Bending Trends

Considering when starting this blog, I swore it would have nothing to do with fashion, but the more I think about the idiotic things I have done, the more I realize the extent of my fashion de-za-sters!

I’m not talking your average double denims....

The first...

Muffin Top – Major. Size. Denial. When your jeans are too tight and you use a top to cover the middle doughnut. Sometimes this can also be passed off as a rubber ring, but let’s be realistic you don’t spend all your life in the swimming baths, therefore it is highly unlikely you will get away with this.

Builders Bum – Again, buying hipster jeans (something made for sizes 0/4/6) bending down to stroke the little pussy and BOOM the moon has risen. Or if you have a rear the size of a baby hippo like mine, you may find your French holiday friends nick naming you ‘La Lune’ – which for those of you who do not speak French this means, the moon.

Sleek Chic – Oh yes. That time in High School when it was the ‘in’ thing to get a cupped hand full of gel and slap it on your head leaving the wet effect. Not forgetting to leave the too random pieces of hair at the front to appear ‘sexy’, the two pieces which may I add, serve no purpose in the hairstyle what-so-ever.

White Top Black Bra Scenario – what girl hasn’t, right?

Fanny Pack – Forced Fashion by the rents on a holiday in Devon, but as a teenager finding the word Fanny highly amusing.

Holier than thou – Huge gaping hole in your tights. I would advise not to try and do a roley poley in the middle of the club, or the splits for that matter. People do not pay to see the sun shining from between your legs!!!

MASSIVE COFFEE STAIN ON YOUR WHITE SHIRT. Feck.

Dress tucked in knickers – Freshers Beach Party. A time in your life where you want to make the best impression possible. A new independent woman, dancing to impress...with her dress tucked inside her knickers! Look away if your eating your breakfast.... The following image is a real life photo taken moments before the realisation that I am an absolute idiot, and will never meet a man with stunts like this...

So thats me Alice, on Fashion for now. Tune in every now and then for Fashionasters. Goodnight.

Fashion Faux Pas

My idea of fashion may be of some peoples idea of hell.

Nil taste. Nil style. Nil clue.

I know it Christmas when I manage to wear a pair of matching socks (usually been given by a relative....one which doesn’t really know what to get me, and if they knew me at all, they would soon realise I DON’T WEAR MATCHING SOCKS) I should be grateful really, nothing worse than opening your present to find a pen. A pen with my name on. Like I don’t fucking know my own name already!

I could compare my fashion disasters with natural disasters. Major(ly wrong) sight for sore eyes and unexpected.

The inspiration behind the title for this blog, as you may have guessed, is the day I wore odd shoes to work... you may be asking yourself did I get dressed in the dark? No! Did I do it on purpose? No! Did I close my eyes when I grabbed them out of the box? Maybe. And for those fashionistas reading this...yes I do keep my shoes in a box.

3 hours into my working the day, washing my hands in the loo, the fashion Gods must have spoke to me as before I left the cubicle, for some weird reason I decided to look down at my feet. Oh. Dear. Lord.

My shoes. Odd Shoes. Two different shoes. Feck.

I had two options... A) I could not say anything to anyone and hope to God that no-one would notice...or B) Tell everyone and hope that someone has a spare pair of shoes in work with them! Ok so you definitely know I chose the latter.

I left the toilets and luckily there was a girl walking past, I decided to walk directly mirror image behind the girl...because obviously everyone would be staring at my feet  :/ Once back at my desk it took approximately 30 seconds before my whole team knew. I suppose it may not help that I work for one of the UKs biggest online retailers...a company which focus heavily on Fashion.

From then on it could only be natural to follow this disaster up with another, and another, and another.

My phobia of opening yoghurts derived from my lack of ability to open them without yoghurt flying onto my face/desk/leg/chair/keyboard/colleague. Every lunch, the time would come for the opening of my yoghurt, along the row it would go for the lucky sod who got to open it. One busy day at work, desk dinner it was. I had a quick meeting scheduled in at lunch but luckily they brought along their lunch too. My last mouthful of salad was quickly inhaled when I remembered about my yogurt situation, I decided to man up and open the yogurt myself. I told the girl about my ‘phobia’ and proceeded to open it.

Sliiiiiiide and rip. It was off. Not one splish. Not one splash. Not a drip of yoghurt in sight. I go on to do a little and im talking two steppin kinda celebratory dance when SLAP the lid is on my leg. ON MY LEG. ON MY FUCKING LEG. and let me tell you people...it did not look like yogurt on my leg. 

The phobia remains an issue. The disasters are still apparent. And my wardrobe consists of years full of memories but non which will not appear in Grazia anytime soon!