BLEU?

Did I promise on this space that I’d cease wearing black-and-white combo again?

Blouse, My Dress Room; Dress, My Dress Room; Beret, Deeper N' Harder; Tights, Soxworld; Shoes, Tang

I certainly did break the vows again— the spirit of colors has left my body, I suppose. My boss, a few colleagues and I were back at 95 percent to listen to a talk on new trends in advertising today. A portion of the talk was taken up by the screening of online adverts, my favourite being Blendtec’s Will It Blend series.

Regarding my getup, the suspender dress held on to my body a bit too tightly that I found it rather laborous to breathe unconsciously. The bottom is high-waisted and I figured that my body isn’t as receptive to the trend as I hoped it would be. It’s a fine dress to wear only when I’m on my feet; but the moment I sit, all hell breaks loose.

But I do love the color of my heels— they’re the sweetest baby blue which contrasts well with the boring b&w. And speaking of b&w, I should really scratch the combo out of my closet. Well, that certainly leaves some space for some good old resolution next year!

PS The shopping and movie trips with my mother had been tremendous fun today. I was lucky enough to scour a well-tailored Miss Code blazer in calm gray with a 50% discount!

GLOSSY

Today marks the end of my second semester in the Australian graduate school. I wrote my research findings on the glocalized versions of Cosmopolitan and CLEO in just one day; my part itself contained 4,000 worth of words and numerous of colorful magazine cut-outs placed in the dossier. I just can’t wait to complete my Master’s and get on with the second phase of my life. Soon enough I’ll start fresh elsewhere, possibly still lecturing (I heart my profession too much) but even most possibly out of my native. But for now, here’s a photograph captured by a friend of my industrial visit to one of the most famous magazine publishing houses in my darling homeland:




Beret, Deeper N' Harder; Turtleneck, my mother's; Dress, X'thephine; Necklace, Doodle; Bag, Sophie.


To think that I used to dream of becoming a lifestyle/ fashion writer (this dream came about when I was still working in the video production line i.e. underpaid and depressed and feeling mighty useless). The girly politics of it all, as confirmed by one of their staff writers, can be mighty taxing. And to write about objects of admiration that you can’t certainly afford on a daily basis puts the bleakness on another level. So as an alternative, I might want to plunge into the pop cultural side of high street fashion to complete my possible dissertation before graduating. Good enough.

HANDMADE?

Fridays were usually lighter for me. A screening session in the morning and blissful blankness in the afternoon. But today I had to visit a sister college together with my colleagues and eager students for an art showcase by the graduating students. I brought my sister along and we met up with my old friend Luq who was working on the showcase.

Bag, free from (ak.'sa.ra); Shoes, Vans.

We saw choppy student films and admired manipulated photo works. My sister sent me to the university in the rain; our shoes were bathing in puddles and I was cold as the night approached. I presented my group’s paper on women’s magazines in cold feet but I was glad that all of us girls did a wonderful job. My friends asked if I had drawn the hands on my feet and sewn the thread on my bag. I replied with a ‘yes, sure.’ ‘I also make my own shirt and jeans and everything else,’ I added. And they marveled at that.

Some people just tend to chew my jokes literally, it’s painful. And now I need to bury my head in the core of my pillow- I need my sleep so much!