Apologies

Bless me father, for I have sinned, it has been exactly one month since my last blog post.

A lot has happened in the past month, namely death, birth(days), illness and unwanted weight gain (stupid chimichangas!). Yeah, yeah yeah, the usual excuses... bullshit as usual.

Mostly, however, I just haven't had anything to say.

Above is a picture of my big fat old lady hand, The minx manicure and horoscope sign rings are merely a way of tarting up a horse after the stable door has been bolted. But look, I'm typing! Fingers at the ready. More to come, I swear.

Scrooge Among Us

When I was a kid the notion of the crooked businessperson was as alien to me as a jolly teaparty on the ceiling with ET and Alf. My nearest approximation would have been something close to Ebenezer Scrooge with scoliosis, which would drive me into screaming paroxysms every time I saw an old -an hobbling around with a hunch and a knobbly walking stick. In the mid nineties, when the country was emerging out of a slump into a boom, my reactions were seen as irrational.

Now, I think a Nostradamus award would be in order (if such a thing exists). Maybe my five-year-old self knew what was coming. Unfortunately, I was ignorant to the fact that the new breed of crooked businesspeople don't carry their crookedness in their spine, but rather safely concealed in skinny Dior suits, flaccid handshakes and oddly glassy, impersonal grins. The businessperson is usually accompanied by the Lesser Spotted Accountant, who can be distinguished by his or her capacity to sweat profusely and worry lines on the forehead that resemble an windstruck beach at sunset. Being the small fry that I am, it would be easy to assume that I wouldn't be personally affected by such people. Wrong.

In point of fact, everyone is directly affected. The common consensus is, even if you have little or no grasp on current affairs, that the bad guys win and the little people have to pick up the pieces. Why not have a large business? If you make yourself indispensible, then you will never go bust - the banks will bail you out (bearing in mind that this is speculation and not solid fact).

This kind of devil-may-care nonchalant 'tude looked good on James Dean, but it's beyond frightening to see it transplanted on people who really are old enough to know better. Just because you can play with fire it doesn't mean that you can play with other people's pension plans. The breadth of advantage taken over the little people who are virtually powerless to do anything, the ease with which some people can refuse to pay creditors with no prior warning and the sense of powerlessness that is pervading the national viewpoint is positively Dickensian. Throw in a plucky orphan and consumption and we could conceivably be looking at a 21st century version of Great Expectations. In retrospect, perhaps the childish nightmare of Ebenezer Scrooge wasn't so far off the mark.

Side Hustles

Since it's brief mention last week, I've been on the receiving end of a few tacit enquiries about the nature of the side hustle, mostly texts from friends and concerned members of my family wondering if I've lost my marbles. For those conclusion-jumping enquirers and my mother's peace of mind, no, calling it a hustle doesn't mean it has to be illegal, nor does it mean that I am planning to go on the game.

In a nutshell, the side hustle is what you do to bring in money when the fiscal glue that holds everything together starts to look less like Superglue and more like that vaguely tacky substance on the back of a Post It Note. The side hustle, while sounding faintly exciting, is not like The Sting. There will be no Robert Redford spouting encouraging, pithy epithets while you go on your merry way towards bamboozling a crooked businessman with a gambling problem - although there really should be a government bureau for bamboozling famous, crooked businessmen - just a thought. Nor is the side hustle boring. It's not your average part-time job. As a loose rule, the side hustle must be slightly entrepreneurial and an expansion on a hobby or interest. You like baking? Sell cakes to friends. Cordon Bleu in your spare time? Why not set up a guerrilla restaurant in your own home once a month? If you like music, then maybe setting up and promoting a club night or gig is for you.

If you have too many items of clothing in your wardrobe... you get the picture. With Facebook and Twitter, PR via word of mouth is a zero cost way to tout your wares in a friendly environment, and Paypal means that it's easy to extract payment from potential customers all over the world.

Every so often, whenever my father takes a breath in between queries as to why I'm not working for Barack Obama or Anna Wintour, he comes out with the occasional gem of wisdom. 'Diversify or die' is one of my favourites. What's the one thing that every rich person seems to have in common (apart from 'an embryonic, glassy-eyed other half')? Yep, that old chestnut, the portfolio of varied assets.

An apartment block here, an priceless masterpiece there; it's childs play for the Trumps of the world. For us though, it's a reminder not to keep all our eggs in one basket - we could well be using some of them to make fairy cakes for profit instead. 

A soulless and harrowing pursuit

One of the most soulless and harrowing pursuits in the life of man, along with reading the telephone book or a six-hour treadmill-propelled powerwalk up a steep slope must surely be the search for a suitable job conducted entirely though the internet. The internet usually serves to dent only my credit rating.

Now though, with the threat of total insolvency ever-looming, jobs and recruitment websites are ever-circling my consciousness like a group of peckish vultures just waiting for the inevitable collapse before they can start picking at the carrion of my sanity.

This may seem like an embellishment on my part, but if you do think so, you haven't fallen prey to the recruitment trap yet. A friend of mine recently recounted a horror story where she was plagued with jobs she specified she didn't want in the first place. When she did get a job (without any help from the recruitment agency, may I add) she was unceremoniously told that she may hate her job and that she could contact the agency when she inevitably became unemployed again. That particular agency is still waiting for her to call back.

My own beef is not with the agencies. My problem is with job websites. The typical search goes a little like this. I go on www.nojobshere.ie and click 'Cork', then 'Editorial' or 'Writing'. Two jobs await my application. IT consultant and wind analyst. I'm familiar with the concept of applicants embellishing their skillsets, but when did employers start doing it? Don't get me wrong, at this stage I'd be a guinea pig eating lipstick in a testing lab if it earned me money, but I don't have enough fur. I would be a wind analyst if I could, however, I still struggle to grasp what humid weather is and I don't understand the difference between a tornado and a hurricane.

In times like this, people find they can still fall back on their side hustle. The side hustle is generally a hobby that brings in a bit of money or a part-time job that got you through college before you graduated and went on the dole. My side hustle was bartending. I still tend bar from time to time and I love doing it.

Back to the jobs website. Click 'Cork'. Click 'Bar Staff'. Two jobs. Hmm, that's ok, let's see... IT consultant and wind analyst. Great.

Profound trivialities

"In one sense what may pass between the pope and myself may be trivialities. In another sense, the fact of talking trivialities is itself a portent of great significance. But the pleasantries which we exchange may, as one church leader said, be pleasantries about profundities." If you're confused as to whether or not I stopped off in the Vatican this week for a nice cup of tea and a natter with His Holiness, don't be. For one, the above quote is by Geoffrey Fischer, a former archbishop of Canterbury.

Secondly, if you're gullible enough to think I could or would discuss any matters with the Pope, trivial or no, you should seriously consider a common sense transplant. However, the above quote was brought to my mind when my grandmother died and I ended up back in the hometown, spending (too many) hours in a chapel and talking over the most profound trivialities with family members I hadn't seen in (far, far too many) years.

I used to be the tallest of all my cousins. Now they're all six feet or more, gangly in suits and surreptitiously swigging bottles of Bud at the wake. Together we talk about school, college, girlfriends, smoking, drinking, where we go, what we do, who we do... the most trivial of trivialities.

And we exchange stories. As the eldest, I remember more than they do about our grandmother before she got ill, so I tell them about what a good cook she was and how mad she would get when we didn't eat our porridge. Our parents would tell us about how she owned her own business in a time when that was unique, or when she gave our aunt's Christmas outfits to a girl begging without a coat, or the time she nearly got shot by Soviet border guards in Russia for trying to sell contraband nylons and had to run away into a forest.

These stories may seen like throwaway vignettes, but together these trivialities sum up a more profound whole. I knew Nan the doting grandmother, Nan the grump, Nan the feminist, Nan the business woman. The woman I'm incredibly sorry I didn't know until now was Nan the uncompromising trailblazer.

This column was originally going to be about summons from the dole office - a demand for a form I'd already sent in. But then, something profound happened. Everything else seems, well, trivial.

It's my hypothesis that one of the few things that keeps a human being sane in a topsy turvy world gone mad is the unerring self belief in our own intrinsic goodness. Deep down, none of us really thinks that we are bad people. It's this quality that makes ladies who lunch a little smug. It is the origin of all arrogance and self-entitlement in many politicos.

Worst of all, it is the belief in how damn great you are that makes serial killers do the things they do.

Thankfully, we are not living in a society of Ted Bundys in training (although you might change your mind observing the chaos at 2am on Patrick Street). Most people are quietly assured that they are good people just trying to live their lives in relative peace and make something productive out of their lot.

There is one small group of people that see through our vital fallacy - the charity mugger. These people turn an average walk into the city centre into an obstacle course that would intimidate an SAS officer on amphetamines. We weave around them avoiding eye contact, hoping they remain static and don't follow you down the street like a donkey following a fat-wallet shaped carrot.

I tell myself that I want to avoid these people because they are invasive, pushy and, should I hit my head and suddenly decide that it's a fantastic idea to give my bank details to a stranger on the street, a proportion of the money I give will go to the smiling person in the day-glo vest and not to the kids in Africa.

The charity muggers know all this. They also know that we are sometimes just plain unwilling to give; a trait that is probably unrepresentative of the inherent goodness that we all feel lives inside ourselves.

Last Friday I found myself attending not one but two charity events organised by people who were remarkable in their capacity for giving.

I was feeling less generous. On being informed that there was a donation suggested for a glass of champagne, I pouted. Where was my free booze? This champagne isn't free!

A bad moment, in my opinion. I like to think I don't look like a child throwing a tantrum - most of the time anyway. I corrected myself, donated, then spent the last of my money on raffle tickets.

I won a bottle of whiskey. Ah. There was the free booze.

This is me. Jumping.

Two days ago, a funny thing happened.  This blog started getting three times the normal amount of hits and I had no idea why.  That is, until I went on Style Bubble and saw that one of my comments had been re-upped on a post about blogger poses .  This is what I said.


"The old 'mid-air jump' pose is another pose not for the light hearted blogger. Tried it once. Never again. Think I'll just stick to the 'Are those MY shoes?' pose in the future."


So, if anyone out there should click on the link and wonder what the one time I tried the mid-air jump and failed miserably looks like, here it is in all it's anticlimactic glory.  It was taken in a dingy smoking room in an even dingier nightclub and this, believe it or not, is the best of what seemed like twelve million attempts but in reality was probably only five or six.  In my mind, I look like an electrocuted sausage roll.  Hence, sticking to the 'staring at the shoes' pose in the future.

Jacket - Lipsy, Cardigan - Agnes b, Top - Ann-Sofie Back for Topshop,
 Borrowed scarf, Brooch - Sonia Rykiel for H&M, Tights, Primark, Vintage roper boots

PS - As you can see, I've a negligible amount of links at the side of my page.  I'm going to get on that very very soon.  I'd love to trade links, if anyone wants to, do let me know!

Cork Fashion Week Young Designer of the Year Award

Saturday evening was the night of the Young Designer of the Year Award and was the first major event to kick off Cork Fashion Week.

I had the good luck to interview four of the six finalists for the Cork Independent last week.  They were all nice as pie and very excited to be participating and, as I listened to them describing their inspiration and what they'd be working with, I started to get very excited indeed.  As the day neared I started to wonder how their pieces would look on the catwalk as opposed to the images in my mind, and wondered if I'd be disappointed.

Nope.  Not disappointed at all.  In fact, I'm kicking myself for even harbouring such thoughts in the first place.  Although all of the finalist's collections were excellent, for the sake of space (and my sanity because I'd probably end up writing a thesis) I'll stick to writing about my three favourites.



Laura Eliason - I could make a lorryload of puns about this American putting we Irish in the shade with her parasol heavy collection...  but I wont.  The parasol is a direct link to each of the outfits, as her main source of inspiration is a vintage umbrella that belonged to her grandmother.  Everything was suitably vintage-esque, with nude shades and crochet details.  The crochet!  How my heart breaks for a nice bit of crochet.  I really should have paid attention to my fifth class teacher when she was breaking out the crochet hooks instead of reading Sweet Valley High books.   As you can see, the shape of the dresses are relaxed and fluid.  I really wish I'd taken video footage because these photos really don't convey just how flouncy and flippy and flattering these pieces really are.



Marie Clair Foley
Foley's collection of dresses really have to be handled up close and personal in order to be properly appreciated.  The hand dyed material in particular was a great design feature (the bodice on the pink dress above, second from right, was incredibly well constructed.  I was staring at it so hard from my seat trying to see exactly where material was overlapped and folded that I almost forgot to take a snap).  The hand dyed material really cut through the stripes and gingham, giving it an unusual edge.  Also notable were the cut outs under the bust and around the back



And last but by no means least, my absolute favourite, the collection by Belinda Sullivan.  There's no two ways about it - she should be working for Prada.  While I wasn't too mad about the lime green accents (purely a personal thing), I was in love with everything else - the colours, the tailoring, the perfect balanced proportions, the textures; everything.

Her collection does seem very reminiscent of Prada.  Think 'ladylike with a twist'.  There's no way I could express how much I loved her looks in one paragraph, especially looks 1 and 4 above.  The burnt orange and tweedy brown colour combination of the dress with short sleeved coat with an amazing, puckered texture... To quote Rachel Zoe, I die.  And, of course, the the high-waisted sailor trousers had just the right amount of 'flip' at the cuffs - something that is sadly missing in many a pair of wide legged trousers.

Belinda won the competition - a well-deserved win.  I can only hope we'll see more of her and the other contestants in the future.

Cork Fashion Week Supplement

I've been blogging for only a month so I have no routine or posting pattern (on this blog at least, the sister blog has been steadily chugging along for six months or so). I'm sure if I had been blogging for an extended period of time I'd no doubt be apologising over extended absences or lack of content. Or something. However, I've been busy beavering away on The Cork Independent's Cork Fashion Week supplement. Along with a host of talented, hard-working writers and bloggers I'm glad to have helped to put a very nice package together. Did anyone see it when it came out on Thursday?  Everyone worked very hard on it and all the staff at the Cork Indo deserve a huuuuge pat on the back for their efforts. Here's my contributions.

An interview with the organisers, Vivienne Kelly and Emer O'Sullivan

A rundown of The Young Designer Awards and the contestants

A lookbook for three of the main shows - and an ad for lovely white teeth

Unless you have microscopic vision you'll notice that the pictures have been resized and the text is barely legible.  Worry not! You can read the digital edition here (just click on the digital edition icon on the right of the screen).

EDIT - Credit where it's due...

The Young Designer of the Year outfit is by Belinda Sullivan

Lookbook

Young Designer of the Year
Gingham scuba dress by Norwegian Wood at Etsy
1940's Vintage pumps by Dear Golden Vintage at Etsy
Sailor hat at River Island
Coloured hairspray and gels available at Boots

Toni and Guy Loves You
Dress at French Connection
Shoes by Louise Goldin for Topshop

Boutique@The Imperial
Floral dress at MyAmity
Bustier at River Island

Is the Blog the modern equivalent of the Zine?

Many apologies.  If your computer is anything like mine, it may be crashing right now under the weight of such an image heavy-post.

Below, in all it's monochromatic, gritty glory is 1977 punk Zine How To Look Punk, which I found via a very interesting post on subculture and commodity at Threadbared (well worth a short click). 

I couldn't possibly add to their intelligent post in terms of the regimenting of punk style in a recognisable, homogenous format.  The zine itself is a fascinating peep into a whole world I was way too young for (and who knew you needed to wear two shades of blusher to be truly punk?).  It makes me want to create a whole new category on the blog called 'shit you can do with safety pins'.

But I'm steaming steadily off topic.  The boom of zines in the fifties to the nineties covers a realm of subcultures from sci-fi to punk to crafting to the riot girrl movement.  This begs the question - is fashion blogging the new subcultural topic - is blogging the 21st century equivalent of the zine?

So...here's a few correlations that you may or may not agree with

1)  Ease of publishing and distribution.  My granny can see about eighteen inches in front of her face and calls me by my younger sister's name but if I popped a computer in front of her she'd probably be able to figure out how to start a blog.  Likewise, zines have a DIY ethic that, while more traditionally hands on, still requires no financial backers, little or no start-up costs and a distribution network that relies more on word of mouth (for example, sending an SAE to an address with a nominal amount in it and receiving your zine in the post a few days later, an approach also used with cassette clubs in the late 70s and early 80s) than advertising proper.
2) A saturated market.  You could see Style Bubble as the fash blog equivalent of Sniffin' Glue.  Cultish and standalone at first, the existence of one good blog (or zine) will spawn a proliferation of similarly themed blogs.  Like zines, some blogs are excellent but not as widely-read as they deserve to be.  Similarly, some blogs are total dross and attract huge readerships due in part to the profile of the blogger him/herself and not strictly the body of work.
3)  Existence in an archival hinterland.  It's nigh on impossible to catalogue the number of fashion blogs and properly archive them for future viewing, just as there is no definite index of zines.  One gets the feeling that a large part of a subcultures history has been pre-emptively burnt away due to the difficulty of properly indexing blogs or zines (although there is a good archive of punk music zines here).
4) A singular fascination with one topic.  It's been observed by more than a few fashion bloggers that fashion has become less related just to the clothes that a person wears than a full time hobby.  Fashion and perhaps more importantly, personal style as a form of creative expression has become more of a subject of obsession (this may be due in part to the internet and the ready availability of information that would more commonly be found in libraries of scholarly texts).  A zine will generally focus on a very specific issue.

And a note for the future - will blogs be compiled into books - books that may go out of print and end up commanding astronomical prices, an ironic counterpoint to it's initial accessibility and low/no price point?  New copies of the book compilation of Sniffin Glue now cost around 100 euro...