Saturday, 14 November 2015


I wonder what it feels like to be genuinely extraordinary. The kind that makes people stop and stare, the kind of extraordinary that justifies the definition in the dictionary: very unusual, remarkable.

 I simply wonder for I am quite normal, just like the woman who gave me my Time Out magazine this morning is (or at least seemed), just like my housemate eating his lunch next to me is. We conform to a standard, that which is usual, typical and expected of us: that which is normal.

 But we have been given a means to change the way the world sees us: social media. It has become a powerful weapon of choice for many self-made modern-day celebrities. Many would say it is not a power-giving weapon however but that it is, or will be, our downfall. Alice, a self-confessed social media avoider, pointed out: “If you’re on social media, you don’t have to meet people. You just have to stand out.” It is a way for people to capture their world, filtering it if they like but always documenting, supposedly, every single aspect of it.

Monday, 9 November 2015


This girl. It just doesn't get much better.

And I can't believe I never got into Girls! Crazy.

Having recently stumbled across Lenny Letter, Lena Dunham's new newsletter, I can now say I am a total fan girl and addict of her words. She just gets life.

Her sentiments are heartfelt and funny, comforting but harsh. Her life has not been all plain sailing and she is not about to hide that fact. 

Friday, 6 November 2015


On a rainy October morning I found myself, umbrella clasped firmly in hand, queuing outside the ornate gates of the Saatchi Gallery, awaiting my turn to finally view the Mademoiselle Privé exhibition.

I'd left it rather late and so, as the exhibition was entering its final weekend I marched myself down there to see what all the fuss was about (never one to miss out on a hype).
I stepped through the incredible columned stone doorway of the Saatchi Gallery and gone was the overcrowded, wet dog-smelling tube and the inevitable irritation it produces. 
In its place were a faint smell of flowers wafting from somewhere near head height and exquisitely dressed French people greeting me at the desk.

After hurriedly downloading the app, of course I hadn't been organised enough to do it before, my Chanel experience began. 
I had of course read many reviews before going, some positive, some overwhelmingly negative but I wanted to make up my own mind on arguably one of the most awaited exhibitions since Alexander McQueen's Savage Beauty.