Hello Goodbye

Before I left the UK, I sent an old friend an email. I no longer had their number, they'd moved out of the address I had, and I couldn't reach them on social media. I wasn't even sure they used this account any more, but I reached out anyway - across the dark void of both space and time - to let them know I was leaving. To let them know I wouldn't be back. To say some sort of goodbye, although goodbyes were said long ago. I didn't expect a reply, and the darkness didn't answer with one. But somewhere, somehow, I knew they had received my message. 

They say when you meet the 'one' for you, you know. I think that's true with many decisions in our lives - some little, some monumental; that courses set into action will irreversibly change your life forever. Sometimes, these are happy moments, like knowing you're with the right person; sometimes they are tinged with guilt and sadness, like closing a door on a chapter you will not revisit again. These are 'sliding door' moments - that if something, however big or small, had or had not happened, your life would be very different. 

Although I know, just know, that leaving the UK was the right decision, the knowledge is not an easy burden. I left behind a life that was filled with people and memories, with events and stages that have shaped me as a person and made me who I am, in exchange for one that, although familiar, is entirely new. I grew up here. I remember so many little details. Yet I have been entirely absent for 12 years. I have missed all my friends from those years grow up. I missed their trials and tribulations, their first kisses, their boyfriends, their parents' divorces - and although when I see them again it's like we were never apart, it's wholly surreal. Like I was in a coma and woke up 2 months ago. I have no idea of Australian politics (don't ask me who the last Prime Minister was), or any big news stories. I have a very bad sense of geography (I thought Canberra was North of Sydney until I looked on a map). I say 'football' instead of 'soccer', and 'rugby' instead of 'football', which although sounds quaint in my conditioned English accent, is fundamentally wrong here. I didn't know what 'Goon' was (cheap wine in a bag, what everyone got drunk on as teenagers), or 'schoolies' (Australia's equivalent to Spring Break), and I still cringe whenever anyone calls flip-flops 'thongs'. But despite me feeling like I might as well have lived on the moon for a decade, I know I'm happy. Like, deep down, fundamentally happy. Yet I feel more guilt for being happy than when I wasn't in the UK. Why?

A weekly Skype date with my parents is scheduled every Sunday. Technology has made the world so small that I still sit with them at home through a window spanning thousands of miles, talking to them like I would in person. Since I've been away, my mother has mourned my absence by unpacking my childhood belongings, which haven't seen the light of day for more than a decade. She's put teddy bears on my bed, carefully unpacked books into a new bookshelf, and slowly turned my room into her own kind of shrine. Although this behaviour is not new - when I left for university she turned my pinboard into an organised photographic chronology of my life, and hung portraits of me on the wall - it still makes me feel guilty. I feel my happiness has come at a cost - to them - and it pains me. Although technology makes it so easy for us to communicate, the distance can still be felt, and the distance is great. I don't know how to say I'm not coming back. At least not for good, and not for a long while. We avoid the subject of permanence every time we talk. And while I think we both know the truth, uttering it would break a spell that we have all weaved; that I will return, that I belong there, with them.

It's strange to realise how a life that seemed so all-encompassing, so saturated with people and memories, can so easy be forgotten. Events that haunted me for years have all but evaporated in the space of a few months. Yet I still think back to that rainy night I left the UK, when the weather echoed my emotions, and the email I sent to my old friend. The email that detailed my leaving date, and time, and asked for one last goodbye. It never came. They never came. And although I am several thousand miles away, and living an entirely different life, I am still waiting for it. Perhaps one day it will come, and through a window of a screen I will say a hello that will really mean goodbye. 

The Dating Game.

Online Dating. You didn't have to watch this series of Alan Sugar's Apprentice to realise it's big business. Before this week, I regarded online dating sites as the virtual stomping ground of - as Bridget Jones would so succinctly put it - "alcoholics, workaholics, commitment-phobics, peeping toms, megalomaniacs, emotional fuckwits, and/or perverts". In short, to be registered on an online dating website, there must be something wrong with you. Because what normal, average-to-good-looking person with a stable constitution would need the help of a computer to 'match' them with a partner? Turns out quite a few people. 

I moved to Bristol in the Summer, and apart from one very dear (female) friend, I knew no one. I was working non-stop, often not getting home until 8 or 9 in the evening - by which time the last thing I wanted to do was get dolled up, go out, and perch on a sticky bar seat waiting to get hit on. Sitting at home on a Sunday afternoon, hungover from a solo night of drinking and feeling wholly sorry for myself, an eHarmony ad came on the TV and I actually thought twice about joining. But be it romantic pride, or egotistical narcissism, I couldn't help believing that I, as a 22-year old, vaguely good-looking, fairly intelligent, normally-formed human being could have trouble finding a date. Were romance and serendipity completely dead? Not yet for me, it would transpire. I met my boyfriend in the soulless smoking area of a cheap pub a few weeks later - which, while not romantic in the traditional sense, was at least a physical, tangible introduction. But while I thought I was in the majority for wanting the real-life, chanced, first meet, a large amount of the population - including a surprising number of friends - don't seem too bothered. In fact, online dating seems to be, dare I say it, preferable. 

So in the name of investigative journalism, or at least curious blogging, I decided to take the plunge and see what all the fuss was about. With the arrival of smartphones, online dating no longer has to mean sitting at home bathed in the depressive glow of a desktop monitor. You can now search, flirt, or reject, potential matches at work, on the loo, in bed, and anywhere else you can get a 3G or WiFi signal. As someone who's iPhone has become a virtual extension of their own wrist, the convenience of a dating app seemed to make the most sense. So I downloaded the four most popular: Match.com, Plenty of Fish, eHarmony, and Tinder. Here are my experiences, laid out in all their reluctant glory.


1. Match.com

Match.com, the once-mighty Methuselah of the online dating platform, is beginning to show its age. With its garish green and blue, and nauseatingly cringe photos of 'couples ambassadors', this app epitomises every fear I have about online dating: it's the final frontier for those with no other alternative but to put their desperation out on a line, and pray to God someone, anyone, bites. On a Wednesday afternoon, there were some 22,000 of these wretched souls online, organised by distance from my person, all with a hint of hopefulness in their eye. It's not long until Match.com tests your loyalty to the cause of 'true' love by funnelling you through a series of subscription traps, all persuading you that your experience will be made all that much better - and far more successful - if you hand over some cash. For the iPhone app, that's £15 a month. Double that price if you want access to the more functional, and slightly less depressing, online site, which has all the excitement and charm of a price-comparison website. Having managed to dodge the virtual clubbing over the head of subscription fees, I decided to attempt to update my profile - a decision which was possibly one of the most daunting experiences of my life. It's been nearly half a minute of scrolling, and I still haven't reached the bottom of the list of key attributes, beliefs, interests, prerequisites, turn-offs, turn-ons, and a host of other sub-topics I couldn't be bothered to read. Literally: fuck that shit. I'm lazy as hell. I also can't honestly believe that anyone would give two shakes of a stick what my diet is like, or what my favourite 'hot-spots' are. Forgive me if I'm wrong, but isn't one of the exciting aspects of dating the mystery of the other person? Slowly finding that stuff out over a series of encounters? No? Instead, Match.com is trying to peddle romantic relationships like a job application: CV, covering letter, an attractive but not inappropriate accompanying photo… Since when did romance become so corporate? A relationship isn't a business transaction. You cannot draft up a contract of 'favourite hot-spots' and 'views on children' and then sue if those terms are broken. And with this thoroughly repelling realisation, I logged out of Match.com.

Verdict?
2/10. Way too depressing.



2. Plenty of Fish

Although it claims to be the World's largest online dating site, I had never previously heard of Plenty of Fish. The name, presumably referring to the phrase 'plenty more fish in the sea' (although could equally be alluding to 'reeling in a catch' (creepy)), conjures up images of childhood board games like Hungry Hungry Hippos. And the childhood analogies don't stop there. With a homepage that looks like it's been designed by a twelve year old, and an iTunes Store screenshot of 'babes' that don't look much older than that, PoF is starting to look pretty sinister. Certainly, PoF is much more image-conscious and materialistic than Match.com. They don't really give two hoots about your views on marriage, or your favourite hobbies. They'd rather know whether you'd date someone who describes themselves as having 'a few extra pounds', if you do drugs (both 'Yes' and 'Socially' are options here), and what your income level is. If Match.com's were like a job interview, PoF's questions are about as comfortable as an airport cavity search. But hey, at least I'm not being berated to hand over my credit card; PoF is completely free (although I imagine you probably pay for it in other ways). At the end of your probing questionnaire, you are finally required to write a mini-essay about yourself. Examples include:"Mr Romantic - LOL! My names Joey I am a bit of a tart but theres nothing wrong with taking pride in your appearance My hobbies are Shopping! Clubbing! Tattoos!" and "Heyyyyyy get at me if you want to knowwwwwww more ppl. I'm always up for a little chin waggggg :) don't be scareddddd it's only banter :p hollaaaaaa.Love money, cars, football, work, keeping fit..." And on that note, I'm off.

Verdict? 
5/10. Might be higher if I was a self-obsessed whore.


3. eHarmony

eHarmony's USP is based upon the romantic, but unrealistic, philosophy of it's what's on the inside that counts. As a non-subscriber (subscription is £20 a month - for access to both app and website), I couldn't see any photos of my 'matches'. Which is kind of a retarded incentive to subscribe from a company that claims to not be about image. This having been said, the user experience and design of the app is actually quite pleasant. It looks nice, it doesn't ask you probing questions or makes you write a mini-essay about yourself. Put it this way: your profile doesn't reek of desperation. In a couple of hours, I've already received some tantalising emails with subject lines like: "Rob's Interested - Are You?" and "Johnny Wants To Get To Know You". What I like about eHarmony is the lack of personal contact at the first stages. Instead, someone contacts you with a list of 5 multiple-choice questions, you answer, send some back, then ask some more, then ask some open-ended ones, and then you have the option of eHarmony mail (which is only for subscribers - another clever marketing ploy). You don't get the perverts asking for pictures of your tits because there simply isn't a multiple choice question that exists for that. Also, doing it in small doses like this makes it - dare I say - exciting; only heightened by the fact you can't see their face (unless, of course, you pay £20 a month to be potentially disappointed). eHarmony is a curious one. It takes the desperation and embarrassment out of online dating, because it's neither sleazy nor depressing. It's actually quite fun - if you liked watching Cilla Black's Blind Date and enjoy filling out questionnaires, both of which I quite enjoy - in small doses. The trouble with the survey questions is that there aren't enough - you end up asking and answering the same ones over and over again until you realise why sites like Match.com and PoF decided to just put this information permanently on your profile. I guess you just can't win.

Verdict?
8/10 - although I can't help feeling my score would go down if I could have seen people's profile pictures.


4. Tinder

Tinder. I saved the best 'til last. I'll be honest, I've heard mixed things about Tinder, most people reporting it as a guilt-free dating/hook-up (balanced more towards the latter) app that allows you to judge a person based entirely on 5 photos. While this sounds banal and backwards, I can confirm that it has become one of the most used applications on my phone - simply for pure entertainment. When speaking to my friend about it, he put it simply: "it's funny how you could go to a club and get hit on, and rejecting those advances would be an unpleasant thing to do, but with an app like tinder you can invite it and make it enjoyable." And it's exactly that. There's something incredibly liberating - albeit cowardly - about having the power to 'next' - or 'nope' - someone based purely on one photo. Balding? Nope. Fat? Nope. Photo taken with someone who is probably your wife? Nope. The fact that you can just swipe to the left to discard someone is so deliciously dismissive that it's positively enjoyable. Like eating a pound of chocolate cake enjoyable. Or overtaking a policeman enjoyable. Within an hour of downloading, I'd already been 'matched' with 4 people. Bearing in mind that I was being ridiculously picky (no selfies, not too many topless photos, not 'fit-but-you-know-it', not too many tattoos, not younger than me, not too many photos out clubbing…), this was quite a confidence boost. I soon got a message from a guy called J. He looked kind, and we talked about photography and travel. Certainly not the sex-addict and pervert chat I'd been expecting. A few days later - after an enjoyable afternoon spent with my mum laughing at various profile pictures… 

(such as these)

…I was matched with one of the most beautiful human beings I'd ever seen. No offence to my boyfriend, who is handsome in a rugged, manly way, but this guy could have been Freddie Ljungberg's better-looking younger brother. At first conversation started out fairly innocently; where are you from, what's your job (Footballer. -1 point) - but it soon became apparent what he was using the app for. When I declined his request for a FaceTime, he became aggressive and started accusing me of being a fraud… I guess trawling for tits gets you a lot of old man dick. Tinder's redeeming feature is that it allows you to 'block' people from contacting you - even after you've been matched. But let's not be too harsh on the handsome mini-Freddie. Personally, I think it's great that young pervs like him have a stage in which they are free and unashamed to put themselves out there. Before the arrival of online dating - and it's various darker satellites - fetishes, perversions, and even sexual liberties and liberations were confined to damp basements and dodgy alleyways; premium-rate phone lines and ads at the back of dog-eared men's mags. It makes for a much safer sex industry to have it all out in the open. And at any rate: if you don't like the heat, Tinder makes it very easy for you to get out of the kitchen.

Verdict? 

9/10 - Yes there's a sleazy side to it, but it's young, fun, and largely safe. My mum and I have never had such an entertaining afternoon together. 

What are your thoughts on The Dating Game?

Love,

Belle x

Wish List Mondays #42 - Date Night

Whether it's a blind or a double, a first or a last, or some kind of weird Tinder/eharmony/potential catfish situation, most girls get anxious over what to wear on a date. We all want to exude sex appeal, but unless you're turning up to a date at a fetish swingers club, we don't want to look slutty. We want to appear like we haven't given this outfit much thought at all, yet we want to look like we've put some effort towards looking nice. Once you've gotten your head around that, you then have to tailor your outfit towards what kind of date environment you will be experiencing: outdoor or indoor - of which the latter can be either super-smart, or "smart-cashe" (smart-casual.). I've been dating for approximately a third of my lifetime. And while this makes me no expert on 'dating' per-se, I think I've pretty much grasped the basics of a good date outfit. I've tried to cover the three main date situ's (L-R): Outdoor (think Bonfire Night or a Christmas Market), Indoor-Restaurant (food=bloating=loose fitting top), Indoor-Swanky Cocktail Bar (LBD's are so last decade; LWD's are where it's at). So with no further ado, I give you the three wardrobe outlines to your perfect date outfit. Ah, l'amour…

The Outdoor Activity Date
1. Tall Crystal Stud Jumper, Topshop, £46. Help me crystallise, here.
4. Veronica Tartan Wool Mini-Skirt by Karl Lagerfeld, Net-a-Porter, £200. Mini Monochrome, here.
6. Tall Hooded Lightweight Jacket, Topshop, £60. Blackjack(-et), here.
11. 'Aubrey2' Suede Cutout Boots, Topshop, £78. A cut above, here.
12. 100 Dernier Control-Top Tights, H&M, £8. Control freak, here.

The Restaurant Date
2. Tall Satin Cami, Topshop, £20. Red Dead Redemption, here.
5. Super Skinny Super Low Jeans, H&M, £30. Skinny Minny, here.
9. Minaudiére with Zip, Zara, £26. Zip it, here.
13. Leopard-Print Calf-Hair and PVC Pumps by Gianvito Rossi, Net-a-Porter, £520. Pump it up, here.
14. Premium Cubic Zirconia Studs, Topshop, £16. Stud muffin, here.

The 'Money no Object' Date
3. Faux Pearl-Embellished Knitted Dress by Alexander McQueen, Net-a-Porter, £1,725. (Faux) Pearls of Wisdom, here.
7. La Laque Couture Nail Polish in Rouge Pop Art by Yves Saint Laurent, Selfridges, £18. Nailed it, here.
8. Body Glow by NARS, Selfridges, £44. Rock your body (glow), here.
11. Dolce Embellished Brocade Clutch by Dolce & Gabbana, Net-a-Porter, £895. Dolce Vita, here.
15. Pinky Twist 18-Carat Gold Diamond Ring by Halleh, Net-a-Porter, £1,250. Diamonds are a girl's best friend, here.
16. High Heel Strappy Sandals, Zara, £60. Golden girl, here.


Good luck on your quests for love, lust, and everything in-between.

Love,
Belle

Inception

To all who might assume, from the title of this post, that I have returned to critiquing films, a word of warning: this is not my interpretation of one of Leonardo DiCaprio’s finest hours. This isn’t to say this will never happen, it’s just to say this isn’t it - yet. I have just returned from an amazing week in Paris with my friend (let’s call her Julia, for artistic purposes), who is quite remarkable for many reasons - not least for her amazing ability to inception anyone she chooses. In this particular case, the person that she chose to flex her mind-altering muscles on, was me. Let me paint a picture for you…

Julia is not wholly remarkable for her amazing ability to plant ideas into people’s heads. Oh no. In my case, she is also unique in the aspect that she is a friend, who also happens to be my ex’s sister (for more information on this topic, read my previous post, Don’t Worry, Baby). To all intensive purposes, we had a marvelous trip. Despite Paris being, on average, a scorching 32 degrees (that’s in Celsius, for all you American lovers of Fahrenheit), we managed to see, and enjoy, a plethora of cultural activities. But I won’t bore you with a myriad of Instagram-doctored photos of Paris and its attractions, instead I’d rather talk about our last night. There I was, winding down after a week of sightseeing and cultural exploits of the French capital, quietly packing my bag in the private confines of our beautiful hotel off the Champs Elysees (how’s this picture working for you?), making general small-talk about what we’ve got to look forward to after this trip has ended, when she interrupts me to say: “You’re so sad.” I stop packing and slowly turn to her. “What do you mean, like, ‘gay’ sad?” (Not one of my most mature interpretations, I admit.) “No,” she continued, “you’re just so unhappy - and the saddest thing is, you don’t even realise it.” Well, that last part was certainly true. As far as I was concerned, I am pretty happy - I mean, I haven’t got much to get down about at the moment: I’ve recently graduated with a not-too-shabby 2.1, I’ve landed a dream job in fashion marketing, I’m living in a lovely house, in a new city, and have money to shop, see friends, and travel with. Why would I be sad? “It pains me to see you so depressed about your ex-boyfriends,” she finished with. Well hold on there, Sally. I don’t remember mentioning anything about my ex-boyfriends. In fact, apart from the passing thought, I really don’t dwell on them much at all. Until now.

What I hadn’t realized was, with one, carefully placed comment, I had been totally inceptioned. I began to doubt whether I really was happy. Was I just pretending to be happy because I didn’t think I had anything to be sad about? Did I not have any time to be sad anymore because of the job? Was I so out of touch with myself that I project an exterior of sadness and depression that I was not even aware of? In other words, was what she was saying right? Shortly after our subsequent conversation, in which I talked - for the first time in months - about my disappointment in my inability to sustain friendship with my exes, we went to sleep. But this was only the beginning of her carefully planted seed. On the Eurostar home, I didn’t reminisce on our time in Paris. I reminisced about my old relationships, on where it went wrong after they ended, on where they went wrong before they ended - poisonous, black musings that plunged me right back to a mindset that I hadn’t wished to revisit ever again. Like a bad dream that I couldn’t wake myself from, I let every memory of failure, regret, and remorse wash over me, accompanied by the most depressing songs in my iTunes library. I started doubting whether I was truly over my relationships, whether I should have stuck them out, not ended them when I did, whether things would have gotten better. 

A year ago, I wrote a journal. Well, I call it a journal, but what it really was was therapy. I had come out of a relationship that had obliterated me to the core. I was working, so had no time to talk to anyone about it, so instead I worked through my thoughts by putting them down on paper (sound familiar?). I was sad then. In fact, sad would probably be an understatement. But am I still sad? No. There are memories, people, places, that bring up feelings of sadness. But if I let every one of those affect me, I’d be a nervous wreck. I think that goes for everyone. I have a scar on my wrist. I got it at boarding school when some girls pressed the heated metal on a lighter against my skin. People ask me about it, and I tell them that it hurt, but it used to be redder and now it’s faded. I think that’s like relationships. Time heals scars, but scars are still scars. People will ask you how you got them, and you will tell them the story. It doesn’t diminish their healing process, or the pain you felt when you got them. Julia’s inception was like pointing to the scar on my wrist and telling me “it’s bleeding”. All I had to do was look down to see it was fine. 

Love,
Belle x

Don't Worry, Baby.

There comes a time in every girls’ life that we are faced with the - often daunting - realization that we are turning into our mothers. In my case, this has been a slow, terrifying process. Don’t get me wrong, I love my mum. She’s the best. But she - like most mothers - is a worrier. And recently I’ve realized, so am I.

The last two nights, I’ve dreamt about my ex-boyfriends. Not in any kind of sexual, or enjoyable, way, they’ve just featured - as supporting actors, if you will - in improbable, illusionary situations. Mentioning this on the way to work, one of the girls suggested I look up the ‘meaning’ of this in a Dream Dictionary. Well, with only so much entertainment derived from the ‘commuting hour’ of Radio 1, I thought “what the heck”. Here is what it said: 

To dream about your ex-boyfriend/girlfriend or ex-husband/wife, that you and your ex are kissing/fighting or that you and your ex got back together again suggests that something or someone in your current life is bringing out similar feelings you felt during that relationship with your ex. The dream may be a way of alerting you to similar behavioral patterns in your current relationship. What you learn from that previous relationship may need to be applied to the present one so that you do not repeat the same mistakes…

Well that’s all very well and good, except I’m not in a current relationship, and I’m pretty sure the only guy I’m interested in at the moment isn’t stirring up any feelings of nostalgia, remorse or regret. But being a worrier, I worried. Are there similarities there - subconscious or otherwise? Am I doomed to repeat the mistakes of the past? The more I mused, the more reasons I thought up as to why these apparitions made an appearance in the first place. As some of you might know, I’ve recently moved to Bristol to start a job in fashion marketing. A job I landed with the help of one of my ex’s sisters. The same sister who, until recently, I was living with. My other ex’s sister gave me an internship last summer at a creative agency in London, which was crucial in gaining the experience necessary to even apply. Was this the reason I’d been dreaming about them? Was the relationship I have with their siblings “bringing out the similar feelings” I felt during my relationship with them? I’ll be honest, it’s definitely something I worry about. Because, let’s face it, it’s not particularly normal - let alone healthy - to shack up with your ex’s sister and pretend you’re not going to be reminded of them from time to time (or every day). My best friend has a pretty strong opinion on the matter. She simply can’t get her head around why I would put myself in a situation that made it impossible to forget and move on from my exes. And, if I hand’t had any experience in remaining friends with exes’ families, I’d think it was pretty fucking weird, too. Do I worry that I won’t escape my past relationships? Yep, all the time. Do I worry what people think when I tell them that I lived with my ex’s sibling? Or that I’ll never meet anyone new without them being slightly freaked out with the situation? Affirmative. But that is the reality of my life - I now talk to my exes’ families more than I talk to them (which is, at the moment, not at all). Does this make it awkward? Yes. But I don’t pretend like they haven’t made a conscious decision to be friends with me. I never expected - nor forced - them to have any degree of contact after my relationship ended with their brothers. It just turned out that way. 

So what is it like to be so close to families who’s brothers have broken your heart? Hard. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel anything when they talk about them. I worry if I made the right decisions, if I made mistakes I can never reverse, if things could have been different. They are questions I will never know an answer for, yet cannot stop thinking about. Every day I spend in their company resuscitates the pain I felt the first day being parted from them. Yet, in a way, I have the best of both worlds. My biggest worry when we were in a relationship was not what would happen to us after we broke up, but what would happen to my relationship with their family. Because, when you break up with a boyfriend/girlfriend, the general rule is that you also break up with their parents, siblings, and friends. Yet it hasn't happened to me. And I’m pretty sure it’s not because I’m too fabulous to let go of. Looking objectively at my life, I’d say I have it pretty good. My dream job, a respectable 2.1 degree, the prospect of travel, new friendships, and relationships, that come from living in a different city. Yet I dedicate my spare time to worrying about the minuscule aspects of my life I’m not happy with. I’m not happy I no longer have any contact with two people who played such a huge part in shaping who I am today. I’m not happy I still feel remorse, regret, and sadness over how my relationship with them ended. I worry that I will never find a real connection to anyone ever again, that I had my chance and let it slip away. I worry that I’ll have a great job, a life filled with worldly experience, a beautiful home, and no one to share it with. 

Some of you might roll your eyes, tell me to buck the fuck up, that I’m only 22 for Christ’s sake. And I’d totally agree with you. But I am my mother in one aspect: I am a worrier, trying to be a warrior. 

Love,
Belle x

The Happiness of Feeling Sad

Hi. My name is Belle, and I'm a self-sadist.

For those of you that didn't get the memo, self-sadocism is a term I just invented. No, I haven't yet approached the OED about it, but I'm predicting it's only a matter of time until it gets in there. I like making myself sad. Not 'sad' in the Alan Partridge meaning of the word (i.e. a loser - although, there are some that would argue that), I mean 'sad' in the literal sense. To put it in context, I've just got out of a bubble bath, complete with scented candle, in which I drank a glass of wine and read some fucking depressing poetry. Cliché much? Yes. But I feel great about it. Let me elaborate.

I believe the greatest art in the world - be that poetry, music, or actual painting, sculpture, etc - has been made by those who are feeling sad or depressed. It turns out that's not just my opinion. I read an article last year about how creativity is closely intertwined with an individual's depression, whether that be manic or clinical, schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, or even substance abuse (1-0 to drug addicts.). Case studies in this article included Lewis Carroll, the author of Alice in Wonderland, renowned for his heavy use of opiates (well, I mean, how else would you come up with a narcotic caterpillar who speaks in rhyme). Virginia Wolf was as famous for her depression as she was for her novels. And it's not just novelists: Winston Churchill, Vincent Van Gogh, and Einstein are other notable individuals who suffered from different kinds of depression throughout their lives. So why, exactly, does sadness and depression inspire such an outpouring of creativity - and why do we value the results? 

This post is going in the Relationships/Rants section of my blog. If you read any of those, it might be fairly clear that they are generally written at times when I've been ruminating over an event that's made me angry, hurt, sad, or depressed (yes, there is a difference between the last two). Wish List Mondays and Tune Tape Tuesdays are all very nice and I enjoy doing them, but in my opinion, my best writing is done when I actually feel something. And that something is usually sadness, in its many shapes and forms. I only really started writing last summer. I had split up from a guy I believed was the love of my life, and, to be honest, I was a complete mess; a breakup cliché. I didn't leave the house for days. I couldn't sleep, but when I did, I slept for 14 hours straight. I 'Hemingway-ed' it to the max: sitting in darkened rooms, drinking far more than my "recommended daily allowance", and chainsmoking my way through the best part of 20 a day. Thankfully, I had the clearheadedness to realise that this couldn't become my actual lifestyle forever, or, if it did, I should at least have something to show for it. So I opened up a Word Document, and I started writing. I wrote everything that I was thinking; everything that I couldn't bring myself to say to him, all of the memories I had of our relationship, and all of my dashed hopes of a future together. 20,000 words and a Summer later, I was better, and looking back on it now is strangely life-affirming:


4^th July, 2012
When we broke up, I used to say that my soul felt like it had been pushed down a flight of stairs. It was the only way I could think of to describe the pain I felt inside. Although its bruises have healed, the scars remain, and it still limps a little. Do you remember when I asked you that time in Brixton if you had been unhappy? You shook your head and said “no, it just wasn’t perfect.”


I'm not saying my Summer ramblings were the stuff of artistic genius. But what I am saying is that I know that my personal best is made when I can't contain what I'm feeling. I guess that when REAL geniuses 'forge their metals', we can instinctively click into their troubled psyches. Which, in my books, is as pretty close to real magic as you can get without waving a wand and going to Hogwarts. Some people believe that embracing the outpourings of depressive individuals 'romanticises' the disorder. I don't personally see the bad in that. As a society, I think we're too quick to ostracise those who struggle to control, maintain, and manage their emotions; those whose membranes are so fragile that the world osmoses through them far quicker than others. Coming from an all-girls boarding school, admitting that you had clinical depression was basically announcing you were bat-shit crazy and were going to go rock back and forth in your room and stab a voodoo doll. For those with a penchant for statistics, one in four of us will experience depression at some points in our lives, and in my opinion, it's a fucking shame that a very high proportion of those that do are too scared to seek help because of what other people think. Personally, I think 'romanticising' depression is the least of your worries; I mean, at least it's getting some recognition. I can also vouch for creative outpourings - whatever medium they come out in - being far better for you than taking some meds and shutting up shop. 

Just like people suggest men 'get in touch with their feminine side' once in a while, I think that we all need to get in touch with our inner-depressive. Which is why I like making myself feel sad once in a blue moon (colour-appropriate). Give me Leonard Cohen, a large glass of wine, and some poetry by Pablo Neruda, and you'll make me a very happy sad person. 


Who else is a self-sadist?

Love,
Belle x

With Friends Like These...

As a student, I am forever finding new ways to distract myself from doing any work. Stumbleupon, YouTube, Facebook, you name it, I'm probably on it, wasting time. One of the best ways I've found of using up the hours in what would have otherwise been a productive day, is to watch an entire series. Which is what I did a couple of weeks ago (before I went into a full-blown panic upon discovering all my deadlines were in the same week). I got hooked on Season Two of New Girl. 

For those who are over the age of 30, or have made a conscientious decision to boycott TV (why?!), New Girl is, essentially, the 2010's equivalent of Friends: a group of twenty-somethings living together, and the problems - and laughs - that this creates. As I said, I went through the entire second series (that's eighteen episodes) in a day or two last month. But even after a few weeks respite, something that one of the characters said has stuck with me, and I've found myself asking myself this question:

"If you met your friends today, would you still be friends with them?"

I'm an only child. So is my Dad. And my cousins on my mum's side all live in on the other side of the world. Consequently, our family unit is about as small as it could be. Over the years, I've built up a group of friends who have pretty much substituted as siblings for me. They're the ones who I phone if I've got a problem, want a gossip, or swap clothes with. Recently, I've pretty much burnt bridges with half of them. A couple were exes, and I got let down by them - I wanted to be friends, but they, or their girlfriends, had other ideas, which I can understand. That's ok. Time's a healer. Others I've realised that their relationship with me might not be the same as mine with them; they don't call to hang out, gossip, or chat. At first, I put it down to most of them being third years at university - not all of us can be History of Art students with a 5 hour weekly timetable! This is where Facebook's a killer: when your friends don't ask you out, and you see the photos of them getting drunk and going out, you automatically ask yourself - "why wasn't I invited? Is there something wrong with me? Have I done something bad?" It reminded me of a line in a movie that was on TV recently, He's Just Not That Into You. In it, Drew Barrymore's character reminisces about 'the good old days', when people only had one landline, and one answering machine - which either had a message on it, or it didn't. Nowadays, with Facebook, Twitter, Email, Cellphone, and a hundred other mediums of communication, we're rejected on a host of different medias every day - and it's exhausting. So, I guess another question is: what do you do if your friends 'just aren't that into you'? 

Well, you could try reaching out to them. But, as I've learned, to be rebuffed and then see photographic evidence of a night out you weren't invited to, is pretty much self-confidence suicide. You could try and make yourself less dependable on your friends, but come on, who wants to be a Norman no-mates, alone every Friday night while all the Facebook statuses roll in about pre-drinks, club nights, and hook-ups? Not me, no thank you. You might think about taking yourself off Facebook, and just saving yourself the hassle and some humility - but then that's just another way of cutting yourself off from civilisation, and one further step to becoming the hermit cat lady who dresses in bin bags. Maybe you need to take a step back, and ask yourself the tough question: are these people really your friends?

Friendship, for me, a lot of the time is about habit. You were friends at school, when you were all shoved together and forced to chose people you got along with to make your time more bearable. Or in university halls, and ditto. They're the people that, when you meet up for a drink, you can say "remember when..." and they do. They know who you were, who you are now, and all the bits in-between, and that's nice. But sometimes, friendship with those people is habitual. People change. They fall in love, they make new friends, they're influenced by existential circumstances you have no power or control over, or can even relate to. Ironically, those I would call my 'best friends' are often people that I didn't have any contact with for years. Even though I haven't been kept up to date on every minuscule happening in their lives, we still never shut up when we finally have a chat. They're like a bookmark in your life: you pick up where you left off. If we continue with this metaphor, other friends are like the wind: they come and fuck up where you were, and you can't remember what happened. 

Over the last few weeks, I've discarded quite a few 'windy' friends. A lot, I think, has to do with the fact that I'm planning on moving back to Australia; that I'm off to start a new life, on the other side of the world, and don't need to take any extra baggage with me (in a metaphorical sense. I'll probably have loads of extra baggage.). I guess I've felt like I have nothing to lose by being honest. I've told a few that I'm disappointed with them (that old 'Mum word'), that I've been hurt by them, or I've simply not said anything, and come to terms with the fact that it might not be the end of the world. 

To make sure I wasn't going insane with the 'immense pressure' of my final year, I asked a mate if she had ever felt the same. She replied that she has, and does, regularly. It's the wound that is inflicted when you put yourself out there for someone, and they don't reciprocate in the same way, if at all. I suppose sometimes, you have to think of your friends a bit like a boyfriend: if they're not there for you when you need them, if they let you down and make you feel belittled and self-doubting, then there's no point in letting them continue to make you feel like that. Sacrifice in any relationship is good; self-martyrdom is not. Remember, the only person who will be there 'til the very end is you - you might as well make it a pleasant journey. 


What are your thoughts?

Love,
Belle x

La Belle et La Bête's Top Albums of the 21st Century

Ever since I can remember, I've been listening to music. Whether through a Sony Walkman, a portable CD player (the first thing I ever saved up for), or an 1st Gen iPod, music has been a huge part of my life. Every milestone has been accompanied by an artist or album. It's got me through the bad times, provided a soundtrack for the good times, and been a constant where friends and boyfriends have not. So, after trawling through my iTunes for the best part of a week, I have finally compiled my list of the best albums since the millennium. I'm not saying this is the definitive list, by any means, but all these albums have been a part of special moments in my life - and I thought it only fair to share them with you. In general, we've got a pretty strong Indie theme going on here, but I hope you'll all be able to look back at these and they'll strike some sort of chord (pun intended). Even though these are my memories, this post is all about getting involved, so please do comment - if you haven't already - about the albums you like to reminisce over. As my boy Shakespeare once said, "If music be the food of love, play on", so I give you: La Belle et La Bête's Top Albums of the 21st Century.

2000

Coldplay - 'Parachutes'

Far more raw than their later album 'A Rush Of Blood To The Head', this album came out around the time I moved to England from Australia. I'd never even heard of Coldplay, but I listened to the album in my friend's Dad's car just before we left, and she gave it to me as a parting present. I remember unpacking all my things from my room in Sydney in this strange environment, wondering if I'd ever manage to make this country my home. Although Yellow is arguably the most famous track from the album, I like Don't Panic and We Never Change.

2001

The Strokes - 'Is This It'

Now I know I featured a song from this album in a post back in January, but it's just too good to leave out. Although Last Night was the first song I remember dancing around to (not really understanding the words), every year I go back and revisit it and find something new and different to appreciate. I know it's a cliché, but it's true: this album is timeless. Here's my favourite track of the moment, Is This It:

2002

Christina Aguilera - 'Stripped'

Apart from being the biggest reinvention EVER, this album marked a new departure for pop. Granted, Christina might have taken her image of a 'bad girl' to a whole new, chlamydia-ridden level, but it signalled the death of the 'bubblegum' girls of pop. Xtina was the first of the 'independent women' (P!nk back in the 90's being a notable exception), who gave out the message that being a slag is A-Ok. And as impressionable 11-year olds, who read the Cosmopolitan sex pages with a flashlight under the duvets at night, we totally lapped it up. At this time, I was out at our sister school in France for a term. 'Stripped' was the soundtrack to the gruelling workouts many of the girls did at stupid-o'clock in the morning, before jumping in a cold shower (apparently they'd read in Glamour/Cosmo/Elle that it was good for muscle tone) and surreptitiously eyeing each other up afterwards. For many of us, this album heralded the start of womanhood, and what a great example Christina gave... Here she is, with the unforgettable video for Dirrty:

2003

Beyoncé - 'Dangerously in Love'

Dido - 'Life for Rent'

2004

Arcade Fire - 'Funeral'

2004 was the year I started to really take charge over what I listened to. I got given a 1st Gen iPod for Christmas, and, whenever I was home, I spent all my time on the iTunes store looking for new music (and chatting to people on MSN messenger, obviously...). Power Out was the first track I got off the album, but I later returned and bought the whole thing. It was the beginning of a beautiful relationship. Here's Rebellion (Lies):

Gavin DeGraw - 'Chariot'

It's 2004 and the battle between The OC and One Tree Hill is raging. Personally, I was always an OC girl, but I have to admit that Gavin DeGraw (who's song, I Don't Wanna Be was (is?) the opening track for each episode) just beat his OC equivalent, Phantom Planet, in the album stakes. Largely through the influence of these series, a lot of my friends started to take an interest in songs that weren't necessarily top of the charts. 'Chariot' was an album that did the rounds of the dormitories at boarding school, and soon nearly everyone in our year knew the words to every track. When I was compiling this list, I decided for quality's control, I should probably give it another listen after all these years. I was pleasantly surprised that it's stood the test of time - and I can confirm I still know all the words. 

Interpol - 'Antics'

I distinctly remember feeling pretty fucking cool when I bought this album. As a pent-up teenager, who was angry at the world/nothing in particular, Interpol provided the gritty emotion that I thought I was capable of feeling. Whatever I believed I was going through, there's no doubting that this album is REALLY GOOD. Although they followed with at least two more over the next 5 or so years, in my opinion, none were as rawly charged as the first. Here's what I'm talking about:

Keane - 'Hopes and Fears'

2005

Bloc Party - 'Silent Alarm'

Brendan Benson - 'Alternative to Love'

The Guillemots - 'Through the Windowpane'

2005 was the year I got what I'd been wishing for through listening to music: a real life boyfriend and relationship. After nearly a year of drama, teenage declarations of love, and mountainous phone bills for both parties' parents, we went on holiday to France (with the whole family, obviously, Easyjet don't do unaccompanied minors...). 'Through the Windowpane' was my then-boyfriend's choice of car listening material, and was the soundtrack to a Summer of inappropriate behaviour and acting as terrible influences on his little sister. We're Here was the sound of sunshine and freedom, and still puts a smile on my face nearly 8 years later.

Jack Johnson - 'In Between Dreams'

This summer was also the summer I discovered photography. With not much to do, I wondered around my area of London taking shots of church spires and gates before hurrying home and photoshopping them to death. I thought I was being pretty 'arty', but I've since come across them and they are utterly terrible. I remember I entitled one of my pretentious shots Sitting, Waiting, Wishing - a tribute to a track on Jack Johnson's album, which was on repeat during the tedious editing process. Although I cringe at the photos, I still listen to the album and remember how utterly naive I was but didn't want to admit it.

2006

Akala - 'It's Not A Rumour'

Welcome to 2006, where UK Hip Hop is beginning to take over music and fashion. Every boy I know (who, by the way, all attended prestigious public schools) dresses in adidas tracksuits, and the girls in Jack Wills 'trackie-bums' slung low across their hips. Everybody smoked, drank, and pretended that life at their Hampshire home was, like, so hard. It was also around this time that the film Kidulthood was released, and our generation - especially the down-trodden teenagers at public schools - totally related to it. Naturally, our soundtrack mirrored that of the film, full of British rappers spouting about AK-47's, running from the feds, and being black on white council estates. We were all over it.

Justin Timberlake - 'FutureSex/LoveSounds'

2006 was also the year we discovered fake ID's. Although not much better than a card with 'I am 18' written on it in felt tip, it seemed to be sufficient for most supermarkets, clubs and pubs. House parties became a thing of the past - it was all about hitting the off-licenses before going out in Soho. Us girls, who could pile on the makeup and age ourselves about 10 years, didn't have as much trouble as the pre-pubescent boys, whose "photocopied passports" didn't always cut it with the bouncers - even at the most seedy of establishments. If we managed to get in at all, all I can remember playing on the sweaty pit of a dancefloor was Justin Timberlake. I think this one deserves a video...

The Kooks - 'Inside In Inside Out'

2007

Timbaland - 'Shock Value'

Pendulum - 'Hold Your Colour'

Bored of the 'tame' music they were playing in the Soho clubs, we eventually branched out into Drum n Bass, which we listened to in public gardens while swigging from a £5 bottle of wine bought from the offie. Mainstream was so last year - Drum n Bass was where it was at. We were lucky to get away without an ASBO. I would have wanted to punch me in the face. Hold Your Colour represented a complete disregard for ourselves and each other, as we tried to figure out who we were and where we fitted in.

2008

Crystal Casltes - 'Crystal Castles'

2008 was a year of two halves for me; the first represented in the absolute anarchy that was the music of Crystal Castles. For the first 6 months of this year, I was a complete mess. I'd spent so many years being somebody else, that I couldn't remember who I really was. Queue endless weekends that I can't remember much of, bad decisions both academically and romantically, and parents who were pretty sure I was losing it. The music of Crystal Castles - disjointed, angry, jarring - reflected how I felt inside.

Fleet Foxes - 'Fleet Foxes'

Thankfully Summer came, and provided me the headspace to reevaluate myself and who I was. It was once I'd done that, that I met a guy at a festival who subsequently became my boyfriend of three years. Fleet Foxes was the album I gave to him that Christmas, and marked a whole new, much calmer chapter of my life - one away from the late nights and underage parties. Their voices - almost monastical in their sound - were like nothing I'd ever heard from a contemporary band. It totally blew my mind. If you haven't heard them, have a listen to this:

2009

White Lies - 'To Lose My Life'

Still one of my favourite albums of all time, White Lies managed to achieve what few bands can - amazing lyrics with incredible music. On top of that, Harry McVeigh, the lead vocalist, has one of the sexiest voices ever. I'm pretty sure this album remained on repeat throughout 2009. Here are two of favourite songs off the album (although I'd argue that the whole thing is worth a listen...):

Marina & The Diamonds - 'The Family Jewels'

Although the album wasn't technically released until 2010, I'm pretty sure I had at least an EP of Marina and her Diamonds in 2009. After years of all-male bands, it was amazing to hear someone as fresh as Marina wading into the mix. It might sound sad, but to me she embodied the strong woman I was dying to be, which school was preventing me from becoming. I remember listening to her after I'd just finished, not knowing what to do with myself after 7 years of boarding school came to an end. I have a feeling I'll be returning to Marina in a couple of months, when I finally graduate from university...

2010

Ellie Goulding - 'Lights'

After school had finished, I decided to take a year out. Trying to figure out what I was passionate about was a grueling mission, and so I decided to take a job in America for a while. Ellie Goulding’s album had just been released and not only accompanied my commute to work, but also allowed me to figure out how I was feeling about the relationship I’d taken a break from. I didn’t like America. I felt more lost and alone than ever. Wish I Stayed gave a voice to what I couldn’t say to my employers and family friends. Needless to say, I was happy to return home.

Fyfe Dangerfield - 'Fly Yellow Moon'

Coming back to the UK wasn’t much better than the USA. It seemed that everyone I’d ever known had fled the country to go party on a beach in Thailand, help orphans in Africa, or hike mountains in India (delete as appropriate). Having quite literally missed the boat on organizing an exotic Gap Year, I decided to make the most of a bad situation, and, within a matter of weeks, had mapped out a route around Italy and Greece that I would journey solo. Italy allowed me some headspace to reflect on myself and the people in my life; re-evaluate what was important to me, and reignite a passion for art that had long since dwindled. One of the most important developments was reconnecting with the boyfriend I’d taken a break from before America. I downloaded Fyfe Dangerfield's cover of Billy Joel's She’s Always a Woman on my way from Bologna to Florence. Walking to catch the train, dragging my suitcase behind me, I listened to the lyrics: “she only reveals what she wants you to see; she hides like a child, but she’s always a woman to me”. It was the first time I'd thought about my part in how the relationship had ended. Almost like magic, I stepped off the train in Florence, and saw that I had received a voicemail. On the walk to the hostel, I heard my ex's voice for the first time in months, ringing from an Indian payphone. For me, this song will always symbolize second chances and new beginnings.

The Jezabels - 'She's So Hard EP'

Unfortunately, our story wasn’t plucked from a Nicholas Sparks novel; there was no house building by Ryan Gosling, or broken-off engagements, not even a happy ending. University finally rolled round, and we found our ties being tested again. I baulked, calling it off a second time, and finally a third time. The Jezebels provided an outlet for my anguish, confusion, and disorientation, as I once again tried to re-establish myself as a whole person - when really, I felt like half of me was missing. Hurt Me and Mace Spray are the two songs that remind me of that first year of university: the ups and downs, the friends and the exes, the happiness at being accepted, and the sadness of losing what had, up until now, been everything. 

2011

Gil Scott-Heron & Jamie XX - 'We're New Here'

6 months later and I had finally settled into university life; which, predictably, included going out. But not the going out I remembered - no one wore heels, ‘makeup’ was what you slept in last night, and the look you were generally aiming for was an educated crackhead. I had gone to see a friend in Nottingham, and had been persuaded to buy a ticket to see Jamie XX. It was the first time I’d ever been to see a live DJ. I spent the next month listening to this album on repeat, mentally transporting myself back to that night, which also marked the beginning of my second serious relationship. NY Is Killing Me was the first song of his set.

Beirut - 'The Rip Tide'

Ben Howard - 'Every Kingdom'

2012

Keaton Henson - 'Dear'

2012 was, as you might have gathered from my 'Rant' posts, a year of devastating heartbreak. My relationship with my oldest friend ended as suddenly as it had begun the previous summer, and I was left totally bereft. Keaton Henson's album spoke to me because it was inspired by the deterioration and death of a relationship of his. The albums of this year, along with patient and understanding friends and family, got me through probably the lowest months of my life, and out the other side. Small Hands describes the little things you miss of a person that is gone, sung in Keaton's beautifully broken voice.

Ed Sheeran - '+'

Lana del Rey - 'Born to Die'

2013

Active Child - 'You Are All I See'

Last year, the songs that spoke to me were those with lyrics of heartache and pain. This year I'm pleased to say I'm much more upbeat and positive, which is reflected (I hope) in the music that I've been listening to. Recently, I've been really getting into unusual and powerful vocals - and these three artists definitely deliver on sound. Active Child is someone that I discovered at the beginning of this year, and his vocals absolutely floored me. I featured Johnny Belinda and Hanging On in previous Tune Tapes, so I thought I'd showcase another incredible song off the album, High Priestess...

Daughter - 'If You Leave'

Woodkid - 'The Golden Age'

Now, I'm happy to say, it is over to you guys: What has been your favourite album of this century?

Hannah, 22: Busted - 'Thunderbirds Are Go' (yep. seriously.)

Nat, 22: Blink 182 - 'Take Off Your Pants and Jacket'

Rosie, 22: Ellie Goulding - 'Lights'

(Rosie's Housemate): Bruno Mars - 'Doo-Wops & Hooligans'

Iona, 22: Cypress Hill - 'Black Sunday' (not technically this century, but I'll give it to her because it's an epic album)

Please do post a comment about your most-loved album of the 21st Century!

Love,

Belle x