Tuesday, 29 July 2014

The Hatty Topic






Two Sundays ago I wrote about the evolution of dresses - they transform into tops, or better still; they were already pre-before perceived as oversized t-shirts. I saw the wide ass brim hat I wore. I then thought about hats; that obnoxiously irritating accessory that could render one to be unable to put on their sunglasses properly, or worse (?), hinders and poses as a significant obstruction to others in terms of their sight. I got my wool object from Zara - men's section, which may cause you to wonder, how on earth man accessories became so sartorially articulated? - at about a fraction of the price you that you can find on high end boutiques and e-commerce because, who wears big ass hats other than Saint Laurent?

It got me staring at my hats (headwear in general). I had a few of them, in array of bowlers, wide brims, fedoras, printed fedoras, beanies and ball caps. They even had their time of trend too. There were a plethora of beanies last fall and an exchange thereafter for ball caps (was there a 1-for-1 returns and exchange policy I didn't notice?) during spring. When it comes to hats, there is a fine line between 'Person wore hat' and 'Hat wore person'. How is it possible to know that we've sufficiently put on enough head coverage and strategically not be overshadowed by it?

The answer is we don't. That is because we never hardly get dominated by our head-dresses. Yes, initially it might seem that the hat wore the person; that people are constantly throwing you (positive) 'shade' than their usual self, with some even commenting: "Omg, where did you get that hat from?". The reason? That's because they've always wanted the same too!

So why do we put on our thinking caps? Are we perpetually out there to annoy others by restricting their panoramic view and we secretly feel joyous and accomplished? Or are we out there to use it as an aegis from the harmful summer rays? Are we sadists or vampires? Or are we sadistic vampires?

I personally think that wearing hats can further accentuate one's features and ensemble. Think of it as accessorising, not adumbrating. And as my old adage goes (and many other's daily mantra): Why conform when you can stand out? The idea of perching hats - yes we might be deemed as socially awkward and a form of annoyance - could mean that we're willing to surmount our personal comfort zones. I mean, how many people out there are willing to put on a big brimmed hat out? Why be pseudo if we can be perfecto for rest of our lives?

Enough said, I'm going to wear my wide ass hat out now.

Images from style.com and manrepeller.com

Saturday, 26 July 2014

Popping Collars - Not to Be Confused With Poppers



Pardon my face on image one - I wasn't on poppers, the sun was simply too strong and I had left my sunglasses indoors.

Have you stopped doing the whole detachable collar thing because it went out of trend? Or have you placed a halt to it because of the sweltering summer that caused you to overly and unusually perspire at your neck regions which eventually renditioned you to develop redness and then itch you to death? Or have you never even actually started on that trend?

I think you better do.

Since it is actually humid and your parents advised you not to participate in activities that would result you to have difficulties in breathing, I think you shouldn't be a rebel like me. No really you shouldn't. What if you tried to bring your temperatures down to a surreal (but it is the most ideal) state by replenishing on fluids, but your collar ended up obstructing you and you got liquid in your oesophagus that caused you to asphyxiate? What if you actually grew wiser and listened to your parents midway and tried to remove the collar but you couldn't, and you accidentally got it convoluted and tangled up which then strangled you to death? What if before you even tried to remove the collar on, the collar cut off your breath because it was choking on to you so badly, but you've decided that you'll still have it glazed on your neck because you would rather die looking chic than to survive looking shit?

Don't say I didn't double warn you.

Incidentally, I thought of what you thought of too. That is why I had my collar on no matter how intense the heat got, and no matter how much I actually gagged whilst trying to take a sip of water. Lol, I kid. As the temperatures got cooler (who am I even lying, look at my spastic face in the first image), I preferably would like to get a warm cup of coffee to keep me warm but then again, the heat in between my neck and neck collar could actually keep me cozy enough. I skipped coffee. Plus, you save seven bucks on that Starbucks!

Who could I even joke? I spent that seven bucks on an iced cold dark mocha. But hey, I managed to survive with that collar on!

Feist of feistheist.com detachable collar, Topman tartan t-shirt, Zara jeans and sandals

Image credits Mr Big using iPhone 5S

Wednesday, 23 July 2014

White like a Virgin






We've seen the ubiquitous black that has become a normality for French style (and your style, my style, every-other-human-being-out-there's style in one period of time, or probably just on a black tie occasion; no pun intended). Black is straightforward and concise, you don't even have to question its succinctness to be actually baffled by its effortlessness. Black emanates simplicity, yet it is infused with certain inexplicable complexity that allows one to radiate a certain mysterious vibe. And in order to emit such aura to attract others (or to pleasantly satisfy oneself), we consume more black till it has become inevitable in our lives. Give yourself this challenge: try not spotting black on someone's entire outfit (inclusive of arm accoutrements, shoes, bags or even hair colour). I doubt it's possible, no? If you've successfully managed to spot one, go up to them and question: "Why not black today?" It seems like no matter how humid and hot summer emits, black is still ineluctable. Black has become an indispensable part in our lives. Black is like, everything.

No wait, is it really everything?

What about the other colours? What about blues, greens, browns and hazels? Why do we repetitively consume black instead of the other array of colours that are readily available to our acquisition? Since black is a colour, or lack thereof, at the tail of the spectrum, so why do we not opt for its far end (or far front) counterpart? Aka white? Isn't white a perfect replica of black - similar in its ideology of 'lack of colour'?

Whilst black emanates the two Cs: Cool and Classy, white radiates the other two Cs: Compose and Clean. When you put on, let's say a white jumpsuit, you subconsciously happen to find yourself very composed, calm and at ease. You feel like you're together as one with serenity. You could stop by the park to listen to the birds saccharine chirps. You could even accomplish your work or task on time without being stressed for the very first time. Don't you think so?

When I speak of 'clean', I don't mean clean as in spotlessness; I meant clean cut. I think we're just naturally inclined to believe that one appears immaculate with the use of white fabrics. It's like "Oh, seems like Sally had taken a bath three hundred times since this morning." or "Clumsy Chloe didn't spill her soup today!" or "Hey, Barbara actually remembered her tampon!"

But the sad reality is that we aren't immaculate with white fabrics. We often spill ketchup on our white crisp shirt, trip over our heels and fall into a puddle of mud, having sweat stains in our underarm area (it's really inevitable during summer, right?) that eventually turned yellowish green and even carelessly perching our asses on a bench that highlighted in caps: 'DO NOT SIT, WET PAINT'. We're much more naturally inclined to ruining our white garments, especially during summer.

So why is it that white is still the perfect colour for summer? If we are constantly leading our white clothes to extinction with our perspiration and negligence, why do we still continuously acquire them? Is it our guilty pleasure? Or is it just our pleasant guilt to replenish them once we've used them out (aka destroyed and tarnished them after the second usage)? I think it's the alabaster airy fabrics that reminds us of our inner peace and pure innocence. We feel relaxed and confident that we'll conquer the world today. We feel like we're back to our gullible child-like state - that we start to believe we're all innocuous virgins.

Lol, I kid.

Why not let's start throwing away the idea of staining our shirts - especially our underarm arena - by faithfully cleansing our armpits regularly and inaugurate whites into our summer? We can always keep our blacks for winters and go: "I wanna be a virgin today!"

First look: Zara linen embellished shirt, Zara pajamas pants, Charles & Keith sandals, Monki bag and Topshop scarf.
Second look: Feist from feistheist.com shirt (hey, it draws close resemblance to "Business up the front, party at the back!"), Uniqlo shorts, Bimba & Lola espadrille sandals.

Image credits Imran

Sunday, 20 July 2014

The Shirt Dress (Or Dress Shirt?)






Last Tuesday I thought it'll be cool to teeter around in one of the dresses (actually correction, it's the only one I've ever purchased by far) I bought from H&M. It was three sizes too huge, hence adding on emphasis to the conjectured term 'oversized' in the whole ideology of 'dresses are oversized t-shirts' (coined by me) because I speculate that dresses are simply and merely baggy, oversized t-shirts because 1) one is to lazy to wear pants or 2) one couldn't even bother to put on shorts either. Great invention!

Kudos to the creator of dresses. And sorry for that long blabber of nonsensical verbal diarrhoea.

Here's the real question: Why do we even wear dresses? Is it because girls desire to look more feminine - radiating that inner damsel self - when it comes to a dinner date with their Mr Big so that it sexually and sartorially appeal to the opposite gender? Or is it because dresses (think gowns) are deemed as a better option to appear on red carpet because it channels class and composure? Or is it simply because, as aforementioned, one is simply too lazy to put on some pants? Then why put on safety shorts instead? Why not go commando?

So why waste money on buying pants if we can cover and conceal our breasts and butts with one piece on clothing instead of two? And isn't it sartorially more demeanour and pleasant for the opposite sex to eventually sexually indulge and further desire us? That's killing two birds with one stone! But are we all going on a financial compensation and being Samantha Jones?

Try to foresight this: After two years, you eventually got more successful - and hence, richer - and our Mr Big becomes our Mr no-Big-deal-if-you-repelled (it would've been best if you repelled other men's attention), does that mean that all our dresses will seek out to Salvation Army? Does it mean you have to sacrifice your favourite boxy breton striped dress you painstaking acquired it three years ago from Zara (that was the dress that got away, it didn't exist in Singapore, boohoo!) just because your phased out of wearing dresses? What if you and your dress are inseparable? I know that in my case, as dresses emanate a more effeminate feel - which oppose to my man repelling ways and my notion of 'Dressing up for myself and not for the comfort of others' - and that my clothes and I are usually inherently integral, I thought: "Why save money (and then waste money) and attract boys when I can further repel myself?" After some critical suggestion and shorts (or pants), here's what I propose.

Wear the dress once. Then twice. Then thrice. If you've out won yourself in cogitating ways to work a dress as a dress itself every time, then congratulations! Carry on for multiple times. Once you've outworn and worn out your brain cells, you then carry on to put some jeans on (or shorts, if you feel like doing so). Slip on your favourite shoes (In my case, it's none other than my Superga) and carry your favourite minaudière for confidence. Remember to accessorise as well.

Tada! Don't you feel victorious? Do you really need to toss that dress into charitable organisations? How do you feel about yourself now? Any sense of accomplishment? Oh, psst, you can also get inspired from the above images of Leandra herself.

H&M Spring 2014 tassel denim dress, Zara jeans which I had to snatch it away from a b*tch (lol, jk, I waited for her to discard it after she tested them on), Man Repeller x Superga satin sneakers, Zara clutch.

Image credits Imran

Thursday, 17 July 2014

The 40 Year Old Virgin





Okay, I take that back. You might not be a virgin. But you are forty.

So let's picture this: What if one fine day, whilst strolling through Central Park, you envisioned this: "After forty years venturing on a planet called Earth - which included travelling of various countries and finally settling on New York - strangely and unluckily, you never met Mr Big. Despite the bizarre encounters with that French, Spanish, Brazillian and Italian men you had during your journey to pursuit for the geographically cozy and ideal settlement, they were not giving you that Mr Big vibe - they were slanted more towards Aidans and Aleksandr Petrovskys.

Just when you've decided to give up hope, you glanced upon a relatively familiar silhouette that reflected upon The Lake. You were baffled. You couldn't believe who you saw.

It was a reflection of yourself. Just then you had this idea: "If there are no existing decent forty something year old single men, why not just marry yourself?"

That gave you a perfect excuse for purchasing that overly costly and extravagant Giambattista Valli shirt-meets-tulle dip dyed yellow couture gown. Not to mention you might even want to turn up in that Alexander McQueen lacey gown from fall too. You think that purchasing two gowns is irrational, but who would (or could) even stop you from doing so? Even your other half (self) agrees to your achievements.

Imagine if you had an extended after party, you then need to change out into something more comfortable, but you'd want to have a gown on still. You could either take that creamish pink Delpozo gown, or that colourfully striped Rosie Assoulin dress. What if you wanted both? Could yourself stop your-self?

Eventually, you succumbed to the temptations and lies that you tell yourself "I'll wear this dress again" and bought all. Would you scold yourself, or would your other self agree to your actions?

Images via style.com & moda operandi