I hear the term and I think shoulder-pads. Not the nouveau space-age gaga spikes, but square upholstered mega squares that were de rigueur for my mother and her career set in the 80s. The pads gave women the shouldering power they needed while smashing their way through the cigar sucking man-clans at the office. Dynasty…
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Once upon a time there was a girl who thought too much. Often chided for asking questions which were nigh impossible to answer, she seemed to be stuck in that annoying, but for most people brief, ‘why?’ stage. This story is about her latest fashionosophy* crisis. On Sunday, she took herself off to the races…
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It’s far more offensive than the c-bomb, but unlike the c-bomb there is never an ‘appropriate context’. Fire-crotch. It rates higher on the ‘say that again and I’ll whoop your ass’ scale that than the oft-asked obscure question about my home décor: ‘does the carpet match the drapes?’ Then again, that might just be my…
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If I had a time machine, I’d start right from the beginning and fix all of my mistakes. First, I’d get rid of the white spandex frill-necked top with the floral pastel to-the-knee denim shorts which I always wore as a set (girly pirate chic derr). I’d definitely scrap the low slung, boxer-shorts-showing baggy-jeans from…
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I was once in the enviable position of watching animals all day and being paid for the privilege. And, like most visitors to the zoo, I was obsessively fascinated by primates. Their almost-human appearance is enthralling, grotesque, delightful. They present an irresistible mirror in which to contemplate our own behaviours. There’s the opposable thumb thing,…
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When I was in high-school, I had a lot of ‘rah rah’ opinions. I would recite them as often as I could, to whomever I could capture, ignoring the obvious suffering of my prey in the name of truth-telling. In the school yard, at the dinner table, over bikkies and tea at church. But there…
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I have a legging rule. It doesn’t need any qualification, there are no exceptions. They are very naughty gym clothes that sidled into our unsuspecting fashion stores, hiding between the skinny jeans and hosiery, fooling unsuspecting shoppers and taking a stranglehold. They are not pants. They should never be worn as pants. At the risk…
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Imagine a gaggle of girls sitting at a cafe. I say gaggle because the girls are flapping and squawking like they’re popping out eggs. Observing the animated group, one could be forgiven for thinking that the girls are merely enjoying an innocent girlish kinship. But closer inspection reveals the cause for their play. They are…
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I haven’t been to confession for fifteen years, and even then, it was an ‘I wonder what’s behind this curtain…’ accident. Oops! So, in light of my neglect for spiritual flagellation, here’s a big one: I like frothy movies. And I like them just because the clothes are nice. Whew, I said it. Far from…
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For many, getting dressed is a simple question of what’s clean. Occasionally, the process is a little more involved. An outfit for a hot date or a day at the races, for example, may be carefully curated over a few days or a week. But when the outfit planning starts in kindergarten and lasts twenty…
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I am awed by the way my female forebears can rustle up any outfit from scratch. I grew up with store-bought clothes and negligible sewing skills. But lately, I have longed for the rumble of the sewing machine and the smell of home-baked cookies. The Handmade Market is being held at Kamberra Winery this Saturday…
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It might seem extreme to think of clothing as a relationship barometer. But there are some instances when a book’s cover is the only way to judge. Far from being a benign and superficial part of life, fashion can be a far truer expression of your happiness than anything you’d whisper to your girlfriends over…
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Next to ‘do I look fat in this?’ there is a question that every man dreads, or if he doesn’t he should. No matter how creative, considerate, intelligent or brave… he will never have the right answer to ‘what should I wear?’ Don’t get me wrong, I sympathise with the dilemma. I have many times…
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Ah, white pants and espadrilles… well, when in Rome… but I wouldn’t dream of it anywhere else. Let’s face it, white pants are unforgiving, or at the least, see through, and espadrilles… well, I wouldn’t even know where to buy a pair outside of Italy. The gloom and doom of winter has made me crave…
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