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Kim Kardashian and the hair change game.

A few weeks ago a friend of mine was helping her younger sister through her first heart break. She text me saying that she had already sat there thinking ‘What would Boo do’ – and ended up telling her sister to go and get her hair done. When I read the message, I laughed to then settle and realise ‘that is what I would do’ (and not just for heartbreak). I liked it. It has always helped…

Today the amazingly talented Kim Kardashian unveiled her new ‘do… a short peroxide blonde do. There’s a huge part of me that believes it’s a complete publicity stunt for, well, of course herself and Balmain. Balmain, who’s head designer is Olivier Rousteing who just so happens to employ aspiring model Kendall Jenner and is a close friend of the Kardashian/Jenner clan.

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However people are beginning to question her decision to do something so shocking. Again, at first instance I simply think she is looking for yet another reason for people to talk about her, it’s been a while since she took her clothes off or blah blah blah. Yet if I take it back to realising that she is a human at the end of the day and as Jo Hansford says “Often an extreme change of hairstyle or colour can be a sign that something else dramatic is going on in someone’s life so perhaps this is the case.”

I think it’s true – you don’t do crazy dramatic things to your image or life if you are happy – you do it if things are empty or going wrong… It’s not just Kim. There are many celebrities and women that do it. I am sure men have the same reaction, although they most likely go and ride a bike, or a million girls.

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It has been done for years, by women of all ages, from all backgrounds, and for all different reasons. Why do we think a hair style change will help? Well, yes, it gives us something else to focus on- a distraction. On some level do we think things will be better if our hair is different. Are we thinking that we are not worthy of happiness and no heartbreak unless we have better/different hair?

You can go get bangs, change the colour, cut it all off, add more hair – there or do more than one of these things. New hair, new person? New hair, new life? … NEW HAIR, NEW HEARTBREAK.

I have no idea when I first did something dramatic to my image or more specifically my hair to help me get over and move on from something, and to be honest it’s only ever hurt my bank account… So what’s the harm?

But don’t you just think – is it a call out for help?

Thank you, you messed up my dreams.

One night last week I found myself looking up what female targeted publications like Elle had written about abortions. I was surprised to find quite a few articles as there seems to be a very driven campaign in regards to womens rights to abortions.

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I didn’t have it within me to read them exactly then but left them open in my browser for when I was ready, or had the time to read the articles with the understanding that I wanted, and feel that the subject deserves.
It wasn’t until I had a very traumatic nights sleep in which I dreamt that I had gone ahead and had my baby with my ex. She, Lavender, our little girl was at least a year old in the dream and for some reason was looked after solely by her father. I was only allowed to see her at his pub, although it wasn’t the pub he has in ‘real life’. Lavender was always very happy to see me, despite her Dad always being reluctant to let me see her when I was just passing by the pub. She was beautiful.
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I woke up very confused, checking my tummy and around my bedroom for evidence of her existence. But nothing. ‘What name is Lavender?’ I don’t think I even like that name. ‘Why did he have her?’ He doesn’t want her, or any baby – no way is he a fit parent. ‘Yet she’s so happy, and so so beautiful’.
Later that day I called my Bikram Yoga studio to buy a new course and the gentleman whom I am very friendly with told me the conditions of leaving the 12 month course, one of them being that if I become pregnant. I found myself listening to him mention over and over in different sentences how ‘we wouldn’t want that to happen’, ‘you have your sisters wedding’, ‘well I guess maybe after’. At his first remark I joked, ‘no that won’t be happening’ but he went on further with a good few remarks. Am I missing something?
What if I had carried through with my pregnancy, would someone like him have judged me? Thought of me differently. I am not hurt, or ashamed… just very confused.
I have read the articles. I have read up on Emily Letts and watched her Youtube film. I have ordered Katha Pollitt’s book. But something I find as a recurring notion is that we shouldn’t feel guilty… but I do. I feel guilty, and I feel ok with that guilt. I feel a huge sense of loss, even after almost 2 months. I will catch myself in moments thinking ‘I would have been this many months’, ‘my bump would’ve been this big’, or ‘would I be here, now, with you if I were pregnant?’.
It’s a strange experience and milestone for anyone, yet so different at the same time.

Shitty Christmas & a Crappy New Year

I struggle to remember too much of the past couple of Christmas holidays and New Years; most likely because I have blocked them out.

I love the idea of the holidays, the presents, wrapping, family, food and everything in between but, like my birthday, I have forever set my expectations way too high.

Last year, well actually like most years, I was ill. Perforated both my ear drums so spent most of the holiday working, crying, sleeping and obviously couldn’t hear a thing!

I know that in years to come the holidays will get better as babies come along and my family grows the way I want it to – but you can’t help other than to notice the people that aren’t there; and for many different reasons.

One thing that I always do is a New Years resolution, since I can remember. Have I stuck to them? Probably never.

Last year was different. I wrote them with my sister and her then boyfriend but now fiancé… This gave me the opportunity to know I was in safe hands and could write what I really wanted…

I wanted quite a few things for myself; some silly things. But there were two things that were very personal and very important…

I wanted to not go back with my ex boyfriend.

I wanted to fall and be in love by my birthday.

Well, the later, I did. The the first, I now have to admit… I did not. Am I disappointed in myself for breaking my resolution? Certainly not. I want to believe that everything that I have done this year up to this point, I did because I believed in something and I felt a certain way.

I don’t want to take anything back. Not even falling in love, as much as it hurts me every single day. I don’t want to wish I didn’t go back to my ex again, because we did it for a reason. Things are shame, yes. However, we have to learn.

I am learning ‘myself’ everyday. Will I ever be complete, most likely not. Am I ok with that? I have to be. Do I wish there was less anxiety and less insomnia in my life? Yes, please.

I need to grow, I need to understand and eventually I will move on. Not today, most likely not next week either.

One thing I will say though… I am sorry. Sorry to the people that I have hurt, most for god sake – I wish I would stop hurting myself to make other people happy and ok.

15th of May 2014: Where did it go?

Never before, in my long almost 21 years, have I struggled to read and stand still with someone as much as I have with him.

The fact that I struggle to read him yet he is such a simple happy-go-lucky guy confuses me even more to the point where I am expected to be as straight forward as possible, yet the feelings that I have for him mean that I am so unsure of myself that I come across as crazy and complicated when actually it is quite simple: I like him and love spending time with him. My worst fear, other than being called crazy and complicated, is that I come across needy – but it is so much more simple than that… Why wouldn’t you want to spend as much time as humanly possible with someone that makes you laugh, feel comfortable, smile, pull funny faces, gives you butterflies and everything in between?

For a person that prides them-self on being independent and living life for their sister, house mate and friends and occasionally their family to allow someone to make them feel such a way that they are OK for them to always be touching some part of their body? Never before have I felt so comfortable when someone touches me – whether holding my hand, resting their head on my stomach or pinching me because of a stupid joke I have made.

I have to promise myself to not get too ahead of reality with my thoughts, likewise not screw things up and make scenarios into something they are not. I have to take a deep breath and enjoy while it lasts. Trust my gut and believe that I can do this and I can be myself and let someone just accept that for what it is and who I am.
I know all of the pro’s and con’s already – I know how it could go wrong, I am educated and mature enough to see (albeit clouded by each kiss)… but for now, I am going to take what I can get from this person and enjoy it… in the hopes that maybe, he is the person that makes me the best version of myself, every day.

He asked for me to be open, so I will honour that to the best of my ability with every fibre of my body. I promise to not let my previous relationships (with my family and ex’s) be reflected onto my behaviour with him, and I swear to not abuse the fact that he is a gentlemen in every meaning of the word, and take that for granted.

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Throwback:

They say that you have to feel the bad and sad so that you know what happiness and good is. I think I have written before that I feel like I have only really felt true pure happiness despite everything not being perfect, once in my life. I haven’t been worried or concerned that it has only happened once, especially since the months to follow that moment were pretty tragic, and messy (not the good kind). In that moment, I know where I was, who I was with, why I was happy and all of things that were perfect, and weren’t. I felt loved by someone, and even now, despite the bad ending – I look back to that moment, and remember the people that made me feel that way. I think I am lucky to have even had that moment. Although things have changed massively, one person is still around and I am forever thankful for her. If there was a God then I would thank him, for putting her in my life. But the truth is that you still have to work at your relationship (in whatever format) with people that you are blessed to have.

Anyway – it is the run up to my 21st birthday and for many people in this modern world, this is a huge milestone. Makes you look at your life and mostly your future and think about what it is worth and for.

Despite my constant struggle with IC, my ever changing relationship with most of the members of my family, my laziness & in ability to really apply myself to my degree, my severe insomnia and anxiety – I have a lot to be grateful for. I have taken advantage of quite a few things in the last couple of weeks, and for the sake of the people that love and care for me, I will not say the things that I have done, nor will I do them again. This is me, typing, out loud. Almost like a confession. I confess all my sins and swear to not be so naughty and calm down.

“Coming Soon”

‘My Daddie’s a Rockstar! :(‘

‘Crazy, Complicated, Cute’

‘RUST and BONE’

‘Fat, fatter, slim, skinny, bones… and all too much’

‘Girl Gone Go’

‘Balance of the Booty’

‘Everything is ok’

‘And to all, a good night’

– the last eight x

– often

If you type the word ‘often’ into Google you will be met with the result… frequently; many times.
Well, what if you put three small letters in front of that… not. Not often.
Often is a funny word, because it can lead to many options, many results – but also isn’t very specific.

I believe that in every persons life they will come to a cross roads – whether big or small (life changing or not). But people sometimes find themselves ‘looking in the mirror’. If someone tries to tell you they have never experienced this and they are over 50 – they are lying!

Crossroads can be a tricky thing – they can lead you to feel low, and they can also bring you a challenge, which some people enjoy. By no means less, any person that overcomes or makes it through a crossroad in their life should be proud of themselves, no matter how big or small. They key: let yourself, be proud, of you. I don’t believe that it is healthy to rely too heavily on the people around you or involved in the crossroads to be the only ones that grant you the chance to feel proud. Part of any crossroad is that ultimately you make the choice(s) yourself, and you find your own way through.

This is not to say that if you make the wrong turn at the crossroads you can’t go back and try again. You can. As many times as you want. But again, even if it takes you a thousand routes – when you get there, when you feel in your heart and your gut that you are in the right place and have made the right decision… be proud of you. Feel that. Grant yourself that.

For many, that moment doesn’t come often, and for others they are constantly facing crossroads (this doesn’t make anyone better or more). When this moment comes, RELISH it.

Relish it… often.

Why even bother… Fuck it.

‘How about I put on some naughty underwear and we have sex…?’

Why would you need to put underwear on?

‘See, that’s one of the main things that I find disappointing with you is that you don’t care for underwear’

I don’t see the point in it – but you wear weird slutty underwear all the time anyway

-10 minutes later –

‘What do you mean slutty and weird?’

Ya know, lace, straps and thongs and stuff

‘Erm, what do women wear?’

Big plain knickers

Maybe we could be each other’s soul mates

“Don’t laugh at me, but maybe we could be each other’s soul mates. Then we could let men be just these great, nice guys to have fun with.” Charlotte York, Sex and the City.

Lucky for me… I have my soul mate. But even better than that I am blessed enough that he will be there, for ever.

Months can go by, and a lot can change (believe me! I’m talking lovers, ex lovers, marriage, tattoos, weight, hair, and god knows what else) but there he is… My SOLE/SOUL mate.

6 years ago, god knows what month it was… I was put clubbing with a group of friends and my current boyfriend. I know exactly what I was wearing (high waisted harem black suit trousers, black Mary Jane Louboutins, low cut/low back white racer back ripped vest, and a very naughty, very see through, lace and silk bra; and of course, a chanel 2.55 – it will always be me to wear a vest that was slutty but I had picked up from a market in Vietnam, trousers from Topshop and then top the cost of my whole outfit by adding a bag and shoes!). Anyway; there I was walking along the high street of this little town that I had grown up in to go move my boyfriends car whilst he was busy buying everyone drinks… Who do I bump into? My love, my genie, Reece Morgan. Now what I haven’t mentioned is that – this club was full of nice girls dressed like hoochies! You would see a Chanel here, Kurt Geiger there, Prada there… But the main aim with these girlies was sluttiness and as you can probably tell; what I was wearing was sexy, subtle but never hoochie mumma! Maybe that’s why he chose me, only he could tell you that. The inimitable Reece. So there I am, treating the high street as a run way and I bump into an acquaintance, turns out he was heading to the same place I was drinking with his girlies. Before I knew it, 2 weeks later I was on a stone table, in a mesh body, with black lipstick, wet look black eyeshadow, slicked back jet black hair… Pouting and posing. And that was just the beginning…

Now, when I first came across Reece I just knew him to be an aspiring photographer with an amazing sense of style. It wasn’t until we had numerous Cosmos and Margaritas that I realised every element that makes him is pure fabulous. From his ever changing hair styles, ooh snap! To his huge collection of handbags from Louis Vuitton, Burberry, Chanel and Hermes. Not forgetting his irresistibly delicious personality.

Only Reece would turn up at one of my friends magazine launch parties in Mayfair and get papped on his way home, simply for looking so gorg and fabulous. As if! Crazy.

This man is there for everything whether it be a simple BBQ in the garden of my fathers ranch (me in flares and him in all black), drinks in Canary Wharf (me in 10 inch heels and him in vintage), winter cocktails in Covent Garden (me with my pink 2.55 chanel and him draping himself in fur), a burlesque show in the West End (me in all black apart from my rose gold courts and Michael Kors and him traipsing in Dior), a Cheryl Cole concert at the O2 arena (me in leather trousers and him holding a jug of Cosmo) or us trying to figure out a way to make pink fishnet mesh work in my dressing room.

But it’s not just the clothes, the memories and the designers, it’s the art – his art, my drunken ‘art’, the art of love (or trying I find it), our worshipping of art (whether it be SJP, bitching about Kim K, slamming Britney, or worshipping the queens of the red carpet and the skinny bitches behind a camera!). There is pure talent there, and not necessarily the talent that you make for yourself by having a subscription to Vogue, or trading in your mums vintage for the to-die-for-vintage, or dressing to impress… For me, he was born with it. It’s the air, the blood and all the different organs that put him together and create pure talent-full fabulousness!

Well ya know what, here’s to the men that have come and gone (and stayed!) for the both of us, the fashion faux pas (for the both of us!!) and here’s to the next 50 plus years where this (photographer, stylist, socialite, bitch, editor, realised) man will still be my soul/sole mate… Because no matter what happens I will be wearing my Louboutins as slippers and he might well be taking the trash out in his vintage Hermes.

Love you, DOLL.

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L’Wren My Love, Sweet Dreams

I think it is quite known that I have an admiration for these women who make something of themselves from nothing, and in the process change so much and so little. L’Wren Scott was born Luann Bambrough in 1964. She will most likely be remembered now as ‘Mick Jagger’s girlfriend that hung herself’. Sadly, she did and this is true, she hung herself with a scarf in her Manhattan apartment. Alone.

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But not only was she ‘someone’s girlfriend’ she was a beautiful fashion designer and from what I can gather… I beautiful person…

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Raised by adopted mormon parents, L’Wren reached 6ft by the tender age of twelve no doubt setting tongue’s wagging and leading her to the life of a model in Paris. Model-turned-stylist-turned designer she definitely got my attention regardless of the almost twenty eight year age gap… the ‘headmistress’ dress worn by Madonna and so many to follow really cemented L’Wren’s presence. Her love for any material in the shade of black. Her style was glorious.

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I have been touched and influenced by this wonderful creature and am massively saddened by her sudden and (unnecessary) shocking death. I send my love, hopes and best wishes to her loved ones; family, friends and everyone close – and only hope they find peace with this tragic decision.

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Die young, and I shall accept your death-but not if you have lived without glory, without being useful to your country, without leaving a trace of your existence: for that is not to have lived at all.

Napoleon Bonaparte