My school life was, for the most part, a tame affair- a perfectly fitting thing to be, considering that all thirteen years of it were spent in girls' schools, one of them Catholic at that. One minor rampage with a plastic lizard (that got thirty-nine of us detention for an afternoon) and the odd successful attempt to sneak off the premises before classes gave out (and, correspondingly, one unsuccessful attempt to sneak in without discovery when I got late and wanted to avoid a demerit- I got caught trying to climb a barrier, which isn't easy if you're wearing a pleated skirt), were about as far as I got down the road to rebellion. Which isn't really very far, but still, it's the thought that counts, or shouldn't it?
It might be a result of my early history or anything, but I love school stories- especially when there are uniforms involved and the place in question is more than slightly bonkers. Whether it's Hogwarts (which was at its best and most glorious in the state of complete pandemonium that followed Fred and George Weasley's amazing exit- with orders given to the poltergeist to wreak even more mayhem!), or Colette's Claudine battling it out with her headmistress for the affections of her English teacher, or even The Hairy Bird (an utterly brilliant movie about a bunch of girls in the 1960s trying to stop their school from going co-ed), I love them best in a state of chaos. But as far as madness went, nothing could really top the cartoons I found in a shelf of the local lending library, which I first picked up because they reminded me of the illustrations in my Roald Dahl books.
It was the St Trinian's cartoons, of course. I wasn't aware, at the time, that they were so popular or that there'd been movies made of them -I still haven't seen any of the originals- but the girls drawn in there were more or less the coolest beings I'd ever seen in my (then) twelve years of life- frequent decapitations, flattenings and violent deaths notwithstanding (to be fair, I liked them even more because of the violence- I was a bloodthirsty little squit). Heaven knows how they ended up in our library in the first place, the librarian must have thought they were ok for little kids because they were cartoons (which is sound logic, until you consider things like South Park). And now I hear it's a movie, complete with explosions, tarted-up school uniforms (not really that tarty, if you ask me), Rupert Everett in drag* (yippee!), the fourth formers, the sixth formers (I liked the little girls better, but it looks like sex appeal gets more screen time), an art heist, and Colin Firth. It won't get near me any time soon, but given that I'm such a sucker for school stories, I'll even overlook the fact that the theme song is by Girls Aloud. I mean, it's catchy and that's perfect given that the possibility of shout-alongs is a bit of a factor in how much anyone under the age of fifteen loves a song (personal experience says this), but I can't be the only one who thinks that Girls Aloud so much as pronouncing the word 'anarchy' is hilarious. And dammit it may be a huge marketing ploy or whatever, but I still want to see it. Call it vicarious wish-fulfilment for all my macabre fantasies of taking a hockey stick to my Chemistry teacher...
I know I've yammered and gone berserk with the parentheses and this really had nothing at all to do with fashion, but- here's to all schoolgirls and former schoolgirls, wherever you are. May we never grow stodgy...
*I've always wanted to try drag. Sadly, the only time I thought I'd get a chance to dress up that way was out of the Shakespeare Society- that was the college drama club- cupboard, which turned out to be perfect for the boys to dress up like girls since it was full of eye-wateringly shiny, girlie-looking clothes (they put on Shakespeare, you see). I ended up in a skirt, since the most macho thing I could get out of there was a sword.
PS: A big THANK YOU to everyone for your get-well-soons! And I wasn't seriously ill, hungover or pregnant, so don't worry yourselves on that score.
images from ronaldsearle.blogspot.com and a random Google search.
Wilfred and I mean it, though I'm sorry he looks so scruffy. And, for good time's sake, I think I'll sign off with a song no dancefloor should go without tonight (plus, watching graphics hop on and off t-shirts is so my thing). 
I've never been any good at arts and crafts, which may be why (as I think I've mentioned somewhere before) my regard for people who are, borders on near-reverence at times. And it's not really all that often that I get to see someone combining the two, so when I do, it's a cause for a little celebration of sorts.
This Lanvin SS08 ad seriously does make Olga Sherer look like a young Wicked Witch of the West on her way to a party, helped along in a major way by the colour of the dress and her expression, not to mention the positioning of those hands (don't they look almost claw-like?) - and I love the way the dress has just taken over the entire frame, it makes her look like she's leaving forest fires in her wake. Hats off to Elbaz and Meisel, I say...
But they'll have to do. My (non-existent) photography skills and horrible camera (note: if anyone reading this is considering getting a camera from Sony's Cyber-Shot series, don't! They suck) means that the picture doesn't quite do them justice, but I still like them.
wrapped in a box at the foot of my bed this morning, but they'll do. Less-incoherent posting resumes tomorrow, so bye till then.
Picture from here.
...please don't let Rachel Zoe EVER get her grubby paws on this one. The one on the right, I mean, since I think I can safely assume that Daphne Guinness wouldn't ever let the creature within twenty miles of her wardrobe.
Piv playing mommy to a white lion cub? And getting to show us that darling goofy smile of hers along the way? Adorable might just be the word for it. Even when the cub looks grumpy (picture 5), though it seems to like her (last pic).
I absolutely love the way Paolo Roversi evokes the spirit of 3 a.m. cram sessions the night before a particularly horrible exam. And the fact that Freja Beha looks so hot in the debris (almost entirely consisting of books), with her hair all scratty. It just rings rather true to life, even if no one I know does their cramming in floaty tulle or corsets..
The cat eye and I didn't mix all that well, but come to think about it, it really wasn't meant to happen. Quite aside from the smudging and the messing up, practicality means it would have probably been a bit pointless anyway- you don't exactly see Cleopatra or the 60s Bollywood lot ever having to stick a pair of glasses between their (rather exaggerated) eye makeup and the outside world, do you? 
The lucky owner is gardenpicnic, who posted the picture up on leavesoftea, where I go to occasionally drool over people's antique finds (a first edition of The Lion, The Witch And The Wardrobe, a playbill from Laurence Olivier's early stage career, and gorgeous teapots and telephones, are just some of the things on display). It's a fantastic place, especially if you like random knicknacks- it's amazing to see what people end up finding.
..sometimes it's the result of my deciding to give the headband (see the picture attached to the previous post for reference) thing a go. Only where I am, it's tough to tie anything around your head without looking like an instant hippie, so shine was a must. And given that ribbons would just slip right off and no sequinned bits of anything were to be found, I had to make do with a bit of old net that originally formed part of the wrapping on a box of sweets, which (as can be seen from the picture above) would've made even the pickiest magpie green in the beak and was scratchy enough to keep a grip on the old keratin follicles. And the results are below..
It might not look entirely right, but winding the scrap twice around my head, higher up the crown, actually helped with not letting my fringe poke me in the eye. It also didn't make my hair foof out weirdly above the band.
I tried wearing it as an Alice band too, it kind of worked... stayed in place and didn't slip off. Would definitely raise eyebrows if it made it past my bedroom door, and prissy, but shiny at the same time.
The normal way of wearing a headband, right in the middle of my forehead...or not too far above it anyway.
Given that Indian winters can be quite cold (though they don't always dip into sub-zero range), I've often wondered why thick, opaque tights don't seem to be much of an option in the shops here. About all a girl has to choose from by way of hosiery is ten-denier tights or stockings, which, as might be evident from the description, are sheer. Very sheer indeed. That isn't really a problem in any weather, including the cold kind, because it's a proven fact that the skin on your legs is thicker and tougher than it is on your upper body. Which means that skirts, particularly of the shorter variety, are not completely ruled out as winterwear, if you bother putting tights or stockings on under the lot. 
