So recently I made my annual (if that) trip to the dentist; spending as little time as possible with someone's fingers poking around my mouth just seems logical to me. Have you ever stopped to think where those evil metal tools have been minutes before they're used on you? Yep. Covered in someone else's saliva. I mean WOULD YOU SHARE A TOOTHBRUSH?! Anyway, I digress.
My dentist is pretty much a grumpy bastard. Probably because he can sense he's the lowlight of my year. And even if he can't sense it I'm sure he knows because well, I've told him. (And also bit him one time since in my opinion when someone needs to swallow and someone else won't let them shut their mouth, that someone else absolutely deserves to have their finger gnawed off).
Anyhow, he usually makes polite conversation,I make agreeable noises (as far as possible with my mouth wide open and dentist onset lock jaw) and we get the job done.
This time however, those 'agreeable' sounds just would not come out. Now when it comes to ehem 'faking it' I'm up there with the best of them...but this REALLY wasn't doing it for me and I couldn't keep my mouth shut (well open in this case... I was at the dentist...) a second longer.
'My daughter isn't allowed to speak to boys.' Mr. Grumpy announced proudly.
'She goes to an all girls school and any parties are avoided - don't want her getting bogged down with any worries other than her school work. She's going to be a doctor' he went on.
I laughed awkwardly. Could I bite him again? BOGGED DOWN?! Yes, she might be shielded from a little bit of old fashioned teenage heartbreak, but this poor girl was missing out! No crying in the school toilets over that boy who text her for a month and then went out with *Stacey Moore* instead (that bitch works at TGI Fridays now so I'm not even bitter), no squealing over that friendship request or shrieking with your friends on the receipt of a 'dick pic'.
Okay, I guess I can't exactly begrudge Mr Grumpy for objecting to that last one. But the crux of the matter is that yes teenage years are often difficult, somewhat silly, and always self absorbed but everyone has the right to live and learn.
'Spit' Mr grumpy commanded.
'Um, do you mind if I just...' I trailed off. This man was dangerously close to my mouth and had access to power tools. I'd better shut up.
'Go on..' My Grumpy challenged.
'Well, don't you want her to integrate with... I mean... Sometimes girls and boys are just... Well my best friend's a boy' I babbled.
'Thats nice' Mr Grumpy looked at me mockingly.
'Its nice to hang around with boys from a younger age so they're not a shock to the system' I continued defiantly with a quote I'd come across in my sisters psychology book.
'Hm. Right. You're all done. No problems'.
Well that was me told. I glanced over at Mr Grumpy's scarf hanging on the back of the door - that SAME bright red monstrosity had been brightening up his office since my first ever fateful visit God knows how many years ago; He was beyond help.
I slid down off the death chair obediently, feeling rather like a fish escaping the fishing boat (Yes. I really hate the dentist).
'Its a dad thing. A man thing even. Ask your boyfriend how he'd feel about same sex schools'.
'Oh I don't have a boyfriend' I explained. Not that it was any of his business... Nosy bastard.
'Oh? So all that integration practice hasn't come in handy so far' he winked. YES WINKED.
Ouch. Touché Mr Grumpy, touché. I probably deserved that.
'I suppose not. See you next time' I forced one last smile, waved and proceeded to get my boyfriend-less butt out of there.
Lesson of the day: keep all opinions to yourself unless asked. Especially when your dentist is an ass.
*name changed to avoid awkwardness.
Friday, 4 April 2014
Wednesday, 2 April 2014
Food and Feminism...
It's a typical Wednesday night, I'm tweeting a selfie, debating what flavour pesto would best compliment my salmon, and BBC news is on in the background (because there's only so much 'Friends' a girl can watch). Hmm let's see, there's like, gallons of pollution dust all over England, (apparently- can't say I've noticed), conducting an orchestra is too physically demanding for women, Holly Willoughby's preg.. Wait, hang on, go back one? Suddenly distracted from hashtagging my selfie I rewind. And yes, it seems I did hear that correctly.
On prime time TV, in the 21st century, TWENTY-FIRST FOR CRYING OUT LOUD, women conductors are being told they're just not 'strong' enough to hack it. The fact that they're perfectly qualified and talented in the art does not seem to distract classical music's resident chauvinists from the fact that they have a vagina and are therefore obviously incapable. Did I mention we were in the 21st century? My stomach is turning - rather like Emily Pankhurst in her grave, I'd imagine.
Granted, Bruno Mantovani composing some sort of positive correlation between conducting talent and physical strength is downright ludicrous (stick to composing music mate). But he did not make me want to be sick on myself quite like Vasily Petrenko did, his comment rendering me uncharacteristically speechless: 'A sweet girl on the podium can make ones thoughts drift towards something else'.
Fucking. Pervert.
This notion of a women's sexuality hindering her ability to conduct an orchestra strikes me as bullshit of the highest order, projected as a viewpoint in order to detract from Petrenko's obvious inability to deal with a women in charge. Truth of the matter is, no matter how much we preach equality, no matter how many token females we place in the House of Lords, no matter how many women are judges in the highest court in the land (which us girls should shut up and be grateful for by the way, so I've been told), there's clearly dicks still out there with the audacity to voice their outdated opinions - not a hint of embarrassment, no explanation necessary.
Yes we can wear short skirts and have pre-marital sex yada yada yada, but we're sure as hell not equal. Not yet, anyway.
Feeling rather dejected by the realisation of my previous naïvety, my mind wandered back to food (as it often does). At least the pesto conundrum was solved. I put my salmon back in the freezer replacing it with a big old pizza. Because SOD MEN I CAN GET FAT IF I WANT TO.
And I'm having a Yorkie bar.
On prime time TV, in the 21st century, TWENTY-FIRST FOR CRYING OUT LOUD, women conductors are being told they're just not 'strong' enough to hack it. The fact that they're perfectly qualified and talented in the art does not seem to distract classical music's resident chauvinists from the fact that they have a vagina and are therefore obviously incapable. Did I mention we were in the 21st century? My stomach is turning - rather like Emily Pankhurst in her grave, I'd imagine.
Granted, Bruno Mantovani composing some sort of positive correlation between conducting talent and physical strength is downright ludicrous (stick to composing music mate). But he did not make me want to be sick on myself quite like Vasily Petrenko did, his comment rendering me uncharacteristically speechless: 'A sweet girl on the podium can make ones thoughts drift towards something else'.
Fucking. Pervert.
This notion of a women's sexuality hindering her ability to conduct an orchestra strikes me as bullshit of the highest order, projected as a viewpoint in order to detract from Petrenko's obvious inability to deal with a women in charge. Truth of the matter is, no matter how much we preach equality, no matter how many token females we place in the House of Lords, no matter how many women are judges in the highest court in the land (which us girls should shut up and be grateful for by the way, so I've been told), there's clearly dicks still out there with the audacity to voice their outdated opinions - not a hint of embarrassment, no explanation necessary.
Yes we can wear short skirts and have pre-marital sex yada yada yada, but we're sure as hell not equal. Not yet, anyway.
Feeling rather dejected by the realisation of my previous naïvety, my mind wandered back to food (as it often does). At least the pesto conundrum was solved. I put my salmon back in the freezer replacing it with a big old pizza. Because SOD MEN I CAN GET FAT IF I WANT TO.
And I'm having a Yorkie bar.
Monday, 13 January 2014
Leila Glen AKA Heat Workie
Yes I admit it. I’m the most inconsistent blog-poster ever,
but this time I have a valid excuse I promise; I’ve been interning at Heat
magazine. I KNOW. Mega-exciting. (I wouldn’t even normally say ‘mega exciting’
- the Heat jargon has clearly got to me.)
So far I’ve spent one massively valuable week as the
so-called ‘Heat Workie’ (see pics below of my all access pass), and I still
have another to go! Wanting to work in magazines is a tough dream to have… but
alas, it’s the only one I’ve got! So I applied online for an internship through
a company called Go-Think-Big. I knew it was pretty competitive and having no
prior magazine experience I never in a million years expected to get chosen. But
I thought I’d ‘think big’ (pardon the pun) and to my surprise was interrupted
during my morning post work-out shower by a phone call inviting me along to the
Heat Offices!!!
On the morning of my first day I quite literally jumped out
of bed at 6am – having had no sleep the night before out of sheer excitement,
getting up was actually a pleasant relief. I didn’t have to be at Heat until
10am but - me being me - I had to get a gym session in first to calm the unruly
butterflies in my stomach. Workout done I headed home to shower, slip into my
pre-prepared and seriously over analysed outfit (ended up bumping my trusty twenty8twelve
jeans for tartan cigarette pants) and attempt perfect flicks with my liquid
eyeliner. Seven eye-liner attempts later, I swiftly headed for the tube.
Coming out of the station I discovered it was raining, my
umbrella broke, and I stepped in a puddle. I’m not normally superstitious but
even Roy Cropper (the most cynical person I could think of…?) would have felt a
little put-out by the trio of bad omens. My very rational (despite popular
opinion) fear of being anything less than punctual, prompted me to break into a
jog (heeled booties and all) and 35 minutes later I’d FINALLY completed the ‘5
minute walk’ to the offices. (And been called Rita-Ora on the way…Curious but
nice.)
Once I’d signed in at reception reception, junior style
writer Hannah came down to meet me, talked me through my general duties and
showed me around the office (heat magazines, fashion collages and celeb
breaking news stories were strewn out on every desk). Heat radio is broadcast
in the room next door and blasted out all round the office – cool or what? (Ok
not exactly blasted, but there was pleasant background music… we fashion
editors have work to be getting on with you know). I got logged on to the computer which I was
to call mine for the week and duties included calling in products for shoots,
talking to PR companies, researching for features and I was even given the
chance to write articles for Heat online! Seeing my name in print (well, online
print) next to my words was just the best feeling ever. If you weren’t one of
the *ehem* lucky few being bombarded daily by mass text messages of links to my
articles, you can find them below…
All in all my first week as a Heat intern was hugely
insightful and I can honestly say I loved every minute. (Maybe had a slight teeny
tiny miniature (barely there) blip in enjoyment when I went to the bathroom and
realised I’d been walking around all morning with lipstick on my teeth INFRONT
OF THE BEAUTY EDITORS). But apart from that genuinely didn’t want to leave the
office!
Bring on the week ahead! Never thought I’d say this, but I
really CAN wait for the weekend.
Leila x
 |
Wednesday, 1 January 2014
Hello 2014
So last night was NYE and weren’t we all just raring (or
succumbing to pressure) to ‘party it up 2014 style’? Admittedly, my past new year’s excursions haven’t
gone exactly to plan BUT you’ll witness me lie down and die before I let this
weather my NYE spirit. Being kettled by police in Central London is an
experience right?! Drinks taste SO much
better on this enchanted evening it almost warrants the day-light robbery. And
who needs to SEE the fireworks anyway when they’re such a treat for the ear
drums?
THIS year though, I had a good feeling about. I mean it was
NYE it obviously had to be bloody great (or at least a hazy enough memory to
allow distortion)… however THIS year I had enough ‘ghosts of New Year’s Eve past’ in my closet
to avoid rookie mistakes; I’d paid my sweaty crowed dues and THIS year I was
owed a good time. Sure enough some drinks with my gorgeous family followed by a
dinner party with good friends was one of the nicest ways to bring in the New
Year to date (note to self: avoiding crowds/ public spaces/ going out in
general is a sure-fire way to sidestep NYE tears).
The dinner party (I felt the height of sophistication btw)
was glorious, with everyone contributing a dish/ bottle of wine (in my case
Vodka, obv) we ate, drank and chatted our way into 2014!
The chilled out vibe allowed for more low key fashion choices than my usual NYE attire (see below for last years glitter-bomb of a dress) so I wore a high waisted black and white checked Zara skirt (grabbed in the sale!) a classic topshop crop tee, YSL shoulder-skimming earrings and the my favourite brand of black tights in the history of the world (Falke - just so soft). Oh and no shoes needed- bonus!
Hope you all had as fab a time last night as I did and are looking toward 2014 with nothing but total readiness! With my internship at Heat magazine starting next week and exciting projects in the pipeline here's to 2014 being the best year yet! Don't know about you but I've got BIG plans ;)
Leila xoxox
Below are some photos I snapped intermittently throughout the
night:
 |
| Last years dress! <3 |
Saturday, 7 December 2013
Ain't no Wifey
I've always counted myself as a feminist. I believe in equality, equal pay, and for any future husband material reading this, I think the 'Waitrose Love Life' ready-made range is the best invention since, well, the microwave. Recently though, I've found myself questioning the term 'feminism' and indeed, whether wearing my 'ain't no wifey' hat (purchased from the eccentric feminist at Camden market) is crushingly hypocritical.
With 2013 being the 100th anniversary of Emily Davison's quite frankly frickin heroic jump infront of the King's horse I haven't been short of radio talk shows covering this subject in a modern context to tune into. Women on these shows though, calling themselves feminists, I found, much to my dismay, to be more bitter and negative than inspiring. My images of women celebrating 'Girl Power' with one another, wearing whatever the hell they fancied and singing Spice Girl's anthems were inexorably fading, only to be replaced by self-important celebrities and catty remarks; recent Twitter spats between Miley and Sinead O'Connor, plus Lilly Allen's attack on young girls in the music industry in the form of a catchy pop hit, both illustrate women on women crime. How is this ok?!
Now I don't know about you, but feminism to me doesn't involve sniping at your fellow sex, making bitchy comments about your colleagues new 'unflattering' suit or that actress' 'botch botox'. To quote the masterpiece that is 'Mean Girls' - 'calling eachother sluts and whores just makes it ok for guys to call us that'.
Moving on to another of my *ehem* intellectual inspirations for this article, the treatment of Amy Willerton by some of the so-called feminists in the 'I'm a Celebrity' camp, has left me nothing short of aghast. Picking on Amy for being a Miss World contestant, for walking around in her bikini and sorry but not sorry, just for being BEAUTIFUL, is not in the spirit of feminism at all. AT ALL. If I had her body I'd wear my bikini to the shops, the supermarket, hell I'd wear it ice-skating if frost bite wasn't a looming threat. Lucy's flirtateous pinching of Vincent Simone's bottom as he paraded around in his tiny boxers, followed by catty remarks about Amy 'posing for ass camera shots' were just unnecessary, disjointed and quite frankly reeked of double standards. This is essentially telling girls they must cover-up for fear of being the object of a man's enjoyment, whilst men can sport their bodies to their hearts content and provide the nation with an innocent 'laugh a minute'. If this is feminism then I don't want anything to do with it.
All that said, I haven't hung up my 'ain't no wifey' hat just yet. I'm all for Vincent Simon's butt being on my screen of an evening, but nothing delights me more than Amy retalliating with her relentless bikini costume changes. This is equality. THIS is feminism.
Leila
With 2013 being the 100th anniversary of Emily Davison's quite frankly frickin heroic jump infront of the King's horse I haven't been short of radio talk shows covering this subject in a modern context to tune into. Women on these shows though, calling themselves feminists, I found, much to my dismay, to be more bitter and negative than inspiring. My images of women celebrating 'Girl Power' with one another, wearing whatever the hell they fancied and singing Spice Girl's anthems were inexorably fading, only to be replaced by self-important celebrities and catty remarks; recent Twitter spats between Miley and Sinead O'Connor, plus Lilly Allen's attack on young girls in the music industry in the form of a catchy pop hit, both illustrate women on women crime. How is this ok?!
Now I don't know about you, but feminism to me doesn't involve sniping at your fellow sex, making bitchy comments about your colleagues new 'unflattering' suit or that actress' 'botch botox'. To quote the masterpiece that is 'Mean Girls' - 'calling eachother sluts and whores just makes it ok for guys to call us that'.
Moving on to another of my *ehem* intellectual inspirations for this article, the treatment of Amy Willerton by some of the so-called feminists in the 'I'm a Celebrity' camp, has left me nothing short of aghast. Picking on Amy for being a Miss World contestant, for walking around in her bikini and sorry but not sorry, just for being BEAUTIFUL, is not in the spirit of feminism at all. AT ALL. If I had her body I'd wear my bikini to the shops, the supermarket, hell I'd wear it ice-skating if frost bite wasn't a looming threat. Lucy's flirtateous pinching of Vincent Simone's bottom as he paraded around in his tiny boxers, followed by catty remarks about Amy 'posing for ass camera shots' were just unnecessary, disjointed and quite frankly reeked of double standards. This is essentially telling girls they must cover-up for fear of being the object of a man's enjoyment, whilst men can sport their bodies to their hearts content and provide the nation with an innocent 'laugh a minute'. If this is feminism then I don't want anything to do with it.
All that said, I haven't hung up my 'ain't no wifey' hat just yet. I'm all for Vincent Simon's butt being on my screen of an evening, but nothing delights me more than Amy retalliating with her relentless bikini costume changes. This is equality. THIS is feminism.
Leila
Wednesday, 20 November 2013
How to go to the gym and not be despised
Haven't done a fitness post in a while, but, it's party season - and you know what that means.
Christmas (pudding) is around the corner, New Year (booze) is a-knocking and before you know it you'll be stuffing your face with chick/bunny shaped chocolate then moaning you're not swimsuit ready. Off to the gym you'll drag your squat-deprived ass. Time to get lean, mean and sexy. A few weeks in and you're a fully-fledged, lycra-clad fitty. Flexing and sweating has never looked so good - got it down to a T, you fitspo, you.
Except maybe you don't, really. Maybe you're 'that guy' or 'that girl' - the bane of every gym goers life. Don't fancy being the social outcast?
Listen up and learn some etiquette from my extensive what NOT to do at the gym list; You're welcome.
1) Curls in the squat rack - This is punishable by death (so I've heard). I won't pretend to be an expert on curling or squatting in any sort of rack - I'm all good with the floor. But still, it really pisses people off... and you want to fit in and make gym buddies for life don't you?!
2) Save a shitload of bikes for your friends/friend's friends/neighbours and that nice lady you got coffee with that one time.
This is I think the most annoying thing probably ever. EVER. Not only do you have to creep out of lectures/meetings/everyday goings on at 1 o'clock everyday to book next weeks class, you've got to turn up half an hour before the class even starts just to guarantee yourself a bike to spin on. Coronary inducing stuff. You thought the gym was going to be a place to relax, unwind, generally improve your well-being? Think again. Get ready to fight tooth and nail to avoid getting stuck with the bike under the air-con.
3) Grunt like you're giving birth (or worse). Yep, thats a hell of a lot of weight, you're pretty hardcore. But I don't need to hear you from half-way across the gym. I'd say something to your face if you weren't three times my size, but you are, so I'll just moan behind your back.
4) Talk about your workout routine/personal training programme under any circumstances. No one cares. Actually scratch that. It's WORSE than no one cares, it's pretty damn annoying. Your 'zillion kg weighted super-sets' aren't big, aren't clever, and - lets be honest - aren't strictly accurate are they. (I've seen you and your predominantly green/yellow bar in body pump class).
5)Repulse anyone with your ungodly stench.
Success is 10 percent inspiration and 90 percent perspiration right? Cool. Just make sure that success is 100 percent sweet smelling. Deodorant is SO on trend right now.
6) Flex your guns, pose and/or lift your shirt up revealing trojan-like abs of steel.
Don't be that guy (or girl). Yes, that's you in the mirror. Yes, you look great. Congrats! But the gym is not the time or place to check yourself out, or indeed stick your ass out and invite others to admire longingly. That's what instagram's for, duh! Go home, get yourself a full length mirror and a camera phone and have at it.
Following on from the above. Ladies, put your freaking hair up. And take off your hoop earrings. There ya go.
7) Use cheesy vom-inducing chat up lines when I'm trying my best to work out and ignore you.
"Oh hey, you have great thighs, can I show you a awesome all over thigh toning exersise?"
"erm sure" (contentiously)
"It's really a partnership exersise..."
Well, you get my drift. Not okay - (Unless you're super-hot and just the right amount of arrogant that you can totally carry off lines like these).
and last but by NO MEANS least...
7) Let it all hang out in the changing rooms.
Seriously! Why oh why do people do this?! And, without meaning to sound like a judgemental bitch, why is it always the wrinkly, saggy biddies who insist on having it all on show?!
If you insist on being naked, PLEASE don't talk to me whilst drying/ touching your naked self in any way. Its just awkward. Oh and hair dryers are for drying the hair on your HEAD.
Follow these rules and you're well on the way to making friends who will save you a front-row bike in spin-class (if you can't beat 'em join 'em, right)
Good luck fitty!
Leila xoxo
Christmas (pudding) is around the corner, New Year (booze) is a-knocking and before you know it you'll be stuffing your face with chick/bunny shaped chocolate then moaning you're not swimsuit ready. Off to the gym you'll drag your squat-deprived ass. Time to get lean, mean and sexy. A few weeks in and you're a fully-fledged, lycra-clad fitty. Flexing and sweating has never looked so good - got it down to a T, you fitspo, you.
Except maybe you don't, really. Maybe you're 'that guy' or 'that girl' - the bane of every gym goers life. Don't fancy being the social outcast?
Listen up and learn some etiquette from my extensive what NOT to do at the gym list; You're welcome.
1) Curls in the squat rack - This is punishable by death (so I've heard). I won't pretend to be an expert on curling or squatting in any sort of rack - I'm all good with the floor. But still, it really pisses people off... and you want to fit in and make gym buddies for life don't you?!
2) Save a shitload of bikes for your friends/friend's friends/neighbours and that nice lady you got coffee with that one time.
This is I think the most annoying thing probably ever. EVER. Not only do you have to creep out of lectures/meetings/everyday goings on at 1 o'clock everyday to book next weeks class, you've got to turn up half an hour before the class even starts just to guarantee yourself a bike to spin on. Coronary inducing stuff. You thought the gym was going to be a place to relax, unwind, generally improve your well-being? Think again. Get ready to fight tooth and nail to avoid getting stuck with the bike under the air-con.
3) Grunt like you're giving birth (or worse). Yep, thats a hell of a lot of weight, you're pretty hardcore. But I don't need to hear you from half-way across the gym. I'd say something to your face if you weren't three times my size, but you are, so I'll just moan behind your back.
4) Talk about your workout routine/personal training programme under any circumstances. No one cares. Actually scratch that. It's WORSE than no one cares, it's pretty damn annoying. Your 'zillion kg weighted super-sets' aren't big, aren't clever, and - lets be honest - aren't strictly accurate are they. (I've seen you and your predominantly green/yellow bar in body pump class).
5)Repulse anyone with your ungodly stench.
Success is 10 percent inspiration and 90 percent perspiration right? Cool. Just make sure that success is 100 percent sweet smelling. Deodorant is SO on trend right now.
6) Flex your guns, pose and/or lift your shirt up revealing trojan-like abs of steel.
Don't be that guy (or girl). Yes, that's you in the mirror. Yes, you look great. Congrats! But the gym is not the time or place to check yourself out, or indeed stick your ass out and invite others to admire longingly. That's what instagram's for, duh! Go home, get yourself a full length mirror and a camera phone and have at it.
Following on from the above. Ladies, put your freaking hair up. And take off your hoop earrings. There ya go.
7) Use cheesy vom-inducing chat up lines when I'm trying my best to work out and ignore you.
"Oh hey, you have great thighs, can I show you a awesome all over thigh toning exersise?"
"erm sure" (contentiously)
"It's really a partnership exersise..."
Well, you get my drift. Not okay - (Unless you're super-hot and just the right amount of arrogant that you can totally carry off lines like these).
and last but by NO MEANS least...
7) Let it all hang out in the changing rooms.
Seriously! Why oh why do people do this?! And, without meaning to sound like a judgemental bitch, why is it always the wrinkly, saggy biddies who insist on having it all on show?!
If you insist on being naked, PLEASE don't talk to me whilst drying/ touching your naked self in any way. Its just awkward. Oh and hair dryers are for drying the hair on your HEAD.
Follow these rules and you're well on the way to making friends who will save you a front-row bike in spin-class (if you can't beat 'em join 'em, right)
Good luck fitty!
Leila xoxo
Tartan army
Calvin Harris, David Tennant & THAT accent, the warm dram of single malt whiskey sours - Scotland is 'reel-dancing' its way into the encycolpedia of 'hot-right-now'. And the fashion pages are no exception; now Scotts may have invented tartan, but the fashion pack own it.
I'm yet to discover a piece which doesn't excell with an injection of this wonder print - be it full on or a subtle hint.
Thats the beauty; Whether you're going for 'Vivienne Westwood meets Mary Queen of Scotts' or you just want to dip your tippy-toe in the Lockness Monster's 'a la mode abode' - there's something for everyone.
A tartan coat-lining at Chanel shows just how easy it is to work tartan into your wardrobe with a grown-up twist. Punky tailoring is the new elegant! Adding a scarf (as demonstrated on the right) is another simple way to work the trend.
aaand on that (bagpipe) note - time to invest, perhaps?
Happy shopping
Leila xoxo
I'm yet to discover a piece which doesn't excell with an injection of this wonder print - be it full on or a subtle hint.
Thats the beauty; Whether you're going for 'Vivienne Westwood meets Mary Queen of Scotts' or you just want to dip your tippy-toe in the Lockness Monster's 'a la mode abode' - there's something for everyone.
 |
| Christina Ricci adorned in a knockout from the queen of tartan - Vivienne Westwood |
 |
| Karl Lagerfield puts Scotland on the global fashion map |
A tartan coat-lining at Chanel shows just how easy it is to work tartan into your wardrobe with a grown-up twist. Punky tailoring is the new elegant! Adding a scarf (as demonstrated on the right) is another simple way to work the trend.
 |
| Simply gorgeous - Subtle tartan at its best. |
My picks...
aaand on that (bagpipe) note - time to invest, perhaps?
Happy shopping
Leila xoxo
Saturday, 16 November 2013
Sushi Saturday
Yes I know it's November; I was wearing a coat I promise, I just took it off for the photos.
My dad and I took a trip to Camden Town for a mooch round the market and a spot of street sushi.
I wore a short suit from River Island with Office Brogues and Topshop frilly socks - the only designer section of the ensamble was my tights (Pretty Polly).
As I made pretty clear in my last post, I am obsessed with this seasons two piece suits - and since short suits are my all time favourite I went crazy for this one.
The silk material, bold print and peter pan collar elements were all bonuses!
SUSHI <3
Borrowed (indefinitely) these frilly socks from my little sister. I love the contrast with black brogues and black tights - channeling my inner cat!
Leila xxx
Monday, 11 November 2013
Match Made In Heaven
'Match' Made in Heaven...
Bikinis hanging dejectedly on the sale racks, winter embraces this season's two-piece.
Tapered skinny trouser and oversized suit jacket - Topshop
Bikinis hanging dejectedly on the sale racks, winter embraces this season's two-piece.
City-Slicker
Suit Jacket and skirt - Miss Selfridge
Modern Romantic
Tapered skinny trouser and oversized suit jacket - Topshop
Grown Up Rebel
Tartan skort and silk shirt - TopshopLeila xoxo
Sunday, 10 November 2013
3 is a magic number...
Snap, crackle, pop
Now on the lookout for a floaty romantic skirt to wear with this and converse a la Ben Toms for Under The Influence #12 S/S 2013) >>>>>
3) Already had disco pants in black, but these purple ones were calling out to me from the River Island Sale AND they're one size to big which means I can actually eat a meal/ sit down in them for long periods of time - BONUS.
WHAT I NEED:
Tic, Tac, Toe
Ready, set, go
No - I'm not going mad. Just demonstrating the point that things come in threes - (unless you're Native American or Chinese - then it's four and five respectively). I read an article recently on the so-called 'three rule' - super interesting but came at a price; I now see 'threes' EVERYWHERE.
Anyway, In light of this I, Leila Saffron Glen, (we even have three names for crying out loud) am going to do a 'three' themed round up of the week.
Anyway, In light of this I, Leila Saffron Glen, (we even have three names for crying out loud) am going to do a 'three' themed round up of the week.
First and foremost - WHAT I BOUGHT:
1)Not going to lie, feeling pretty smug with myself. Asymmetric, tartan and a touch of leather? Nailed THREE trends in one *go me*.
2) Been seeing these overly fluffy jumpers everywhere for a while, but this is the best one I've seen so far. Gorgeous mustard colour and love the deep v-neckline.
Now on the lookout for a floaty romantic skirt to wear with this and converse a la Ben Toms for Under The Influence #12 S/S 2013) >>>>>
3) Already had disco pants in black, but these purple ones were calling out to me from the River Island Sale AND they're one size to big which means I can actually eat a meal/ sit down in them for long periods of time - BONUS.
WHAT I NEED:
1) Isabel Marant for h&m. All of it.
But I guess that's slightly unrealistic so this over-sized men's cardigan will do for now. And a few of the plain dove grey T-shirts - they look SO DESIGNER.
But I guess that's slightly unrealistic so this over-sized men's cardigan will do for now. And a few of the plain dove grey T-shirts - they look SO DESIGNER.
2) Who says we have to give up shorts just because its winter?!
3) Bit of a copy-cat version of Zara's wonder skort from last season I feel. But the colour's incredible and I prefer the slightly higher waist.
and finally... WHAT ANNOYED ME:
1) Patronising, pig-ignorant football sexism - being asked by a shop assistant in Waitrose whilst wearing my full Chelsea get-up shirt and shorts (I went straight from the gym) if I could name THREE Chelsea players was... well - I have no words. His face though as I named the whole team striker to goalie PRICELESS.
2) The fact that the moronic van driver winking/ yelling at me at the bus-stop has his driving license and I - STILL - am waiting for the bus.
3) I really wanted this YSL lipstick (plummy gorgeousness - perfect for disguising those inevitable mulled-wine lip stains this festive season). But it only comes in the gift box for which I simply did not have the funds. Why put what I want in a gift box full of stuff I don't? ANNOYING.
To finish on a positive note though (which really I ought to) - my aunty bought the whole gift set and gave me the lipstick! What a babe <3
So, all in all good week.
Three strikes and I'm out >>>>>>>>>
Leila xoxo
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