The Ten ComMANdments

My first boyfriend was called Luke. I'm pretty sure I can say his real name on here because he is currently a drummer in a punk band, with a number of ill-thought out tattoos, and a penchant for sticking safety pins in places they are not designed to go. I might be wrong, but I don't think he'd be interested in reading about my latest Mulberry bag crush, or my theories on Disney movies. We met on a skiing holiday. I was 13, tall, and at an all-girls boarding school, he was 15, small, and at a co-ed state school. It was destined to fail, but I liked the idea of having a boyfriend, and the 'street cred' it lends you at a man-starved girls school. Unfortunately things fell apart when he made a surprise appearance at a school trip to the cinema. I vaguely remember him texting me from the row behind, and getting caught in a compromising position in an Odeon bathroom - in short, we haven't spoken in 8 years. While this was definitely put in the category of 'epic fail' in the relationships department, it did teach me one thing: it doesn't hurt to have some ground-rules. 

Let's be honest. No woman is that open minded when it comes to men. Take my mum, for example. Back in the day, if a man was 5 minutes late for a date, she would simply leave. In her opinion, if a guy isn't on time, he simply doesn't care enough. Harsh, but kind of fair. As you may know by now, I have had some experience in the relationship department - enough, I think, to make some sort of list about what I will tolerate, and what I just won't. And so, I have created the Ten ComMANdments (see what I did there) - a list of criteria that I live by when choosing that 'special someone' (barf). For your enjoyment and amusement, here they are, in all their uncompromising glory...

1. Thou Shalt Make Me Laugh

As you may have gathered from my post on Unlikely People I Find Attractive, a man's looks do not feature heavily in the equation. Granted, if you look like the Elephant Man, you might have some difficulty, but if you can make me chortle - and I mean real, hearty, belly-holding laughs - you are at least in with a chance. There is nothing more attractive to me than a sense of humour. This stretches from laughing at yourself when you walk into a lamppost, to witty repartee over a large glass of wine. I don't take myself too seriously, and therefore neither should you.

2. Thou Shalt Be Taller Than Me In Heels

I'm 5"7 and a half (yes, that half-inch counts). Not very tall, you might argue, but you just wait until I put my favourite 6-inch heels on. We'll see who's laughing then. My second ever boyfriend was an inch shorter than me. He might have looked the same height as he had a serious mid-2000's quiff going on, but his low stature prevented me wearing heels for a year. I was so outraged by this that I have made sure I never dated anyone who was shorter than me in heels again. You might be Brad Pitt, but if you're only 5"8, you are out of the running my friend. Harsh, but let's be honest, even Rod Stewart looks a little down-trodden when he stands next to Penny Lancaster.

3. Thou Shalt Be On Time

Maybe it's genetic, maybe it's been ingrained in me over years of motherly man-bashing, maybe it's just fucking annoying. If I have got my ass out of bed and made myself look more than mildly appealing, I expect you to be on time. I don't care whether that extra 5 minutes allowed you to complete the latest Assassin's Creed, or enabled you to cure cancer - if you're not there at the time we agreed, woe betide you. I might not get up and walk, but mark my words: you will pay. In this life or the next.

4. Thou Shalt Be Able To Hold A Conversation

A few years ago, I had a brief fling with a heart-breakingly handsome guy. Unfortunately, his good looks did not make up for the fact that he could only talk about two things: himself, and football. This might have been alright if he had climbed Mount Everest, conquered the Amazonian rainforest, or trekked across the Sahara. But his achievements only reached as far as the university pub scene. There were only so many stories of the same format I could tolerate before he had to go. While your stories of pint-chugging and late-night kebabs might fascinate your male friends, I'm sorry, but I require something more substantial.

5. Thou Shalt Love Music

Whilst this might sound quite open-minded, I assure you, it's not. As you might have gleaned from listening to my Tuesday Tune Tapes, I am quite the discerning music lover. So if your perspective of 'loving music' is singing along to the latest One Direction song in your Nissan Micra, you need to get out of my sight. Immediately. Play an instrument? You have my respect. Like going to gigs? Proceed to the next level. Think David Guetta is music's answer to Jesus? No. Just no.

6. Thou Shalt Not Disrespect Your Exes

I once saw a film in which a guy called his ex-girlfriend a c*nt. The girl replied that she could't keep going out with him because one day, she might be the c*nt he was referring to. No matter what they have done to you, respect your exes. Presumably, you didn't go out with them because they were a bitch to begin with. Therefore, they're probably not a bad person. Being bitter isn't attractive; just because it didn't work out does not turn that girl into a she-devil. Similarly, be wary of any girl that refers to all their ex-boyfriends as twats, bastards or dicks - they are probably psycho and in dire need of a therapist.

7. Thou Shalt Not Dress Embarrassingly

I'd like to think I'm quite open-minded when it comes to men's fashion. However, if you are over 20 and still wearing your school leaver's hoodie, trousers that permanently rest below your ass, or crocs, you will not be hearing from me any time soon. 

8. Thou Shalt Make An Effort With My Friends & Family

As all clued-up men may know, if you're in with the friends, you're in for the long-haul. For girls, their friends' opinions are of the utmost importance. If you come to their house and snort cocaine off their kitchen table before stopping to introduce yourself, chances are you're not going to last very long. Same case applies to family. If you're a girl, you want to get friendly with your boyfriend's sister/s and mother. If you're a guy, it's the mother's opinion that ultimately counts. You're never going to win over the Dad, no matter how hard you try - he's always going to regard you as the bastard who's trying to deflower his daughter. The mother, on the other hand, holds all the sway. Charm her, flirt with her, talk dirty to her - a happy mother equals a happy relationship.

9. Thou Shalt Not Be Overtly Romantic

We've all seen the John Cusack scene with the boombox held high. While those kind of shenanigans might work in the movies, it does not work in real life. You just end up looking like a tool. Poetry, long letters written in a feminine scrawl, or self-penned songs may sound lovely, but I can assure you, if that shit happens to you, you will cringe out. Hard. I do not want a man standing outside my window serenading me. I will pretend I don't know you and call the police.

10. Thou Shalt Love Sushi

Because if you don't, you're frankly quite odd and I don't want to know you.

What are your comMANdments?

Love,

Belle x

Tune Tape Tuesdays #6

I think it's safe to say we are all staunch defenders of the decade we grew up in. For my parents, everything was better in the 50's/60's. For me, it's all about the 90's. So you can imagine my bewilderment when my boyfriend - who was also born in the 90's - announced that in his opinion, it was the worst decade. Ever. I won't lie - this statement did make me hate him a tiny bit. Because the Nineties were freakin' fantastic...weren't they? When I had gotten over the urge to slap my boyfriend in the face, I asked him why, nay, how could he feel this way? He replied that the only things he remembers from the 90's were badly put-together boy and girl bands, platform trainers and crop tops. Is that really the impression the Nineties have left? What about grunge? Pokemon? Blink-182, Korn, Foo Fighters? The sticker craze? Yo-yo's?! Or was I just a bit weird. I mean, I was never really into the Spice Girls (I couldn't identify with any of them, there was no 'shit-at-everything-Spice'), or Britney Spears, Boyzone (I literally had never heard of them) or N*SYNC (was it just me or was no-one surprised when nearly all of them turned out gay). I listened to The Offspring, I never owned a crop top or plastic sandals, and my favourite thing to do on weekends was browse the comic book store. Don't get me wrong - I like a groove to Hit Me Baby One More Time as much as the next person. And I did participate in nearly all the crazes - I mean, my fuzzy sticker collection was da bomb. But I have been set a challenge by my pessimistic non-believer of a boyfriend to put together a playlist of 90's gems that won't cringe him out. So, for those who still wave the 90's banner high - here are some videos to reminisce over. For those who are undecided - bloody decide. The nineties were awesome.

Smooth by Santana (feat. Rob Thomas)

I defy anyone to not wiggle their ass to this song. It is physically impossible.

Playground Love by Air

Part of the soundtrack to Sophia Coppola's The Virgin Suicides, this track sounds as current today as ever.

Common People by Pulp

Featuring a young Jarvis Cocker, this song has to be one of the anthems of the 90's, and says more about class segregation than Blur's Country House.

Bohemian Like You by The Dandy Warhols

Puts a cheeky smile on your face and has a catchy little riff - what's not to love.

Iris by The Goo Goo Dolls

Every misunderstood teen's anthem.

Come As You Are by Nirvana

Gods of Grunge...RIP Kurt.

I Wanna Be Adored by The Stone Roses

Classic 90's Alt-Rock curtesy of this amazing Mancunian band.

1979 by Smashing Pumpkins

Epitomising 90's carefree attitude.

Born Slippy by Underworld

An iconic tune from the fathers of Trance, featured in Trainspotting. On a side note, I saw them in Italy last year and they're still killing it.

Frozen by Madonna

Hey look - it's Madonna before she started exercising too much and behaving like a fairground stripper. Back in the days when she was actually doing interesting stuff.

Kiss Me by Sixpence None The Richer

The ultimate 90's make-out tune featured in nearly every high-school romance film.

Why Does It Always Rain On Me? by Travis

The first song I ever heard by the Scottish band. The video is great and the vocals are haunting.

Believe me, I could go on, but for now - I'll leave it at that. Perhaps I'll do a 90's Part Two someday. 

What are your gems of the Nineties?

Love,

Belle x

Wish List Mondays #6

So...I might have gone a bit overboard on this week's Wish List. Due to my unwavering belief once temperatures take a dive that I turn into some kind of human torch and am impervious to the cold, I am stuck at home with a chest infection. Poor me, what an idiot, etc etc. Under the watchful eye of my mum, I have been told to layer as many jumpers as it takes to resemble a knitted snowman and sit by a heater. Although being pretty god-damn toasty, this look is hardly glamourous, so I have been spending my time living vicariously through glossy shopping websites - lest any human being sees me outside looking like the Michelin man's wife. This week I've fallen in love with the jewellery of Monica Vinader (numbers 10 & 12), whose gorgeous gold and sea-shaded gem creations remind me of summers spent on boats, and underwater treasures. Check out her whole collection for Net-a-Porter here. Also on the Wish List, and covered by most fashion mags, is the Kate Moss book - a gorgeous coffee-table hardback full of her most iconic photographs. Perfect for flicking through on cold winter nights (although perhaps not with your food baby after your Christmas dinner blow-out...skinny bitch). Anyway, without further ado, here is the 6th instalment of Wish List Mondays - let me know what your favourites are!

1. Cashmere Letter Sweater by Chinti and Parker, Net-a-Porter, £350. Spell it out here.
2. Vintage Quilted Leather Shoulder Bag by Chanel (duh), Harvey Nichols, £2,970. To have and to hold (forever and ever) here.
3. Baroque Mesh Dress, Karen Millen, £210. If it ain't Baroque, don't fix it here.
4. Bejewelled Black Suede Heeled Pumps, Office, £65. Sparkle from head to toe here.
5. Jersey Sleeved Camo Jacket, Topshop, £55. Don't blend in here.
6. Porcelain Scarf-Print Shirt, Topshop, £38. Be handled with care here.
7. Mint-Green Knitted Jumper, H&M, £20. Minty fresh here.
8. Studded Heeled Chelsea Boots, Topshop Premium, £120. Poke an eye out here.
9. Angel Wings Jumper, French Connection, £67. Simply divine here.
10. Gold and Chrysoprase Siren Necklace by Monica Vinader, Net-a-Porter, £425. Dive in here.
11. Kate Moss Book edited by Fabien Baron, Net-a-Porter, £50. Kiss me Kate here.
12. Gold, Amethyst and Chalcedony Siren Earrings by Monica Vinader, Net-a-Porter, £420. Fish it out here.


What are you wishing for this week?

Love,
Belle x

Liverpool Biennale 2012

When I was growing up, I bonded with my Dad over two things: The Beatles, and toy trains. My love for Thomas the Tank Engine has lessened over the years (much to my Dad's dismay), but I do still heart The Beatles. I realise, after nearly three years spent at Manchester, it is almost a crime that I haven't visited the Fab Four's hometown. So when my friend Ed told me about a free trip to the Liverpool Biennale, the 10 week art show that the city is currently holding, my reply was something along the lines of "hell yes girlfriend"...

The excursion was organised by The Manchester Art Group, a student-run society that puts on everything from talks to interactive art spaces. We took a coach rather than a train, which, while feeling rather like a school trip, did allow you to see a lot more of Liverpool. The outskirts are obviously high in unemployment; job centres are on every street corner, the young and the old sit dejected at bus stops, rows of beautiful Georgian terraces burnt out or boarded up. The city has obviously tried to regenerate this area with their 'Innovation Park', but even this sits opposite a huge abandoned building - I later found out this 1920's architectural giant was once Littlewood's Headquarters.

The desolate hulk of Littlewood's Headquarters. Edge Lane, Liverpool

As we rumbled towards the city centre, we passed many more sad, boarded up houses of considerable age, as well as Liverpool's Cathedral - a gothic gorilla (yep, gorilla) of a building - before coming to a stop at the docks. Jumping off the coach, we headed first to the Tate Liverpool, en route to which we passed the official Beatles Museum (which I tried - and failed - to conceal my desire to visit). Situated on the redeveloped Albert Dock, Tate Liverpool has a more independent, rather than national, art gallery feel. It's small and intimate, spread over 3 floors, with windows that overlook the dock or the Mersey River. The light that reflects into the gallery off the water gives it a sharp and bright feel - perfect to view the artwork put together for the Biennale. This Biennale concentrates on the theme of 'hospitality'; what it means to be a visitor to this country, to be a foreigner in another, and the 'experience' (social, racial, educational, etc) of Britain. At the Tate, the idea of social hospitality and class was expressed in Gilbert & George's Scum. I have loved the eccentric duo since I studied them at A Level; their work, which generally takes 'low brow' subjects (graffiti, bodily excrements, alcohol...) and elevates them to a 'high brow' status by organising the images like you would a stained glass window. A lot of the time you don't even realise you're staring at a 'microscoped' piece of dandruff or drop of pee until you get up close. The 'grid' pattern of Scum and their other work exhibited actually mirrored the pattern of the window panes in the gallery space, which I thought was quite cool. 

Albert Dock

Gilbert & George, Scum, 1977

View of the Mersey out Tate Liv's Window

Also included was some of Keith Arnatt's photography, namely his A.O.N.B. (Area of Natural Beauty) series, which is an affectionate view of life around a small village in the early 80's. Later, his worked moved to the city, and started to become more humorously critical of British urban life. Here's my favourite of his A.O.N.B series:

Keith Arnatt, A.N.O.B. (Areas Of Outstanding Beauty), 1982-4

Two other memorable works were Sophie Calle's photographic diary of her time as a cleaner in a Venetian hotel, where she photographed the occupant's rooms and documented what had changed from day to day; and Pak Sheung Chuen's A Travel Without Visual Experience, where he travelled to the Far East and photographed his experience - without using his eyes. He closed them and relied only on his bodily perceptions to create the photographs. They are shown in a pitch black room, where you are encouraged to use the flash on your camera to view the photographs that line the walls - much like his experience of his travels. 

Sophie Calle, The Hotel, Room 47, 1981

Inside Pak Sheung Chuen's Travel Without Visual Experience

Figures illuminated

Boo!

Not ready to leave the Tate when the rest of the group was, Ed and I decided to check out the exhibition 'Tracing the Century'; a collection of sketches and drawings spanning (unsurprisingly) the last century. There were some interesting works by Tracey Emin and Henry Moore, as well as some unusual homoerotic sketches by Andy Warhol from the end of his career in the early 80's. There were also a couple of video installations (again in pitch black rooms), one of which, by William Kentridge entitled Felix in Exile, I could have happily zoned out in front of for the rest of the day. Check it out here - apologies for the quality.

Ed in Anthony McCall's Light Describing a Cone, 1973.
He is standing inside the cone described.

Next, we headed over to the Cunard Building, one of the beautiful 1920's buildings on the Mersey riverfront. The mid-afternoon light hitting their grand facades made them glow - Liverpool looked, well, quite beautiful actually. Don't believe me? Take a look for yourself...

As we'd taken more time at the Tate, we arrived half-way through the guided tour of the 'exhibition' held at the Cunard Building. I say 'exhibition', it was around 5 artworks spread over about 300m squared. This might have been acceptable if they were mind-blowingly amazing/large, but to me, they just reeked of bullshit. A room with a random slideshow of fighting knives juxtaposed with a battered statue of a parrot and a poster of Brazil was supposed to represent our expectations of other countries. Some sewn-together pieces of blue paper hanging from the windows were supposed to represent the sea. No. Just no. It's shit like this that gives contemporary art a bad name. It's not saying anything new. It's not exciting, or thought-provoking, or imaginative. It's just crap, put together with other crap, for some pretentious bozo to come round and claim they 'understand'.

Slightly angered by this artistic injustice, we moved on to the Open Eye Gallery across the road. This was showcasing work of the Japanese photographer Kohei Yoshiyuki, whose erotic and sexually-based works of the early 70's caused quite a reaction when shown to the public. The main focus of the exhibition was another darkened room, where you were given a torch before entering. Around the walls are photos of Tokyo parks and the sexual activities that happen in them. Many of them are of male voyeurs peeping through bushes to try and glimpse the action that is happening. Disturbing, but weirdly fascinating, as you are viewing these from the point of the voyeur; your torch becomes their torch, your gaze becomes their gaze...

It's interesting to compare his work to that of Moriyama, whose work is currently exhibited alongside William Klein's at the Tate Modern.

Lastly we visited Bluecoats Art Centre - apparently the oldest surviving building in central Liverpool. The building looked quite magical in the evening - the courtyard's trees were lit up beautifully by fairy lights, and it definitely has put me more in the mood for Christmas! We were here to see the much-acclaimed John Akomfrah film The Unfinished Conversation, which documents the life and experience of Jamaican-born, Oxford-educated Stuart Hall, who went on to be one of the main advocates of the black movement in Britain in the 1960's. It was a beautiful documentary, really thoughtfully filmed, and sparked many discussions on race as an issue in today's society amongst our group. Read The Telegraph's write up of it here.

Fairy Lights at Liverpool Bluecoats

A-Ha! A Tardis!

And so ended our trip to Liverpool. We have vowed to return, if only to visit the Beatles Museum and take silly pictures of the Penny Lane sign. 

Love,

Belle x

Fate-al Attraction

Call me a dumb romantic, but I'm a great believer in fate. In fact, I believe more in the existence of fate than the existence of God (Blasphemer! Get thee to Hell you non-believer!). To clear things up, I don't believe that each and every one of us has some kind of transcendental map-type thing that details our future movements; just more in the hippy-ish notion that 'everything happens for a reason'. Using my parents as an example: they met at a party that neither of them wanted to go to, but had made a promise to turn up to (back in the days before mobile phones, you couldn't just make up some excuse over BBM to get off the hook). My mum wouldn't have even been invited to this party if her working visa hadn't expired and forced her to return to Australia, where on the flight she promised a nice old lady to come to her son's party (the son turned out to be an ex - but that's a funny anecdote for another time). In short, that party was a monumental turning point in their lives - many smaller events, unnoticed at the time, had led up to it, and it happened for a reason. What always delights me is that these 'turning points' in our lives always seem to be the most random days on the calendar; nothing exciting ever comes out of the birthday you've been meticulously planning for ages, but stumbling into that funny little bar you'd always seen but never been in to (probably after a drunken night spent crying over your horrible ex-boyfriend who dumped you for a Megan Fox lookalike) turns out to house the barman that becomes your future husband. 

This weekend, awake at around 3am (the magic time when the best conversations are had), I was asked whether I believed in "the right person, or the right time". Well, being such a firm believer in fate, but also a hopeless romantic, this posed quite a conundrum...

We've all heard the saying - or variations of - "love turns up when you're not looking". Similarly, we're familiar with the phrase "Mr Right-Now" (as opposed to Mr Right). So how do we know whether it is the right time? I had a boyfriend when I was 17, my most serious relationship to date. We went out for three years, and he treated me quite wonderfully for a teenager. We met at a festival that I hadn't planned on going to, which I had a long and tedious journey to get to (nearly throwing in the towel around 9 hours in), and which he made a terrible first impression at. Over the course of the weekend we discovered these strange, unusual links to each other - more than just mutual friends - and kindled a friendship which blossomed into something more. We were loved by each other's families, got along with each other's friends, and made plans (as young teens in love do) for our futures - marriage, children's names, the lot. For all intensive purposes, he was Mr Right. But it wasn't the right time. So I guess he must fall under the category of 'Right Person, Wrong Time'. My second most notable relationship was with my best friend. We'd known each since we were 14, and, like most intoxicated kids in parks past their curfew, we had a few drunken kisses back in the day, but subsequently had always been in relationships. Last year was the first time we'd ever been single at the same time, and, perhaps longing for those hazy days of cheap booze bought with a fake ID, we decided it was the 'right time' to give it a shot. Well, perhaps it was the right time, but it was a case of the wrong person. So to answer the question posed to me: I suppose I believe in the combination of Right Person and Right Time. My boyfriend's parents first met each other 10 years before they were married, but fate prized them apart, setting their stories aside until the 'right time'. In the interim, they got on with their lives, but still kept that door ajar - for no particular reason apart from the way they had felt when they were together. Perhaps that's why I prefer to keep on good terms with those exes that have treated me well; to keep the door open in case they were the right people, it just wasn't the right time. Maybe it's the hopeless romantic in me, but wouldn't that be a great story? 

My conversation reminded me of a picture I had seen whilst doing my weekly 'StumbleUpon':

Call me crazy, unrealistic, or stupid, but I do believe that there is a Mr Right, and through some kind of invisible fatalistic string, you are tied together. What you do, your actions and life events, tightens that distance between you until one day, you find yourself knotted up side by side. Because, if things don't happen for a reason, then, like, what's the point? Our lives are therefore just a string of random, meaningless actions that hold no greater purpose than sustaining us before our inescapable death. Which is just bloody depressing.

So go out, live, and have faith that what you're doing is leading to something great. Remember - the best stories are not "we met online through a shared interest in desperation", but "we'd been taking the same bus for years, and it took a dropped phone to get us talking". Right person. Right time.

What's your view?

Love,
Belle x

Tune Tape Tuesdays #5

I have a whole playlist dedicated to covers on my iTunes. There are around 300 tracks in there. I love them. It's like owning a movie with an alternative ending. It makes you think differently about the song that they're covering, and gives you a better understanding and appreciation for the original. However, there are people in this world who do not share my adoration of covers. With this playlist, I hope to change their minds; I've chosen covers that I believe definitely hold their own against, or provide a new dimension to, the original...

First up is Mr Little Jeans with Arcade Fire's The Suburbs. I fell in love with this track about a year ago thanks to my friends at The Music Ninja, and we've had a beautiful relationship ever since. It transforms the heavy-chorded Indie anthem into a delicate electronic masterpiece, with a grinding bassline that screams sex. Definitely one for the 'fuzzy tingle times' (The Crack Fox. High five.). Austra's cover of The Strokes' Alone, Together is actually part of a whole tribute album of the band's 'This Is It', put together by Stereogum website (read post here) to celebrate it's 10th birthday. Unfortunately the free album - aka 'Stroked' - is no longer available through Stereogum, but being an awesome person I have found a website where it is (TA-DA!). I really recommend it, there are some awesome covers on there that really compliment the originals. Another notable this week is Mrs Bishop's beautiful cover of The Hives Hate To Say I Told You So. The original was the themesong to my angry teenage years, but the cover has matured as I have (ahem...), and its haunting vocals and pared-down accompaniment make you see the song in a totally new light. Before I shut up and let you listen, I just want to salute Florence & The Machine's cover of Drake & Rihanna/Jamie XX & Gil Scott-Heron's Take Care [Of You]. Where it has previously taken two artists to provide contrast, this cover only requires Florence and her beautiful vocals. She manages to get the soul and emotion into Rihanna's chorus and do justice to Drake's rap - quite something. 

Time for you to judge for yourself - let me know what you like/dislike, and apologies for the mix of Soundcloud & YouTube...y'know how it is.


Original by: Arcade Fire

Original by: The Strokes

Original by: George Harrison

Original by: The Naked & Famous

Original by: Chris Isaak

Original by: Take That

Original by: City High

Original by: Good Shoes

Original by: Jai Paul

Original by: The Hives

Original by: M83


Original by: Drake & Rihanna; Real Original by: Jamie XX & Gil Scott-Heron

Hope you enjoyed!

Love,
Belle x

Wish List Mondays #5

Another week, another miserably wet Monday here in Manchester. Winter is coming (yes that is a reference to Game of Thrones), and the slow death of Autumn has put me in a rather sombre mood. This rainy weather has been holding me prisoner in my own flat, forcing me to buy takeaways and flick through fashion websites (what a hard life I lead). Hopefully some sunshine will appear later this week, otherwise I doubt I will be able to fit into any of the things on this week's Wish List. Damn you Papa Johns and your XXL pizzas...

1. Baroque Collar Blouse by Sister Jane, Topshop, £49. Ba-rock on here.
2. Cream Fox-Fur Gilet, Vanilla Paris, £150. There's no faux in this fur (sorry PETA) here.
3. Men's Black Ribbed Beanie by Carhartt, Asos, £20. Channel your inner Dappy here.
4. Bird & Branch Printed Trousers, Ted Baker, £109. Fly away home here.
5. Giant City Leather Tote by Balenciaga, Selfridges, £1,175. Sell your soul here.
6. Lobster Print Sweather by Tibi, Net-a-Porter, £328. Lobster claws for applause here.
7. Rococo Beaded Hotpants, Topshop, £50. You go Glen (Ro)Coco, here.
8. Cream Embroidered Full Skirt, Topshop, £36. Cat got the cream, here.
9. Purple Glitter Heel Court Shoes, Reiss, £145. Purple reign, here.
10. Gold Panther Cuff by Jordan Askill, Topshop, £80. Gilded Purr-fection here.
11. Black Patent Leather Brogues, Asos, £32. Get in touch with your masculine side here.


That's all for this week folks - hope you enjoyed!

Love,
Belle x

The Truth About Breakups

I have a best friend who I have retained from Sydney, where I grew up. I say best friend, but we haven't seen each other for the best part of 6 years and haven't had a proper conversation about our lives in about 10. Today, she told me that she had split from her boyfriend of five years, and had been seeking some solace on here, which I feel very honoured about. This post is dedicated to her.

As you might have gathered or know, I have some experience in breakups. All have been different, but the same in the sense of the 'advice' that friends give you; "plenty more fish in the sea", "it will get better", etc etc. Well I'm here to give some new sounding advice - this is the truth about breakups that no one told me, and I wish they had...

1. Remember to grieve
Something has died. It was called a relationship. I find it very puzzling that friends tell you to 'delete' your ex from your life - to block them on Facebook, to erase their number, to take down all the photos. Would you do that if your close friend died? No. It's no different with breakups. You need to remember what you have lost, as hard as it may be to live with. 'Deleting' someone is basically saying that the time you had together never happened, that it was a waste. No relationship is ever a waste. Even the week-long ones back in high school - you learned that you shouldn't just go out with someone for the sake of it, right? Mediate on the good times, remember all the bad. It's all part of the process and it needs to be done.

2. It doesn't get better
When you break up with someone, friends often tell you "it will get better", or "it will get easier". It doesn't. You just learn to live with it. Imagine that your leg got cut off in a freak accident. It's not going to grow back. You're just going to have to adjust to life. There are exes that I broke up with years ago and am still reminded of our times together. It still hurts. It always will. That's life.

3. Stay off the booze
You may feel like a suicidal 18th century poet alone with your bottle of wine, but I guarantee you will not look like one when you drunkenly call your ex at 2 in the morning. Alcohol is a slippery slope, trust me. Your consumption will increase without you even noticing, and the next thing you realise is your family are staging an intervention. Not very glamourous. Stay classy and ditch the booze - everyone will thank you for it (especially your friends who would otherwise be dragging your drunk ass home). 

4. Find an outlet
For me, it was writing. For others, it's exercise, or a therapist. Find one and use it, but whatever you do - don't make your ex an outlet for your feelings. You will look desperate and they won't appreciate it. It's important that this outlet isn't a distraction from what you're going through - don't become obsessed with ballet, for example, as a way to 'forget' about your ex. It needs to be a way to exorcise your feelings. Don't bottle them up inside, this will most likely lead to depression, and no one wants that.

5. Don't overdo going out
Whenever a friend breaks up with their boyfriend/girlfriend, one of the most common reactions is to organise a night out. Don't let this become a habit. Drunken nights lead to meeting guys who you are so happy to get the littlest bit of attention from that you succumb to a rebound situation. This does not help you, and is really unfair on them. The best way to get over someone, in contrast to the well known phrase, is not to get under someone else. It just complicates your life, and what you need right now is simplicity.

6. Do something once a day that makes you happy
You know what's great about breaking up with someone? All the free time you suddenly have. Do not use this time to sit in a darkened room and cry all day (well, at least not every day). Being in a relationship means being selfless; giving your time and energy to another person. This can be exhausting. Relish the fact you do not have this responsibility any more, and enjoy being totally selfish. You want to catch up with some old friends? Do it. Want to eat the entire contents of your fridge? No one is going to judge you. Always wanted to draw, or build a stamp collection, or learn to play chess? Now is the time. 

7. Don't be afraid of feeling sad
I have friends who, whenever they feel sad, they stick on the happiest tune they know. I think this is bullshit. Sadness is a feeling that you need to experience, not mask. If you're feeling sad, stick on a slow song, and have a bloody cry. Your body is telling you that's what it needs. There is no shame in wanting to indulge in that. 

8. Going away doesn't help
When you break up with someone, often the first reaction is to run away. You want to leave the 'scene of the crime', so to speak. Unfortunately, no matter how enticing a holiday with your girlfriends might sound, it does not help you. You can escape the place where your ex is, or where the ghosts of him still reside, but ultimately your memory goes wherever you do. I can guarantee that sitting on a beach - however nice it is - will not make you any happier. In fact, it will make you feel worse, as you will then have the stress of feeling guilty that you're having a fucking terrible time. Go home, see your family, get some rest, take long walks. Feel sorry for yourself. You don't get to do that very often, so do it now. 


I could say more, but instead I will leave you with this poem that I think says it all:

Sonnet XLIII by Edna St Vincent Millay

What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,

I have forgotten, and what arms have lain

Under my head till morning; but the rain

Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh

Upon the glass and listen for reply;

And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain

For unremembered lads that not again

Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.

Thus in the winter stands a lonely tree,

Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,

Yet know its boughs more silent than before:

I cannot say what loves have come and gone;

I only know that summer sang in me

A little while, that in me sings no more.

Remember: you are not alone, and help is here whenever you need it.

Love,

Belle x

Week 3 - The Top 100 Film Challenge

Getting in just under the deadline of midnight today - right up to the wire. That's how I roll. There's been a serious theme of the '50's this week; three out of the five films (that's 60% for all you mathletes) I've watched have either been filmed in, or are set in, this 'golden era' of cinema. Guns have also featured prominently - first with The Departed on Thursday, continued in the film noir Sunset Boulevard on Friday and topped off with Full Metal Jacket and LA Confidential yesterday and today. I think next week I'll plump for a little less violence before I need to be treated for shellshock, but before I do, here are my reviews for this week:

Film: The Departed (2006)
Recommended by: Joe & James
Deserves its place in the Top 100?: Yes.

Why?: Wow. What a film! I have to admit, when I read the summary for this on IMDB, I was slightly dreading it. Cop dramas have never been my bag (baby), so it was with a begrudging sigh that I bit the metaphorical bullet and turned this on. Well, folks, the lady has been turned. For those who haven't seen it, it's a drama centred around two police trainees - one who graduates (Matt Damon), and one who doesn't (Leo 'my future husband' DiCaprio). Essentially, it's a story about a good guy in a bad place, and a bad guy in a good place - Damon gets hired as a big dog into the Boston police department, and DiCaprio gets hired to go undercover and work for one of the most violently twisted gangsters (Jack Nicholson) - who we know is in leagues with Damon. Neither DiCaprio or Damon knows each other's links to Nicholson, and the film turns into a winding game of 'cat and mouse' with enough twists to make your head spin. An interesting angle Scorsese uses in this film is the mental torture that DiCaprio goes through when undercover - his paranoia of being found out drives him almost to the brink of insanity. I won't spoil it for you, but there is one epic twist I did not see coming (for those who have seen it: the lift) which made my mouth hang open for a good five minutes. No joke. I looked more than a little demented. This film has definitely given me a new-found appreciation for the police drama - which I'm sure my boyfriend will thank you for.

Film: Singing in the Rain (1952)
Deserves its place in the Top 100?: No.

Why?: On Friday it was raining, so, rather aptly, I thought I might try to watch Singing in the Rain. Let me just say: I'm not a big fan of musicals. Last week I tried to watch Rock of Ages and couldn't make it past the third chord. Call me a party-pooper, but all those people - who seconds before were minding their own business, cleaning their cars and selling their groceries - suddenly bursting into song and dance really grinds my gears (Family Guy. High five.). To make it worse, I hadn't heard great things about Singing in the Rain. More specifically, I'd heard it was really gay. And no, I am not meaning that in the way they do in the film - I mean totally homosexual. However, what I watched (dare I say it), was, actually, quite enjoyable. It's set in the period of cinema which sees the conversion from silent films to 'talkies', and the problems this created for the actors (in this film one actress) and their accents which weren't fit to be heard. Warner Bros brings out the first of these 'new' films, and, to prevent both their careers and the studios they work under from going bust, the three characters decide to make a musical. Although there's enough cheese in this film to sink a ship, there was a noticeable absence of cringe-worthy group song and dance numbers; rather, they focused on solos or duets (which made it a lot easier to bear). The 'Make 'Em Laugh' song features an amazing comedy dance performance which looks a little like breakdancing (although obviously minus the flatcaps). And the scene where he's singing in the actual rain is a cinematic classic. They certainly don't make 'em like this any more. This having been said, I still can't believe this beat The Sound of Music to #84. Unforgivable. So in light of this atrocity, I am going to make a stance and state that it shouldn't be in the Top 100. I shall prepare myself for the backlash I will undoubtably receive from the gay community. Bring it bitches. 

Film: Sunset Boulevard (1950)
Deserves its place in the Top 100?: Yes.

Why?: Sunset Boulevard is film noir - but with a twist. Rather than a young and beautiful femme fatale, the deadly female in this movie is a washed-up silent movie star, living 'Miss Haversham-style' in a dilapidated old villa in the Hollywood Hills. The leading man is Joe Gillis, an exasperated screenwriter with chronic writer's block and mounting debts, who accidentally stumbles upon this time warp whilst running from his debt collectors. With the premise of 'tidying up' her script, the ageing and excessive Norma Desmond essentially imprisons him in her house, showering him with expensive gifts and the full five-star treatment. Slowly but surely, this insecure dame falls in love with the young writer, and attempts a come-back to the silver screen. Unfortunately for Norma, Joe isn't as comfortable as the previous inhabitants of this mansion (most of whom, we gather, have used the poor lady for her money) and starts to prepare himself for his own comeback, with the help of his friend's fiancé and fellow writer (Betty Shaefer). The cinematography is everything you expect from a film noir - contrasts of light and dark; soft focus shots, and dramatic pauses; with a plot so saturated with suspense you are almost driven as mad as Norma herself. It's a beautiful film - in a slightly eerie, gothic way - and a real testament to 1950's cinema. It's a movie that stays with you and still manages to be 'current' - over 60 years after it's creation. Best to watch when you're in one of those melodramatic moods.

Film: Full Metal Jacket (1980)
Recommended by: Sophie
Deserves its place in the Top 100?: Yes.

Why?: On Tuesday I got invited to my first ever film club. Picturing a room full of skinny film students with crazy haircuts and a penchant for black, I had my fears about attending - especially when I rocked up in an outfit that had been given approximately 3 seconds of thought. I needn't have feared, as apparently film clubs in t'north do things differently. Held in a lecture theatre, it was a refreshingly laid-back affair, with Iron-Bru and popcorn available for a nominal fee, and characters ranging from mature students to rather glam looking gals. Armed with a can of 'Bru and a packet of crisps, I settled down to watch Full Metal Jacket - my second fear of the evening. I'm a big girl when it comes to war movies. Call me sexist, but I just believe it's a genre reserved for the males; namely Call of Duty enthusiasts and army hopefuls. Once again, I have to admit I was wrong. The film is split into two parts; the first set in the Marine's military training camp, the second in the Vietnam War. Rather than being an essay on patriotism and War (like a lot of similarly themed films), it's more of a psychological study on how war - both actual and prospective - affects people. Essentially, it's a film about the individual rather than the collective. How war affects peoples' psyches is explored through a number of characters and episodes: Pike in the military training camp, the helicopter gunner who relishes shooting innocent Vietnamese, and the 'party' a division of soldiers hold for an enemy corpse - each equally disturbing and unsettling. It is, as Pike says and Joker emphasises, "a world of shit". It is this "world of shit" that is desired to be concealed from both fellow soldiers and the world through the army-sponsered newspaper, and the film then enters into a debate on 'morale versus truth' - whether it is better to feed men lies to keep them fighting, or whether they should know what they are really fighting for. Trying to figure this out is Joker, a member of the Marines from the first half of the film, who is posted as a journalist to cover the war from the point of view of a rurally-posted soldier. He steadily becomes more disenchanted with what he sees, and the cloak of 'all for one and one for all' that was placed on the Marines when they graduated from their camp is slowly taken off as the film goes on. In the end, we realise that war is not a group of men fighting for their country - it is a bunch of individuals out for themselves. Patriotism has no place here. Although there are some stereotypical elements in the film (namely the 'shouty army major' and the 'me-so-horny' Vietnamese prostitutes), it has a real message to convey - a message that will continue to be relevant as long as there is war. 

Film: L.A. Confidential (1995)
Deserves its place in the Top 100?: Yes.

Why?: I started this week with a film about bent cops in Boston, and am ending it with crooked ones in LA. In this film, set in the 'golden age' of Hollywood, we become acquainted with the seedy underworld of the LAPD - before the days of DNA, electronic records and lie detectors. Centred around four main policemen played by Kevin Spacey, Guy Pearce, Russell Crowe and James Cromwell respectively - each represents a shade on the spectrum of corruption present in 1950's Los Angeles. It mirrors a film noir in many ways: the complicated plot, good twist and a femme fatale - but without the soft focus or high gloss applied to the 'golden oldies'. The mirror in this film is cracked. Take the femmes fatales, for instance. Rather than being the real Rita Hayworth's or Veronica Lake's, they are prostitutes who have been cosmetically altered to look like their contemporaneous leading ladies, for 'whatever you desire'. The punches look real, the shoot-outs more tense, and there is a noticeable lack of 'one-liners'. A big theme in the film is the 'price of justice', and with a body count easily in the dozens, it turns out this price is pretty high. As Guy Pearce's character aptly puts it, most men "think that silence and integrity are the same thing". In this film, silence gets you killed - without integrity. In terms of character evolution, the film gets an A+. Watching the relationship between Guy Pearce and Russell Crowe go from mortal enemies who despise what each other stands for, to battling alongside each other for a shared passion for 'justice', is incredibly well done. With a plot line that could have very easily gone stale, it is a testament not only to the actors but to the director as well. It's a gritty, fast-paced police drama with enough interest to cater to all - I seriously recommend it.


Bring on next week!

Love,
Belle x