The ideal closet or the ideal life?

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I remember that night clearly, it was a normal boring Tuesday evening and I had just sat down to watch an episode of Cribs. I must have been about 15 and convinced I was going to be mega rich and famous, I was  looking for inspiration for my future mansions (note the plural here as I had high hopes for at least 3 vacation homes in Tahiti, Ibiza and L.A) This time round, it was Mariah Carey….I sighed. Between her butterfly tops, penchant for glitter and her adoration of pink, I didn’t hold out much hope for her interior design skills. Her New York apartment was as I expected…over the top rooms that featured themes, which were for the most part tacky. Then just as I was about to change the channel to check on the love status of Mulder and Scully, a picture of her ultra luxurious and chic closet appeared on my screen…it was a dream.  More like a high-end boutique than a closet, it featured high walls, elegant chandeliers, gold motif tiles and open spaced closets filled with perfectly hung clothes. Her shoe area (seen in the first photo) was as equally impressive. Organized by colour and style, it’s coordination and sheer magnitude made Carrie Bradshaw’s wardrobe look meager in comparison. Her closet was on a whole new galactic level. Mariah earnestly declared that “she worked hard for this mess” and that the girl “who once had one pair of shoes now has many.” For Mariah, her closet was a symbol that her struggles and hard work had finally paid off.

In fact, for most women, including myself, we view our closet not as a simple space for storage but as a representation of our own lives or indeed how we would like our lives to be. Spacious, efficient, aesthetically pleasing and seemingly perfect, there are common idealistic threads that ties us all together. We are never done perfecting or envisioning the perfect closet. Just like life, there are always adjustments to be made or bigger opportunities to be explored and conquered.

 

Post holidays

DSC_0663Between Irish stews, fish n chips, Guinness’s, occasional glasses of white wine, tiramisu ice-cream and Turkish kebabs, I’m back home on Italian soil in full force with an additional 2kg. Fat ass or no fat ass, Ireland, Sardinia and Istanbul were very good to me. Apart from the airport queues, occasional vomiting from foreign food I’m not accustomed to and feet blisters from all the walking,  I really and truly do love traveling.

 

Hat: bought in NY 3 years ago

Dress: Penny’s

Bag: Tory Burch

Shoes: Dune

It’s elementary my dear Watson

The posmobile

It’s just five more days until I’m jetting off (via the glamorous Ryanair cattle mart airlines) to good old rainy Galway. Goodbye indecently hot Milan and hello to some cold shitty weather. It’s days like today when your croissant bouffant hair do is withering under the 37 degree heat that you realize that the grass is actually greener with the addition of better alcohol and potatoes in the northern hemisphere of the world.

Dress: The Closet
Sunglasses: Diesel
Bag: Harrods (vintage)
Shoes: Zara

A Celtic Tan

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It is a very rare occasion that an Irish person gets the opportunity to glory in a natural tan (the photo above is the nearest to a tan I have ever had). Apart from when we are sprayed from head to toe in St.Tropez, we are, for the most part, milk bottle white the entire year round. But for the moment, we are not complaining. The fashion pack says milk bottle white is in.

But there are those occasions when you wish you looked like a suntanned Brazilian or Spanish  goddess. I recall last summer for example. While my Italian friends were jumping off the side of our rented boat, emerging out of the water bronzed and fresh faced, I was sitting under an umbrella sporting a patchy zebra lobster tan and hair-do where even Diana Ross wouldn’t get a look in. The fact is, we are not genetically built for any type of sunny or warm weather. Thousands of years of rain, clouds and windy weather has fucked us over and taken away any hope of looking like Jennifer Lopez or Salma Hayek.

Photo
Top: Zara
Shorts: Oysho
Shoes: Dune
Bag: Vintage

The fine art of the Irish dress

While the immaculately groomed Italian ladies love creating a a look by piecing together various wardrobe staples (pants, skirts, shirts, etc), Irish women on the other hand, believe wholeheartedly in the power of a good ‘knock em dead’ dress. Even before attending mass on a Sunday with your mammy and daddy, you wonder if you and your new dress are going to get spot checked in the kitchen before you head out. Will Mammy approve? You receive a nod of disapproval: ”the entire parish will be out, go back in and put something decent on like the confirmation outfit your father bought you when you were 12. You are now 18.

So the other evening, I revisited my roots and put on a formal dress. I had been waiting for an occasion to wear it but when options are low you settle on anything that comes your way –  including an €18 all you can eat Chinese restaurant.

 

Dress: Diane Von Fustenberg

Sunglasses: Rayban

Shoes: Zara

 

 

Instagramming & somewhat magic filters

I have come down with a bad case of the ‘instarammies’ over the past week. All those filters, crops and hash-tags to choose from can get you feeling pretty elated. Just take a photo and look for a filter that will edit out last night’s wine, dodgy Mexican dinner and two hours sleep. But it doesn’t work miracles unfortunately as seen in my very hung over and tired face on the right.

Left photo
Top: vintage
Pants: Stradivarius
Shoes: Zara

Right Photo
Top: Zara
Pants: My Mothers
Shoes: Zara
Bag: Prada
Sunglasses: Prada

Summer Inspirations and a bit of loitering

I’m convinced that summer and loitering go hand and hand. You find yourself daydreaming in front of the computer on a beautiful day while the sun’s rays shines on to your screen and you have to squint to read the price of a pair of gold hooped earrings you accidentally stumbled upon on ross-simons.com. You wonder if a country girl can pull these ghetto beauties off or will she merely end up looking like a cross between a Russian prostitute and an Irish gypsy? This is what beautiful sunny days can do the brain while you are dutifully stuck inside working. You become a little bit delirious. Your brain goes beyond well mapped out boundaries and explores new paths. You become willing to transcend the monotony of work, tuna salads, court shoes and mojito aperitivos. You begin to think anything is possible – hooped earrings, denim with denim and even sex during weekdays for example.

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Neon and Nude Bras

There are two types of women in the world. Type A – those who have no inhibitions showing coloured bra straps under tops/dresses and Type B – those who prefer to go either sans or if push comes to shove, a nude brassiere to keep those babies in tact. Yesterday, I was the former which would normally be perfectly fine, however, under the see through-lace circumstances, I was showing, or ‘alluding’ to show more than I had bargained for. Needless to say, I’ve learned my lesson. The cupcakes, in future, will be bedazzling in all the blinged out bra colours of the rainbow.

Dress: Danity

Bag: Robbed from my mother

Shoes: Zara

 

 

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Romance & Air Planes


Between a near death situation on an Air France flight to Dominican Republic and a healthy case of loose bowel syndrome (I’m thinking it’s good for a summer cleanse) post holidays, it has been a week of life reassessment – 2 seconds of a plane going down and long stints on the toilet will do that you – you know, newly appreciating the mundane things in life like taking the dog for a walk (if I had a dog), vacuuming the car (If I had a car) or reading the morning newspaper (as of today, I’m a new subscriber to the Irish Independent:-)
Anyhow, my week in the Dominican Republic was amazing. A dear friend of mine got married in fairy-tale style on the beach with her long term partner. Blue skies? Check. Blue Seas? Check. Jazz Music? Check? Glamour? Check? Plenty of Alcohol? Check, check, check. What more could a simple girl ask for?

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The Age Old Debate About Age

Age has a huge significance to me. I was unaware of this until somebody actually pointed it out. They were right. I often judge a person or dare I say a woman based purely on the years in their life. For example, if I meet a girl who is above the age of lets say 34 and she, god forbid, isn’t married, I find myself psychoanalyzing her.  Questions that come to mind are: Is she in a long-term relationship? Is she looking for a man? Is she placing more of an emphasis on a career?  And if this girl happens to be still on the party circuit, I actually feel sorry for her. But why should I???

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