Statement Necklaces

So I realise that my last few posts have all been in the ‘What I’ve Bought’ vein. At the risk of falling into the cornfed Warholian territory of Haul Vloggers (although they must be doing something right. Apparently Zoella’s “Home ‘Stuff’ Haul” video, in which she fascinatingly reveals that she is “quite selective with drinking glasses” has over 1.6 million views and 20,000 comments…) here’s a necklace I recently bought from Anthropologie:

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Buying statement jewellery is my attempt to ameliorate my black clothes affliction. As an accursedly monochromatic dresser who is constantly offered condolences (apparently I look like I’m going to a funeral) or asked where to find nude pantyhose (apparently I look like a David Jones salesgirl), I’m always looking for ways to inject pops of colour into my outfits. Without like, actually wearing colour.

I was drawn to this décolletage duster because it looks like it’s made of candy gumdrops and teeth. It’s a dentist’s worst nightmare in jewellery form, which is pretty awesome.

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More of my January Sale Haul

I’ve made no secret of my love for Zara: affordable, on point and not afraid to throw out some more controversial pieces; what’s not to love? Well, my only gripe is that all their models appear to have Forward Head Posture…

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…which just makes me want to give them broomsticks to put behind their backs and a Julie Andrews-esque deportment teacher. Maybe they didn’t eat enough Petit Miam and Bega Stringers as kids? Or they have tall girl problems (Cobalt Romper looks like she’s used to stooping to be within normal-range earshot…)? In any case, perhaps a TMJ assessment is warranted.

Then again, maybe they’re just really bashful.

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A Gift for Gift-Giving

When it comes to gift-giving, they say it’s the thought that counts. My thought is usually, “Oh crap…not this time of the year again. What the hell do I get this person??”

I find Gifting to be enjoyable about 15% of the time; when I’ve got a clear idea of what the Giftee likes and needs, it’s within my budget, and I don’t need to have ordered it online 3 weeks prior. Otherwise, the whole process is just nerve-frayingly Stressful. My gift-giving tends to involve me a) freaking out and spending $200 on shearling mittens or a beaded minaudière or some other vaguely-cool-but-ultimately-pretty-useless tchotchke, or b) giving nothing but making a card and hoping that my artistic effort is proof enough of my love (it never is; there’s only so much that glitter glue can say beyond “I’m juvenile and desperate”).

My friend Tori is the Princess of Presents. When we were younger she gave me the best books (Odo Hirsch and Terry Pratchett) and movies (Sliding Doors, which made John Hannah one of my earliest crushes and forever cemented my love of the Scottish accent), and enabled my obnoxiously-branded clothing addiction. This year she got me an awesome Zara scarf which I’d been eyeing off for months.

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Please excuse my creepy expression. I battle to coordinate selfie-taking and not-blinking,
so tend to overcompensate with hypnotist eyes.

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Frostbite and Bieber tops

Today was bloody cold. As in, icicles bloodily impaling unsuspecting passers-by cold. Here’s a pic of me traipsing to rowing this morning. You can’t see my face, but I assure you it’s that quintessential injured Russian gymnast mix of pained and Seriously Not Amused.

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As was the logical thing to do, when I came back from rowing I put on 3 pairs of pants, cranked up the heater and curled up in bed with some microwaved snacking peanuts and my laptop.

As was the illogical thing to do, I started browsing for cute going out clothes and fell in love with this Zara top. Like, madly in love.

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