Christmas Present Panic

Image courtesy of Dorky Boy Comics
www.dorkboycomics.com

I love to shop. This is a fact undisputed. Yet every December my mojo mysteriously short-circuits resulting in an epic case of Christmas present panic.

Last week, I stood in the middle of River Island with a Galliano style Mohawk hat, a teddy bear iPod cover and a ‘Grow Your Own Sponge Bob’.  The mixture of fear and dementia in my face told a cautionary tale. I felt like I was holding kryptonite and felt an additional pang of guilt for whoever was to be schlepped with Mr. Square Pants. And with that, I dropped my armful of alms on the nearest display unit and made a dash for the door.

At home lay a further ramshackle of wrong choices prompted by a combination of too little time, too many people and Slade blasting through shop speakers.  Lest I wanted to be banned from the family Christmas forever more, I thought it wise to implement a plan – if only to avoid fobbing off those fur mittens as hand puppets to my six year old niece.

Hence, a list was made, time blocked off and blinkers adjusted. I stormed each shop like Anneka Rice on a treasure hunt – only minus the jumpsuit, headset and Richard the soundman. You get the picture...

“Do you have an oversized cross-body bag that will suit a fifteen year old who loves Twilight, eyeliner and giving peace signs?” I importuned the first shop assistant.  (It’s important to paint a picture.) “What about a scarf that could pass for Hermes in the right lighting; or a coat that says ‘cute’ but also ‘suitable for cycling’?” Given it’s the season of giving, I was hoping the ‘ask and you shall receive’ tenet would ring true.

Other tactics included repeating silent affirmations in queues (I love waiting! Only twenty-five people ahead of me!), visualising Grafton Street empty (no mean feat I can tell you) and allowing myself a treat after each successful purchase. In total, that’s two pairs of shoes, three Butler’s hot chocolates (with marshmallows) and a Kikoh Reiki session. 

Although I still have one present to nail, I’m confident my shopper’s block has lifted. The question remains, where to get a present for a classy woman who likes to garden and claims to have everything she wants? Oh dear. Note to self: never leave Mom until last!

Meggings

From: Andy
To: Annmarie, Neil
Subject: Please tell me this won't take off...
Jeggings for men????
If it is I'll need boob tap and a short primer on tucking.

From: Annmarie
To: Andy, Neil
Subject: Re: Please tell me this won't take off...
In Ireland? Two words: doubt it. Can you imagine our fellas squeezing their bits into lycra whilst holding pints and watching the match? Something tells me this is the sole provenance of the runway. Then again, speedos and Jesus sandals (with socks) have also been spotted on the Milano catwalks. Yikes! Imagine double trending that?!

Pic: Burberry Prorsum MFW

Seriously?

I know rain is a given on our sodden isle but the recent sunshine is most certainly responsible for lowering my guard (and umbrella). Exhibit A: I wore my floral palazzos and suede brogues to The Ryan Tubridy Show this morning in conditions both sunny and dry. I swished in my new trousers - peachy pleased with their elegant silhouette. Cut to the city centre in conditions both dark and wet. I squelched in my shoes, holding up the ends of my trousers like a poor manna offering to the sky. "Look what you've done to my prize pants oh Nimbus - thou harsh taskmaster!" That'll teach me for not listening to Martin King.

I Love Motel??

I got this complimentary t-shirt today from a new fashion brand called Motel. Very sweet but I'm somewhat reticent to wear it; not least because it comes with its own matching keyring and bag. A bit like saying 'Line up fellas. I'm open for business!' Unless, of course, you happen to harbour a fondness for temporary accommodation. Let's face it, hipster irony isn't a good look on a gal my age. Guess I'll have to wear this one to bed - preferably in my own house; not a motel.

Toe Woes

I hate my toes. Fact. I spent many a year pretending to be a size 7 when really I'm an 8. Yet another fact. Given my unfortunate digital inheritance and years of denial, I am not privy to use of the term 'flip flop'. This is a source of great anxiety for me every summer. A few years ago I went to Greece and was told by a complete stranger that something could be done about my toes. She went so far as to recommend Harley Street. I spent the rest of that holiday knee-deep in sand. With my Spanish break a mere three weeks away, I've been desperate to find sandals that can double up as a cunning toe disguise. Thus far, I found a sequin panelled pair in Zara for €49.95 and this little beauty to my right on Asos.com for €43.75. They haven't arrived yet so I'm still dubious as to whether the fringe is long enough to disguise the offending piggies. I fear I may have to resort to some D.I.Y. tactics - a sandal brooch perhaps?

Maxi Blues

I love my maxi dresses - all 6 of them which is why I thought I'd make it lucky number 7 with this floral full-length frock from A|wear. This strapless number is all sorts of lovely - namely because it does not make me look like I'm escaping a flood. At six foot tall, most maxis just look sort of midi on me, especially if paired with wedges. So you can imagine my excitement when I found one that did what it said on the tin. Except....I had a bit of a wardrobe malfunction. Unused to the extra length, I trod on the hem in a Grafton Street shop only to expose my rather naff strapless bra. Thankfully, I was wearing one. Small graces and all that. My new mantra is 'lift before thy boobs separate.'

Poorlydressed.com

Fashion gaydar is most acute in San Fransisco these days. That's because our Neil is temporarily domiciled in the foggy Californian city while seconded on work. Ever the style-phile, Neil has managed to fulfill his sartorial duties by keeping the Irish fashion fraternity in fun finds. Remember - he was the one to discover People of Walmart and now its kissing cousin Poorlydressed.com. This is why he gets his own section. I cannot lay any claim to this content - it would be tantamount to intellectual property theft. Neil - you're so next season. Touché!

The gmail reads:

New site to waste time over:

http://poorlydressed.com/2010/03/10/fashion-fail-optical-illusion-fail/

And here...

http://poorlydressed.com/2010/03/08/fashion-fail-tight-end/

And here...

http://poorlydressed.com/2010/03/06/fashion-fail-beautiful-day-for-a-bike-ride/

Actually, that last guy is kinda famous in Hollywood, he cycles around sans knickers.

And am ordering this for the next cold snap:

http://poorlydressed.com/2010/02/08/fashion-fail-back-away-slowly/

Oh and here:

http://poorlydressed.com/2010/01/02/these-boots-are-made-for-standing-around-by-the-trash-can/

And lastly here...I vote for the polka dot.

http://poorlydressed.com/2009/12/30/jes%E2%80%A6jes-one-more-cinnamontini-kay-guyss/

Bullets & Spikes & All Things Nice...

With vamps, goths and werewolves so now, the underside of fashion is experiencing a timely resurgence and if we're lucky, might even scare off the pointless springtime flounce knocking about. Take Lisbet in The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo - the spike collar has already been parlayed into the Ashish for Topshop line; not to mention Louise Goldin's more court shoes that could well impale you with a kick up the arse. For a more polished look, why not try Dominic Jones' claw ring from Harvey Nichols or Boodles' diamond-encrusted bullet baubles - perfect for the gal who means business. Florals be warned. You've had your day...

Fall from Grace

I'm convinced the Fashion Gods are having their wicked way with me. Only shortly after I purchased these Louboutin tributes in Penneys (€21), I made a trip to H&M - literally. While browsing (ever so smug) in the accessories department, I felt the straps on my booties interlock. Then came the wobble and in a moment I calibrated the mortification that was to befall me. Determined to collapse gracefully and thus mitigate any potential 'scene', I took the brunt of the impact on my knees. What's worse, I had to spread out to unhook the offending fakies and shuffle to my six foot vertical frame again. It's as if they were saying 'and you thought €900 was too much to pay for footwear!' Instead of scuffling away in shame, I continued to browse as if nothing happened; determined not to be one of those people who looks at the floor in disgust as if it has pre-mediatated the whole incident. The next day I was on The Afternoon Show wearing a pencil skirt. Something dropped. Needless to say, it stayed there. Swelling, brusing, cuts. Carrie Bradshaw may have fallen in Dior but then again, she was wearing Dior. Sigh...

Heathers - 'Very'

Long before we had girls of a Gossip or Mean persuasion, there were Heathers. These high school harridans made our current crop of celluloid bad girls look like villains on amateur night (drain cleaner anyone?). Now they're back in a remake of the film original ready to inspire fear, loathing and total fashion envy in their fellow alum. Just check out those bitchin' shoulders, white tights and fierce stares. On trend - very. Oh btw - love those croquet sticks.

Chubbies

Chubbies. They're everywhere. Pink and fluffy, black and hirsute; even ones with their arms cut off. I wanted one - badly. I had images of Bianca Jagger floating through my head - all louche and rock chick; and then I tried one on. Holy sweet buttering baby Jesus! Fashion fascism at its most cruel. I looked more like a lumbering yeti than a Studio 54 hipster. Clearly size matters when wearing a chubby. In other words you need to be skinny - the kind in need of ankle weights to stand upright. Ridiculous - yes. Bitter? Moi? Perhaps just a tad.

Image: Charles Anastase @ LFW, AW09-10

The Races

I'm off to the races tomorrow - the Darley Irish Oaks to be precise. Being the organised gal that I am, I have my flutter threads at the ready. Vintage black dress - tick; Fly Now pierrot silk jacket - tick; snakeskin heels - tick; Queen Alexandra-inspired pearl dog collar - tick; RSI-inducing cocktail ring - tick; clutch bag - tick. Am I missing something? Deliberately - perhaps. There's no way you'll find this filly in a fascinator. No siree. My quest to abolish the offending article continues. If you hear of any arrests at the Curragh for aggravated assault that would be me wrenching feathers from the heads of the offending. I've got my work cut out for me.

The Dreaded Ned

Ned - he's back. Innocuous by moniker; evil by nature, the pot has made my belly its happy home yet again. Granted, I sort of led him on. That skiing trip in Morzine was like 5-day foreplay: cheese and potato Tartiflette, goats cheese omelettes, fondu, sausages, crepes and lots of red wine. No wonder why he decided to stay. I'm hoping the little interloper will realise there's no fromage around Chez I Blog. But there is a Slendertone that will shock 90 jolts of hard-abbed volts up his adipose tissue. Be gone Ned! Be gone I say!

Clariol Lasting Colour...Literally

It's that time of month - the time when those pesky greys begin to appear. Sure, I can rival Andrea Corr's raven locks on a good day but today required some artistry. Armed with my Clairol Lasting Colour touch up, I provided the smoke to my mirror. Fifteen minutes later and less of a badger, I washed and dried my hair to come downstairs and find my sister scrubbing the kitchen cabinets. By some freak accident, I managed to splay the entire unit in indelible black. "Kitchen Power!" I kept screaming like a crazed clean freak. "Get Kitchen Power!" My sibling, unaware of the magical properties of said cleaning product continued to scrub away the offending evidence until virtual scars were left on the laminate. My guilt however has not been so easy to assuage. I feel like I've graffitied all of her hard work in our house. Since, I have taken an active interest in wood polish and oil and have vowed to never...ever...attempt a DIY beauty job again.

Turkish Delight

Add one part cubist art to one part Tatty Devine and what do you get? The latest jewellery sensation -Turkish designer Ceren Keyman. Keyman's sharp shots of colour and mathematical shapes have earned her an exhibition at the Istanbul Modern Arts museum in 2008 and the burgeoning kudos of the fashion world. CLICK HERE for a sneaky peek at her wares and her upcoming furniture and clothing lines.

Fashion Gaydar

I love my gays. Without them I wouldn't have emails like this to brighten an otherwise inclement blah Tuesday morning. This comes courtesy of my GBFF Neil to whom I am indebted for razor-sharp sartorial insight and Allegra Versace on speed dial. Have a read:

NEIL: "Hey Ams, You may have already seen this. It's my favourite picture of the week from the fashion wires and I thought iblogfashion needed to be alerted. It's from the visit of Carla Sarkozy to the UN last week. Looking ever elegant in her Dior suit, she is being subjected to an awfully fierce case of "the evils" from Chantal Biya, the fantastically glamorous first lady of Cameroon. Am sensing Chantal's amazement at how anyone could truck up to the UN like Carla has here without so much as a lick of make-up or having spent at least an hour of vigorous back-combing."

Genius! Lovin' your work Neil. Stay fabulous! xxxx