I've moved on...
...to a different domain. Why, what were you thinking? The truth is, I just woke up one day and decided it's time for a change—a metamorphosis, if you will; or, in layman's terms, if Britney can shave her head, then maybe so can I? Nevertheless, it's been a rather handsome 10 years of talking to you, and thank you for putting up with all my moodswings and terrible dad jokes. Fear not! The hormonal imbalance and jokes are more terrible on CUBICLE, see you there.

Kurt Geiger Mayfair Boutique; Thank you Kit for the shots of ipad case & trying on shoes!

And this is how I get random glitter on my face. Can’t help it if my magpie GPS tells me to take the next right turn and I end up in the new Kurt Geiger Mayfair Boutique (I swear that thing would’ve found Bin Laden, had he been made out of glitter) (does not work on lame vampires though) but I picked up literally every shoe and then proceeded on slapping myself with the same hand chanting WOMAN YOU HAVE TOO MANY SHOES AT HOME. So I get some glitter on my face, and some organic blush application on the cheeks – it indeed is Everything But the Dress at Kurt Geiger.

On another note, I think it’s high time the blogshop reopened, I have many shoes at home to sell, women.

Lace coat – Courtesy of Amber Sakai, Dress & Vest – Uniqlo, bag – Zara, Bracelet – Kurt Geiger, Shoes – Topshop

I have this bad habit of refusing to eat anything during the day when there’s a promising meal in the horizon… actually, it’s a little similar to my concept of hygiene. (Promising event next week, I MUST SAVE MY HYGIENE.) Sometimes I’d curse the sky when it starts pouring while I’m cycling, screaming ‘Not yet okay!? Let me just get my awesome Cowshed shampoo from my back pocket‘ and do a lawnsprinkler shower in the street. Along with the refusing to eat, there was refusing to get out of bed, so basically I woke up that day to have dinner in Aqua Kyoto. I realised I never really look up when on Oxford Street, and naturally I’ve never had a chance to look down – the view from the fourth floor restaurant balcony is spectacular, especially when you have a fire in your glass and you’re not sure if you’re meant to blow it out or feed it some coal and swap that with the table candle. Na, my drink was the 43 Flowers, frappuchino equivalent of alcohol (a dessert, basically), a very sweet and refreshing drink that complimented the four courses handsomely.

The restaurant is done up in a very ‘exclusive club’ feel, but one reservation call will put you down for a perfect moody corner for that anniversary dinner, or after-work drinks on the balcony and throwing drunken raspberries down on Argyll Street.

Thank you Jessica of TCS for the invitation. The outfit is second instalment of Uniqlooks for this month! Also many kissies to Macku for the photos.

Sweater – Vintage, Shirt – Zara, Dress – Vagabond Van, Shoes – Chloe Sevigny x Opening Ceremony, Socks – Happy Socks (via Tobi), Bag – JHYoo, Necklace – Jennifer Loiselle, Watch – ASOS

Ever since I started going steady with my bicycle (relationship status: level 2, bickering has commenced, usually on the topic of why I manage to drive her into every pothole available on the street) (Purposefully darling, I like it rough) my flats: heels ratio produces a pacman piechart. These past few weeks I’ve been hearing new lines from people: 1) were you always this short? and 2) COME OON POKEMON. The latter mostly by my significant other, blowing past me on his own megafast singlespeed ride and yelling YOU ARE SUCH A SLOWPOKE. Hence the new nickname. Anyway, these Opening Ceremony boots put me back in that familiar airspace, +5inch AMSL, one where you can sniff the nearest bakery before the rest of the herd can. They also seem to put me on the ring of fire, with every step wobbling like 8.2 on the richter scale. WHAT IS UP WITH THESE GEOGRAPHY ANALOGIES. (Also notice how I go a little schizo with the brackets)

Thank you Kit for the outfit snaps!

Shoes – Courtesy of Upper Street, Anklet – ASOS, Nail Polish – Organic Phramacy

Shhh, shh for a second, do you hear that screeching? That, dear readers, would be the noise coming from the cogs grinding in my cage as I try to make decisions. Back when I was in uni, Ellen and I used to shoo away our waiter five times before deciding on what to get – we’d eenie-meenie-minie-mo the menu and end up with spinach goo, apple crumble and carrot juice. Think it would’ve been tastier to catch a tiger by the toe and grill that instead. I KID YOU NOT, this Upper Street session took longer than it took for me to write my dissertation. Wait, that’s not saying much is it, all you students already know it was written in the bus on the deadline morning… After hours of rotating the virtual foot round and round, consulting my inner genius shoe-designerness, I sort of… ended up copying this Calvin Klein Collection sandals from SS11. (China Woman had no part in this.)
I was actually really surprised at the quality of the final product and the effort they made into interpreting the extra requirements I added in the order (two straps in different colours…etc). I was worried the straps would make it too flimsy, but the Upper Street technicians managed to deliver a well-functioning contraption and I therefore managed to avoid falling in the algae-infested canal with a snapped heel.

Do you think if I eenie-meenie-minie-mo’d the shoes, they’d end up looking like Kit’s design?  (I love you Kit, really)

Thank you Upper Street & PushPR!

Shirt-dress – Courtesy of Flik Hall, Pants – Zara DIY cut-off jeans, Shoes – Courtesy of Heavy Machine, Bag – ASOS, Jacket – Barbour

I think I may have discovered a new fruit, ladies and gentleman. Events from the past few days have helped uncover the existence of a magical species, in the same family as the banana, the ba-radioactive-neon-green-peel-lining-nana. I have discovered that, despite my entire life in a Western setting with aspirations not unlike an American teenager’s (running a Babysitter’s club, going to prom, getting punched by a mean girl), there is powerful Asian tiger-mum blood coursing through my veins, melting vital organs. If I had it my way, the London Riots would be dealt with kimchi-smeared fingers and a putter club from daddy’s golf-shrine. Yes, some say the riots were the cries of the neglected underclass, the abandoned youth deprived of role models, but before questioning the government on bad parenting, punishment should be ruthless. I personally don’t believe in beating as part of child raising, but a stick has always been a part of my childhood, and I can’t deny that there was always a lesson to be learnt behind every strike. So I don’t steal, well, except from looters, I’ll strip the hoodies off your back and DIY the crap out of it. Hide yo kids, hide yo wives.

There’s no doubt those involved in such shameful, disgusting acts have deserved the ‘Scum’ title, and it’s clear that the rule-abiding citizens have proved our worth by not retaliating but instead cleaning after the idiots, but please let’s do our best to train them not to soil the carpet in the first place. Use a water gun, or a rolled-up newspaper, give them good role models, invest in their future…

Thank you Alice (of Alicepoint) for helping with the shots