders

Wednesday, 22 January 2014

Easy Peasy

A guide to looking chic when your mind says pointed pumps and black blazers but your heart screams sweatpants and Cheetos-face

Wearing:  Bec & Bridge Top (Similar here and here), Steele Shorts, Nude Heels (Similar here), St&ard Jean Co Denim Shirt (Similar here), Vintage Jewellery

Summer holidays cause the days to yawn open; long, languid yawns accompanied by drooping eyelids and idle eyes.  Their prolonged gaping traps you in a state of suspense, as you stare into their enigmatic depths and await the time when they will inevitably collapse into an impenetrable prison once more.  You see their precarious, gravestone teeth above you, poised to plummet.  And you do nothing.  Scared to make even the slightest movement, lest it hasten the arrival of the impending avalanche.

On lethargic days such as these it can be tempting to neglect one's responsibilities completely and indulge in sluggish procrastination. You allow Sex In The City episodes to engross you so completely that whole weeks are annihilated before they seem to have begun and convince yourself that it is your absolute duty to sample each and every Ben & Jerry's ice-cream flavour for quality assurance purposes.  If you manage your time wisely, abiding by a strict lavatory schedule and moving the entire house's stock of junk food to the lounge to ensure maximum efficiency of access, you might even get time to watch a couple of seasons of Girls.  Such are the criterion against which a holiday is measured, in determining the effectiveness of its usage.

But soon enough the gloriously indolent days of Summer come to an end for all of us.  A completion brought to our attention by the sudden and shocking transition of life from colour into grayscale.  No matter how early we see it climbing tentatively over the horizon, our forced re-acquaintance with commitment and responsibility always arrives to an unprepared and inhospitable welcome.

I am no stranger to the Summer Mourning Period, the prolonged length of time for which one lives in denial following the forced conclusion of their freedom.  And I know I am not alone.

After years of suffering; jarring awakenings with the knowledge that the looming mundanity of worldly obligation awaits me in the day ahead and that I must don non-pyjama pants for the first time in a week, I have deduced a sartorial formula.  A guidebook to assist you in clinging to those sparse remaining threads of holiday slothfulness whilst maintaining the public appearance of composure and dignity, even if it is only through your attire.

Consult the following guidelines to ease your post-holiday sartorial grief:

1.  When the thought of contemplating the contents of your floordrobe and assembling it into a functioning ensemble threatens to send you fleeing back to Carrie Bradshaw & Friends, always opt to wear all white.  Like it's all-black cousin, all-white-everything lends its wearer the illusion of envy-inducing chic, with minimal effort required on the part of the white-clad individual.  Unlike all-black, however, all-white is fresh and clean (Read:  it will distract attention from the unwashed hair you're sporting, courtesy of an extra two snooze sessions that morning).

2.  A shirt around the waist is the easiest and most fail-safe way to accessorise, adding an instant je ne sais quoi to an otherwise somewhat bland outfit.  Pre-waist-shirt your outfit says 'I'm chic but sartorially unoriginal' but post-accoutrement your garb will be proclaiming your superior fashion knowledgeability.  By adding just a simple accessory you can up your style credibility by ten-fold.  Bonus points if you've neglected to iron it, the undone look is key to conveying a chic vibe.  Or so I tell myself.

3.  Finally, invest in details.  The interesting cut of this top, my choice to take the extra time to throw on some subtle jewellery and editorial decision to wear heels are all key to achieving a sense of refinement; conveying the notion that the outfit is well-composed, when in fact it required very minimal effort.  Having details like this on hand can instantly enhance the aesthetic of your outfit.  For evidence consult Image 2:  this is the longest my legs have and probably ever will look.  And it's all courtesy of the heels.  I'm telling you; it's all in the details.

With these few tips in mind, feel free to retreat once more into the embrace of your bed linen to prolong your oblivion for a precious few minutes more, secure in the knowledge that your sartorial choices are taken care of.

Photography:  Deneale Sanders

Monday, 20 January 2014

Japan, fragmented.

A photo diary.

Japan offered me both an overt mimicry of my expectations and a blatant refusal to be reduced to such a synopsis.  It embraced me in an unconditional welcome and yet kept me in a chronic state of arms-length isolation with its exoticism.  It concealed its secrets from my greedy-tourist eyes yet allowed me to garner enough morsel-like glimpses of its resplendent culture to ensnare me in a state of unquenchable intrigue. 

My trip to Japan was an ellipse of waif-like snowflakes; a saturation of all things outlandish, kitsch and innovative; a heightened exposure to the contemporary and futuristic; a gentle and organised chaos. 

Japan was Wonderland and I was Alice, chasing a myriad of Geisha down streets laden with the crippling weight of their neon-light-adornments, lead by fleeting glances of bright, technicolour kimonos peaking cheekily through the throng of Winter-imposed monochrome.  The insistently trilling rabbit of the metaphor was the ever-bustling crowds; their calm urgency perpetually evocative of a sense of ones own tardiness. 

Never have I seen such an overwhelming concentration of sugary foods molded into such adorable approximation of animals at any one time, as when I was in Japan.  Never had I witnessed such peace and tranquility in a city, as I did amongst the intensity of Tokyo. Never have I seen such a harmonious juxtaposition of historical and contemporary culture, as exhibited by the many oxymorons of Japanese life.  Temples and skyscrapers exist as courteous neighbbours in the confined quarters of Tokyo city.  Geisha run errands amongst the consumeristic exhibitionism of Kyoto grocery store aisles, still clad in their traditional garb. Men make nonchalant adornments of wild animals, as they display a domesticated monkey atop their shoulder whilst purchasing a ticket for one of the world’s most state-of-the-art subway systems, all the while toting a Louis Vuitton carrier for their exotic pet. 

Upon anticipating my visit to Japan, I had expected an abundance of all things contemporary, ingenious and technologically advanced.  I had braced myself for a bombardment of kuwaii and nauseating colour.  I had foreseen a strong undercurrent of tradition, reverence and delicate majesty.  And upon visiting the country, it had provided all of these things in copious amounts. 

But there is so much more to the Japanese culture that cannot be defined.  There is a complexity to the culture that urges you to want to be a part of it. 

The Japanese culture is infectious and upon exposure, incurable.  It evokes a yearning inside its victims to continue uncovering its intricacies.

Fortunately for such victims, such a rich cultural excavation is a task worthy of dedicating a lifetime to.