Wednesday, 29 February 2012

Way out in the water, see it swimmin'.

The Pixies – Where is My Mind?

I have joined the ranks of the living dead. What with my irregular sleeping patterns and mild (not so mild) caffeine addiction, I have been reduced to a shambling, low-guttural-moaning horror movie stock type. I blame last Saturday.

Don’t get me wrong, last Saturday was great! An early morning start to get a 9:45 train to Edinburgh (I forgot the camera. D’oh!) for the day, filled with walking about town eating all sorts of lovely things like Korean food at Shilla on Dunbas street, followed a coffee and a salted caramel and almond brownie at the Cuckoo cafĂ©, also on Dunbas street (this was divine. I prefer squidgy brownies over cakey ones, and this was the epitome of squidgy. Velvety soft chocolate brownie, with a thick layer of very salty caramel in between, dotted with crunchy whole almonds. Yes. Please.)

Us ladies then totted off for a jaunt in Harvey Nichols (well, the others totted. I rolled along, big belly in tow where said brownie had taken residence.) I really like Harvey Nicks. So far, every trip to Edinburgh has wound up there, amidst the brightly coloured Marc Jacobs iPad cases, the Alexander McQueen scarves and the Wolford tights, we made our way to the beauty counters, because you see, I had an agenda.

Ever since my friend Amelia used her Nars Dolce Vita blush on me, the idea of procuring a Nars blush of my own has been rattling at the back of my mind. While it has served me well, I was getting bored of my L’oreal Paris True Match blush that I’d been using for a good year and a half at least, as awful as that makes me sound. So faced with a massive selection, we were sticking our fingers in several palettes, swatching them onto the backs of my hands before finally making a decision. At the start, I really wanted Dolce Vita, but gradually started leaning towards this one.

Torrid in indoor lighting.

Torrid is a sort of pinkish-coral with red undertones and fine gold shimmer. Although shimmery, it’s not to the point where your face looks like a disco ball, which is a plus point for me, because I already have a shiny face to contend with. (Curse you, over-active sebaceous glands!) The problem with me and make-up counters though is that I have trouble stopping at just one product, and picked up the Velvet Matte Lip Pencil in Dragon Girl.

With flash.

I really do like how matte lips look. I’d already splashed out on got myself a Chanel Rouge Allure Velvet which in itself was already very nice, but this Nars lip pencil glides on so smoothly I could hardly believe it was matte! Dragon Girl is a blue-toned red, which personally I feel works for me better than say a yellow or orange toned one would.

I put aside some cash at the beginning of the month to go bungee-jumping and rafting, but unfortunately the trip got cancelled (in retrospect, this could have been a good thing.) and decided to blow it all on makeup, because I’m a clever gal that way. (I am going to ignore all of your “are-you-fucking-kidding-me faces".) Moving on to the Benefit counter, again with the poking fingers into various pots and pans, the new Hervana blusher (Her + Nirvana? Oh Benefit. Oh you and your silly puns.) caught my eye, and a helpful young lady came over offering to try it on me.

Hervana with flash.

Word of advice. If a make-up attendant’s make-up makes you cringe, letting her test out product on you is NOT a good idea.

It started off well enough, she showed me what Hervana looked on my face and I was really pleased with the result, but it started going wrong when she tried out the They’re Real mascara. I already had some of my regular mascara on, and that was a contributing factor to my clumping problem, but the bigger issue was that it really felt like she was smearing, yes, smearing mascara all over the place. Worse still, she tried to furiously rub it off using a dry cotton bud. I looked over at my friends and the expressions on their faces conveyed a sort of “what is she doing?” look at the make-up assistant. She then moved on to try out their Industrial Strength concealer on my face but somehow neglected to blend it in under my eyes, leaving me with reverse-panda eyes, i.e being too light underneath. To finish off her work of art, the attendant then produced some highlighter, (to Allisan’s horror) that she proceeded to rub on where she felt appropriate. If you recall my shiny-face syndrome, this couldn’t have ended well. Literally gleaming, I did walk away with 2 of the above products, but politely declined the girl’s offer of a complimentary make-up lesson and makeover, due to logistical issues (such as not living in Edinburgh) and more importantly, shiny was not a good look for me.

Surreptitiously wiping the gunk from my face, I spied Amelia testing out a new Armani lipstick, but somehow, the make=up lady for that counter seemed to have forgotten the left half of her bottom lip, and filled in what was a misshapen, almost triangular patch with a dark syrupy red. While a gorgeous colour, all we could see was wonky lip. I’ve looked at Amelia’s face almost everyday for like what, fifteen years now? She does not have wonky lips. What was up with the make-up universe that day? Gently dabbing the colour off with a make-up wipe, I could hear Amelia muttering “I could’ve done a better job manning that counter….”

Having enough, we went off to Mussel Inn on Rose Street for dinner. Seafood isn’t always very high on my list of favourite foods to eat, but when done well…. I regret not bringing my camera along, but a pot of steaming mussels, stewed in leeks, mustard, wine and their own juices, topped off with heavy cream, with fries and crusty bread for dipping, sublime. There was something visceral about plucking mussels from their shells and popping them into your mouth, armed with nothing other than a pair of empty shells, held in a tweezer-like grip. Moules Mariniere remind me of a weekend in Brussels, walking down cobbled streets, oohing and aahing over beautiful architecture and scoffing down waffles with gusto.

The ending to the dinner story isn’t nearly as serene as the beginning. Whilst casually basking in the afterglow of a full and content belly, Amelia looks down and realizes that our train leaves in ten minutes. Allisan bolts upwards and flings her debit card at the cashier, who must’ve heard our panicked cries (along with half the restaurant) and processed it as quickly as she could, before the four of us wound up doing a power walk to the station and doing a full-on sprint for the last stretch, jumping onto the train with a minute to spare.

You’d think after a full day out and a very noisy train ride (somebody on the train turned 30. Didn’t act like it.) I’d be ready to hit the hay. But no.

I came straight home and headed to a party. My neighbour’s 21st birthday to be exact. I essentially came home, got changed, freshened my makeup and headed out again, and came home at 4 in the morning, meaning I had been awake for 21 hours.

Why do I abuse myself this way?

Playsuit - Lipsy
Leather Jacket - New Look
Shoes -Mel

Why does my face never work in photos?

- Diana xxx

Friday, 24 February 2012


I'm not really sure what inspired this post. Maybe the fact I've spent the last hour or so watching long haired rock singers flail around on Youtube had a hand in it. Whatever the case, attractive men with glorious hair rockin' it? YES PLEASE.

I’ve always had a thing for tartan. To me, it has this certain quality about it that I can’t place which had always that little edge for me (Is badassery a word?). It can be incredibly bright to understated, and crops up everywhere, like being a punk staple, commercialized around the 1980’s (I bet Vivienne Westwood has a throne lined in tartan where she sits and thinks up yummy brilliant things like jelly stilettoes. Oh wait. Then you have MAC’s Totally Tartan collection in 2010, complete with little tartan makeup bags and kitschy brush holders, ) to seemingly more conservative roots (Catholic school girls. Until you go all Lolita on that shit. Then things get weird.) as well as historic backgrounds (my mother tells me that we’re distantly linked to the Whitfield family, so we’ve got about a drop of Scottish blood in our veins, but I have yet to find the family’s tartan print) and frankly, KILTS. I am pro-kilt. It makes older men look distinguished and young men dashing. (Although, as with everything, you do get the odd outlier. Like this old man who I see frequently wandering the city in the same jumper and kilt everytime. Then not so much.)

I used to have this cute little red and blue wraparound kilt that I bought last year, but the buttons on it unfortunately pinged off. On the train to London, no less. That was an awkward seven hours. The beginning of this year, I bought this little skater dress impulsively, but I liked it too much to return it (Why do I have this problem? RAGE!)

The wicked poster in the background belongs to Jess, I own nothing in this photo other than the clothes on my back.

I wore this outfit to the Chinese Society dinner and Karaoke night for Chinese New Year recently, and paired the dress with my Jeffrey Campbell Litas to carry on the slightly (very slight) punk inspired look, and nearly opted for a leather jacket to finish the look, but instead decided to go with a fitted and flared tweed coat instead to lend the whole outfit a more lady-like quality.

Dress (belt included) - Quiz
Boots - Harvey Nichols
Coat (fur stole included) - Topshop (sale)

Peace outtt.

Diana x

Wednesday, 22 February 2012

Hot Mess.

I apologise for the language in the previous post. But with so much on my mind right now, that test result was a kick in my metaphorical balls. I’ve just slunk off to lick my wounds and stew about how much I suck, but in the meantime, a little writing to take my mind off things would probably do me some good, and probably horrify you a little less.

I’m a hell of a mess today. I couldn’t sleep again, and I woke up late for uni, so it was a case of throwing on whatever I could grab and running out the door, and was shown a very strange film about a sentient chimp. Today was 5 hours that I’ll never get back.

If you think I look quite psychotic here, you're not alone.

Mess. Horrific, greasy mess. I've worn this outfit before and rocked it, but I was all over the place today and just wanted to get the day over with. In the back of my fried and frazzled mind, I imagined a white oxford shirt and black leggings to be a form of minimalist chic and having clean hair usually helps but between running around like a headless chicken and making sure I was at least fit for uni, a few luxuries had to be sacrificed.

Glasses - Ray-Bans

Men's shirt - Burton

Belt - New Look

Leggings - H&M

Flats - New Look

I'm so tired of everything right now.

- Diana.