Life: London Party Circuit - 1-3 Feb 2012

Last week the wonderful world of PR took me to not one, not two, but three rather fabulous parties in London. First up was a friend's event at The Hoxton Pony which was a Macmillan Fundraising event held by T4s Georgie Okell. Amongst the attendees were Prof Green, Jameela Jamil, Nyx Deyn and Made in Chelsea's Ollie Locke. Yasmin performed and Rizzle Kicks played an awesome DJ set, spinning everything from Azealia Banks to the Chemical Brothers.

The Hoxton Pony is well worth a try next time you find yourself in the East End. Described by Harper's Bazaar as 'A Modernist Alice in Wonderland-esque watering hole' the bar/club brings cocktails in tea-cups alongside highly palatable DJ sets.

 

The next night I was at Pertwee Anderson & Gold gallery's latest private view for the artist Annie Morris. Morris' new works explored the tragedy of still-birth and yet I many of them enigmatically fragile and beautiful. In the past Annie has collaborated with Burberry's designer Christopher Bailey to create the famous 'peg dress'. It was no surprise then to see the likes of Sophie Dahl and Rosamund Pike at the Soho gallery, alongside a man in a huge top hat and a ferret collar.

           


Once we'd satisfied our art lust we jumped in a cab down to Sloane square to attend the Sunday Times Magazines 50th Anniversary bash at the stunning Saatchi gallery. The magazine - which was the first Sunday newspaper magazine supplement - is showcasing some of its most memorable covers since its inception in 1962. Attendees included Jeremy Clarkson, Paxo, Carol Vorderman, Gary Lineker and Sir Phillip Green amongst many others. I shared a story about an exes pubic hair with Sky's Adam Boulton, his wife Anji Hunter and Times editor Eleanor Mills - it went down a storm, unlike the original event - and I also got some juicy radio 4 gossip from a rather merry John Humphrys, which I promised not to divulge...

The biggest fashion faux-pas of the evening was easily when Philip Treacy had to introduce himself to us - we'll blame the copious amounts of wine. I opted for a LBD from FCUKs amazing sale teemed with  bright blue Kurt Geiger Bianca courts - another sale steal which had originally been going for £220.  They went down a storm, winning 'best shoes of the evening' from more than a couple of admirers, which just about justified having to teeter up and down 5 flights of stairs every time I needed to visit the little girls room. GC

Check out Annie Morris at Pertwee Anderson and Gold gallery until March 1
See the Sunday Times Magazine 50th Anniversary Exhibition at the Saatchi gallery until February 19

Homage to Cher

- Cher of Clueless, not Cher of Sonny & Cher (incidentally she was the first person to show her belly button on live television - although this is a fun fact, it is also a wikipedia fact, and somehow a little hard to believe. I'm certain there's some satisfied 70 year old ex-hippy who smugly holds that particular milestone).

After watching Clueless for the sixteenth time, GC and I could proudly say that we got all of the grownup jokes, nicely disguised amongst the sugary soundtrack and knee-high socks. Apart from one or two American-specific references, we could safely say we were no longer Clueless. This triumph aside, we watched Cher & Dione flit from outfit to outfit with the same eagerness as we will no doubt watch the New York fashion week catwalks, making mental notes...minus the Dominos cookies.

Here is a breakdown of our most envied, Nineties Malibu, purple clogged, Dr Seussed 'Oh I wonder if they have that in my size' looks.

Maribu Pen VS Gothic crucifix.

A perfect look for weekends or at the office. After witnessing Cher's seduction techniques my 13 year old self was certain a maribu topped pen for my school pencil case would certainly be a most effective tool in getting 'that' boy's attention. Although I can't say any 13 year old boy would be (or was) completely bowled over by the chemistry brought by the fluffy pen, I may not rule it out as a work accessory. It could play an important part in meeting the (gay) boyfriend of your dreams.

Sportswear shmortswear.

Never underestimate the potential of sportswear. If ever there was a time to rock out your gold chained cell phone purse, it's at your all-girl tennis lesson. 

Friends are your best accessory.

Not sure I have ever co-ordinated my outfit with a friend unless for fancy dress. I must strive to do this one time.

Be dynamic with your Millinery.

I wore a beret for most of my sixteenth year, whilst gaining the nickname Toad (in relation to the Mario character with a toadstool head) this did not stop me wearing it with pride. As is the only way to wear a beret. Not so sure about Dione's hat here. Although we do give her snaps for her daring knitwear.

Not so much to say about this photo apart from the fact that it includes two of my most favourite things: fairisle and cameras. And Cher manages to make a headband look sophisticated, something that I (and indeed Blair Waldorf) have failed to do.

'You'll catch a chill in your kidneys' Granny Banks, 1993

S/S 2012 is all about the midriff. My current opinion on this mirrors Tai in this picture, rather than Cher. And I can't do sit ups as they hurt my back.

Dress for Danger.

All of our favourite heroins get mugged once in a while. And it appears that muggers have no respect for their victims wardrobe, what with Carrie's strappy Manolo sandals being held at gunpoint and Cher's 'totally important designer' dress ruined in the dirt. This outfit also includes a feather boa, something that none of the Dry Shampoo Diarist's will be reviving.

Chokers and Skull Caps.  

Crochet is a big thing this summer. White or multicoloured, it'll probably be clogging up the rails of Primark in a nice viscose-type material some time in late July. Read it and weep. Also here is an example of one of the many chokers which play a huge part in the Clueless wardrobe. GC and I have agreed they are definitely on the cards for a comeback.

Finale.

Must remember to have all epiphanies in front of illuminated fountains in pastel, virginal outfits. It just makes for better photo opportunities.


WM 

LIFE: Attitude Problem

The presence and portrayal of women has been under the spotlight over the past week. With the culture minister Ed Vaizey’s call for more women on the BBC’s agenda setting Today programme, a distinct gender imbalance at the Davos meeting (just 17% of delegates were female) and the Leveson inquiry’s focus on the representation of women in the press, it is obvious that there are ingrained attitudes towards women in our society which desperately need changing.

Not too long ago I was having a conversation with a male friend and somehow the topic turned to the prosecution of rape, and his response was, ‘but a lot of women falsely accuse men of rape’. I tried to argue that just because a false rape allegation may get heavy media coverage, it does not justify the ridiculously low rate of reported rape cases which end in prosecution, or necessarily mean that every rape allegation should be treated with scepticism. I was – possibly naively – shocked that someone who was relatively intelligent, rational, and normally disapproving of violence, was ready to shrug off one of the most serious, damaging violations that can be committed. Every time someone cracks a joke about rape, or a popular TV series runs the age old ‘woman who falsely cried rape’ story line, my heart sinks, as it shows how lightly and wrongly the issue is dealt with.

Yet these attitudes exist because they are continually perpetuated and upheld by the popular media. The evidence presented to the Leveson inquiry highlighted what is pretty obvious, that images of women in the press are heavily sexualised, and reporting on rape, sexual abuse and violence towards women is sensationalised. By focusing on a victim’s appearance, clothes and actions it makes it seem that they are responsible, and that a crime like rape is an act of lust rather than what it really is, an act of violence. A woman who’s wearing a short skirt on a night out does not deserve to be attacked any more than a woman fully clothed walking home from work, and the unfortunate reality is that it happens to women in both these situations. However, due to the myths churned out by the media, people feel it is something they can shrug off, be cynical about, and possibly even get a punch line out of.

Whilst it is true that women in the UK are in a better situation than women in other parts of the world, it does not mean we can afford to be complacent, or should ever stop striving for more positive changes. The fact that Nadine Dorries’ education bill, which would have seen young girls given lessons on ‘sexual abstinence’, was even scheduled for a second reading shows the extent to which these attitudes are institutionalised. If attitudes are to change we need to challenge the forces that continually allow them to prevail.

DW 

LIFESTYLE: Review: Element: Ballet Conditioning DVD

My interest in dance-fitness workouts started pretty young, when me and my friend would sit and watch the Pineapple Dance Studios DVD whilst vegging out on sweets and chocolate, in an attempt to learn cool moves by some sort of osmosis.

In my second year at uni I rediscovered the fad as a way in which to keep fit whilst being unable to afford gym membership. Initially I was drawn in by Robin Antin's Pussycat Doll Workout which boasts 'the sexiest, most glamorous and fun dance workout you’ve ever done!' Whilst that may be true, in a fitness DVD which suggested you worked out in heels, gave handy tips such as 'Pussycat Dolls love to slap their booties' and even offered a burlesque routine - using a lesser known piece of fitness equipment  known as the ‘feather boa’ - I couldn't help but feel that Robin wasn't taking my regime all that seriously...

Recently I have decided to return to Ballet - after giving up when I hit 11, grew hips and discovered boys. Despite almost memorising the steps perfectly from 10 years ago, my technique and strength is pretty dire (I blame my ridiculous high heel fetish). So for Christmas I asked for Element: Ballet Conditioning with Elise Gulan.

You don’t have to have seen Black Swan to know that Ballet isn’t always the best thing for your health, lesbian psychoses and self harm aside, if done without proper training it can often do more harm than good; therefore I would only really recommend this workout to people who also enjoy regular lessons.

Elise Gulan is from the Virginia Ballet Company, and although America is perhaps not famed for its classical technique,  I’d probably rather her workout than one developed by the Bolshoi Ballet. Despite the slightly annoying way in which she calls the chest ‘the heart centre’ and repeatedly talks of the ‘beauty of a dancer’s grace’, Gulan’s workout really pushes you to your limits whilst building core strength and toning the body. The workout uses moves such as the tondu, the devloppe and rond de jambe, mainly utilising barre techniques, alongside pulse-raising centre work. It’s fun and varied and takes about 50 minutes.

  

I wont say it’s easy, and it will take a few tries before you can keep up with her, but anyone studying at grade 3 BBO level and above should have no problem with her combination of stretches, heart-raisers and Ballet dance steps; sadly I can’t promise the same for her overwhelming Californian enthusiasm.

GC

LIFESTYLE: Office Perils and Blunders

Below I discuss some of the obstacles faced in the battleground of office etiquette, along with some sure-fire ways to make a complete tit of yourself, tested by yours truly.

Peril: The Office Feeders

Beware the office feeders. These creatures will bring in food that they don’t want to eat under the pretence of generosity. They will then offer it around, you don’t want to eat it either, but you will out of an absurd feeling of obligation.

It is this invisible force of obligation which means that if Janet from accounts offers a 2 month old tin of stale biscuits round that she no longer wants now she’s trying to lose her Christmas weight I can’t say ‘no’, but will tuck in anyway so as not to seem rude.

If people bring in home baked goods then it’s not so bad, at least they’ve put some effort in, regardless of whether it should come with a health warning or not; however it’s slightly different when blatant offloading is going on. A woman at work recently brought in some frozen brownies and defrosted them on a plate in the middle of the office. As she offered them round I tried to refuse, saying I’d have one later with a cup of tea, yet she looked so crestfallen I ended up taking one. As I bit into a half frozen brownie from Iceland that I didn’t really want I realised I’d been defeated yet again. This is the power the office feeders have, good luck trying to resist it.

Blunder: Computers, Photocopiers, Printers

For some reason I do not get on with the majority of electrically powered office appliances. This is usually down to my own idiocy, such as putting stapled bits of paper through photocopiers. Not the worst crime against humanity one could commit, but enough to get a knowing tut and a role of the eyes from my long suffering colleagues.

My worst faux pas to date has to be when I was working on a computer before it unexpectedly decided to switch itself off. Being a tech savvy 21^st century gal, I did the obvious thing and tried the ‘on’ button, but no luck. My confused colleagues took my word for it and turned to the only possible solution, to call a technician. I was pleasantly surprised when a cute tech guy turned up who I hadn’t seen before, and wondered where he’d been hiding. As I demonstrated that the ‘on’ button wasn’t working in the most attractive way possible, and sat trying to look seductively involved in my paperwork, it took him 5 minutes of fiddling about before he announced the answer to the problem in a pissed off tone, ‘you turned it off at the wall.’

Trying to make a joke of it he didn’t seem very amused, I later found out that it was probably because he’d travelled from twenty minutes away, our office not having its own department of in house cute technicians. I now stay away from power switches and the jokes about keeping me in a padded room have just about died down.

Peril: The Office Nemesis

At one job where I was temping I became the target of a woman’s mid-life crisis angst and her ensuing hate campaign. Not usually a fan of nepotism, I had got the job through a relative, but figured that using my contacts to get a job filing for four weeks in order to fund my travels wasn’t the worse abuse of power I could commit.

The woman in question worked in the IT department, so she already had an advantage over my weakness. She didn’t begrudge my presence out of any kind of principal, but because her son wasn’t doing the job instead. She made her animosity obvious through the usual pathetic acts of blanking me, moaning about me to other people and generally being rude. All things I could take in my stride. But she took things one step too far when she made my computer log in ‘child’. I won’t deny I’m slightly sensitive about the fact that my ‘baby face’ means people only realise I’m not on work experience when I don’t vanish after 2 weeks, and she had dared to take it there. I retaliated in the only way I knew how, to topple her reputation as baker extraordinaire, taking in an impressive array of my own home made goods. The baking battle line had been drawn as my red velvet cupcakes took on her famed lemon drizzle, to much success I'm happy to add.

I guess the motto is, if you can’t beat them, join them.  

DW

LIFE: Lodging

I didn’t want to be a lodger. I wanted my own soulless apartment, one where I could bring back men in suits that I’d met in cocktail bars. But life’s a bitch, you don’t always get what you want, and so instead I’m living with a middle-aged divorcee who has a tea-bag holder on the kitchen sideboard.

On the bright side, I’m paying a fraction of what I’ve ever paid in rent before. So, what do I get for my money?

The answer, the strange dichotomy of ‘my own room’ but in someone else’s (heavily stencilled) house. Mainly what I get for my money is a sense of uncertainty.  I find it difficult to define exactly what our relationship is. We’re bound by a financial transaction at the start of each month, yet our relationship amounts to more than tenant and landlord- she often gives me lifts to work, on occasion confides in me like a friend, but we both know we’d never socialise outside the confines of the house.

In some ways, we’re not all that different, penchant for Marilyn Monroe/James Dean memorabilia aside; we’re both going through a period of transition. I’m starting a new job in a new city, life as a young professional stretching ahead. She’s recently got divorced after thirty years of marriage having discovered her husband knocked up a waitress, and is facing redundancy.

Yes, okay, it’s fair to say her ‘period of transition’ is also a personal catastrophe, and even people who know me very well and dare to love me would readily admit I am not the person you want around in the middle of a catastrophe. When something bad is going down, I’m always the person entrusted with ‘minding the bags.’ In a way I can understand it, I’ve never lost a bag to date, except that time I was in Cineworld and two boys came over and I was so flattered that they were chatting me up I failed to notice one of them had swiped my mate’s Hooch drawstring. Dark days, but valuable lessons learnt.

So having me pottering around is not what this woman needs right now; she doesn’t need the stress of coming home every evening and finding me there ironing my shirt on the dining table having been beaten YET AGAIN by the ironing board’s opening mechanism. She doesn’t need me spilling Ribena on her stair runner and hurriedly trying to mop it up with a soaked bath towel and hand moisturiser. She doesn’t need me yanking open the front door THAT ALWAYS STICKS and then finding the letterbox in my hand.

But I can be a source of comfort as well as irritation. She was embroiled in a love triangle involving, and this is absolutely not a lie, ‘Kev and Trev’, a situation anyone would recognise hangs on a proverbial knife edge, one slip of the tongue and all goes up in smoke. In this instance I was helpful: I listened and I backed Kev, as any sensible person would. I saved her a lifetime of Gok Wan’s Fashion Roadshow by demystifying his expertise: put simply, add a waist belt.

So I have my uses, but ultimately it isn’t ideal for either of us. I’m too neurotic to handle a lodging situation; every night I’m torn between watching what I really want to watch in my bedroom, or joining her downstairs and sitting through another episode of Masterchef: The Professionals. I’m incapable of ending a conversation or leaving the room without the sign-off, ‘would you like a warm drink?’ Then I can be wildly inconsiderate in other ways, like leaving the cardboard end of the loo roll on the holder.

Am I alone in finding the lodger/lodgee relationship a stressful dance between two slightly disorientated partners?

AW