“once you can accept the universe as being something expanding into an infinite nothing which is something, wearing stripes with plaid is easy.” // a. einstein

being born and raised in the great white north, and having had my eyebrows raised by sctv at an impressionable age, it occurred to me rather early on, that as canadians, we’re an odd lot. and if there was anything that i tried to be, it was as far and away from the likes of a hoser from the great white northto be very clear, i never pronounced it aboot, and i never wore plaid.

the way i saw it, plaid was the pattern of the lumberjack, the suburban hippy, and even worse – in the age of singles, it was the textile of grunge – and my mod leanings would never allow for that.

of course, i’ve broadened my horizons just a bit since the early 90s – thankfully, and though plaid is not a perennial favourite, i have been able to see the charm of it, from time to time. it’s just a bit further removed from lumberjackets and bob and doug mckenzie.





➝ source : neon plaid dress via kenzo

➝ source : sacai plaid shirt via far fetch

➝ source : layered shirt dress via mcq by mcqueen

➝ source : bleached pleated dress via sea

“to one’s enemies: “I hate myself more than you ever could.” // a. de botton

i’ve always felt that a soupçon of self-deprecation held an immense element of charm.

i don’t mind seeing the ridiculous, finding the odd, being at one with my idiosyncrasies and occasionally making light of them for show, or better yet, a laugh. i’m allowed to do that – it doesn’t mean i hate myself, (i’m looking at you, dove), or think of myself as less than. i just know that in life, when things, or more to the point, we, become a little absurd and everything goes a bit pear shaped, it’s better to be able to laugh at yourself, than make a puddle and cry.

however, there are those moments, when i am just a little puzzled by own natural reactions to things. i’m caught by a degree of chagrin, a particular sort of discomfort that comes with finding myself attracted to something (or, someone) i wouldn’t normally have ever been pulled in by. and that’s where i’m suddenly finding myself.

i like it, but i’ve never liked it before, and it’s starting to shake my very foundation…




saintlaurent➝ source : rivets flap dakotah crossbody via coach (COACH?!)

➝ source : i believe i’ve made my relative disdain for alexander wang fairly clear. if not, well, i usually can’t stand his stuff, but this blouse is rather nice. irregular pleat front top via alexander wang

➝ source : i’m not usually in on the joke with overtly tongue-in-cheek design, but i have to admit, i dig this bananas frankie satin dress via markus lupfer

➝ source : generally, i loathe what hedi slimane has done to Y/SL. the ragamuffin 80s street urchin doesn’t do much for me at all, but i wouldn’t kick this frock out of bed for eating crackers. saint laurent beaded kaftan via matches

“i believe in dressing for the occasion. there’s a time for sweater, sneakers and levis and a time for the full-dress jazz.” // g. rogers

i think it probably started with the men.

think back a handful of years, and you’ll remember it started showing up, these tall, lanky men dressed in slim suits and at their feet, a pair of trainers instead of a pair of brogues. for the office, for an occasion, for the hell of it – it became a thing; and not too long after that, the girls started picking it up, and it thrilled me to no end.

since you’re undoubtedly aware of my opinion on gorgeous, (yet hellishly painful), high-heeled shoes; the ban has not been lifted, and the introduction of the trainer becoming synonymous with being dressed, was probably as welcomed as elegant flats being deemed a suitable replacement for the heel. these are giddy, heady times, my friends – when you can slip on a frock, tie a bow on your trainers and you’re set – perhaps not for high-tea with the queen, but for a day out on the town, nothing could be better.





➝ source : oui & non broderie-anglaise dress via kenzo

➝ source : francy ‘space glitter’ high tops via golden goose

➝ source : tilos dress via zeus + dione

➝ source : overwashed sk8 hi-slim zip via vans

“it isn’t the original scandal that gets people in the most trouble – it’s the attempted cover-up.” // t. petri

if it was a reasonably sane thing to do, i’d sooner put a paper bag over my head with little slits cut out for eyes and a lop-sided smile hastily magic marker-ed on, then have to get up close and personal with anyone at the moment. not for a hug, not a smooch, not for cackling over cups of coffee; not for anything. for a person that could rely on at least her skin passing muster, it’s been nothing short of my hugest (vain) aggravation.

never one to ignore a thorn in my side, i have of course, made everything infinitely worse and as obvious as a siren by not being able to keep my hands to myself, (begging the question, that if i can’t do it, how do i expect my five-year old to?)

i know better than to pick, pop, and squeeze, (could i be any more disgusting?), i just can’t help myself. and so, not only am i spotty – i’m red, flaky, annoyed, short-tempered, mildly embarrassed, achey and sleepy – i’m the veritable seven dwarves of grievances. of course – some of these may not have anything to do with my skin issues, but i’m pointing the blame on them anyway.

so every morning, as i lament the state of my skin, i get out the supplies in an effort to spackle, smooth, and paint out the imperfections. it’s why i get up so early.






➝ source : matte + blemish pencil via nudestix

➝ source : select cover-up via mac

➝ source : corrective concealer via face stockholm

➝ source : concealer stick via clé de peau beauté

“when i was having that alphabet soup, i never thought that it would pay off.” // v. white

in the late 80s, when i was a late-blooming 12 year-old, the suburbs were a challenging place.

sweatpants were in, reebok hi-tops with the overbearing tongues were a necessity, nkotb were the boys you swooned over, and the item of distinction; the prized possession of your 13th birthday was an initial ring – in yellow gold, bearing a font that could only be described as cumbersome block.

i felt distinctly out of place.

i tried to fit in, my beaver canoes were comfortable after all, but i thought those shoes were hideous, and i wanted to listen to depeche mode and sulk in a dark corner, instead of scream and be confused over pre-pubescent lust. despite that laundry list of typical pre-teen angst, i did love my initial ring. don’t misunderstand, it was in retrospect, terrifically ugly. it was bulky, unoriginal, and was better utilized by being melted down and turned into a brooch.

i suppose though, what stuck, was the imprint of my initials – they meant something, they were me – something i wasn’t shy to show, a little bit of pride that went along with a ‘b’ and a ‘g’. i suppose, words have always meant a lot to me, even if two of them were my name.





➝ source : alphabet a-top via mary katrantzou

➝ source : maman et sophie initial bracelet via milano ventuno

➝ source : jean initial clutch via edie parker

➝ source : leonard vintage floral letters dress via far fetch

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