Posts from October 2015

“ice burns, and it is hard to the warm-skinned to distinguish one sensation, fire, from the other, frost.” // a.s. byatt

there’s always a first time.

today, it was that initial moment when i realized that it was the inaugural hour, of the inaugural day of it actually being cold out. it was the drawing in of the shoulders and using my hands to keep my collar up; of wondering where the hell my gloves were, and in deciding that perhaps it was time to invest in my yearly cache of opaque black tights. six pair for four months – (it’s like the survival of the fittest over here from november through march).

and so, i lugged out, (let’s be honest), the trash bag of cold-weather gear and got ready for the impending freeze. i’m not so distraught – it’s a big bag and being warm looks so good.





➝ source : yves salomon ribbed fingerless gloves via farfetch

➝ source : nordic heater via fjällräven

➝ source : woven pashmina shawl via the elder statesman

➝ source : hug (it’s called hug!) via humanoid


October 29, 2015

“it is strange that the tactile sense, which is so infinitely less precious to men than sight, becomes at critical moments our main, if not only, handle to reality.” // v. nabokov

when it’s warm out – i’m not keen on reaching out and touching someone, anyone.

other than those i live with, when it’s hot out and skin is exposed to the elements; wettish with heat, a hint of stickiness; waxy with lotions, scents and sunscreen – i’m sorry, but i don’t want to touch you. i’ll hug you if i have to, but i’ll cringe on the inside and look for the quickest route to escape.

it’s around this time – the start of deep autumn, when i start touching people i hardly know. it’s not weird, i’m far-removed from the perv, as it’s not skin i’m angling for – it’s all texture. i want to touch the fuzz of fabric – the contradiction of wool with its cushioned itch, silky furs with no scrutiny involved – if you wear your faux, vintage, recycled, or up-cycled; i’m bound to reach out and touch it. these days – they’re meant for the tactile, to reach out and touch someone, respectfully.

so, forgive me if i graze your arm and linger a bit too long, or a hug drags on a beat longer than you had intended. it’s not you, it’s me – i’m a weirdo for fall and i wanna touch your clothes.





jilsander no21

➝ source : toga pulla oversized roll-neck sweater via farfetch

➝ source : embellished skirt via peter pilotto

➝ source : lamb fur tote via jil sander

➝ source : bow embellished shift dress via no.21


October 28, 2015

“the shoe that fits one person pinches another; there is no recipe for living that suits all cases.” // c. jung

as per usual, when it comes to finding a solution to any sort of problem, whether existential or even more pressing, sartorial – i’m rather slow to the punch. for years i’ve blathered on about heels – the never wearing of them, not being able to walk whilst wearing them and the associated pain of attempting to do so; along with my deep affection for them – in that way you can adore something but want nothing to do with it. i’m trying to think of another example, and thus far, i’m stumped – i’ll circle back around if it comes to me.

but finally and mostly decisively, i’ve cottoned on.

a most terrible word, the sound of which perfectly sums up the din they make, but mercifully not the way they look (mostly) – the solution i’ve found?

the clog.

sturdy heeled, platformed to take the edge of the height, rounded of toe to allow for my soft and arched feet to be who they are, and just a wee bit contrary – which just serves to match up with the rest of me.

go on, have a good laugh. i don’t mind. i’ll just sit here and wait for the 70s to deliver unto me their shoe of choice.





➝ source : jane clog on platform in storm via no. 6

➝ source : camilla peep-toe via bryr

➝ source : fiero clog via rachel comey

➝ source : inez desert clog via rag & bone

“the worst crime is faking it.” // k. cobain

though grey days outnumber sunny at a ratio of roughly 3:1, the need for sunglasses has become absolutely paramount.

what else but to cover up a multitude of sins, eyeliner gone astray, wind making mascara run, raccoon eyes – an inevitability in autumn. loss of sleep and a duffle bag under each eye notwithstanding – sunnies are exactly that – a sunny mask in a multitude of shapes, sizes and colours – that either hide whatever it is you’re trying to conceal, or can be used as camouflage in the form of acetate – which make smiling with your eyes not nearly as integral or telling, as a simple and occasional pearly grin.




➝ source : boca half/half via illesteva

➝ source : flora acetate & metal mirrored sunglasses via gucci

➝ source : type 02 sunglasses in midnight blue via sun buddies

➝ source : neo noir sunglasses via le specs

“everywhere is walking distance if you have the time.” // s. wright

taking into consideration my last meditation in this space, you wouldn’t blame me for hopping on a flight and taking a 48 hour reprieve from reality, could you? ninety minutes later and i touched-down in the completely alternate universe of NYC. if you ever needed to get out of your own head, i suggest heading directly into the belly of that beast.

i spent the first day walking around soho – mostly sticking close to what i knew and keeping close watch of the time, i had plans to be somewhere by 8.

the next morning – i set out early, in a pair of high-top vans, thankfully lighter than the double-soled wulfrun creepers i wore the day before. soho for breakfast, a spin around broadway, walking as far as i could before cutting it close on my tickets to the whitney. by late afternoon – i had walked a good stretch, thankful for the trainers i shoved into my bag at the last minute, but rather envious of what seemed to be the shoe of new yorkers on the move – or the tourists who love them.



all of ’em – nike internationalist

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