Hobes Is Where The Heart Is...

First things first -
(a) Yes I am well aware that it actually is 'Home is where the heart is...'
(b) No I am not cliche-retarded. And who wants that hackneyed expression cross-stitched into many a well-abused welcome mat?
(c) While I am very fond of homes and a warm bed in general - my heart tends to float towards a good pair of shoes...

Especially 'running around the city' shoes. And no, not running in a marathon sense (kudos to you kids who did that but just...no) Say 'aye' with me if you too have suffered from shoes that have given you the mother of all blisters. Not fun. Or have broken apart on you (yes you stupid grey brogues from Fat...). Or have Asian mothers who attempt to force a pair of unsightly orthopedic 'comfort' shoes upon you ('Just no...mum...no...')

As we suffer through tres unromantic, disgusting bleak wintery days - my heart is very much set a-flutter by a good pair of Hobes.

The relatively spankin'-new brainchild of the talented (and might I add - lovely) Georgia (you Age-addicted sartorially talented law students may have already spied them in the paper)- these babies are the all-round 'looking-adorably-chic-while-running-around-on-an-urban-adventure' shoe.

Born out of every girl's quest to find the perfect shoe (now seriously, who hasn't thought that...) and inspired by the classic primary school (and it seems current trad/preppy/Americana dandy man) staple desert boot. Timeless style (so yes, it won't be like those gladiator sandals you're totally regretting buying after seeing some trashy teenager wear them with her lycra piece of material from Supre...) Deliciously comfy (and may I add foldable - I think that totally adds an extra element of thrill for me...it makes me think I have 'jet-setting' shoes...even if I don't really jet-set all that often). Totally hand-made with sublime Italian suede (and canvas) in god-sent neutral colours (there is a fascinating back story involving a traditional Italian shoe-maker)

Impeccable quality and totally high unisex androgynous cute factor - and for the price of 150 bucks a pop (yes I feel your inner tight-ass Asians screaming for joy). There's all too much to love.

And you wondered why my heart now belongs to a pair of Hobes...

Feel the love today. And run with it.

Love

xx

Bec

PS. Buy a pair (nay even more) on Georgia's beautiful site - www.hobes.com.au
In different materials and colours! Are you screaming YAY yet?

PPS. But if you believe in being manual and boring like me - they are also available for the tryin' and buyin' at Gorman and Obus stores around Australia

Mi Casa

As Dorothy said - 'There's no place like home'

And indeed she was right.

Nothing really compares to lazy days in the tropics. Childhood homes filled with memories of idyllic evenings. First kisses. Tragic awkward teenage moments. Spending everyday in the pool with your 'like totally cool' posse. Home made iced lemon tea. Slightly insane relatives. Family ghosts. Eight course banquet dinners. Getting a decent tan. Putting your feet up. The fish fountain. The faux-cave and the rather salacious action within. Mahogany benches and sunsets. Adventures of a rather well-travelled bag. It's a little bit jungle. But tamed of course. Letting the afternoon sun dry up droplets of pool water on your skin. It's a little bit insane. They call it 'going troppo.' But it's a beautiful eccentricity.

And all too perfect for me.

I miss it already.

Love & Sun

xx

Bec

Hip-Hop-Smoking

I love procrastinating. Especially when it involves finding pretty things to look at.

I really like this little piece of musical film. It's not new. But it is pretty gosh-darn amazing. I am rather fond of a good musical. It started with Joseph and culminated in many-a-guilty-snigger at the West Side Story in music classes.

I am also a little in love with Janelle Monae. I like to think I'd totally be like her if I had actual nouveau jazz/ghetto cool factor and was African American. It's a bit Outkast. And totally Yves Saint Laurent (Le Smoking anyone?) And maybe a little bit apocalyptic with its vision of android auctions. But if I had to choose any version of a bleak destructive future to live in - I'd totally dig this one.

And seriously, screw the robot next time I burn up the dance floor.
It's all about the android.

Love

xx

Bec

The Newest Arrival...

And here it is - my new baby.
The newest addition to my 'on-the-verge-of-exploding' wardrobe. I know. The solution is to 'minimize' rather than add in more superfluous but totally ab-fab pieces...but...but...

It can always accommodate another bag. End of story.

Bags hold a special place in my usually small consumer-whorish heart.
I am a proud member of multiple groups which proudly scream 'My bag is worth more than your life'
Because most of the time it is. Well, at least definitely in the case of my ex. Awkward? Okay. Yeah.

Ah, and a Chloe tote makes for the perfect travel-adventure companion in the tropics.
Buttery soft goat-skin leather. That trademark gold hardware we all know and love (who doesn't love a bit of hardware...and not of the nuts-and-bolts sort). Big enough to carry all the essentials of life. And a bit more. Multiple pockets to subtly hide the sins of the past week. And a big strap for that 'I'm trying to desperately emulate Alexa Chung's preppy androgynous schoolboy aesthetic' (It's the satchel factor). So really that makes it more like two bags for the price of one. At least that's how it totally won me over. Swoon.

Elegant. Tasteful. Simple. Pragmatic. And might I say, rather huggable.

And who said you needed actual human arm candy?

Love

xx

Bec

Tiger Tiger!

I love bling. Shamelessly. Preferably the bigger, the better.
Call it the pragmatist within me...Finger adornment and self-defence instrument. At the same time.
Nothing short of brilliant.
And especially when it has to do with big cats.
Like tigers. I love tigers. They're like lions but without the 'do and with a way cooler coat.

Which is why I'm particularly obsessed with this baby.
I got this off my favourite jeweller/taxidermist/all round majorly cool person at Shag (Vintage Ferragamo man - if you've been following the epic sartorial soap opera that is my life...and if so...lots of love)
His pack of boulderdusters were packing a particular punch that afternoon.
And in a slight stroke of insanity, I had a feeble - 'Oh my god, can I be as cool as you?' - moment.
And while the rest of the pretty little things on his fingers were sadly not available for my dorky imitation.
Alas, the tiger ring was!

Being ever the uber-sweetheart, he even appealed to my inner Asian tight-ass (which is dying...a slow and painful death thanks to this little piece of work) and emphasized the VALUE of the ring (aha...every accountant's favourite term - bang for your buck - and not necessarily a reference to sex for money)

Because really it's like fricken' massive. And therefore counts more as three rings as opposed to one.
So really - it's like 'Three for One' day.
That's a concept any Asian parent would love.

Spendthrift me? I'm just enjoying once again basking in my title of 'Lord of the Boulderdusters' (yes a challenge was made - and if you'd like to duel with me, you know where to find me) and embracing my total scary obsession with all things shiny and big. I like to think I'm also totally getting in touch with my inner predator.

But maybe that'd be a little creepy.

In any case - it's the law of the jungle this fine afternoon. Revel in it.

Rawr

xx

Bec

Blog-porn: TOURIST

Ah yes, she's spamming the inter-webs like a whore on crack.
But I've missed you all so much.

No seriously. Some things are so good they deserve to be shared.
Like new blog-sessions.

Et voila. Benevolent soul that I am. I'd like you to meet my favourite type of TOURIST.

Oui! Tourists. I really haven't gone that mental and embraced my shameless budget tourist side. Mm-hmm. No matter where you're from, you know who I'm talking about. They walk around in packs. Usually with tiny digi-cameras in tow. Loud conversations in their own language. Usually led by an incredibly conspicuous pack leader carrying a coloured flag?

Psh! Ye of little faith.

This is like the tourist you wish you were. With the visual diary you'd love to keep. Chock-a-block full of the cool hip kids you'd love to hang out with. Short stories from the new glitterati literati. Conceptual photography. Where the image = dialogue. Perceptive? I know. The new arty-shmarty thing in town. No wait, in the towns you'd love to live in. There are 'issues' yes. But you don't really need to follow it in any particular order. It's just a pleasure getting lost in a spell of clicking. And that's the best kind of travel isn't it? Even if you are stuck in a travel lounge. Or worse yet, your own living room.

And worry not, it doesn't come with a handy pack leader (with or without a coloured flag)

Get lost. Now. You know what I mean.

Check it: http://www.touristmagazine.co.uk/

Love

xx

Bec

A Touch of Hermes

Slightly superfluous background note - I was originally hoping to greet you with some nice happy snaps of my home away from home (possibly also so you can secretly go 'I hate you' and then I can smugly smile and say 'Well...yes...naturally...I was actually warm for a change...') but then Blogger decided to be a bitch and not process the photos. Maybe it's out of computer envy. Possibly. In short, story for another time.


But the tropics would not be the tropics without the requisite South-East Asian indulgence of retail therapy. Never has the Visa been worked so hard in its life. Actually no that's a lie. But anyway. And there's nothing like a bit of Hermes and tea. I'd like to take both at the same time. But I can't actually afford the tea cups even if Elle Macpherson (yes she of the bras and The Body) tells me that I should. I couldn't resist taking a little piece of the fantasy home with me. The fantasy involving me and a Birkin bag. And not much else.

Possibly a few decadent silk scarves that I could turn into a dress. Luxurious nonchalance.

Like the Twilly. Kind of ridiculously pointless. I mean, it probably doesn't even constitute an actual real scarf. But deliciously pretty in a kind of classic, traditional spoilt princess kind of way. She who owned a pony at the age of five when the rest of us dreamed. And eventually morphs into the type of woman who 'lunches', has an affair with the Costa Rican pool boy and owns a wardrobe full of Hermes bags (the Kelly, the Birkin...god forbid...also the Constance). This is disturbingly starting to sound like my own twisted fantasy. But we can all dream.

And even if all that never happens. And we end up stuck in libraries in very gray wintery conditions. Getting lost in Le Monde d'Hermes. Playing with that Twilly. With an old broken cup of tea. And the scent of Annick Goutal's Petite Cherie in the air. It comes pretty close.

Keep it dreamy and pretty today my loves!

Love (from she who is depressingly back in Melbourne)

xx

Bec