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!

POMME

Here’s a quick try, my very first hand at illustrating my outfit for today:

Dress, gift from a friend; Belt, Upstairs...the Boutique; Shoes, Clarks

I used to be fond of black during my awkward, coming-of-age days. My closet was constructed out of purely black clothes and suffice to say, I grew up feeding on black like some staple meal. But ever since I discovered the joie de vie brought on by different color palettes at the age of nineteen, I had dropped off black from my style vocabulary.

But lately, I’ve been feeling a bit sluggish— no courses to teach, no classes to go to during the college two-month break. And whenever I feel languid, black is the best option- the most reliable color so far. This was the first time that I wore my apple belt to work— I couldn’t quite capture its details on paper. I also had on my favorite Bengkel Oi velvet Dorothy heels earlier but for some reason, they had grown a size bigger. I was walking very slowly as to not trip! Because I was too flustered with my shoes as of today, I thought this effortless illustration would do.

Till next time, I’d post the real deal.

EUROSE

Top, secondhand; Skirt, Creme at Jusco; Corsage, thrifted; Bag, my mother's; Shoes, Clarks

I went to the nearby cinema last night in conjunction with the 9th European Union Film Festival 2008. I was simply reliving my days as a (theoretical) film student, hunting down a number of slow, masturbatory European/ indie American to watch. I dressed up for the simple occasion in the style of Godard’s wooden yet beloved character Patricia from ‘A Bout de Souffle.’

Handed down by my mother, the striped long sleeve top was a size bigger than my body. Maybe in time I would really learn how to sew this to fit me brilliantly. The same with the skirt— how I wish I had sewn it a size smaller to give it the appearance of a bulbous, high-waisted skirt of a bygone era. The rose corsage, to some, might scream ‘Sex and the City’s Carrie Bradshaw rather than Patricia Franchini. It is built extraordinarily albeit dangerously; it doubles as a hairclip as it is a corsage with a pin. So if I’m not too careful with it, I might risk pricking my own poor scalp to bleed. I thought wearing a flower in my hair was too ornate for the occasion so I undertook the Carrie way. Ironically, I used the hairclip to keep the corsage in place.

The film I saw was Yolande Moreau’s ‘Quand La Mer Monte.’ The cinema was filled with mostly a group of expatriates longing for a familiar taste of their homelands. Moreau was beautiful in the film— her quirkiness surpasses that of Zooey Deschanel or Bjork. I liked her in ‘Amelie;’ I like her better in her own film. The story was absent of any traditional conflict and I found it rather refreshing that way. However, two hours of droning slice-of-life sort of tale kind of disturbed my nerves after awhile. I didn’t go on any slopes or peaks; just a long straight road till the end. But in any case, the film had its sweetest moments. Watching it reminds me of the life I had with my boyfriend in the States— monotonous yet sweet.

The next film on the Euro list is ‘Paris’ but I have to wait till next Friday comes and greet me in the face.

BUBBLE

Jacket, Mario Gena at Fesyen Zon; Blouse, secondhand; Skirt, Bloq My Style!; Bag, Furry Tails; Shoes, Clarks

Today I wanted to discard the blacks/ grays and bring in some outlandish colors instead to work. And not just any colors off the spectrum. I decided to pluck out hues that would remind me of lightweight cotton candy on my tongue and yummy Paddle Pops, melting and dripping from my fingers on a blistering day. Such thoughts usually help me get through with sluggish Mondays in perfect motion. Everything that I’m wearing in this photograph has never met each other before or even paired together with, saved for the lacey floral blouse and the jacket. The blouse used to be my sister’s— I’m too fond of hand-me-downs; they’re just as historic as thriftwares. The tangerine bubble skirt came from a Harajuku-inspired store called Bloq My Style! about a year ago when it was still alive. The store is now dark and vacant; what is left is the hanging bubbly-sized signboard at the entrance. Pairing other items of clothing with this skirt has been so math to me— a concept that I find a hard time at grasping. But in time, I believe, I will be able to figure something more concrete with it. This outfit is a child’s step toward that.

SAUVAGE

I was fortunate— the viral had left my body and I was up and running at work. I also went to get my friend Waz this shirt from my favorite 100% Malaysian graphic tee store Radioactive. I heard his parents are strictly against non-collared shirts, which made my shopping absurdly harder. I felt a slight wickedness in me the moment I was informed that the shirt costs only MYR 20 instead of its original price. For solely ‘practical’ reasons, I’m passionate about buying shirts for my guy friends. So you can imagine how many shirts I’ve wrapped in bundles of love for my significant other.

Beret, Deeper n' Harder; Blouse, Shibuya at Apee; Dress, Unknown; Tights, Soxworld; Boots, Vincci

Regarding these photographs, they’re a rather shameful testimony to my own denial. I did mention how I want to be super-thrifty as I’m nearing December but a recent window-shopping trip to Vincci murdered the mission. I hunted down three Vincci stores in three different malls before I found these gray beauties from the Fall collection in my size. I surprised myself— the drive in me was very animalistic. I felt no exhaustion while doing it. And speaking of such untamed animal drive, featuring my ferret Russel’s tail together with my new purchase illustrates it perfectly. Russel seemed to love the boots too— he kept on smelling the faux leather and burrowing his head into them.

(Well, possibly to bite my ankles more than anything else).

LOLITA

Testement of my fatigued, washed-out face after a day of tedious invigilation at work:

Blouse, unknown; Skirt, Creme at Jusco; Tights, thrifted at The Street Market; Shoes, Passion at Upstairs...the Boutique

I’ve always had this outfit in my mind but had never tried to materialize it until today. And I have to tell the world that I love every bit of it. I’m no fan of all-black getup but this is an exception. I don’t usually wear this particular ruffled blouse either because it takes surmountable energy to iron the ruffles to crisp perfection. I couldn’t transfer to La La land last night so I spent quite some time doing some serious ironing. There’s an art to ironing, I suppose. I think the trick lies in the way you press the metal on a certain momentum. I ran out of starch so the result wasn’t breathtaking. Oh, and the skirt was the hardest to iron too. But I love it nonetheless for its full and flare-ish body without having to disguise a tulle underneath. If I had it altered properly, it would take on the appearance of a high-waisted skirt.

On another note, I’m swearing off my hands from shopping for new clothes, at least till the end of murky November. Reason number one: my wardrobe is about to explode all of its guts. Instead of selling, I’m thinking of giving away my clothes for charity. Perhaps to a number of orphanages within the Klang Valley. I’ve done this since I was in school; the thought of a few girls benefitting from my overweight wardrobe is a good feeling. Reason number two: I’m broke this month, thanks to the restoration of life for my Macbook. I thought of postponing my enrolment in the New York-based Gotham Writers' Workshop to summer next year (if my Master’s course is not too rough for me). However, my darling mother had offered to pay the fees until I recover from very own my economic predicament. Worse comes to worst, I can just enrol in the program next year and build up my fiction portfolio with the editorial help of my word-savvy boyfriend.

Speaking of that, despite the sudden depletion of cash and slight change of program, I can still find a concrete reason to smile. My boyfriend is finally graduating from my alma mater, Western Michigan University and coming home very, very soon— in a matter of forty two days!

Such goodness in life.

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.

GLITCH

My cousin came over to my place for the weekend so I took her for dinner at the little dusky Villa Danieli that was cozily rustic and pastoral. We had lots of warm Italian loaves, milky raviolis, apple pastries with gelato and shredded duck salad that tasted of sweet bitterhood. We went through the dinner discussing the science of our own boyfriends (our lovely men originated from the same place) and the politics of our family, particularly our ever-so-kooky grandma and her cats. We met up with my sister later for a photograph or two in front of the the charming eating place and the product was a living testament to my wardrobe malfunction:

Jacket, Wet Seal; Dress, Miss K Boutique (the ruined one!); Shoes, Montego Bay at Payless Shoes.


If you inspect carefully, the delicate string of my halter dress that I was wearing broke and left my chest exposed (without me noticing for god knows how long). For every step that I took, the dress slowly lowered, almost revealing to the world my embarrassment. The evening wasn’t over yet because my sister was resolute about going for a three-hour karaoke session (a family ritual, believe it or not, next to the movies) so I had to resort to tying the body of my jacket with the broken string before we left. Problem fixed but I don’t think I’d dare buy any halter dresses with frail strings ever!

RUBIS

Well, I must say that I’m also proud of the latest baby in my family of bags. I got it from a little cart stall in the heart of Ikano Power Centre called Furry Tails, which in my opinion is the best place to find vintage-inspired pieces. I bargained this baby well; the assistant basically told me that it looks designer-ish on purpose. I simply purchased it because I adored the combo of dark colors rather than its design-y-whatever-you-name-it shape. But now that I’m wearing this quite frequently, I only realized that the owner had a valid point. It could be inspired, it could be a knock-off. I couldn’t tell which is which- pardon me for my lack of knowledge in the trend department.




Bag, Furry Tails.


So on my quest to find a plausible identical designer twin, I found Counterfeit Chic instead. The website features well-written articles regarding fishy similarities between one high-end designer and the other; a knockoff and the real deal and more updates on the copycats off Project Runway. It’s an educational read although the tone can be condescending at one point or another. I didn’t find the answer to my bag but I did find that couture is no longer untouchable. Unbelievable, no? That little piece of information alone was sufficient enough for me to stop my quest.

Enlightened much!

JAUNISSE

Jacket, Wet Seal; Dress, P&Co at Padini; Bag, Furry Tails; Tights, Soxworld; Shoes, Forever 21.

I wore this ensemble, a rather slipshod one, to screen Godard’s “A Bout de Souffle” early in the day at college. One boy turned up wearing a beret; whether or not that was intentional is a mystery to me. Speaking of intentions, especially the humorously silly ones, I had a beret in mind too. I was imagining the whole structure of the look- b&w striped top, black flowing skirt and flashy red shoes. But surely that would be tacky of me to dress up as a Frenchie for the sake of a nouvelle vague picture.

So I scratched that idea off, buried my hands deeper into the throat of my white wardrobe and found this P&Co shift dress with a large bow detail as a low-key substitute instead. My main idea was to pair it with my tomato-red tights to produce high contrast but I decided that such hue would either horrify my student-audience or amuse them at the expense of my mortification. For the lack of imagination, I let my legs be wrapped in the dirty-mustard one instead. Then another boy (all shaggy-haired) came up to me, submitted his worksheet on my table and quipped, "Do you have jaundice?"

Priceless.

VELMA

Glasses, Muse; Turtleneck, Fesyen Zon; Dress, Roberta di Camerino at Nichii; Tights, Soxworld; Shoes, 138 at Tang.

The construction of this look was inspired from a woman who appeared on a page in an old copy of NYLON magazine. I lost that copy, possibly from all that rushed moving from one apartment to the next. Despite the magazine's absence, her image stayed affixed in my head. She's an independent fashion designer from Mexico whose name was too long and (somewhat) destined to be easily forgotten. But her outfit in that photographed was remarkably memorable and worth being echoed. With an amicable smile, she had on the simplest tanned-orange dress over fitting white shirt and the most stylish knee-length brun suede boots.

I was in awe!

I seldom see orange on people walking in the streets. It's not as kitschy as yellow tends to appear yet it still remains below-par in the list of human-oriented colors. And to see a poised young lady working out the tone without succumbing religiously to any routine fad of that year was reinvigorating. So I paid an homage to the unknown subject by pairing this 1960s-inspired Roberta di Camerino dress with my favorite bleached white turtleneck. Initially I thought of walking around all day in the faux-suede boots I bought during one of my shopping sprees with Xavier. But surely boots would look fiercely out of place while I'm on the job? I wasn't quite sure if I wanted to prove my heart wrong so the substitute that were to grace my feet had to be my trusty Mary Janes.

CITRON

Glasses, Muse; Cardigan, Nichii; Top, Unknown; Skirt, Oriental at Isetan KLCC; Shoes, E-Kiss.

The past few days had been quite unwelcoming; yesterday was the peak of my frustration. I was just completely distraught with what I have to go through in my graduate school. It has nothing to do with grades, no. There were just some situations that I was disagreeable with. I know it’s a bit repulsive to start off this blogspace with such pessimism but it was too hurtful.

So at night, I hid myself in my bedroom (or rather, my bedroom-cum-open closet lately) and mapped out some colors— mustard, lemon, milk white— just anything to sew back the wounds. And luck had it that I found this cardigan. I never wore it because it reminds me of that tasteless citrus smell of squeaky clean cars. But according to this advice, the color should be able to make me happy. Colors of lemon drops are wholesome for the heart. Like medicine, the yellow hues can mend the damage caused by tangible or emotional bleedings. I put some faith in that notion. Even one percent of happiness should do me good.

I awoke the morn today, stared first thing at the mirror and saw my eyes looking brighter than before. I had my sleep, I was still a bit distressed but at least I had some sleep. That’s one good sign, I told myself. One reason to be one percent happier than before. Later, I threw the cardigan on and I must say that it worked out its own miraculous ways. It got along well with my flowery skirt, the most expensive I’ve owned so far. The sunny tone made my heart still; it matched the color of the bright day outside. And the matching shoes just added a pinch of a smile on my face.

So note to self: a couple of extra hours of sleep and a drop of yellow is what I need to be less low.

PS And oh, being featured with my classmates on Jin's Hitz.FM blog is a sweet boost too. It was the same with the wonderful fudge-filled chocolate and cheese cupcakes from Choffles that I had during tea at work. They certainly made life glorious!