American Apparel: a teenage (boys) dream.

All images belong to AmericanApparel.com

Like many people, I love American Apparel- although the prices often flood my bag with the tears of my tortured debit card, the clothes themselves are worth the pain, and mostly promise to stand the test of time, of general wear-and tear and the ever-changing face of fashion.

As anyone who reads my blog would know, I am not one who enjoys spending money; even the thought of someone spending £400 on a bag triggers a flush of acid to my throat...If I can’t justify the money leaving my purse, it will stay closed. But since I trust in the quality and the versatility of American Apparel, I, most of the time, have no problem with buying from them, and have since had no regrets.

I have to make that clear before I get to the actual point of this blog post: I do shop at American Apparel and am (aside from a few unsavoury dealings with their twisted, non-existent, refund policy...) a happy customer. However, if I take money out of the equation, the reason I sometimes have reservations about buying American Apparel is their advertising.

Forget risking the embarrassing browsing history, monthly fees and the threat of saturating your computer with virus’- American Apparel adverts are teeming with young women with their tits, fanny’s and, if you’re lucky, a glimpse of pubic hair, hanging out for your pleasure; posing like they’re ready to fuck, wearing next to nothing, they look like they’ve been freshly plucked out of a LA ghetto at 15 and fed heroin to stand in front of a camera and masturbate.

Obviously I am aware that it’s just the styling, and that these girls are professional models and are probably not ex-prostitutes who just can’t get used to wearing many clothes, but they do look like they’ve just had a night of coke and rough sex and have woken up to find a pervert with a camera in their face promising them a full English if they can just get a few more shots in. (Disclaimer: this has never happened to me, so I don’t know how one actually looks after a night such as that, but if I had to guess...)

Nudity doesn’t offend me, nor does pornography, and I fully believe that sexual freedom is a thing of great importance in order to sustain/create equality and democracy. However, when I am shopping for clothes, I really don’t want some half dressed, well-oiled, barely-legal, young woman’s nipples screaming at me at the top of my screen. That doesn’t sell clothes for me.

Three guesses for what gender the people behind AA’s advertising are? For some completely unknown reason, I think it might just be the work of men. Which there is obviously nothing wrong with; I am sure there are thousands of innovative and brilliant male advertisers out there, but I think, in this case, they have completely forgotten that they’re supposed to be selling women’s clothes TO women.

Forgive me, I know it’s been said billions of times, but if the Pankhurst’s, or any one of the thousands of women who fought for our rights over centuries of male dominance, saw us letting this sort of advertising continue, I think they would have taken their picket boards and thrust it squarely in their stomachs.

This isn’t just a result of a society increasingly accepting sexual expression, this right here is simply advertisers using the women’s body to sell you their goods, and using the ‘sexual revolution’ to their own advantage, in this case, to take off more of her clothes. It’s something that advertisers have used explicitly since the 50’s—just because you live in a society where you can happily tweet “Just had the best sex of my life” without thinking, don’t think that as a woman you no longer have to fight- you do, in the same way that just because these adverts have a woman mid-thrust in a thong instead of posing with a can of soup, don’t think that these images don’t sexually exploit women. They do.

All in all, from a consumer perspective, I just don’t find it necessary to have an arse in my face when I am looking for a pair of socks, and find it a bit weird that if I show my boyfriend a skirt I like he might get an erection. It’s not empowering women, it’s not selling the clothes in any way and it’s making it difficult to browse the site in a public place without looking like an utter nympho. I'll admit that, like many of us, my boyfriend may or may not have similar photographs of me on his phone, but I didn't send him them for him to consider purchasing the shirt I may or may not have been wearing in them. If I typed in "school girl gets naughty in bedroom" I'd be extremely happy with the majority of these photos, but, alas, I didn't, and I got them anyway. So to summarise what I think of American Apparel's general advertising- it’s just fucking stupid.

Nice Day for a Sulk

Jumper: H&M £6.99, Blouse: Vintage Market, £6.00, Leggings: £3.00, Primark, Necklace: 99p, Market Shop in Liverpool

Why hello there. So it is bonfire night, and, as a British citizen, I am excited. The fireworks at Harrogate didn’t disappoint, and I was there, with my head strained, gazing up at the display with my mouth gaping (I didn’t, however, feel the need, like many people there, to go “Oooh” and “Ahhh” at each bang. Nor did I feel it necessary to shout “Oh yes! Yes!”, as the lady next to me did the whole way through, sounding like she was getting some strange erotic thrill. You need to get laid love).

However much I love fireworks, I do have some reservations about them. First of all, what we are actually celebrating is grotesquely patriotic; I mean, in principle, we’re all joyously commemorating the failure of a potentially revolutionary event- although it was for religious reasons that Guy Fawkes and his accomplices plotted to blow up the Houses of Parliament, he was at least trying to do what he thought right, and so by celebrating the failure of the Gunpowder Plot and burning dolls in his resemblance is actually us, without necessarily realising, saying “anyone who wants to start a revolution, fuck off or you’ll end up here”. Yes, yes, it might be a little extreme, but in the current climate- what with the protest movement and the Medias excessive demonising of the people occupying St. Pauls etc. it is quite sickening to see a whole nation having peas and pies and holding up their glasses to someone who died as an accidental Martyr to revolution (I like revolutions. There is nothing better than a good, hard proletariat revolution).

Another reason I don’t like bonfire night is because I completely and utterly disagree with the selling of fireworks to the public. I don’t care what anybody says- a few thousand families enjoying fireworks in their back gardens is not a justification for the gruesome and shocking amount of injuries that take place every year because of people using them irresponsibly. Growing up where I did, I knew of many people who ended up without eyes and with serious burns because of misuse of fireworks by absolute fucking idiots who somehow think it amusing to throw them at people/post them through letterboxes etc. every year I dreaded me, a friend, or a family member being the victim to one of these horrendous attacks. It’s just not worth it, and I really don’t know why the Government hasn’t put a stop to it. Unfortunately, yes, it is the minority ruining it for the majority, but it’s not worth the suffering, pain, panic and cost to lives and our NHS. There are plenty of amazing, and completely free, council-run firework displays that people can go to instead.

Anyway, as I was saying before I went on a rant, tonight we went to Harrogate and watched the fireworks there. We did the same last year, except Kyle came with us and I was wearing my PJs (you can take the girl out of Liverpool... you know the rest). This year my friends April and Phil, who are newly engaged (congratulations again!) came, and I got to see her beautiful ring, and new couple, Sam and Sammi. We’re all really close friends so it was really nice. Becca, Vicky, April and me were getting rather jealous of Sam and Sammi though- they wouldn’t let go of each other! Oh, those first few months of a relationship (you know, before you get to see more of each others underwear when you're putting the washing on than any other time!...). We then went back to Ilkley and had some food in Wetherspoons, which was nice. So all in all, a really nice day.

I had a good day yesterday as well; my History tutor (finally) marked my essays, and kept me behind and told me how impressed he was with my work (modest, I know). All of his comments were really positive and encouraging. Jade and me think he has a girlfriend, he was in unusually high spirits. English was actually productive as well, when I managed to sway the class from talking about Katie Price and other irrelevant points of utter bullshit and get back on Jane Eyre...

I was going to go and see Belle and Sebastian tomorrow with Kyle, and I was really excited, but in the end I am really glad I didn't buy the tickets as the website I was on conveniently failed to mention the fact that it wasn't Belle and Sebastian at all but one of the singers that had gone solo! He might be good solo, but it's just not Belle and Sebastian.

Anyway, Mr. Hamilton should be arriving back from work very soon, so I should probably wrap this up before he gets back (and before you decide to hack off my fingers in order to shut me up). Again, one day soon I will actually write about the clothes... Hope everyone has had a lovely, safe bonfire night!

As always, lots of loveeeee

Sing me to Sleep

TOP: £4, Primark SKIRT: £24, American Apparel BLAZER: Vintage (Sisters) NECKLACE: Primark, £2.50 I can't even begin to explain how exhausted I am. I started Leeds City College this week, restarting my AS levels (Note I am restarting, not resitting, I was never failing last year, I just dropped out of college). It is lovely to be back in education, but it's been that long since I have done a full week of it that I am finding it rather difficult. Also, I am having to get up between 6.30 and 7 every morning, now, to most of civilization this is quite normal, but to me, well, I have never done it in my life. I successfully got through school turning up when I liked (which wasn't mornings) and was able to help create my timetable last year & made it so I only had minimum early starts (which again, I excelled in avoiding). The largest difference this time around is that all my previous places of education have been within a 15 minute proximity, but oh no, my train is at 8:05 to go to college, and then it is a 15 minute walk from the station, so it takes a good hour to get there (sometimes more when I get lost- I really don't know Leeds at all). I am finding it all very unfamiliar, and it's quite threatening.

The classes so far have consisted of awkward "ice-breakers" (they don't work, lets be honest, the only thing that works about them is that you end up talking to the rest of the class about how fucking ridiculous the concept of 'Ice-breakers' are) and some insultingly basic subject introductions (yes, I am aware of the political spectrum and where each party lies on it thank you Mr Politics Tutor). I have heard some excellently moronic comments though, so I thought I'd share them with you all.
On English (we're doing Jayne Eyre): "My English teacher asked us all what the last book we read was, and I said I haven't read a book, and he said why, I mean, I don't like reading, why did he even care"
Tutor- "so what have we learnt about Jayne Eyre so far" (my English tutor is forcing one of the many film adaptions upon us) Student- "she's a really good singer" (he was being serious) On Government & Politics: Tutor- "So where would Communism go in the political spectrum?" Student- "Mid Right?" On History: Student (attempting to describe Hitler as she didn't remember his name) "you know, that German one"

Seriously, I am concerned about the future of humanity...
I've just been so tired every time I come home I haven't even been able to eat properly; it's as if as soon as the key is in the door I loose a part of my consciousness! I've been living off Take always and fast food (being a student does have it's perks- hundreds of vouchers off Subway and Dominos etc.) I really can't wait to start getting properly into my courses though, especially History. My History Tutor last year was just the best thing Yorkshire's ever gave the world (except the Bronte Sisters, of course). We bonded over a mutual love of History and the fact I went to Ilkley every weekend and he was from a neighboring town, this year my History tutor (who is my favourite tutor in Leeds college by thousands of miles) and I share the fact neither of us are from Yorkshire.

Anyway, enough about college, I have to go because it's Kyle's 22nd birthday today and he's playing a gig in that goffical club again (yay...) so I am to watch him play. I am aware that this outfit is almost exactly the same as my last outfit post! (The shame). Maybe one day I will decide to wear something that isn't a black skirt with tights and a stripey black and mustard top and Primark necklaces, but I highly doubt it.

Loads of lurrrveee,

WARNING: Word-heavy and a bit all-over-the-place. An Update.

Firstly, I have to thank all of those who have visited my lil’blog, and even though I only have a few followers, knowing that people are actually taking the time to read it means more than you could know. I find myself quite pathetically over-joyed that people are taking an interest.
I have to apologise in advance to all those who prefer pictures to words. I am a great lover of the latter. Due to this blog being fairly new (or maybe it’s just shit; it’s up to you), I have very little followers, and so I haven’t really mastered the technique of determining the difference between what I want to write, and what you want to read. The problem is, I am not an aspiring blogger, I am hopeful writer. But I suppose, if all the words you wanted came in the form of a small caption, you would be on Tumblr (and certainly not on my blog ahaha).

No matter how personally reserved and unbiased you try and be, a blog is essentially always going to be an echo of the blogger themselves, and this one is no different. My intention isn’t to gain thousands of followers and be presented with sponsors and masses of free gifts and clothes (although that would be rather lovely), it is simply a place to put my thoughts. There is no need to worry though- I won’t be posting about every time I need a wee or I’ve cut myself shaving. They’ll be as well filtered and relevant as I can make possible (which, as you can already see, isn’t going down well). I find I am more comfortable and uncomplicated when I write as if it is only to myself, so I do apologise to anybody who finds this blog goes somehow a little off-topic. I think ‘fashion’ blog is much too vague of a title.



Anyway, enough of that all that, I have some news; quite a lot of it, in fact. As I have previously mentioned, I have recently quit my job. Now, it was a decision that wasn’t easy to make, and when I got home from my last shift on Sunday I spent a good few hours of going between “fuck, what have I done” and “I have made the right decision”. But it was the right thing to do. So I am now unemployed, and if you could all give me a few quid a week, I could make this blog my profession, and we can all be happy. No, seriously now, I am feeling a little lost without it, but I’m sure it’ll pass.

Next! (I have so much to tell, my head is spilling with things to say and so it’s all just coming out in one terrible smack of the keys). The reason I have quit is because I am going home! Yes, Liverpool, I am returning to you. I am bizarrely nervous. In the last 4 months I have only been home, perhaps Four times, for no longer than two days, and those two days have been shifting between friends and family constantly with no time to entertain but a thought. I feel so disconnected to the person I was when I left; I am disturbingly different, and yet it as though back home everything has been motionless. This why I am pretty terrified- my family and friends haven’t had a chance to adapt to how I have altered. They’ll all be expecting the return of the girl who left, when she no longer exists. I no longer know how to be myself. That’s the untainted truth: I am petrified of going home, because I’m not sure who I am, or who I want to be.

So, not to get emotional or too caught up in creating a self-fashioned physiological profile, I will divulge mine and Kyle’s flawless and previously undisclosed, well guarded plan, aka. A seriously chaotic series of snippets from attempted conversations we’ve had about what the f*ck we’re actually doing. Basically, I am going home for a month, to try and ‘settle’ myself before I go to college in September, and then when I come back we’re moving into his Dad’s. Problem is, I am going to Liverpool on Saturday, the same day he is going on holiday for a week, and the room we’re moving into I haven’t even seen yet, never-mind inflicted with my taste in interiors. So we are a little panicky (well, he’s not, but I am panicking for us both).

Kyle and I, since we have been together, have only spent 10 days without seeing each other, and we both didn’t appreciate it very much, so a month is going to be hard, but I think we’re both looking forward to it. We need to miss each other. (And he needs to realise how much I do for him. Oh God I wish I could watch him try and keep up with all the shopping, washing, ironing etc. It would be so gratifying). So that is that very vaguely explained (which is what we all want because I’m already on 850 words).

Right, what else... When I go back to Liverpool you will no longer have to suffer with these self-indulgent, seriously poorly structured and irrelevant posts, because I will have a camera. It is also going to help that there is actually shops. Oh fuck I can’t even tell you how animated I am every time I think of the shops. Until you move to a small town, you will never fully appreciate the need for hundreds of corner shops, or a local H&M. So basically, it will be what you signed up for, rather than ‘what is this girl on about? Why is she posting essays?’. Which should be good.


Now for a more relevant update. The Purse, Podge and Pores detox is actually going really well. Last month I got paid about £40 less, and I ended up with about 10 days at the end of the month where I didn’t have a penny- this month I have about £80 of my wages left, and I am owed £67 by friends (which I will get back-mark my words). To put this in perspective for ya, I (did) get paid £3.64 an hour (I know, you don’t have to tell me how shit that is, I already know) and I’d work about 25 hours a week on average. I have to pay for our food, toiletries, cleaning products etc. etc. (remember I live 90 miles away from my family, who can’t afford to give me any money, and that I am not a sixth-former who has a job to cater for their Thursday night partying). So I got paid £345 last month and I still have £147 left. I didn’t even realise, it wasn’t (admittedly) a conscious decision, I was just more careful this month (ie. I realised that just because I had money in my bank doesn’t mean it’s limitless). I have also had that horribly expensive night in the Malmasion, and went to the RiverIsland sale, and generally been a lot more socially active this month. And to top it off, it's payday on Friday, and I am going to get about £100 more than last month, (and going home means I get free food, which is going to taste so much better). I am genuinely so proud of myself.

Since I started drinking more water, and moisturising every night, my skin has almost completely cleared up. It is so much better. Even Kyle has noticed. It was really so much easier than I thought.

Now regarding the ‘podge’, I have been tackling it, but it is more to do with the fact I have completely lost my appetite so have only been eating to stop myself from feeling weak. (I intend to do a separate post about this).



Now, thanks to all you sexy people, my technique of saving for a camera has allowed me so far to save £17.50 (which is in cash, so is in addition to my amazing money saving).
Luckily for you all, that’s all I can think of. If you have read all of this, you are either mental, or an extrememly lovely person, and you should comment so that I know who has suffered because of this tremendously word-heavy post. (I promise as soon as I get home there will be photos!). Lots of love.

LISTENING TO: Louder than Bombs- The Smiths

Stella.

Cardigans by Stella McCartney

Since I began noticing clothes- back from the very first day I discovered the thrill of dressing in my 90’s signature of “inside out, wrong-way-round” dressing-up-bin-couture (it was a revolutionary move)- I have never been so stunned, nor besotted, by one item as much as I am with this Stella McCartney cardigan. It is an absolutely remarkable piece of woollen architecture. It’s just so bloody interesting and the texture is so rough and yet so beautiful. It’s one of those pieces that you wouldn’t (believe me I have scrutinized the net for a cheaper version, but with no avail) find anywhere else. It’s versatile in how you could wear it, but it’s a statement. (It’s a cardigan that I can’t even call a cardigan- it’s a ‘piece’).

Every fashion week, I flick through pages and pages of bollocks sloppily written by fashion journalists underneath pictures of catwalks teeming with absolutely nonsensically priced, inexcusably un-wearable (and I don’t mean just Paris) “ready to wear” garments, that are only lusted after by everyone from Anna Wintour to your neighbour because of the flappy label with someone’s name on. I appreciate the difference in quality, design and time between H&M and Chanel, but it still doesn’t explain the ludicrous difference in price. Unless Lagerfeld has personally stitched each seam with his own silver hair, I just don’t understand how someone can pay so much for something that in as little as 6 months time, will no longer be valid as appealing in the Vogue editorials.
I admit, I too would love a Mulberry Alexa; I would shiver with pleasure if a Burberry trench was on my shoulders, and would feel like the most powerful, chic, woman in this side of the bloggersphere in a Chanel Tweed suit, but come on, is this something that you’re going to want to keep for your daughter one day? It gives me the same sort of emotions as reading the Daily Mail; a dangerous mix of loathing, jaw-grinding anger and a wave of absolute hysteria at the farcical claims they make. This is just that. It’s pathetic. And anyone who can afford, and are willing to pay, that much for such an, frankly, embarrassingly hideous, piece of clothing, deserve to be stripped of their assets; wealth and wardrobe and left with nothing but their lovely pvc investment to survive in.
I have fell victim of label lust; you pay the extra for the trust in the brand, and the feeling of eminence you get from owning it. You’re essentially paying for heritage. You wouldn’t savour a River Island smock as an heirloom, but you would a McQueen. And my point is (yes, I did have a point), just as my Grandmother has saved a wardrobe full of her favourite pieces from her life time for my sister and me; this is something that would be in mine.

FACT: It would take me 60 days to earn enough to pay for this cardigan
I would have to starve for 70.
No cardigan is worth that, lets be honest.

A pouty picture: 8/07/2011

I thought I'd do some sort of 'Portrait of the week' al la one of my faves, LLYMRS. Because I think it's a really good idea. I think it makes it makes a blog a little more personal. Plus I don't have a (working) camera to do outfit posts, so you're stuck with my face for now!
.Here's me in a my friend's 21st in the Malmaison Leeds(classy bathroom pic). It was a really good night and a beautiful venue, but Magners cost £3.80 a pop and a medium glass of wine was £6.20. Made me really appreciate my usual haunt, the beautiful (prices of) Wetherspoons. But I came up with the flawless (except not, as I still ended up spending £30) plan of purposely mixing my drinks in order to get more drunk. So it was wine followed by cocktails and then finished off with some nice cheap (or not) cider. It worked, I ended up slapping Kyle in front of all his friends and storming off to the girl's toilets (or should I say 'ladies powder room).
.I wore my Chelsea Girl (Riverisland) white smock (that I got for £12.50 in the sale), my River Island Kimono (that cost me £10 in the sale), my Mum's old shoes and a pair of my very own bruised and deathly pale bare legs (it was a terrible sight).
.I'm about to make dinner (yes at half 11 at night, that's what life comes to when your boyfriend is a waiter). It didn't cost me a penny because Kyle's Dad has very kindly put a tab on the local fruit and veg shop for us (because we eat too many crisps). Lifesaving stuff for two poor Vegetarians. I am making Pesto roast potatoes, chedder stuffed mushrooms and lemon and garlic asparagus. It sounds healthy, but it ain't; about a ton of Vegetable oil (rip olive oil) is about to be used.

I must go, because Kyle's on the train now and I haven't even started!

What's the point in being a Fashion Blogger, when you can't afford clothes?

. I'm lonely tonight. They've made Kyle stay over at work- which I find really strange because he is (not meant to be offensive) only a waiter, so it's not as if he has to be there or the whole business will collapse/the apocalypse will begin. He's staying in a £90 a night room though, and I bet he hasn't brought his toothbrush or pjs. What a waste. So I had a meal for one from the new Mlocal (Morrisons version of Tesco Express)and am now just trying to kill time.
. I have used Blog Lovin' for ages now and decided to finally try and get some followers for this blog (I know, why would anybody not want to write to nobody?) but it's not exactly helping my case! It says on the top of it when you click on my blog "This blog has no followers so won't be updated very often". Er, sorry but how can BL possibly know that it won't? They're just putting people off my ickle blog before it even gets started! Meanies!
.I spent £30 on alcohol last night. Yes, the girl who will spend (honestly) 2 hours in Superdrug/Boots debating on what makeup to buy, and whether she can possibly justify spending £12 (I am cheap) on foundation, decided that an £8 cocktail was a bargain! I think at one point, what with the cocktail themed attire and the amazing hotel, that I was in fact a cast member of Made In Chelsea, and thought I can afford to spend almost a tenth of my monthly wages on alcohol. Need. To Start. Budgeting!
. I keep coming up with ideas for this blog, but then I am always restricted by my lack of camera (mine broke miraculously whilst sitting untouched on a shelf...RIP). So I thought, there is no point me spending a sh*t load of money on a camera for my blog, when nobody reads it (I know, I am Logic Central). So I have devised a master plan, my non-existent readers.
For the first 10 followers I get, I will put £1 away (per follower).
For the next 40 followers, 50p (per follower).
For the following 50 followers, 20p (per follower).
And 10p per every page view.
Hopefully, that will allow me to save enough to buy a camera (and help me justify buying one, if it is to improve a blog that people actually read!).
So for now I am just jotting down ideas. I am not setting out to become enormously successful and end up having a cult following across the globe, I simply want to write a blog that people will enjoy reading, even if it's just two of you.

P.S. Kyle laughs at me everytime I run through ideas with him, or write a post, because he says "What's the point in a fashion blogger, when you can't afford clothes?". To which I replied, "because there are lots of us out there, who read fashion blogs, but can't afford clothes", doesn't mean we have to all run around in pillow cases and recycle bottle caps to accessorize (which there is actually nothing wrong with). I will never understand men.