It amuses me endlessly that the girls at my school wear the names Dior, Chanel and Yves Saint Laurent and have on idea what design they are promoting this season. They have no idea that Coco Chanel was poor, or that Marc Jacobs creates shoes. They could not have pointed to a couture piece by John Galliano had they been asked to. I know nothing at all, and I am more fashionable than them. For, really, fashion is not about wearing leggings and dresses (I hate to call the pieces of slack fabric sold at "Gina Tricot" dresses), but about retaining a style of ones own. They even wore over-sized pieces of neon-coloured parka this winter.
I am roughly four centimetres from having a bob. My hair-dresser swore she'd no less than maul me if I bleached my hair on my own - not that I ever thought of doing it on my own -, so I think going platina is shelved for the time being. Or, til I can convince myself and my hair-dresser that it is a really grand idea, and trick mum into paying for it.
The Lord of the Rings EE-marathon was fun, despite severe sleep-deprivation (we should've had urtevann.) And the day before, with Kristine, was, for lack of a better word, informative. On to cheery news, I am a mere four centimetres from my bob at the moment. One more appointment with my hair-dresser, and I have a bob. It's a short, but I love it.
Had I the money to buy high-end clothes, I would run riot with Mark Jacobs' fall collection. This is an utterly wonderful coat.
And the hat, gloves and shoes wouldn't hurt either. And I'm willing to do something drastic to get my hands on a Burberry coat (they're just sophisticated
The new mobile is beautiful, too. It turns into a mirror when I'm not using it. - I'll end my gushing now.
Oh, I bought another pair of shoes a few weeks ago. "Low Shola" Miss Sixty calls them. Black, pump-ish, with an instep-fastening. Unsurprisingly, they have leather soles, which prompted another visit to the familyc-cobbler, who now recognices us and grins knowingly.