This month I turned 45; I also signed to the Image board of Not Another model agency. Not bad for an old broad.
In 45 days I’ll turn 45. With that, I thought it was timely to share an article I wrote on Cougar Style for the Irish Examiner shortly before my 40th birthday. For me, a cougar isn’t the risible caricature of a toyboy-toting older woman; she’s a demographic disruptor who plays by her own rules, especially […]
There’s great footage of The Rolling Stones performing ‘Lady Jane’ on the Ed Sullivan show back in 1966. What’s great about it? Brian Jones playing the electric dulcimer in a black, white and red striped suit with a contrasting polka dot pocket square and tie. A total peacock legend.
I can’t begin to tell you just how cold it was the day we did this shoot; even the brass monkeys fecked off inside for a hot chocolate. After #TheBeastFromTheEast took its leave, I prematurely jumped at the chance to shake off the cabin fever and bask in the snowless sky. Rookie mistake. After Mother Nature took an unseasonal dump on our small island, she left us a parting gift of Baltic winds – the kind that slap you across the face, laugh and point when wearing anything besides YakTrax and a full-length Polar fleece-lined puffer coat.
Pleats are elitist. Fact. Their geometric rigour is designed to highlight and shame anything that doesn’t comply with their rigorous lines. As our girl Shakira put it, ‘The hips don’t lie,’ especially in the presence of a sharp knife fold. Ouch.
Maybe it’s the 70s child in me, always looking to her older sisters with their Dorothy Hamill centre-parted hair flicks and andro-hippie cool. Perhaps it’s a more ingrained rebellion against the prescriptive levity of the season. In any case, I prefer to channel ice-cream shades in a tailored suit and turtleneck – with an ice-cream and some shades. (See what I did there?)
Whether it’s a keepsake or an old reliable with an incomparable cost-per-wear ratio, the things that have us dialling 999 are those which we determine the true value of our wardrobe. The prospect of loss has a unique way of concentrating the mind which comes in handy when you find yourself moaning, ‘I have nothing to wear.’ Simply shout FIRE and you’ll soon find out what you really value.
I love flamingoes. They don’t give a sh*t. It’s not so much that they think who the hell they are; they KNOW who the hell they are. Heads shaped like a toilet S-bend, gangly limbs, backward-bending knees – it doesn’t matter. Every bird worth her wingspan just sees pink – flamboyant, Miami-drenched pink. […]
It’s a well-documented fact that I’ve got a small wardrobe. Really, I do. The problem? No one seems to believe me. This can be a prove a sticky wicket in my line of work, especially as a minimalist stylist. Comments range from the curious, “How do you manage to always wear something different?” to the […]
The beauty of winter is its unwavering reliability. Each year, fads find their way onto the fashion radar but fall off just as quickly. Not so much when it comes to stalwart prints like the humble check. Whether heritage-inspired houndstooth, rebellious tartan or geometrically-clean box checks, their continued presence is reassuring in on an otherwise […]