On A Rainy Day...

There's something about rainy days and puddles which kind of make you obsess about the humble boot.
Maybe it's the fact that water doesn't get in (thank you useless canvas shoes)
Or childhood dreams/memories of jumping in puddles (mind you, unachieved childhood dream - because in glamorous South East Asia - puddles are probably more akin to pools of battery acid...)
Or the fact that they're just 'made for walking' (especially true on that day where featured friend and I trawled from one side of the city to the other and enjoyed a shower au naturel at the same time...only the most fabulous way to be drenched is with good, stylish company...it's something I could see Isabella Blow or Diana Vreeland agreeing with...if they weren't so impeccable...all the time)

In any event - I'm a little envious/obsessed (or demented lovechild of the two...) of my fellow drenched companion's Jeffrey Campbell vaguely nouveau cowboy style gumboot booties. Perfect for puddle jumping. With a hint of unexpected Parisian insouciance (curse you Chloe and Vanessa Bruno for making me drool over quasi-cowboy boots...).

And of course - I could never say no to a well-heeled urban hiker's well-loved companion, a fabulous Balmoral in tan (oh yes...proper terminology...golden star sticker for me)...

It sometimes makes me wish the rain didn't go away...

Momentarily of course.

Love

xx

Bec

The Bad Factor

I totally believe that secretly (or not so secretly) everyone totally wants to be bad.
With a capital B. Like bad-ass. Like that MJ song that is currently stuck in my head.
If only I could moonwalk. But no.
Because it is totally cool just to be that little bit delinquent.
Even if it only happens in my head.

Thank the high stylistic powers that be (I'm convinced The Wintour is totally God of that group) - for those little things that enhance that sense of 'imaginary' bad...
'Imaginary' bad (for those of us who don't speak Bec) = You have some form of very conservative degree nicely tucked under your belt but are totally fooling the world by dressing like you're on the fast lane to dying at the age of 27 of some form of substance abuse and/or choking on a sandwich

Those ripped denim shorts (mine being ripped past the bad level and into unwearable level...I get all misty eyed at the thought), anything involving black leather and...THESE BABIES.

I must admit to having an obsession with these Illex Kinni platforms for some time now. I went so far as to stalk pretty much every Fat store in Melbourne trying to track them down to no avail. And was most downcast and sad when I had to abandon my task. But a late night internet shop-scapade (where one too many Red Bulls makes you remember things somewhat long forgotten) led me to the blessed discovery of their online store!

Et voila...

The 'imaginary' bad factor has automatically been ramped up to a whole new BAD level.
There are so many many many things I love about these boots. Where does one start?

(1) They look like the lovechild of 70s drag queen platforms and a very well heeled dandy man boot. Complete with side-laces and that very debonaire buckle at the back. And I do love cross-breedings that are so wrong, they're right.
(2) They're huge. I mean seriously...they raise me to an un-Asian height. Win. Win. Win.
(3) They are fantastic for stumbling around the city post-midnight on a very alcohol-fuelled bender. And apparently getting home alive.
(4) They just look effin' fantastic.

Sing it with me now...I'm bad...so bad...yep...

Keep it bad kids

xx

Bec

Harry - The Poet

When I first met Harry many moons ago (back when I thought the law school was a magical place...that's how long ago) - I knew I'd found my new M.M.F (alas no, get your mind out of the gutter...or is that just my mind? It's not a dirty acronym - but rather Mutual Muse Friend)

M.M.F = That friend who totally 'gets' your tortured artist side. Like your penchant for old French literary magazines. Vinyl records. Jeff Buckley. And a good glass of Scotch at night. And your somewhat bizarre dreams of reviving Beatnik nights and living like Kerouac all over again. Or maybe that's just Harry.

A true troubadour.
Poetic. Francophilic. The only person with whom I could practice my terrible with a capital T francais (or rather should I say 'mon francais tres rouille') Constantly looking like a vision out of a bygone era of travelling folk singers. And yet totally modern at the same time.

How can you not totally love a man who has the most amazing vintage collection ever? Comprised of paternal hand-me-downs (case in point - that leather snake-skin embossed blazer, cowboy belt and boots beat up to perfection) and finds discovered in many an op-shop around the world (that very Americana shirt was apparently in fact an Italian discovery)

Every single ensemble the man puts together seems to have a bit of a tale behind it.

Qualifying note - My father has nothing cool to pass on to me. What I've gleaned from old photos of him is that he was more tryhard Asian 'Bee-Gees/Travolta' than infinitely cool Dylan. Enough said.

The only thing I can really say every time I see Harry is that he's my personal version of a reincarnated Bob Dylan (and don't stone me - I know Bob's not dead) but it makes me feel all happy and nostalgic for a time when revolution was about free love and not war. And you roamed the country in beat up boots and a broken down car. And songs were about poetry and liberty. And doing something different. Because you could change the world a little like that.

Merci mon ami...tu m'inspires meme aujourd'hui.

Love & Peace

xx

Bec

PS. Harry truly does live the Dylan-esque dream and plays in a folk band with his acoustic guitar which you can see at many a law student society barbecue. We are also thinking of forming a breakfast club with a special emphasis on espresso if you would like to join. And there is of course the obligatory beatnik party.

No really. I kid you not.

Pen - Bohemian Like You

'And I'm feeling so bohemian like you...'
One of my favourite songs. If only I could live up to it.
But not.

And it pretty much pops into my head every time I see Pen (I realize stalker vibes are radiating at mind-blowing levels)
Making the rather sterile (aka boring) halls of the law school far prettier with her piled on bling and adorable dresses (see ensemble of the day - cute mini with puffed sleeves, gypsy trinkets and boots). Thrifted eccentric with a classic edge.

It's bold, a little bit crazy in a good way...like the super cool gypsy-folk muse you wish you could be (yes change that to - I wish I could be) Note: Last time I experimented with the piled on 'trying to channel my inner Bats For Lashes' spirit...it was more homeless misfit than inspired mystic

And the best thing about Pen is how much the way she dresses is reflective of her 110% lovely, effervescent (girl-you-can't-help-but-fall-in-love-with) personality. Passionate about the environment (she does alot of impressive work in that regard...leaving me feeling rather ahem...unproductive...I should really start stalking less accomplished people). An intrepid traveller with a keen eye for the experimental and artistic.

An effortless muse really.

Now I'm just going to listen to countless replays of 'Bohemian Like You' and maybe that vibe will come to me.

One can always hope.

Love

xx

Bec

All Tied Up

When I was but a young gold-digging girl in kindergarten, I also discovered that tying up shoelaces wasn't one of my go-to skills. Buttons - I could deal with. Zips - I could do with my eyes closed unless it jammed...in which case...there could have been blood or alot of fabric rippage.

Laces and perfecting the art of the sloppy bow were something else. Eventually, that little girl did end up learning how to perfect the rather elementary art of tying up her shoes but decided ultimately most of the time they weren't worth the effort. Hence why several pairs of Chucks have ended up unworn and unloved. Brogues are worn loosely enough to be slipped into. And 'retardedly-easy-to-put-on' babies like zipped up biker boots or my beloved pop-button-on Chloe booties (and their identical but significantly cheaper Zara twins) are much loved favourites.

I have always loved tie-up boots from afar. And these 'self tied up' Trimapee boots (belonging to my favourite man of edgy style) were a crushworthy new discovery. They're like combat boots without the ubiquitous lace holes and structure. And it's like a whole string-tastic work of art just tying them up.

It's inspiring me to put alot more effort into my much maligned shoe-lace tying skills...which fingers crossed will exponentially improve with the arrival of those dandy man inspired, side lace up Illex platforms arriving in the mail this week. One can hope...

Love & Laces

xx

Bec

Bootleg Teaser

The story begins with a stratospherically cool pair of boots...
Alot of coffee consumed for no particular reason
Creepy perving from afar on aforementioned boots...

Sadly it doesn't end with me stealing these babies (that may have been a somewhat obvious move)
But even better...it doesn't end here.

Are you intrigued?

I'll bet you are.

Love

xo

Bec

Get Tanked & Graffitied

I spend obscene amounts of money on basic tank tops. There. I said it. I feel better now. Well not really. But anyway.
'But why? They're just basic pieces of cloth?'

Oh dear unenlightened people - the perfect tank top is so much more than just a basic piece of cloth. Draped the right way and put together with the right 'mussed-up, I'm-a-model-recovering-from-one-bender-of-a-party' items...they can totally give you a look of absolute easy sexiness. One which I am still hoping to (and disgustingly am yet to) achieve. Ultimate sigh and die moment.

But occasionally you stumble upon a clever trick or two...and this I found on a mannequin at the Vanessa Bruno store (and bought the see through tank shortly thereafter...oh yes...Rebecca, you and your will of steel) Belated lightbulb moment: You can totally mix things up when you wear things backwards! Oh I do adore when something so wrong turns out ever so right (I just wish I'd thought of it first...like my brilliant idea of wearing cardigans backwards...but that kind of epically failed...)

And note - It is not a fake bra.

Love

xo

Bec

Black tank - Vanessa Bruno
Grey tank - Bassike