FFS

Oh, I was so smug wasn't I? "Lalalala...Orange Wednesdays... lalala Sex and the City..."

I thought "oh, we'll be sensible, we'll go to the Odeon straight from work, buy our tickets then go for food. Simple. Easy. Bish bash bosh."

Except when we got to the Odeon at 6pm, it was already heaving with stupid, half-term, Orange-code-wielding teens and not only was the 7pm showing sold out, but the 8pm and 8.30pm showings were too.

NOT FAIR.

So now I am home, still none the wiser as to what happens in the movie. This is the THIRD time my plans to see it have fallen through.

Oh and Odeon Cinema Liverpool? Instead of having fifteen LCD screens which play the exact same loop of cola being sexily poured over ice in slow motion, why don't you put some actual information up there, like... oh I don't know... whether or not a film is sold out, so that good, innocent folk like me don't have to queue up for no frikkin' reason? Just a suggestion.

Here is an image which may or may not be from Sex and the City 2. I have no idea because I STILL HAVEN'T SEEN IT.

[source]

Scouse style

This week's Sunday Times Style magazine has finally picked up on what I've been saying for years - Liverpool is a massive front-runner when it comes to fashion in the UK.

I remember noticing it when I was about 14 or 15. If you looked at what kids in other cities were wearing, it was usually stuff that we'd been sporting at least 6 months before. Going shopping in town on a Saturday afternoon took preparation and thought when I was a teenager, and continues to do so. Before GHDs were invented, regular hair-straighteners just didn’t do the job and several of my friends would literally put their hair onto an ironing board and iron it to the point of paper-thin straightness (no lie). Bronzer and fake tan were then, as now, extremely important, hence the general view that most Liverpool girls’ skin is an unnatural shade of orange or terracotta.

The biggest challenge though was dressing for a night out. I remember when I was 17, the big place to go to was Garlands and we’d all try to outdo one another with how ‘funky’ we could look. My favourite outfit from back then was a pair of cowboy boots, a lilac tutu, a brown embroidered sleeveless smock and a string of pearls. Honestly…

Now though, grooming and style has been taken to a whole new level. In a city where everyone just seems to focus on going out at the weekend, looking good has become an art of painstaking preparation and complexity. The girls are coiffed to within an inch of their lives. Volume is in, so hair is generally BIG, backcombed and hairsprayed into either solid, unbelievably tall quiffs or candyfloss-esque waves. The clothes are generally a selection of bright colours, ruffles and bows, all teetering on platform stiletto shoes. It is the standard opinion that you don’t go out in Liverpool wearing an outfit you’ve worn before. If some people go out every single week, this begs the question, where the hell do young people in this city get their money from?! (I don’t have an answer for that, sadly)

It’s the ‘WAG’ style that seems to be the generally accepted norm in Liverpool, with girls like Coleen Mcloughlin and Alex Curran being hailed as inspirational fashionistas. Of course what really appeals about these girls is that they are living the fantasy of all materialistic, self-obsessed teenagers everywhere – they have a seemingly limitless bank balance with which to shop. But when more and more little girls, on being asked what they want to be when they grow up, reply “footballer’s wife”, we should really be worried.

Sure these girls look good, of course they do, everything about them is fake – their tans, their hair, their nails, even their eyelashes! It’s easy to look good when all the work’s being done for you and you’re wearing expensive clothes. The ones I really admire in Liverpool, and who really do define it as a fashionable city are the ones who dare to be different and who have a genuine eye for style, who can take a plain dress from H&M or even a quirky vintage dress from one of the boutiques in Grand Central and make it look a million dollars. But with all that platinum blonde hair and orange skin all over the place, it’s easy to miss something a little more subtle…

Getting Shirt-y

Do you know what I hate?

Pigeons? Why yes, you're right, but that's besides the point.

Those tops that are actually two tops in one. You know like when you get jumpers that appear to have a shirt underneath them when really it’s just the collar of a shirt sewn underneath. Now which bright spark thought that one up? I can just see someone on a design team sat there praising themselves for their ingenious idea “Oh how clever I am, everyone will think it’s a real shirt AND a real jumper when really it’s all one garment!”
I’m not sure exactly why they annoy me so much, it might just be the sheer laziness of combining two items rather than taking the time and effort to actually find two separate tops which go well together. It just takes a bit of the fun out of getting dressed (for me, every trip to my wardrobe is a new adventure – usually because getting across the obstacle course that masquerades as my bedroom is like something out of Raiders of the Lost Arc). That and the fact that having worked in a clothes store, I know first-hand that those shirt-under-jumper things, like other monstrosities such as dresses with two layers and cardigans with strappy vests attached, make your life ten times more difficult when trying to hang them up!

Jeans vs Big Booty

Skinny people don't quite realise how lucky they are. If I have to listen to one more size 0 person tell me how lucky I am because I'm curvy I'm actually going to stab them. With a stiletto. In their perfectly formed arse.
"Why such bitterness?" I hear you cry. Well my children, with Christmas approaching I have (for the first time in what seems like an eternity) found myself with some money, donated by my lovely parents, to buy some nice clothes to wear over the festive season (and obviously, I could continue to wear them once the festive season has ended too). I thought to myself "Aha, now I can buy a nice new pair of jeans as my current ones have gone past that trendy 'worn and faded' look and now just look old and crappy."

Buying a pair of jeans sounds simple enough yes?

NO!

Because of course the bastards who make the jeans make them with tall, slender (probably blonde) models in mind. So even though the label says size 12 they're not really a real 12. Especially not in Gap. In fact, I find Gap racist towards bottoms.
I don't care how difficult it is for a skinny girl to find out that, on trying on the perfect party dress, she has no boobs/hips to fill it out. This pain is nothing compared to the agony felt by those who are more generously proportioned in the derriere area, who stand in the (badly lit) fitting room (which has really unflattering mirrors) doing battle with a zipper which should, but will not fasten and all the while cursing the name Beyonce and her mantra of "My body's too bootylicious for ya!" I've got news for you Bee, my body is NOT too bootylicious for anyone except this pair of skinnies, and quite frankly, that is not something I want to celebrate...

And even if skinny people do have to stuff their bras, they at least can ease the pain of this a little by going out and purchasing the gorgeous Topshop Boyfriend Jeans and then dancing about with them hanging sexily off their pert little butts, while I look on from the safety of my changing room cubicle and sob because no matter which way I stand, mine just look like I've got my boyfriend* still hiding inside of them.



*And I don't even have a boyfriend. Life sucks.