tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-60419858737002272042024-03-13T14:13:20.486-07:00Always Stylishbecause you're worth it...Gilly Woohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09499870444313490414noreply@blogger.comBlogger22125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6041985873700227204.post-80450150092156905122015-01-28T01:50:00.000-08:002015-01-28T02:07:37.804-08:00Marathon Training- 10 things<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><b>This week marks the half way point of my 500 mile running challenge to raise money and awareness for the victims of the Rana Plaza disaster in Bangladesh. My fellow dressmakers.</b></span><br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><b>You can read more about it here: </b></span><b><a href="http://www.justgiving.com/gillywoorana">www.justgiving.com/gillywoorana</a></b><br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: 800;">Today I wrote a list of 10 things I've experienced and observed during marathon training. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: 800;">Here it is:</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 24px; font-weight: bold;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 24px; font-weight: bold;"><b>Marathon Training- 10
things</b></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><b>1. Be grateful</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Last year I ran for
cancer research. When I was heading out for a 3 hour run on a Sunday when my
mates were in the pub I wrote the names of friends who’d died from cancer on my
hand in biro. When I felt pissed off or questioned why I was doing this I just
glanced at my hand and instantly thought how dare I not cherish every step,
every breath, every heartbeat. This is my choice and my privilege.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">This year I am running
for War on want, specifically for the victims of the Rana Plaza disaster.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">When I finish a long
day at work and have to go back out in the cold to run, I think of the people
who lost limbs, or family members when the factory collapsed. I think of people
still working in horrific conditions, sleeping under sewing machines, surviving
poverty and malnutrition everyday and I think how dare I not cherish my choice
and my privilege every single moment of it. </span><br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Some people would give anything to be able to go out in the rain and run.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><b>2. Race no one but
your self. </b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Everyone is different
in ability, experience and physiology.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Jay and Theodore know.....<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“When I do the best I
can with what I have, then I have won my race”- Jay Foonberg. 72 year old
runner<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">“Comparison is the
thief of joy”- Theodore Roosevelt. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">3. Anyone can </span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">complete </span>a marathon if they
want to.</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Anyone can. Seriously,
I truly believe that with out exception. Anyone. Can.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><b>4. There are moments
of pure joy in long runs.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Like being in that
perfect stage of gleeful drunkenness with your very best mates or that gorgeous
comfy best lie-in in the world feeling you get (usually only </span>just before you have
to get up and go to work). <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like
being in love, when you physically can’t get the smile off your face.<br />
Proper
euphoria!<br />
That exact feeling sometimes washes over you when you run, and every
fibre of your being buzzes with contentment.…Honestly!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><b>5. You are capable of
more than you think.<o:p></o:p></b></span><br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I thought it would be
the hardest thing I’d ever done. I thought it would be my most difficult mental
fight. It was no walk in the park, but in reality it wasn’t that hard. I’ve run
harder half marathons. The training was the key. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">You can train for
anything in life you just need patience, determination, flexibility, desire and
a good work ethic. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><b>6. It can make your
life easier.</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Marathon training makes
you fitter, stronger, more capable, more organised, more focused and more accepting
of things outside of your control. </span><br />
All that stuff makes life easier.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><b>7. People either
massively under estimate or over estimate the distance and your ability.</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">People who have never
run a marathon (me previously included) commonly think either; it’s an
impossible distance, which you need to be super human to run or that it’s not
really that far…neither of these is true.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><b>8. There are probably more
efficient ways to raise money for charity… </b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">But, challenging
yourself physically and mentally over a period of time helps you relate to the
struggles of others on some level, it develops empathy. It also builds self-esteem,
inspires people and can have a domino effect. It is worthwhile.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><b>9. Exercising outdoors
in winter stops you getting sick.</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I’ve had 2 colds in 3 years. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I used to get loads more!
It’s really very good for your immune system…Honestly!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><b>10. Running will not necessarily make you loose weight. </b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I weigh the same,
perhaps I’m a little leaner, but I weigh exactly the same.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Many of life’s lessons
are in that training.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><b>It’s a rollercoaster…</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Triumphs,
disappointments, setbacks, achievements, overcoming adversity, learning when to
stop and when to push through, joy, sorrow, elation, devastation, strength,
weakness, empathy, introversion, horror, happiness, pain, euphoria, transcendence,
humility and pride. You will likely feel it all.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<h3>
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><b>There will be many times
when your body and mind will tell you that you can’t run a marathon but there
will be a lifetime knowing that you have.</b></span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p><b> </b></o:p></span></h3>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu2ZN7agcZp4cAqRTAczm2zeBVm2FRkdOzo2uD51RZH1nYe7DJOgaZ-3RpMU1irBmGuJNQpHlAroP8KQ6mw9szNB8EnYJOjP-LiH3wdkdO2xJveD9FC2Ch6EP3lgw6VnEf_E0tS3XWRywi/s1600/blog+marathon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu2ZN7agcZp4cAqRTAczm2zeBVm2FRkdOzo2uD51RZH1nYe7DJOgaZ-3RpMU1irBmGuJNQpHlAroP8KQ6mw9szNB8EnYJOjP-LiH3wdkdO2xJveD9FC2Ch6EP3lgw6VnEf_E0tS3XWRywi/s1600/blog+marathon.jpg" height="400" width="290" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo taken at mile 25 Brighton Marathon 2014</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Gilly Woohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09499870444313490414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6041985873700227204.post-55275633880351861962014-03-10T12:18:00.000-07:002014-03-10T12:18:19.617-07:00Weight On Your Mind?
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
For some unfathomable
reason most people assume that all brides lose weight before their wedding
days.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><b>They don’t.</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Everyone knows how
hard it is to lose weight, right?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Even if you have no
personal experience of trying to lose a few pounds yourself, you must be aware
of the struggles of people around you. In fact, it seems how fat or thin
people are is the only thing certain (terribly dull) TV channels and magazines
ever report about!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">We can be absolutely
certain that losing weight is hard to do if you are overweight to begin with.
We can be equally certain that if you begin with a healthy BMI it is even
harder.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I’m no clinician. I
don’t have any training in nutrition or exercise or biology. But I do have
extensive experience of dealing with women. Women of every conceivable shape, size,
age and attitude who are all thinking about looking their very best for their
imminent wedding days and special occasions. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">A lot of them are trying to lose
weight regardless of whether they need to for heath reasons or not. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Most of them do not
succeed.</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Over the last 20 weeks
I have been training for a marathon. This has involved consistently running 100
miles a month and expending an extra 5000 calories a week exercising. On the
advice of my coach I have also been writing down everything I eat and drink.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">During the course of
my training plan my calorie expenditure has gone up dramatically and my intake
has stayed roughly the same, <b>as has my weight.</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Surprised?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">This is a perfect
illustration of how brilliant our <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">amazing</span> bodies are!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">My body has adapted
perfectly to my increased training regime and held on to all the energy it
needs to keep me fit and healthy throughout it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><b>Brides have brilliant,
amazing bodies too. </b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When a bride is a healthy weight to begin with but
decides to eat less or exercise more in order to become smaller for her wedding
day, <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">(which baffles me for many reasons but not least because presumably her fiance
didn’t require her to be smaller before he proposed, did he?)</span>, her body will
behave in the same way as mine has.<b> It will work its little socks off to keep
her safe and healthy and hold on to every little calorie it can for dear life!</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">A healthy body is a perfect body. </span></b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Your body is amazing!
If you are lucky, it is moving you around, enabling you to see, hear, smell,
touch, taste and do fabulous things!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Please be grateful for
it, please try to love it and look after it, and if you really can’t bring
yourself to love your brilliant body just yet, then keep trying to focus on all
its wonderful positive attributes and at the very, very least, <b>PLEASE! don’t EVER actively or verbally hate your brilliant body in front of your daughters. </b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">All of womankind will
thank you for it.</span></b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></span></div>
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</tbody></table>
<!--EndFragment-->Gilly Woohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09499870444313490414noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6041985873700227204.post-73158521235683642522013-09-29T09:35:00.002-07:002014-03-10T12:19:28.364-07:00Buy Less and Value More<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">BUY LESS and VALUE MORE</span></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWFZJ0slGJIQYDlnMJCGWLsXIDv5MZXH_LQq1_IgA58-hNdZ9QN9d9h0v-2ilw-3ca09xCavh_iWaWx2xuQt9IKar-mswY5Loy5cUSMFpFyUiBT0CXsG46WCMCGRsDGngyWFLvAgmr-Pk7/s1600/must-see-black-and-white-historic-moments-24.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWFZJ0slGJIQYDlnMJCGWLsXIDv5MZXH_LQq1_IgA58-hNdZ9QN9d9h0v-2ilw-3ca09xCavh_iWaWx2xuQt9IKar-mswY5Loy5cUSMFpFyUiBT0CXsG46WCMCGRsDGngyWFLvAgmr-Pk7/s320/must-see-black-and-white-historic-moments-24.jpg" height="320" width="219" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">I just watched Panorama’s ‘Dying For A Bargain’ on
BBC iPlayer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Like everyone, I was utterly appalled and
devastated by the dreadful images in the newspapers after the catastrophic
factory collapse in Bangladesh on April 24<sup>th</sup>, where over a thousand
workers died.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">This is the real cost, the human cost of cheap
clothing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">I first started to really think about the people
who make the clothes for our western high streets when I saw Stacey Dooley in
‘Blood, Sweat and T-shirts’ on BBC 3 in 2008.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">It was a year after I launched my bespoke clothing
label and I was sewing for up to 80 hours a week.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">It was hard work! I was tired, my back hurt, I was
seeing a chiropractor twice a week and alternating paracetamol and ibuprofen
every 2 hours just to meet deadlines. Despite how hard I was working, I was
barely making my rent and having to work lunch times at my local pub to make
ends meet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">While working like that in a cramped box room with
a sewing machine found in a skip, I was planning my empire. The plan was: Build
a brand by making couture quality garments for bespoke clients, hone my skills
as a designer by working with all kinds of body shapes, learn about flattering
silhouettes, perfect my patterns, and then launch a ready to wear range, get my
clothes made in a factory (no more back ache!) and make my fortune! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">It honestly never occurred to me that someone
else’s back would take the brunt when I was no longer making my own clothes. Of
course I knew sweatshops and slave labour existed but, even though I sew
myself, I never really thought about the factory made garments I saw in high
street shops as being made in the same way as I would make them in my workshop.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">My old boss at Special Sauce once told me that a
pair of Levi jeans takes 8 minutes to get from denim on a roll to finished
garment; pressed, labeled, tagged and packed into a shipping container.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">I had images of fantastical machines like laser
cutters and automatic sewing machines with robot arms churning out thousands of
pairs of jeans a day while smiling factory workers stood around and happily
pressed buttons. One day they would be able to make my designs and I could
slash my prices and still make a profit and we’d all live happily ever after. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">After all, laser cutters do exist. I saw once one on a school trip to a bra factory in Kingswood. Incidentally, soon after my
visit, the factory and the laser moved to China where, I assumed, Chinese
people would be working in the same conditions as the people in Kingswood. Only
they’d be paid less, which was fine because their cost of living was less, so
we got cheaper bras and Chinese people got jobs and earned a good living.
Winner! Right?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">WRONG!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">The reality is that there are no magic machines
making your cheap clothes! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There are people.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">People whose skilled labour and human rights are
grossly undervalued.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">It is only our warped perception that makes us
think that a lawyer, plumber or builder’s skilled time is worth more than a
dressmaker's.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">We as a nation have completely lost touch with the
reality of the man hours involved in producing almost everything we consume. My
whole career I have had my time undervalued because people see cheap garments
in shops and make ridiculous assumptions about what is involved in producing
them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">I went to an exhibition of 17<sup>th</sup> Century
fashion at the Queen’s Gallery recently and was initially disappointed to
discover that it was mostly paintings and only a handful of original garments.
Seventeenth century garments are incredibly rare, mostly because they were so,
so expensive that they would be used and used and used until they literally
disintegrated.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">An embroidered jacket in the 1600’s would have been
worth as much as a house! And do you know what? Such an intricate garment would probably be worth as much today
in terms of man hours.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">My Dad buys his jeans for £9 in Asda. So when I
told him a jacket I made for a client recently cost £2000 he shouted “HOW
MUCH?! I’d plaster a house for that!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">I asked him how long it would take to plaster a
house. The answer was about the same time as it took me to make the jacket.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">We compared hands, we both have calluses, mine from
scissors, his from plastering. We both have backache and wrinkles around our
eyes from squinting and laughing. We both worked hard for a fair but modest
wage our whole lives and aren’t we the lucky ones!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Make no mistake, that jacket you’re wearing was
made by a person, not a machine and it wasn’t an easy job. So if you paid very
little for it then you can be sure that the person who made it for you is at
best not having a very nice time right now and at worst is in mortal danger.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">With this is mind, the very concept of ‘throw away
fashion’ is abhorrent.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Do you remember when we all began to realise the
implications of our eggs being produced in battery farms? Now we all check the
labels and buy free range, don’t we? Don’t most of us buy fair trade coffee now
that we understand how terribly the coffee growers were being robbed?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">It’s about time we all realise that people are being
exploited so we can buy clothes for impossibly low prices.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">It’s about time we understand the real cost of
cheap fashion.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">In the words of a clothing factory manager, “For
western buyers, price comes first, quality second and human rights are at the
bottom of the pile.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">The closing statement form a Bangladeshi woman on
the Panorama programme was, “You need to figure out a crazy way to find cheap
clothing which is not killing people.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN" style="font-family: Arial; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">I’ve got a better idea. How about we start to
rediscover out relationship with how things are actually made, re-evaluate our
perception of what things are worth, recognise the human cost of producing
cheap things for us to consume and begin to<b> buy less and value more.</b></span><span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Gilly Woohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09499870444313490414noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6041985873700227204.post-77247290561961945062011-05-02T05:15:00.000-07:002011-05-02T06:23:39.921-07:00The Woman I Always Wanted To Be:<div class="MsoNormal">I was running on the downs yesterday and I had this feeling flash over me:<br />
<br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">I am the woman I always wanted to be.</span></b><o:p></o:p><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal">I’m not her everyday, I’m sometimes not her for weeks or even months on end. If I'm honest there have been periods of time that have lasted years when she has eluded me completely.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">But this is not the first time I have become her, I have been her in the past and right in that moment, yesterday on the downs, I felt like I was her again and I was happy.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The woman I always wanted to be is a changeable aspiration, I have had her in my mind for almost as long as I remember, from about the age of six I would say.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">She has been a graceful ballet dancer, an ambulance driver, a perfectly groomed business executive, a blond, a competent fearless explorer, a fashion editor, a well read intellectual, a mother and more recently; a calm, centred island, unaffected by trivialities, non judgemental and confident in her opinions, healthy in body and mind.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Please don’t miss understand me, I am not professing to<i> be</i> a calm, centred island, unaffected by trivialities, non judgemental and confident in my opinions, healthy in body and mind. But yesterday there was a moment when I felt that I <i>was</i> all of those things, just for a moment.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It is interesting how the woman I always wanted to be has developed and evolved. I used to be able to<i> see</i> her clearly; what she looked like, the clothes she wore how she wore her hair, where she lived…Right now she only has<i> traits</i> I aspire to, she doesn’t have a physical appearance or a particular career or home just an inner calm and a happy self confidence.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>I’m sure as eggs are eggs that just as she has changed her form several times already she will go through many more metamorphosis in my life time.</b><o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In order to feel content I think our job is to accept that the woman we always wanted to be is changeable. accept that we will never be her all of the time. Keep chasing those moments when we become her and try to and make them as frequent as possible.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">Work at it, be disciplined, admit and learn from mistakes, don't feel defeated when she eludes you for a while and <b>always welcome her in to your life.</b><br />
<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4lHwdQxfKRYb8Lsta4Wh2rFbu-qkyqZ2KAPCvWtajVcsJ_SCIY_jQDXI5EthHSo5-D3aFJuBXeYTjFJK7Lx_hu9Xn6SvEkiVgmGp9N2azMBGN8x_WffV8ryWyw2K-_bSoo6O3PGN9wJp5/s1600/blog+palm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4lHwdQxfKRYb8Lsta4Wh2rFbu-qkyqZ2KAPCvWtajVcsJ_SCIY_jQDXI5EthHSo5-D3aFJuBXeYTjFJK7Lx_hu9Xn6SvEkiVgmGp9N2azMBGN8x_WffV8ryWyw2K-_bSoo6O3PGN9wJp5/s320/blog+palm.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Do this and there is a jolly good chance that on occasion, the woman you always wanted to be will be you :-)</span></b><o:p></o:p></div>Gilly Woohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09499870444313490414noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6041985873700227204.post-57910481403950418422011-02-27T02:51:00.000-08:002011-04-25T14:19:35.353-07:00The Reluctant Fashionista<div class="MsoNormal">Never let it be said that I am a fashion expert. I am not.</div><div class="MsoNormal">I am concerned with style.</div><div class="MsoNormal">Style is only occasionally, and not inextricably related to fashion. I am not now, nor have I ever been a ‘fashion type’</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>I have absolutely no interest what so ever in what is ‘in fashion’.</b></div><div class="MsoNormal">I place great importance on confidence, self-esteem, self worth, happiness and health.</div><div class="MsoNormal">What concern me in sartorial terms are workmanship, cut, proportion, comfort, quality, individuality and flattering silhouettes.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">(And glamour and glitter...But mostly only on a weekend and not at the expense of all of the above ;-)<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I know it’s been a really long time since I have posted anything here but I haven’t stopped writing. I have simply stopped publishing.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">I suppose I had a crisis of confidence over what I am actually doing here.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As I have said before, the fashion industry is a bitch. It tells you what to wear and then slags you off for looking crap in it. It gives you unachievable goals and makes you feel inadequate. It suggests that you compare yourself to ethereal, other worldly, oddly tall teenagers with impossibly perfect skin and obscene salaries.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3j8YUuEu7xm8Mztuw74ssJN6bb1ngLx1T895K4PyAl1RqVNzo-46QkweW8-PERNRrIW1SEdxKlKxed7VzwlvyH3X_u0O5Wes6N2y1yGxhKV03UofvtI8Z6yP3rTb5OOPIJyUAqEnM8lrt/s1600/vougue+cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3j8YUuEu7xm8Mztuw74ssJN6bb1ngLx1T895K4PyAl1RqVNzo-46QkweW8-PERNRrIW1SEdxKlKxed7VzwlvyH3X_u0O5Wes6N2y1yGxhKV03UofvtI8Z6yP3rTb5OOPIJyUAqEnM8lrt/s320/vougue+cover.jpg" width="247" /></a>I don’t want to tell you what to wear or what size to be or how high your heels should be or how to wear your hair, I want you to be free from thinking that any of these things matter in the least tiny bit as long as you are healthy and happy.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">But. I don’t want the fashion houses to stop using astonishingly beautiful girls in their campaigns either. I don’t want them to stop showing us high, high-end luxury that none of us will ever be able to afford. It is their job to give us beautiful things to be in awe of and to be inspired by. They are the peddlers of grown up fairy tales, storybook nonsense which is delightful and pretty and gay, the stuff of day dreams and misty eyed wistfulness.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDWrxqf-rBdf3p35BNjlMmG5dQ-tGWQrSFvztmUL54tuGIZ9M0Spm944c3TnW_2OnnN0sk3HCGRKAw5gsWmvst0AzW6l8A1WJcehO0aEtozTHK3G6suBzi8GcN0FoSzG9BGI3-k0mrA4R9/s1600/fairy-storie+book+pic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDWrxqf-rBdf3p35BNjlMmG5dQ-tGWQrSFvztmUL54tuGIZ9M0Spm944c3TnW_2OnnN0sk3HCGRKAw5gsWmvst0AzW6l8A1WJcehO0aEtozTHK3G6suBzi8GcN0FoSzG9BGI3-k0mrA4R9/s1600/fairy-storie+book+pic.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
If only people could just see it for what it is. A fairy tale, a silly nonsense which has little relevance to real life but which, if we are lucky, we can dip into occasionally and have fun with.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">If we place the blame for our poor body image and low self esteem at the door of the fashion media then I'm afraid that Hans Christian Anderson will have to answer for the fact that we compare our boyfriends to prince charming.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I want people to accept, and make the very best of, the life they have instead of mourning for one they don’t. </div><div class="MsoNormal">I want <i>people</i>, individuals, (<i>not</i> the fashion industry) to stop placing so much emphasis on how they look or what brand of handbag they carry or what generation their iphone is.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">It’s appalling that the most revered men and women in our society are models and pop stars and footballers. Why are our sons and daughters not aspiring to scientists and surgeons? writers and philosophers? Or even aspiring to just do well at something they care about?<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje14iiKDbzLL41xBrG7mWYFdJDgX6udI0LTNSIerTuJD7_o4XeeVOFhUCZPN8E1B7h3afzLlGCcbi0F_1B0b3-B9K8FcQkWlYkdTvUrYvseMsabg_g6G6Z_yEPGYL-3l7A4oDzVGnJIK6F/s1600/woo+30th.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje14iiKDbzLL41xBrG7mWYFdJDgX6udI0LTNSIerTuJD7_o4XeeVOFhUCZPN8E1B7h3afzLlGCcbi0F_1B0b3-B9K8FcQkWlYkdTvUrYvseMsabg_g6G6Z_yEPGYL-3l7A4oDzVGnJIK6F/s320/woo+30th.jpg" width="217" /></a>The message is if you are not beautiful you are worthless and I want no part of that. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>In reality, the only person who can make you feel inadequate is yourself.</b><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">If you know that you are making the very best of yourself in your own image then it doesn’t matter how many airbrushed photos of 14 year old waifs or perfectly groomed celebrities you see…your armour will be impenetrable and you will feel genuinely fabulous at least some of the time.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">I don't pretend to be a glamour puss. I am one. </span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">But then, I am a lot of things....</span><o:p></o:p></span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">I love dressing up, and sequins, and lipstick and big hair inherently. Obviously I do, but not all of the time.<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">I don't wear makeup to work half the time let alone to the gym! I hardly ever style my hair before 7pm and I love my sheepskin slippers (I don't even own a pair of fluffy mules!)<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">I am not defined by the way I look. There are more important things in life than fashion and make up, glitter even, (though probably not many)<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqp0OjmP0CPl8HxI0sTGBkmkBwEDuTfglARX63p3valAB3b4Yy-s2VXMhxFtTAuUZRy5hWgHCCZQGB2yqBNYBhf6shPUIl6jrxmXANC5puKmfSiqLEKcxu9gImEkRWrru-ICz2CPslmu1s/s1600/Photo+on+2010-10-16+at+20.52.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqp0OjmP0CPl8HxI0sTGBkmkBwEDuTfglARX63p3valAB3b4Yy-s2VXMhxFtTAuUZRy5hWgHCCZQGB2yqBNYBhf6shPUIl6jrxmXANC5puKmfSiqLEKcxu9gImEkRWrru-ICz2CPslmu1s/s320/Photo+on+2010-10-16+at+20.52.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">I frequently run into my ex boyfriend whilst wearing a three year old comfy jumper and without a scrap of make up on and it honestly doesn’t bother me in the slightest. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">I remember not so long ago I bumped into an acquaintance at a cocktail party, “Gilly, darling! You look gorgeous as always.” She said as she kissed my cheek “how ever do you manage to look so glamorous ALL the time?”<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">Before I could answer…<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">(“Because ALL the times you’ve seen me I’ve been at a cocktail party…”)</span> Jase chimed in.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;"><b>“There’s no in between with ‘er luv, she either looks like a movie star or a bag lady.”</b><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">He’s right of course. I never do things by halves.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Gilly Woohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09499870444313490414noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6041985873700227204.post-43195702892995401472010-10-25T15:26:00.000-07:002010-11-02T01:15:58.648-07:00How Luxury Lost It's Lustre:<span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">"Possessions, outward success,</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;"> </span></span></b></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #666666;">publicity, luxury--to me these have always been contemptible. I believe that a simple and unassuming manner of life is best for every one, best for both the body and the mind.” - Albert Einstein</span></span></b></span></b></span><br />
<div><b><b></b></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><b><br />
</b></span></span><br />
<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">A diam</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">ond: The ultimate luxury item, an age ol</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">d symbol of wealth, beauty,</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">perfection, love...The traditio</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">nal engagement gift, excepted as a token of a promise to spend eternity with someone.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532114380773110674" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjww1H11Dfx8M9P1Gj5hkK3kFrP6cY0onepcwJdpgzqI9BII1RqNwwLGP6f_Ye2QrMqJ1kfJXNbLKrrlIEW9UrlKr8NuKEKArLY4ESFir-gFGsIDHTXHdJh4BUvWjPFojP74AWZVQJ-5l6t/s320/home_diamond_4cs.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 280px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">A diamond takes over a billion years to for</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">m, they are impossibly rare and difficult to obtain These qualities mirror the enormity of the commitment of marriage, the rarity of true love.</span></span></div><div><div style="font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; min-height: 14px; text-align: center;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span><br />
</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">What makes one diam</span>ond better than another? the clarity? the cut? the number of carats?</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span><br />
</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">All of these things, but actually I would argue that it goes much deeper than that...Where did it come from?</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">You can now buy man made diamonds that are manufactured in laboratories and all over Africa diamonds are bein</span>g illegally traded to fund conflict in war torn areas.</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Is a diamond still a symbol of wealth, beauty, perfection, love... if it has been synthetically produced in a matter of days instead of naturally evolving over billions of years? Can you still wear it with pride knowing that it’s sale has funded we</span>apons which have killed innocent people?</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span><br />
</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">To me a diamond the size of a</span>grain of sand which is a naturally formed conflict free miracle of nature would be of far more value than a huge rock of a blood diamond or a man made impostor stone.</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><b>I believe that the defining features of a true luxury product are </b><i><b>all</b></i><b> about where it has come from and how it was made.</b></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532116427661916194" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbkSVF4TqnSs3p4CpOy3quUbL-xMgaTRNUD_dWCNxqGZhCcIPp-IygaL_yvRvZUA4lxDY9w7f2af00alKTWTHFMBTu61aivTV4XKzZgSUjpzQrw9Y-lHnfYNoLCsRvcBOkvhQsPK_H6fZM/s200/lacemakers.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 133px; margin: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 200px;" />In Edwardian times hand made lace was valued as much as rare and expensive gem stones and precious metals. It can take a skilled worker up to a day to make a daisy the size of a postage stamp.</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">On a recent visit to a lace museum I was lucky enough to hold in my hands a piece of lace that would have taken a collective of several workers many years to make.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">This particular piece of lace was produced some time in the late 1800‘s, a wealthy merchant had offered to pay £500 for it and was turned down. At the tim</span>e £500 would have bought 10 houses.</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span>I studied the stitch <span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">wo</span>rk carefully and remember remarking that, to me, the creation of that lace flounce, (about a meter wide and maybe ten meters long) was as much a feat of human achievement as building a beautiful cathedral.</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span><br />
</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">The very idea that a team of women would sit and painstakingly weave hundreds of bobbins into minute knots for years and years to produce a flounce for a </span>skirt is almost as ridiculous as it is awe inspiring, but there it is. Luxury is rarely practical.</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534155773498467234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_gXxINNBCVG4mc96ubO388-zYAognohSdxd6rS33X5rzW6Lja1aD1Vj5qBRTPzPROZ7cLDuIaIgHPthJdhNuYFoYLDVvkMQ5SFQW8z1CVVgx0SWSD7uZUvKjCAMPp3EflD0wl8P4AKRUQ/s200/images.jpeg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: right; height: 200px; margin: 0 0 10px 10px; width: 178px;" /><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span>In the 1920’s when a Couture house wanted a perfume designed they would arrange to meet a ‘nose’ for a decadent lunch often accompanied by fine wine. During this meeting the house would discuss the mood of the perfume with the</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;">‘nose’ as well as what the scent should evoke, who it should represent and how it should relate to their brand.</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Sometimes design and packaging may also be discussed.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">A few weeks later The parties would arrange a second meeting and the house would hand pick a scent to represent their brand. The scent would be made up of flowers, spices and a base of orange water or rose water.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Chanel No 5 was the 5th scent presented to Gabrielle ‘Coco’ Chanel by her ‘nose’</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Most luxury brands today do not own, create, manufacture or distribute their perfumes,</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Now a days laboratories make generic chemical bases infused with mostly synthetic scents and keep them in storage until a designer picks one, there is no longer the tailor made process to achieve just the right scent and essence. It’s now just a matter of choosing something that hasn’t already been chosen by someone else.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span><br />
</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I agree that these processes by todays standards seem almost ludicrously labour intensive but that is the very </span>essence of what makes them luxury.</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><b>We have so much available to us now that we forget how little it is really worth, and more importantly, what the real cost in terms of humanity is.</b></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span><br />
</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Our clothes are made in sweat shops our food is farmed and unethical, we waste unthinkable amounts of everything every day when the people working in appalling conditions to produce it all for us have nothing.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span><br />
</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">The truth </span>is, few of us understand quality artisan craftsmanship nowadays because few of us ever experience it. How can we see an eau du toilet as substandard to an eau du parfume if eau du toilet is all we have ever smelt, how can we appreciate the skill and hours it takes to french seam bias cut silk chiffon by hand when we have bought a vaguely similar looking garment from Primark for less than £30?</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534152581572336866" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEC9gdFozZRet1BNy6y1KowXIihscVqkXuePOGFvju2jSdPrj8Fk8miB-mSMJ36wubcM6OkX6e8lEEWJM_v9ZJWF61fQmEnEdPOaGP4htP3fsTLaaoWrQS0SUjCSTEIeeq62BzBN0EeusD/s200/levis501-m-newwash.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 200px; margin: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 150px;" /><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">It takes just 8 minutes to make a pair of Levis 501’s from cloth on a roll to garment labeled and ready to ship. By contrast it takes me a</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">r</span>ound 18 hours to make a bespoke pair of jeans, I can not even argue that mine will last longer or be better finished, they wont, I don’t have industrial machines that ensure perfect lock stitching and super strong rivets, I make by hand and my product is fragile but it is also unique and that is what makes it valuable.</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span><br />
</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Luxury products are not practical, or necessary, or utility.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span><br />
</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">They are fra</span>gile, rare treasures, little pieces of history, pieces that have an extraordinary back ground, that only exist because someone cared enough to produce them for the sheer joy of making something beautiful.</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span><br />
</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><b>True luxury items have no real use other than to seduce, but they can inspire absolute joy</b>. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Boutique businesses are kept alive by those who understand, appreciate and can afford the <i>best</i> that money can buy.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><br />
</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">Our high street is saturated with fake luxury products that are designed to kid us into thinking we are living the high life but buying home made bread from a bakery where you can see the flour on the apron of the person who baked it, where</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;">you can feel the heat from the oven it came from, where you can hear tales of secret family recipes handed down through generations. That is far more satisfying than buying a ‘luxury’ loaf from Tesco’s finest or Sainsbury’s taste the difference range.</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span><br />
</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><b>If it’s not artisan </b></span><b>produced, it’s not true lux, if it is available in abundance, it’s not artisan produced, it stands to reason. You can’t buy luxury from a chain store.</b></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534153331575348338" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR0MmXQ-9fowLZHKXX0iXkDAsf0PCDFaDE0r87tMprqoxKJoCRjea4lEVhixgS7vw7ENHgMYCRBzmhPmKNFuA3MZuPm1syOuaztJXbvlkmLF3GQ0tjk7I-o1u9BPHQ5iGXgY7ItQveYUKP/s200/hermes.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: right; height: 200px; margin: 0 0 10px 10px; width: 150px;" /></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Why is there a waiting list for Hermes and no other handbag maker?</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Because Hemes still use artisan workmanship exclusively. Without exception every Hermes bag is made t</span>o individual customer spec by one person by hand, the only thing machine stitched is the inside pocket and sometimes the zip.</div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">The top stitching on an Hermes bag is done by hand, using a traditional saddle stitch and two extra long pieces of thread so that there are never any knots or joins visible in the stitching. </span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Hermes is such a famous brand name that they could buy a factory in China begin mass production and increase sales (and profits) phenomenally over night. But they don't, because Hermes understands the value of what it is to be a true Luxury brand producing true Luxury products.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><b><br />
</b></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><b>Status should always be a by product of quality and not the other way around.</b></span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><b>A companies success should always be down to product initially, not marketing</b>.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">I realise that this post is romantic and perhaps a little nostalgic, please don't misunderstand it.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Our modern high street offers affordability, choice and convenience in abundance and that's great, I embrace it, but it is harder to find the <i>really</i> special things nowadays and perhaps, harder still, to appreciate them.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Next time you treat your self something special just have a think about where it may have come from first. You never know, that 'special treat' may just lose it's lustre right before your eyes.</span></div><div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; min-height: 14.0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span><br />
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</span></span></span></span></div></div></div>Gilly Woohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09499870444313490414noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6041985873700227204.post-58130371475472156792010-10-16T09:21:00.000-07:002010-10-16T12:38:29.473-07:00The Last Single Girl?:<div style="text-align: center;"><b>"Once upon a time a man asked a girl to marry her. She said “No!” and she lived happily ever after in a lovely tidy house where she never cooked and always looked fabulous.”</b></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 105px; height: 130px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJwclpAEX1hlLuQz7fak8VTZhDLvQOIp37DPbVaOGSCHkD1z2MDTGrT6ZcH5nuK7t3B_CrKsbcLA06bcygAQYPNL-Pq5T8rKID479S27l5hiFCjohILrTvdCAW7aLlPb2peE2iEpCH1kB8/s320/s645785319_1184817_2597.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5528729349866554946" />After complimenting me on my achievements as a young business women a married man recently said to me:<div><br />“Gill, can I ask you a personal question?”<br />“Of course” I replied a little nervously.<br />“What about babies?” he said looking worried as if he was frightened for me.<br /><br />My response? A raised eyebrow and look of utter confusion.<br /><br />There are two answers to that question if you are single and in your 30’s, one is, “I don’t want kids.” the other is, “I hope I will have kids one day”. Neither ever seems quite satisfactory.<br /><br />It’s not like I have this perfect man who is waiting for me to be ready to start a family and I’m just ‘choosing’ not to be with him for the sake of my career. Though the amount of times I get asked that question (or similar questions such as “Don’t you want to get married?”) you’d think that that was the case.<br />Is it really still considered that at my age, if I want a baby I should just take what I can get and marry the first man who’s willing?<br /><br />I’m not making a conscious choice not to ever have babies and I’m aware of the fact that time is ticking, but short of marrying a man I’m not in love with or running screaming to the sperm bank (before which I would probably have to rob an actual bank) what on earth choice do I have?<br /><br />Then there is the sympathetic cock of the head accompanied by “awww, you’ll find someone honey” (usually in a baby voice) *puke*. Talk about patronizing!<br /><br />What about the fact that I am a well rounded confident and self sufficient human being who feels perfectly complete just as she is. What about a “well done for not choosing the wrong guy” or “congratulations on avoiding a divorce.”?<br /><br />It’s not as if I haven’t tried, I go on dates, I’ve done the internet thing and I’ve had a great time, I’ve had long term relationships and short term relationships and I’ve worked at them. and (with an inevitable couple of exceptions) we are all still friends. It just hasn’t worked out.<br /><br />What if I don’t find ‘him’, what if I am all there is in my future? Is that so terrible? Is that a reason to feel sorry for me? I don’t feel sorry, I feel fabulous!<br /><br />And why shouldn’t I?<br /><br />I have a career that I love, amazing friends who I adore and a tight family unit. I feel secure and loved and lucky every day. What more could anyone ask for?<br /><br />A while ago I read a wonderful piece of research by an American genealogist which suggested that our genetics could pre-dispose our relationship patterns. She claimed to have found a gene that could be linked to commitment phobia. She went on to explain that in ancient caveman tribes not everyone would have paired up. There would have been monogamous couples who bought up Children in a family unit and there would have been others who may have remained single to play other roles in the community.<br />Instead of spending time raising infants the singles could be, for example, inventing things and perfecting skills for the good of the tribe.<br /><br />The research suggests that with out the dictations of our modern society there might be many more bachelors and bachelorettes knocking around happily leading perfectly fulfilled lives without a spouse or children.<br /><br />Maybe that is my destiny, maybe not, but I’m happy to go with the flow on this one. I won’t have a baby because society suggests that I must to fulfill my role as a woman.<br /><br />Earlier this year Venue magazine published a piece in their Valentines issue profiling happy successful South West singles...I was one of them...The head line was: “Sartorially Sassy Gill Cockwell - Single Fashion designer from Bristol.”<br /><br />A local radio station saw the article and asked to interview me live on air. During the interview they suggested that I could not be truly happy on my own and that I must feel a little sad about not having a partner to spend Valentines day with. I argued that whilst I love being part of a couple and I am in no way dismissing the benefits of being in a loving relationship I also genuinely relish my time being single, I don’t feel that I’m missing out and there are many wonderful benefits to being on your own too.<br />You have to agree that it is perfectly possible to be happy without a significant other in your life, the alternative is utterly destructive.<br />My lifestyle suits me. I’m more productive, more flexible and more available to my friends and my work, I find it bizarre to have to justify being happy without a boyfriend.<br /><br />It should come as no surprise to those who know me when I write that there are many crystals in my life... crystal encrusted ball gowns, crystal encrusted jewelry a drag queen named Crystal...and, (before I accidentally smashed them) I did own a couple of crystal champagne flutes once...But. I don’t own (or have access to) a crystal ball. Therefore, I am afraid I am unable to tell you weather or not I will ever marry or have children.<br /><br />But. I can tell you this: I am, genuinely happy, just as I am. <div>Now, can someone tell me; Why is that so hard to believe?</div></div>Gilly Woohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09499870444313490414noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6041985873700227204.post-63122321235823190112010-07-09T12:15:00.000-07:002010-07-09T13:14:23.251-07:00How a Haircut Can Change your life:<!--StartFragment--> <img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 152px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI96TcKR7XNXc2NopUozCxlMv16ol7kNmhvEYRQS5EX0_d3J4Tt3v754V1z7bfktfEyVoDJ64SgrljK_9RjDTcuNUtzi-FO9EBNZvHspGcP1RZu0ZR8fhrMKCGcsmsF1ikaaJ1IubTuTxw/s200/Winona_Ryder_5.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491997331336313890" /><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:medium;"><b>Once </b></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia; "><b>upon a time, (after a break up) I cut off all my hair.</b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size:16.0pt;mso-bidi-font-family:Georgia; mso-bidi-font-family:Georgia;font-size:48.0pt;">I</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> have always had very long, thick, wavy hair and everyone told me I was mad to </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia; ">do it, but I needed a change and I was determined to have one.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I had vi</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia;font-size:medium;">sions of </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia;font-size:medium;">a cute, elfin cut like Winona Ryder or Audrey Hepburn. Modern</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia;font-size:medium;">, sophistic</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia;font-size:medium;">at</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia;font-size:medium;">ed</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia;font-size:medium;">. A new grown up sensible me.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Jason </span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">(bos</span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">om buddy and hairdresser of 15 years)</span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> had to smoke a whole packet of cigarettes </span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">(don't do it kids!)</span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> and have a stiff drink before he could pluck up the courage to chop off </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia;font-size:medium;">my lock</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia;font-size:medium;">s...He desperately tried to talk me out of i</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia;font-size:medium;">t, he was convinced I'd hate it and bl</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia; ">ame him forever, he knew it wouldn’t suit me.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">It didn’t suit me at all of cou</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia;font-size:medium;">rse, (Jason was absolutely right about that,) But I never regretted it for a second, it was really very liberating and it did actually change my life.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-bidi-;font-family:Georgia;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-bidi-;font-family:Georgia;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-bidi-;font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I found that I didn't get nearly as much attention as I did when I had long hair.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><b>I didn’t look sexy any more. I still felt sexy but I didn’t look sexy. </b><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-bidi-;font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">At the time part of me was relieved to be invisible for a while. I was wounded and I needed a little time to heal but it also gave me space to develop my personality without having to live up to an image.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-bidi-;font-family:Georgia;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-bidi-;font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">It felt natural to tone d</span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-bidi-;font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">own the glamour too, Jase and our mate Marc,</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">(genius with a hairpin, responsible for the best vintage up dos this side of 1946 and can do all the actions to ‘the court of King Caracticus’ even after 9 tequilas)</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></span><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-bidi-;font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">call it my 'hippy' phase, (usually accompanied by a disapproving curl of the lip.)</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-bidi-;font-family:Georgia;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-bidi-;font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I found that socially, I had much more meaningful interaction with men </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">and</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> women. Perhaps I was more approachable when I was not so overtly 'sexy', less threatening maybe…Perhaps I was more timid too, less overpoweringly confident (overpowering confidence; so often a mask for deep insecurity)…perhaps people, (men in particular) were simply less eager to impress and more relaxed, perhaps, in turn, that made me less cautious, more trusting. What ever it was, it was refreshing to be seen differently and I saw others differently too.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-bidi-;font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I felt, in a way, like I was exposed, vulnerable, all I had to offer was me and my personality, the sequin encrusted minx I occasionally hid behind when I was socially uncomfortable or needed a superficial ego boost had left me all alone, I missed her a bit sometimes but mostly I was glad to be rid of the pr</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia; ">ovocative tart, she generally only attracted wallys anyway!</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-bidi-;font-family:Georgia;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-bidi-;font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I remember having this conversation with Jase a few years ago and he told me that when he changed his hair colour he felt people reacted differently towards him, "I swear people actually talk slower when I’m blonde!" he said, flabbergasted.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-bidi-;font-family:Georgia;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-bidi-;font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">You can make such a big statement with the way you dress and present yourself. It can be awesomely powerful but sometimes </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia; ">equally as frustrating when people can’t see past it.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-bidi-;font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">People make snap judgments about our personalities based on our outward appearance and that, right or wrong, is a fact.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-bidi-;font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">But, perhaps next time you have a bad hair cut, an acne breakout, put on a few pounds or don't feel as physically attractive as usual for whatever reason... you could use the time to be who you really are beneath the surface and work on detaching your self confidence from the way you look and attaching it to the way you really are.</span></span></p><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 176px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUCCvpSv-vvd5WdpSuX3f6W-H22jC-YWs1Aw0hM2FfC5Olm15uny9n56GddqbMXCMyN08Y2Lf3suqt7wtY7hV2X4CamzX-olmyX_PGQC7PbrsRUHgCoGzaYwx-9XjtzsJFnKQAJpACWQSL/s200/j305813.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491999558193768338" /><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0cm;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-bidi-;font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Having </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia;">a </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia;">really bad haircut changed my life for the better,</span></p><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1wEI3JqN8SorhO5dojlfXcdbYVMWkf5H07xfmVifE_jppVu69L9W08pjkYk7r1ixq87B1xtg2Co6kM_8LG-W0NI36_ocVkS99OgeRfQz0fFsDQnsUpwbjKuWRZ3tbvZNeLAjh5ehf_gnu/s200/0c075b11bb32ff6cdc5fc02fb56d30ea.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492000244669216226" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia;">I got to know myself on a deeper level, I left a superficial bit of myself, (which I used to believe I couldn’t function without,) behind me f</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia;">or goo</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Georgia;">d. I relaxed a little bit more in to my own skin and I accepted who I was without the glamorous exterior... Which happens to be a nice, shy girl who consistently procrastinates, has an unshakable guilt complex, magpie tendencies, a fondness for musical theatre and a real love for the smell of library books and honeysuckle.</span> <!--EndFragment-->Gilly Woohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09499870444313490414noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6041985873700227204.post-53034449611800552402010-03-28T06:31:00.001-07:002010-03-29T09:56:16.174-07:00All Good Things...: part 7After a good nights sleep and another fabulous breakfast at our favourite place Dave and I decided to take a trip to Brooklyn Museum to see a photographic exhibition called 'Who Shot Rock and Roll?'.<br /><br />We took the subway and on our way there a young man of about 19 entered our train carriage with a box of kit <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">kats</span>, he addressed the packed carriage and gave a confidently executed and engaging speech about being a young entrepreneur trying to fund his college education by selling sweets to commuters.<br />I remember thinking what a good story it would make if he ever made it big and wrote his autobiography. He was a charming boy, if I'd had any change in my pocket I would have bought a kit <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">kat</span> from him<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEbcU_N77GsdKIVip9nOKbgQszhkJFnChyphenhyphenLEIUqD51kGf5wf4fgpnO3XUED3c3E17aDqivmsgQWiEu57z_Vva6EAw0xrm47rQrn2T9Di0VeEUPwWMXIwCRfX17B5GDT3ibhyphenhyphen9vcPQy5fnD/s1600/Andy_Earl_Bow_Wow_Wow.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 169px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453716198960117090" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEbcU_N77GsdKIVip9nOKbgQszhkJFnChyphenhyphenLEIUqD51kGf5wf4fgpnO3XUED3c3E17aDqivmsgQWiEu57z_Vva6EAw0xrm47rQrn2T9Di0VeEUPwWMXIwCRfX17B5GDT3ibhyphenhyphen9vcPQy5fnD/s200/Andy_Earl_Bow_Wow_Wow.jpg" /></a>.<br />The exhibition was inspired, it was absolutely full of iconic photographs. My favourite was this image by Andy Earl for the cover of an album by Bow Wow Wow.<br /><br />Beautifully costumed by Vivienne <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">Westwood</span> it is a recreation of Edouard Manet’s famous painting Le <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">déjeuner</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">sur</span> l’<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error">herbe</span> (The Luncheon on the Grass).<br />The picture caused quite a stir at the time because Anabella <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error">Lwin</span>, (the naked lead singer,) was underage and did not have her mothers permission to pose nude.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_gKRn1uYrKX1IcJd7YUo9QBCXjCEg4phkwj3hbtfrpPCMfmNk_GWDHWbCwiHpJyD5-1mp2kwRzMT9z26qta1LVinKRdSQqToBdzQ62EHjnB0U-2AAgxlL_8hjyIRHImFUdCvjiQk-xdx2/s1600/edouard-manet-luncheon-grass-picnic_preview.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 158px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453716286613882914" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_gKRn1uYrKX1IcJd7YUo9QBCXjCEg4phkwj3hbtfrpPCMfmNk_GWDHWbCwiHpJyD5-1mp2kwRzMT9z26qta1LVinKRdSQqToBdzQ62EHjnB0U-2AAgxlL_8hjyIRHImFUdCvjiQk-xdx2/s200/edouard-manet-luncheon-grass-picnic_preview.jpg" /></a><br />I loved the vibrant colours and the modernity of this version of such a classic image.<br /><br />By the time we left the museum it was blowing a gale out side, it was snowing heavily and it was freezing cold. We battled against the wind as we walked towards the high street in search of somewhere warm to stop and have a bite to eat.<br />I had on my red leopard print ballet pumps which I had believed to be the sensible choice being that they were flat and I'd expected to be on my feet all day.<br />My shoes were soaked through and my feet were numb with cold...(proving to me, as if proof were needed, that flat shoes are <em>never</em> a sensible choice for a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error">fasionista</span>.)<br /><br />We reached a road which must have had a blocked drain or something because there was a river of freezing water to cross! Davy gallantly scooped me up in his arms and carried me across the road to a welcoming, warm, dry pizzeria. We ate slices of homemade pizza and drank diet coke as we watched the snow fall.<br /><br />We'd lost track of time waiting for the weather to improve and suddenly I realised how late it was.<br />There was no question of me going out in Manhattan on a Saturday night wearing a denim mini and flat shoes with wet hair so we made our way back West so that I could change in to some sequins and killer heels and put on some lipstick.<br /><br />We had arranged to meet my friend Tim in the bar at his hotel and I realised now that we were going to be very late.<br /><br />Tim is a very talented, very handsome graphic designer who I'd met at the wedding of a client and all round lovely girl, who's bridal gown I had made.<br /><br />We had become <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-error">facebook</span> friends and through the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_9" class="blsp-spelling-error">boastings</span> of our status updates had realised that we were going to be in the big apple at the same time, so, we arranged to meet up.<br /><br />Tim was in New York with his mother to celebrate her birthday.<br />Tim's mother (who I have never had the pleasure of meeting) is by all accounts a bit of a fox and unsurprisingly had secured a date with a pleasant gentleman from Kentucky that evening which left Tim free to enjoy a cocktail or two with us.<br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>I got ready as quickly as I could, but to be fair, you can't hurry heated rollers can you? They take as long as they take.</strong><br /><br />We got to the hotel an hour late.<br />"I'm so sorry" I said dramatically as I flounced in to the bar, and I meant it, but I mean, there had been a blizzard to contend with! and we'd been in Brooklyn of all places!<br /><br />My excuses fell on deaf ears as Tim berated me for leaving him on his own for an hour and greeted Davy warmly, the boys shared a joke about my hopelessness before ordering 'one for the road'.<br /><br />Our pretty barmaid eyed Tim wistfully while we drank up and my guilt eased slightly as I realised he'd probably been well looked after in our absence.<br />We finished our drinks quickly and hailed a cab on 5<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_10" class="blsp-spelling-error">th</span> to take us East.<br /><br />Now... I am in the very fortunate position of having a very beautiful and very talented freelance seamstress in my employment who happens to have a very handsome and very talented brother who is in the employment of Hendricks Gin, as the national rep for the company his knowledge of the best bars in <em>any</em> city is second to none...<br /><br />I was marginally apprehensive but very excited none the less about introducing my friends to one such bar.<br /><br />We exited t<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxZ_Y2_SKZXD1IJ0z9nGxa-UgshH-tPg7wfcBsFQklgpths38ga_jB7-sRiEhelA35XJOH8KWsgLIIv-EZpARcJ7umGz4fayllPRgsx1EmwFB0umw9MXyNwiGpIulA4Rl1KpVhhW8th7td/s1600/hotdog.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 150px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454021798492840946" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxZ_Y2_SKZXD1IJ0z9nGxa-UgshH-tPg7wfcBsFQklgpths38ga_jB7-sRiEhelA35XJOH8KWsgLIIv-EZpARcJ7umGz4fayllPRgsx1EmwFB0umw9MXyNwiGpIulA4Rl1KpVhhW8th7td/s200/hotdog.jpg" /></a>he taxi at the correct address and waited outside briefly for George and Stefania to arrive.<br />We were all gathered in the door way of a dodgy looking hot dog shop, all neon signs and $1 dogs.<br />Everyone was looking to me for an explanation but I knew it would make sense in the end.<br />I motioned for everyone to follow as I walked into the hot-dog shop, people in coats were queueing to buy fast food, paint was pealing off the walls, there was a strong smell of frankfurters and onions, in short, there wasn't the slightest hint of glamour anywhere to be seen. It has to be said, I felt quite out of place.<br /><br />I looked around nervously... eventually I spied a battered old phone booth in the corner, relief washed over me and I confidently strolled over fluffing up my hair and entered the booth.<br /><br />I picked up the phone.<br /><br />'Welcome to Please don't tell, can I help you?' said the professional female voice on the other end of the line.<br /><br />"I have a party of 5 please." I answered hesitantly.<br /><br />Just then a secret door in the back of the phone booth opened to reveal a quilted leather clad haven decked with crystal chandeliers on the other side, the beautiful hostess looked us up and down and ushered us inside. You are very welcome, she said but we may need your table by 1am.<br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>Translation: if we decide you are not fabulous enough for us we reserve the right to kick you out in 30 minuets time.</strong><br /><strong></strong><br />We were shown to a comfortable booth with red leather seats and subtle lighting. and given elegant cocktail menus to peruse.<br />George shook my hand enthusiastically and quipped " bloody hell Gill, it's like you have the key to this city or something! I can't believe they let us in here."<br />"You can get in anywhere as long as you're consistently over dressed and subtly over confident" I answered with a wink.<br /><br />We enjoyed a wonderfully decadent evening of bespoke cocktails and table service in beautiful surroundings and were grateful to note that we didn't get kicked out at 1am, in fact we stayed until after 3.<br />Obviously we were, just, fabulous enough.<br /><br />On the way home we stopped for a late night bite at and a nightcap and Tim got chatted up by the waitress. Again.<br />We said our goodbyes to George and Stefania then and that's when I first felt a little sad, we'd been having so much fun I'd almost forgotten that I'd be leaving the next day.<br /><br />Tim, Davy and I shared a cab back up town and I stole a little kiss from Tim as he got out of the car, "see you back in Bristol kid" he said with a parting wink.<br /><br />Davy slept the rest of the way back West and I watched him fondly as I reflected on the weeks events.<br /><br />That I was in love with Manhattan there was no doubt, but being with her this past week had rekindled a love that I'd thought had been lost.<br />I thought about the offers of employment I'd had and I thought about Gilly Woo.<br /><br />I'd stuck up for her and been angry when Mark* had slagged her off and suggested she was inadequate, I'd felt disappointed and uninspired at the thought of designing under another name...under someone <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_11" class="blsp-spelling-error">elses</span> name.<br /><br />I'd felt uneasy about the prospect or compromising her artistic integrity and potentially, her reputation, for commercial success.<br /><br />I didn't want to loose her... suddenly I felt short of breath at the thought of loosing Gilly Woo.<br />No matter what I'd gone through, the long hours the financial struggle, the constant pressure, never switching off, never being able to do enough, all the sacrifices I'd made...I'd made for the love of it, for the love of Gilly Woo.<br />I couldn't feel that way working for a business like Marks where money in the till was more important than happy customers, or Carries where I'd be designing dresses I didn't care about for women I'd never meet.<br />This is what I was meant for, Gilly Woo and I belonged together. Manhattan was a glamorous and exciting mistress no doubt, but no one does glamour like Gilly Woo!<br /><br />I slept a little uneasy that night, my head full of thoughts and ideas and apprehensions.<br /><br />Davy was flying from JFK and I was flying from Newark so after breakfast we said goodbye and I wished him a safe journey and told him not to be late (cos he's always missing flights,) and then I walked back to the hostel feeling a little melancholy if truth be known.<br />Once there I collected my bags and checked out.<br />I received a text message from Mark while I was waiting for my cab to the airport.<br />'Meet me for lunch?' it said,.<br />I replied that I was leaving today and had a flight to catch so I would be unable to.<br />'Stay longer...If you need money just say how much.' came the reply.<br />To say I was tempted, is probably understating it, but I had a business to get home to and a reignited flame of passion to fan.<br /><br />Maybe one day, with hard work and dedication, we could return to Manhattan together, Woo and I, and the three of us could make a go of it....Stranger things have happened.....Well spoken James Bond baddies in coffee shops, Talking walruses, Hawks living in penthouses....<br /><br /><strong>If I can make it there, I can make it anywhere....It's up to you....</strong>Well, actually, it's up to me...<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4mM7iB0ncOemlw2SEaYtTocZzsvIl9zJRJ7xrieISXB1wyXLp1r6j5FdvSfX2M4GgUHAs6lrgzi2N6WDi6Pc-NkcF1QMIjnF30rnUB2HuQ6TQblA_nCpZ5duvNmpHkAdExNsx_p74o5mN/s1600/woo.bmp"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 132px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454080910301296258" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4mM7iB0ncOemlw2SEaYtTocZzsvIl9zJRJ7xrieISXB1wyXLp1r6j5FdvSfX2M4GgUHAs6lrgzi2N6WDi6Pc-NkcF1QMIjnF30rnUB2HuQ6TQblA_nCpZ5duvNmpHkAdExNsx_p74o5mN/s200/woo.bmp" /></a><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">The End.</span> </strong><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">(or maybe...it's just the beginning ;-)</span>Gilly Woohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09499870444313490414noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6041985873700227204.post-69914266451814536262010-03-26T14:05:00.000-07:002010-03-28T07:37:28.610-07:00Girl Interupted: part 6I don't recall exactly what time Davy arrived but I'd fallen asleep in my clothes, (boots and all.)<br />It was Frank Sinatra that woke me up, 'heaven, I'm in heaven, and my heart beats so that I can barely speak...' my mobile phone ring tone sang, 'I seem to find the happiness I seek, when we're out together dancing cheek to cheek'....I answered a little dazed...<br />It was Davy..."oh my God! are you actually here?"<br />I ran down stairs and there he was, waiting in reception like it was the most normal thing in the world.<br />"I can't believe we're in New York!" I squealed hugging him tightly.<br />"You were asleep weren't you?" Davy asked with a knowing Irish grin.<br />"I had a late night" I shrugged trying to look innocent.<br />"Why doesn't that supprise me? trust you to find a party on a Wednesday night...lets go for a pint and you can tell me all about it"<br />We dumped his bag in my room and headed out on to West 94th Street in search of local hospitality.<br />We found an Irish bar not far from where we were staying and settled there for the duration, we had intended to have a quick pint and go exploring but it was only Thursday. We had big weekend plans and besides, there were some incredibly drunk locals who were entertaining us no end.<br />A pretty American girl, immaculate in a glamorous cocktail dress was screeching at her boyfriend whilst stumbling around delirious with the heel of her shoe in her hand,"oh myee Gaad! my heel snapped off honey, I've broken my gaad damn shoe!"<br />Her beau looked bored and continued to watch the football game glassy eyed with his head propped up on one hand while he vaugely waved the other in her direction, motioning for her to sit down.<br /><br />Meanwhile a fat guy in shorts and a baseball cap (it was December!) tried quietly and tentatively to chat her up whilst keeping one eye on her boyfriend the other, nervously watching the door.<br />It was like being in an episode of some far fetched sit com! New York so often makes me feel like I'm in the middle of a film set.<br /><br />Davy and I observed and giggled and chatted and then it was after 1am and we realised we hadn't eaten.<br />We asked the landlord where we could get food from at this time of night and after the obligatory, I'm Irish, you're Irish, where do you come from chat with Davy, he produced a Mexican menu from under the bar, we ordered, and ten minutes later a courier arrived with nachos and quesidia in little foil parcels :-)<br /><br /><em><strong>The morning After the Night Before...</strong></em><br /><br />I was excited about taking Davy to my local diner for breakfast, I knew he'd love it as much as I did. No one does breakfast like New Yorkers.<br />On previous visits I'd sat at the counter and chatted to the waiters but this time we chose a booth, we ordered blueberry pancakes, eggs, bacon, home fries, coffee and fresh orange juice, and perused the New York Times. What better start to a perfect New York day?<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPccNwQ7uEFo8QkSiHs97kdbR7OodppHxD9oqSowa5HNPzN4pKyS505t-ksXmoeQZ6gxEpaB9U03AYtIMwXwBEPZJbaCkqKTfbOMfmHf_p4Q1JnDG6o6jenhtHEV2c6XlsKUWTKoh6WB26/s1600/alice_in_wonderland_central_park_manhattan.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453076078351855746" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPccNwQ7uEFo8QkSiHs97kdbR7OodppHxD9oqSowa5HNPzN4pKyS505t-ksXmoeQZ6gxEpaB9U03AYtIMwXwBEPZJbaCkqKTfbOMfmHf_p4Q1JnDG6o6jenhtHEV2c6XlsKUWTKoh6WB26/s200/alice_in_wonderland_central_park_manhattan.jpg" /></a>The weather was mild for the time of year and we decided to go for a walk in central park.<br />there was magic in the air again that bright December morning, and we came across, quite by accident, a bronze statue of Alice in wonderland sat upon a mushroom.<br /><br />It was really was quite delightful and instantly my favourite line from the book sprang to mind.... "the time has come the walrus said to talk of many things, of shoes and ships and sealing wax, of cabbages and kings"...I know it's supposed to be surreal but when I first read it, I simply thought, 'what wonderful conversational topics that Walrus suggests,' I had new red patent leather shoes with ankle straps and bows on the front, I'd just discovered that sealing wax was different from candle wax during a project on Victorians at school, and our neighbours were growing cabbages and marrows in their garden, I think I was 7 or 8 at the time.<br /><br />A little later we stopped to admire an apartment block with a penthouse roof top garden.<br /><br />"Next time I come here I'll be staying in your penthouse Gill, cos you'll have one one day" Dave quipped with a smile and a twinkle in his eye.<br /><br />Just then we noticed a majestic bird of prey with a huge wing span glide right off the top of that penthouse and into a tree in the Park, we observed it for a while awe stuck before we noticed a couple of twitchers with enormous telescopes right behind us.<br /><br />"we've been here everyday this week hoping for a glimpse of him and you guys just happen to be walking by when he arrives, must be your lucky day" one of the bird watchers remarked.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFzLSiHq6ZAZ5VX0ZuJbDPSTHXaa8bv_FUUZiZaWYktUVo_JwFdJdEolm5mWzpCcTGHuu_1lHr_wryuZwZPuM6u747bQZwBFkXCR7y6pWLeTYZNYGDqAvc1ikf9nBr1xqcXaElMWQWsmgp/s1600/hawk.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 102px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453084433651192786" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFzLSiHq6ZAZ5VX0ZuJbDPSTHXaa8bv_FUUZiZaWYktUVo_JwFdJdEolm5mWzpCcTGHuu_1lHr_wryuZwZPuM6u747bQZwBFkXCR7y6pWLeTYZNYGDqAvc1ikf9nBr1xqcXaElMWQWsmgp/s200/hawk.jpg" /></a><br />It turned out that the bird we had been so fortunate to observe was 'Pale Male' a daring red tailed hawk who has managed against the odds to thrive in New York City and has become somewhat of a local celebrity by all accounts.<br /><br />Complete with his very own swanky penthouse nest over looking central park and paparazzi photographers camped out in the bushes with telescopic lenses waiting for a glimpse of him, he seemed to me, every bit the handsome wild thing you would expect to solicit such a glamorous lifestyle :-)<br />We left the park refreshed and wandered aimlessly around Tribecca for a while, window shopping and stopping for coffee and cake in a little gallery cafe where we admired tiny sheep sculptures and photographs of India.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLH6vXdNj6byU0MxyFhoCnXFvZBLFdYxWS40EznuuPYSksaeQ3ydpDLv2n0VQtT4xfkx6zd5fX4DqtCLvYeyi3wjbOfD-GuqV9Z9sHuX-Nsd9f-5vX1UVG5tJ2Y3xy2TbbPNDeu_SR6D6Z/s1600/Dyed%2520Blue%2520poms.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 133px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453690542944436274" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLH6vXdNj6byU0MxyFhoCnXFvZBLFdYxWS40EznuuPYSksaeQ3ydpDLv2n0VQtT4xfkx6zd5fX4DqtCLvYeyi3wjbOfD-GuqV9Z9sHuX-Nsd9f-5vX1UVG5tJ2Y3xy2TbbPNDeu_SR6D6Z/s200/Dyed%2520Blue%2520poms.jpg" /></a><br />Davy had a friend, George, who he'd met when he was travelling, George lived in Manhattan with his Italian wife Stefania.<br />They had kindly invited us over for dinner that evening and I was excited about meeting them.<br />We took the subway the rest of the way to the lower East side.<br />Dave and I tried in vain to pick up a nice bottle of wine for dinner in a local shop but everything was either German or in a carton so we opted for some bottles of beer instead, it was George's birthday and it had occurred to us a little too late to pick up a gift for him, choice at the 7-11 was limited but we opted for a bouquet of bright blue flowers, "blue for a boy!" I exclaimed excitedly when I noticed the bouquet.<br /><br />We found their apartment easily as Davy had been there before, it was one of the cleverest, quaintest spaces I have ever been in.<br />Their entire apartment was smaller than my average sized bedroom at home and there were two people living in it!<br />There was a cabin bed with a desk underneath it and various musical instruments hung from cleverly constructed hooks and pulley systems on the ceiling.<br />When we arrived Stefania put the flowers in water and George assembled a low table from different bits of wood which he produced from various nooks and crannies around the room, he then arranged cushions about the table to create a lovely dinning space.<br />It was quite wonderful and certainly innovative. George is a furniture designer and he had made excellent use of the tiny space with very clever storage and shelving.<br />Stefania was in the kitchen (which was in the bedroom...) she is a chef and dinner smelled fabulous!<br /><br />The reason they live in the smallest apartment I have ever seen?<br />Simple. It's rent controlled and it's in Manhattan.<br /><br />George has lived there for years and If they moved now they couldn't afford to live on the island so they sacrifice space for the love of Manhattan. I would do the same in a heart beat. (Only I'd have to rent a storage unit in Brooklyn for my shoes;-)<br /><br />We were treated to a wonderful pasta dinner followed by apple and Cinnamon doughnuts and herb tea. It was delicious and I felt blessed to have spent my evening with three such lovely people.<br /><br />Out of the corner of my eye I noticed that the blue flowers Davy and I had bought for George were now quite white and the water they were in had turned electric blue! We all laughed and laughed and then we arranged to meet for drinks the following evening.<br /><br />I had a hot tip on a swanky cocktail bar not far from George and Stefania's apartment and there was a good chance that they might not have been there before.<br /><br /><strong>To Be Continued...</strong>Gilly Woohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09499870444313490414noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6041985873700227204.post-54036975677192074912010-03-25T16:17:00.000-07:002010-03-25T17:03:51.849-07:00Miss Golightly: part 5<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg42lXDDtU3prV3ourVkeB849D-VqFY7maaqe-TwbD0v8ANqigACU-0OB19yD6cfpNCKtI3VgPlSZzbv2fxw0h0WR4fGP25VMTcvZ897b8yTYbj-_aMw9PuQyqHoz9fpJbi00UaHl67JmWt/s1600/downpour-300x299.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg42lXDDtU3prV3ourVkeB849D-VqFY7maaqe-TwbD0v8ANqigACU-0OB19yD6cfpNCKtI3VgPlSZzbv2fxw0h0WR4fGP25VMTcvZ897b8yTYbj-_aMw9PuQyqHoz9fpJbi00UaHl67JmWt/s320/downpour-300x299.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452721080134815474" /></a><br />We stood there in the street in the middle of Manhattan at 2am in the pouring rain. <br />Mark was pleading with me not to go, and I was trying to hail a cab.<br />A homeless dude in a wheel chair who I'd given a couple of dollars to earlier that evening in return for a surprisingly moving, (if a little drunk,) acapela rendition of moon river, came over to check if I was ok..."Hey fella, you best not be messin' with ma sista y' hear. I got her back. m'kay?" <br />He scowled at Mark before turning to me and asking earnestly "you cool Woo, you cool? 'this guy bothering you?"<br />"I'm cool Joe, thanks for asking" I took my umbrella out of my bag and gave it to him, he took it, opened it and looked up with a grin, he kissed my hand before wheeling himself off down the street shouting as he went 'Like I told you fella, don't you be messin' with ma sista! I got her back y'hear!'<br />We were wet though, Mark was obviously a little shaken up, I felt sorry for him. <br />'Look, this is your neighbour hood, where can I get a pint?<br />We walked to a little Irish bar about a block away and I ordered two pints of beer.<br />For the first time that evening I paid the bill.<br />Mark opened up a little then and I won't go in to his personal life here but suffice to say I was right on the money about the British heart breaker.<br />This man was hurt and once he admitted it he wasn't so bad, he apologised for his behaviour and told me that I'd impressed him, he thanked me for listening to him and he offered help and advise if and when I was ever in a position to move to New York.<br />We have stayed in touch and he's actually a nice guy deep down, I'll visit him next time I'm in town.<br />There are important lessons here people...<br />1.don't be afraid to be honest with people, putting on a front can get you in to all sorts of trouble, people can generally sense when someone is not being genuine, communicating honestly with people if often difficult but usually rewarding...<br />2.you shouldn't always judge on first impressions, or take to heart peoples first impressions of you, if you have inner confidence and you are honest with yourself you can learn from constructive criticism and dismiss unnecessary nasty comments without a second thought...<br />3.It's never to late to change someones mind including your own, you just have to be open to it.<br />It was dawn by the time I finally got in a cab, Mark gave me fifty dollars to pay for it, (which was 3 times what it cost) I imagined myself as Audrey Hepburn in breakfast at Tiffany's for a moment, (before I realised the connotations and tried in vain to give the money back...)<br />I slept late and read a little the next day, I was reading an autobiography 'Dior by Dior', after reading about his experiences in New York City, filled with admiration and awe, I took a long shower in the small dingy bathroom and afterwards dressed in a bright floral tshirt dress, high heeled biker boots and a black leather jacket....I needed to be ready to go out, I had a friend coming to visit from London and I had a feeling he'd be wanting to go straight to the pub.<br /><br /><strong>To Be Continued...</strong>Gilly Woohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09499870444313490414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6041985873700227204.post-36903178487532408982010-02-11T15:43:00.000-08:002010-02-12T00:26:57.645-08:00Mr (I Think I'm) Big: part 4<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe3Um4wcwvG-fB6_LIDIasy5XjYhzVw_315al7jeANIrzFf1PBwwOjpsOz8fsLhZVXmIgzMxgreuchQ-ROKExpzznGWEDwFYWhLBaxGqBN4iofv21ysinsrCaF4-dGSmienA4CDQN8pZMR/s1600-h/statue+of+liberty.jpg"></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLYTT1MObpuazjsvKz-V-nuLe-g7gvrluZPW0pPHjQ9fGqF59medRDf6syAB5BPf1_b6vuD-fjcJEjyQ2OiLKdsUWRsZllai2H7G1V9fum190-1FgN_8JnqzxFpBws-SMOzJAWR6awQA9K/s1600-h/empire+state.bmp"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5437145252219763794" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLYTT1MObpuazjsvKz-V-nuLe-g7gvrluZPW0pPHjQ9fGqF59medRDf6syAB5BPf1_b6vuD-fjcJEjyQ2OiLKdsUWRsZllai2H7G1V9fum190-1FgN_8JnqzxFpBws-SMOzJAWR6awQA9K/s320/empire+state.bmp" /></a>I got to the boutique 10 minutes late because I hadn’t realised 5th Avenue was one way and I couldn’t get a cab.<br />I needn’t have worried though, Mark keep me waiting 35 minutes before he even acknowledged me.<br />Eventually he introduced himself and showed me to his office, I told him I would consider a management position but I’d be far more interested in something away from the shop floor.<br />He was fairly dismissive of me and never looked me in the eye once; he took several phone calls during the interview and interrupted me virtually every time I spoke, he was intimidating and it was making me uncomfortable.<br /><br />I don’t like being made to feel uncomfortable.<br /><br /><div><div>It is important to me that people feel comfortable in <em>my</em> company, I work hard at putting people at ease, when I don’t receive the same courtesy it gets my back up.</div><div><br /></div><div>I’ve had to deal with a lot of men like Mark in my life, if I’d read him right <strong>I could turn the power balance on it’s head and have him eating out of my hand</strong> (if I was wrong I’d lost nothing but the possibility of a job as a shop girl with a difficult boss in a country where a visa would cost half my basic salary….) </div><div><br /></div><div><strong>So I stopped trying to impress him there and then, he'd have to impress me. </strong></div><strong><div><br /></div><div></strong>I took my portfolio off the table and put it in my bag, I crossed my legs and lent back in my chair and I said, ‘look Mark, your product is fabulous, your boutiques are beautifully merchandised and you clearly have a thriving business but your branding sucks, your staff are pushy, the atmosphere is intimidating and you’re only internet presence is people bad mouthing your hard sell tactics on web forums.<br />If you want me to help you sort all that out fine but I’m not interested in a commission based retail job. Now, I don’t want to waste any more of your time you’re obviously very busy…. </div><div><br /></div><div>He looked at me incredulous…oh my god, he’s gonna kick me out I thought…. </div><div><br /></div><div>At that point a gentleman walked into the office, he smiled at me warmly and introduced himself ‘sorry to interrupt Mark but I need to talk to you about this spread sheet’<br />‘Not now Korai, listen, take this girl out for dinner, somewhere nice, I want to talk to her some more but I have an appointment, I’ll meet you later’</div><div><br /></div><div><strong>So…now Mr dismissive was buying my dinner ;-)<br /></strong><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1-VDV5RS3JBw30r0q41SqAHcM9EzJjmpArr8f6m_geXIblvVNKvih_Cw7d_31iCA5h3vsQDoTGfknk-tFQ5hycNMb-IQMbjxAeydhZh7aRbNpFw-tbQB2-ObUgsbnINd0IqAbcKij5XVa/s1600-h/rockefeller-center-christmas-tree-2007.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 126px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5437139793931883794" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1-VDV5RS3JBw30r0q41SqAHcM9EzJjmpArr8f6m_geXIblvVNKvih_Cw7d_31iCA5h3vsQDoTGfknk-tFQ5hycNMb-IQMbjxAeydhZh7aRbNpFw-tbQB2-ObUgsbnINd0IqAbcKij5XVa/s200/rockefeller-center-christmas-tree-2007.jpg" /></a><br />It was the night they switched on the Christmas lights on the enormous tree at the Rocafella centre.<br /><br />We tried to get close and have a look but the crowds were mad so we got off 5th asap and Korai took me to the Manderin hotel.<br />The resturant is on the 33rd floor and the views of Manhatten are to die for.<br /><br />We ordered Tempura and white wine and Korai told me he was from a town in Turkey where his dad was Mayer. His family were very wealthy and he didn’t have to work but he felt unfulfilled and came to America to gain an education and to better his English, his Fa<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCHo3NngNn2YAlN_GyOVNc_1TS1DjucisxpOvusSIm7RAU_EgLgkVMankFGTtMzY3ZhBk4-v4fQlmP8bZEb5NJkMIt0dhFMWWiNaDfJ9q-_oGMr6Uvnsn3vhqutrI_6gahfS6upkaRvo_i/s1600-h/manderin.jpgnyc.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 227px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5437138195902074706" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCHo3NngNn2YAlN_GyOVNc_1TS1DjucisxpOvusSIm7RAU_EgLgkVMankFGTtMzY3ZhBk4-v4fQlmP8bZEb5NJkMIt0dhFMWWiNaDfJ9q-_oGMr6Uvnsn3vhqutrI_6gahfS6upkaRvo_i/s320/manderin.jpgnyc.jpg" /></a>ther had said that he would disown him if he left Turkey so now he had to earn his own living and work very hard to support himself.<br />I loved the way he talked of hard work and of his achievements making him feel like a real man, the fact that he sought out hardship in order to challenge himself and gain a sense of pride, I related to that and I admired him for it.<br />He didn’t want to be kept, he wanted to make his own way, and he wanted to feel proud and justified.<br />So many people in our British society feel the world owes them a living, it’s easy to forget that you can’t buy self esteem, pride or a sense of achievement, these are things you <em>have</em> to work for, these are things that <em>have</em> to be earned, they bring you self worth, which is more valuable in terms of happiness than all the money in the world.<br /><br /><strong>The hardest things you ever do will often be the most rewarding.<br /></strong><br />After a while Mark arrived.<br />He greeted Korai warmly but barely looked at me, then, he paid the bill and informed us that we were leaving.<br />This man was so rude that I probably should have walked right then but Korai was nice, a real gentleman, I felt safe with him and I was alone in New York on a Wednesday night in December, spending time with this pair was as good an option as any.<br />We went to Mark’s apartment so that he could change, we sipped tequila and talked about dancing. Mark put on a waltz and I tried to teach Korai some basic steps. We were all laughing and the atmosphere softened slightly.<br /><br />Then talk turned to me, we discussed my background and my portfolio briefly and Mark said that I should forget about New York because I wasn’t strong enough to survive there, I didn’t have anything to offer and I was probably just running away from an old boyfriend any way. He pointed out that I didn't have an education, I was too old to start again and my portfolio was average. He added that all English girls were the same, none of us can be trusted, we are all stupid and think that we are better than everyone else. </div><div><br /></div><div><strong>‘So there you go I’m telling you this as a friend, you seem like a nice girl so I suppose you’ll just go home and continue your little dressmaking job then’ </strong>he concluded. </div><div></div></div><div></div><div>I honestly had to fight back the tears, really fight...because he'd been so harsh and venomous, and because a bit off me thought some of what he'd said was true. </div><div></div><div>I swallowed hard and looked him in the eye.</div><div></div><div></div><div>‘Maybe Mark, maybe not, that’s what this trip is about, I’m considering my options because I’ve reached a plateau and I need a challenge, I’ll gladly listen to your advice, as I would any ones but I won’t necessarily take it, you’re not that important.'</div><div><br />He was listening now.</div><div><br />It’s great to meet someone as successful as you are and I appreciate you taking the time to give me your opinion but to be fair you don’t know enough about me to make any of those assumptions, this is partly due to the fact that you haven’t listened to a word I’ve said since we met.<br />You’re an inspiration though! You have absolutely no social skills are clearly very insecure and have some serious inadequacy issues. These are things I know, because I have listened to everything you’ve said.<br />I am assuming that a British girl broke your heart and left you bitter too, and through all that, look what you’ve achieved! Blimey! Anything is possible in this city!’<br /><br />He smiled at me then, I smiled back, he picked up my portfolio, flipped though it again and said ‘I have the money to make your business work…lets go dancing.’<br /><br />We went to a near by Salsa club with a neon dance floor.<br />Korai couldn’t stay because he had work to do so he wished me good luck, told me anything was possible and backed up this statement with a delightful story about him and his mates discussing extreme sports over desert one evening. </div><div>After a whim and a few phone calls, by 2am they were all skydiving over Manhattan. :-)<br /><br />I had decided that Mark was a prize prick but I am always intrigued by socially dysfunctional people so I danced with him, he was a good dancer…a very good lead (no surprises there then!)<br />I told him of my ideas for off the peg collections and boutique stockists and how difficult and risky the supply chain seemed to me, he told me that I lacked intelligence and couldn’t do anything without someone like him.<br />I told him I was leaving without him, he chased me out of the club and begged me to stay, he told me I was the most amazing woman he’d ever met. He had tears in his eyes.</div><div><br /><strong>Finally this idiot was talking some sense.</strong></div><div><br /><strong>To Be Continued...</strong></div></div>Gilly Woohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09499870444313490414noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6041985873700227204.post-8715204474868353772010-01-31T08:41:00.000-08:002010-02-02T14:41:08.306-08:00A Journey to 5th Avenue: part 3<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoNpS9f83L1jieBWmEwjWvWbUpZp6EK34UWdnd_0PHt5pdRDWdEfPDj_L-MgvHMUYCGokrGNlH6Lu7pazyd0F2bk1K5JOChtmUF0dp2sjmiQv_oLRs4nk3jlGgf-idJL7loTfBcQs7Qk52/s1600-h/red+shoe.gif"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433779520345781090" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoNpS9f83L1jieBWmEwjWvWbUpZp6EK34UWdnd_0PHt5pdRDWdEfPDj_L-MgvHMUYCGokrGNlH6Lu7pazyd0F2bk1K5JOChtmUF0dp2sjmiQv_oLRs4nk3jlGgf-idJL7loTfBcQs7Qk52/s320/red+shoe.gif" /></a><br /><div><br /><div><br /><div><br /><div><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijCZc25WMb8JPv1qdlAh6INrxF1w67EEa105F_XET-hIyqlfdyiolnoaqR_7JRDCB3Zc8vw0LxAjyTkrX7thd6PqAAW8ZE0xB1AYTDolC03KeOVv2SLSkEI3pH_U77up-c4hyphenhyphen4hyGEMoO5/s1600-h/5th+ave.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 159px" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432992822356526818" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijCZc25WMb8JPv1qdlAh6INrxF1w67EEa105F_XET-hIyqlfdyiolnoaqR_7JRDCB3Zc8vw0LxAjyTkrX7thd6PqAAW8ZE0xB1AYTDolC03KeOVv2SLSkEI3pH_U77up-c4hyphenhyphen4hyGEMoO5/s200/5th+ave.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1NfWlCLSJE4AbXbOIjg1HlXR4VE4kkGjQfAjpB9lp-o54AYHVgHFcUVZLURRkDC7dmFLeRHLNh_CKL2bFWb56SOYaueWcX3xH9nCL6pVGe45s0H1CfCRfdSPCfP1Gl1alynkLVvZTJ4vB/s1600-h/manderin.jpg"></a><br /><div>On the way back to my temporary home that night I stopped at a 7-11 to buy a bag of pretzels and a travel plug for my heated rollers, and it hit me…that’s why I love New York so much! </div><br /><br /><div><strong>New York City is entirely designed for people exactly like me.</strong> </div><br /><br /><div>Chaotic, disorganised, time dyslexic, impulsive types who don’t even consider packing a travel plug (because they are too preoccupied with the silk/cashmere ratio in their suitcase) and occasionally need to find one without making the slightest effort or detour at 10.45pm. </div><br /><div>As I snuggled into bed that night with Christian Dior’s Autobiography for company I felt sure the next day would be full of wonder…and it was.<br /><br />I slept like a baby and bounded out of bed at 7am, I showered and dressed in a Julian MacDonald long sleeved black jersey wrap dress, opaque tights and <strong>red ‘T’ bar heels.</strong><br />Before I’d left Bristol my mate Jase (probably the best hairdresser in the world) gave me a valuable piece of advice <strong>‘darling, for Fifth Avenue you need big hair’</strong> who am I to argue? My hair was massive!<br />I packed my portfolio, a scrapbook full of my press clippings, my CV, some red ballet pumps and a lipstick to match into my black patent tote, I wore my silver Gilly Woo ‘G’ necklace for luck, a quick spritz of Channel Coco Mademoiselle and I was as ready as I’d ever be…<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKV8ubCHe_D2TF7enJ1qMhLzdsExdMchuUlbSVxQDM1rvbGjqI8YFxh-T3oUeSCiABxrBUs-MKg0Y9oSzUVn-2BktCtqtcwcP-LZBA8pM3VxT82yFTZuU2flv8yEmtxi2wSSaRQzmiSU7I/s1600-h/coffee.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 112px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 134px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433778557828548914" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKV8ubCHe_D2TF7enJ1qMhLzdsExdMchuUlbSVxQDM1rvbGjqI8YFxh-T3oUeSCiABxrBUs-MKg0Y9oSzUVn-2BktCtqtcwcP-LZBA8pM3VxT82yFTZuU2flv8yEmtxi2wSSaRQzmiSU7I/s200/coffee.jpg" /></a><br />I crossed the street to the Key West diner and sat at the counter, I ordered coffee, muffins, eggs and bacon. The waiter asked me where I was from and I told him I was from Bristol in England. There was a gentleman next to me reading the New York Times, he looked up, ‘do you know the Bristol Old Vic’ he said in a cut glass British accent…’of course!’ I replied, ‘I LOVE the old Vic.’<br /></div><br /><br /><div>He told me he was an actor, originally from Kent, he’d played the Old Vic in 1979 and he thought Bristol was wonderful.<br />His name was Robert Ian MacKenzie, (I found out later that he was in a 'A view to a kill' with Roger Moore!)<br />He’d been living in New York for 18 years after meeting and falling in love with an American music historian whilst appearing in an Opera in Italy, they married and moved to New York and they are still as in love now as they ever were.</div><br /><div>He told me how difficult the visa situation was at the moment and talked of the recession and immigration and his good friend Chesley Mclaren who lived a couple of blocks away. She is a successful fashion designer, illustrator and children’s author, he even rang her to ask her if she’d like to meet us for a coffee, but unfortunately she wasn't in.<br /></div><div>Now, you have to agree, this kind of thing just doesn't happen in London does it? </div><br /><div><strong>Only in New York City could you meet a guy from a James Bond movie at breakfast who wanted to hook you up with a fashion designer from down the street because it might be helpful to you in some way! </strong></div><br /><div>We talked for over an hour about work and museums and the difference between British and American culture, we found that we had both suffered from carple tunnel syndrome and he showed me his scar from a recent operation.<br />We stayed for pie and had more coffee and then he had to go for a casting so he gave me Chesley’s number and his card, directed me down Broadway and wished me the best of luck.<br /><br />It was around 10am by now and my interview wasn't until 4pm so I decided to walk down Broadway and take in New York City. I changed into my flats, reapplied my lipstick and set off for 5Th Avenue.</div><br /><div>After a while, when I’d walked about 20 blocks I stopped to admire a beautiful clutch bag made entirely of peacock feathers which was nestled under the arm of a mannequin in a shop window.<br />Just as I was about to tear myself away I noticed a sign in the window advertising for staff. I have absolutely no desire to work in retail ever again and it would be highly unlikely that I’d get a visa application approved for such a job but I had nothing to lose but time so I changed into my heels again fluffed up my enormous hair and strolled in.<br />A pretty blond by the name of Bonnie, greeted me enthusiastically as I entered the shop (by name and by nature I thought with a grin.)<br />I enquired about the advert and handed her my CV.<br />‘You are kidding me right!’ she squealed, ‘you put on fashion shows?’<br />‘er…yes’ I replied with a smile.<br />‘God man, *Mark is gonna love you! I’m gonna get you an interview right now, hold on honey, I’ll give him a call.’<br />(*Not his real name.)<br />‘I have someone fabulous here,' Bonnie said, 'British, adorable, tons of experience can you see her today?’…And that was that, I had another interview lined up at 6pm on 42Nd and 5Th. (Though I didn't have a clue what for!)<br /><br />I continued down Broadway until I found an Internet café, I ordered a latte and I googled the name of the boutique to gather some information.<br />It turns out there wasn't much information to gather, no official website, no company profile, but I did discover that there were a chain of 5 designer boutiques all located on the island of Manhattan, some further investigation gave me information on all the designers they stocked, most of them I knew well, the ones I didn’t I googled and got profiles on.<br />Bonnie had told me that three brothers owned the company, and that they were very sales orientated.<br />That would have to do. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2gnTwm9x3cR9Kr-pBLqhfSyNby6KSJnJSZOJbA-WxasEbWMw26p8a6kP49x5mSqS4Za_8Z4Va8GLVwETMAr-Gp4qS6vCE9nse2QlTOjelsxa1CwhJ0H92KMhAnC7S7Cw4JIJXG3KooOGm/s1600-h/pretzel.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 113px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 106px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433777358389755378" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2gnTwm9x3cR9Kr-pBLqhfSyNby6KSJnJSZOJbA-WxasEbWMw26p8a6kP49x5mSqS4Za_8Z4Va8GLVwETMAr-Gp4qS6vCE9nse2QlTOjelsxa1CwhJ0H92KMhAnC7S7Cw4JIJXG3KooOGm/s200/pretzel.jpg" /></a><br /><br />I started to make my way across town. I had found both the boutique and the bridal atelier by 3pm so I bought a copy of time out and a pretzel from a vendor and rested on a bench for a while.<br />Then I made my way over to my first appointment.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkRUG0SRIbNIhtRD7qPATNKTBHj5bjZaty-REHSN1nTTr4NZdG8h-jkC8FeyKmcKV3WT8HRaNPp1ubtQdYp4j5C6dHbDuA4hLMBY29rDpSITI9F15s6RRoWp4-3XcI6U-nlK1reic1nquE/s1600-h/pretzel.jpg"></a><br /><br />Carrie was still interviewing the previous candidate when I got there so I browsed through the stock and talked to the sales girls.<br />I was impressed; it was good stuff, Susanne Neville, Cymbeline, good designers, no crap.<br />When she was ready Carrie called me into her office, she was looking for a bridal stylist, a sales person with experience of dressing women and selling add ons, she looked through my portfolio and we talked about the possibility of me making a bespoke collection for the shop in addition to the styling, as soon as we started to talk figures I lost interest. I've been down this road before I thought, designing in house, selling under someone else’s name, do I really want to go in that direction again? Could I go back to making commercially orientated dresses? Reproducing the same safe boring ivory satin strapless ‘A’ line time after time, year after year?</div><br /><div>I liked Carrie a lot, I asked her if she was married, ‘to this shop’ she replied, ‘I know the feeling!’ I said, and we laughed and she winked at me and said, ‘honey, you and I could make a good team, all we have to do is sort you out a visa.’<br />Carrie said she would sponsor me in terms of helping with paper work and special skills documentation but that I would be responsible for all my own legal fees, she estimated it could cost me in the region of $8000.<br />Oh. My. God! Four grand! Really! and if they refuse my visa application? that’s it, no refund…just, better luck next time?<br />‘That’s about the size of it, have a think and let me know what you decide, if you want to move over here having a job to come to is your best chance of having your visa application approved.’<br />So we shook hands and she wished me luck and I headed off to my next appointment.<br /></div><div><strong>To Be Continued...</strong> </div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Gilly Woohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09499870444313490414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6041985873700227204.post-68553455090747553952010-01-31T03:23:00.000-08:002010-01-31T11:54:04.745-08:00A Fairy Tale In New York: part 2<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqO2hXSKylzAHGjJvS9M3SQkD-3sIH9DOrqhmIUY_G0ITBnqGf765j6jN4O24r8uxN9-JnQSKpAcMCt3Usv7PxsYRGbrASA94TfYpRmitJbq4vE8Y5Le8fe-ZTRFGCSPBT-RcUO1Q4VHk5/s1600-h/crysler.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432994347587625714" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqO2hXSKylzAHGjJvS9M3SQkD-3sIH9DOrqhmIUY_G0ITBnqGf765j6jN4O24r8uxN9-JnQSKpAcMCt3Usv7PxsYRGbrASA94TfYpRmitJbq4vE8Y5Le8fe-ZTRFGCSPBT-RcUO1Q4VHk5/s320/crysler.JPG" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg8HptvZtX6vY8tvCa-Xu3uHLWo3f0pbgQJro9EPyIaaMQL_wmUo_PoZ1-XHFbfYwFRZdypKlPNhj1uhP2KAKhrcjlpr4IRXRw66kP4lx_Xrj6om5K5z2XbAdtF8QcoIb4TSnbwZqTBSI0/s1600-h/cartier.JPG"></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaPkouZsejvKUGMYsz6_kPONX2-FK-2K4jco1VQD_Xp6KVJzfufAOm3Y27tRPRKG4_NesEvc49aW02iti7m3y1M3Xwim1_tv9MdCfGxI-20g1SAJ-zKkA2vJjB8r3CBVv4yEt0G9ITSAb7/s1600-h/nyc.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432870439733976162" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaPkouZsejvKUGMYsz6_kPONX2-FK-2K4jco1VQD_Xp6KVJzfufAOm3Y27tRPRKG4_NesEvc49aW02iti7m3y1M3Xwim1_tv9MdCfGxI-20g1SAJ-zKkA2vJjB8r3CBVv4yEt0G9ITSAb7/s200/nyc.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs72WpO9fOfkC_qVDqgrZ0mGoC_GYe0IhrOs6A79stTZvAq4mLBqe6WjrBSG3zTw39arpm4Wbaz1kV8_3cbBFSzxNt6WSvz_kweCxosXlPTmh-gY6FIJxA5cgtz0gihFK1TFDz6BtbKH5i/s1600-h/crysler.JPG"></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhei87J3cDIDzrTMPW7ha3nzld6MA6Aom3-p22csPwZzlk9gc9oaKy8CmLFMAUQVbxiz3BERb41VxRyS_0ymC1T-5dCTzbWvSrwxr4MCkhV4te7AF50WBt62hwA0DY-SmG4uIx2omTGX5Kt/s1600-h/nyc+liberty.JPG"></a><br /><br /><div><br /><div><div><div><div><div><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">I had a hunch.<br /></span></strong>I needed to be in New York City in the first week of December, I didn't want to delay it. I couldn't wait to get there!<br />I also couldn't afford the flight...<br />I rang my fabulous Mother…I rang her so she’d talk some sense into me and tell me not to be so impulsive and that I’d have to wait and save up, but she didn't, she told me that I should go. She fully encouraged me to be irrational and irresponsible because of a hunch. Mad!<br />So I rang my amazing sister and I told her my thoughts and she said I <em>had</em> to go, she even offered to put the trip on her credit card and said that I could pay her back later.<br />So I rang my lovely Dad, and he helped me update my portfolio and he printed copies of my CV… and they all encouraged me and sent me on my way.<br /><br />A few days before I was due to fly out I had an email from a lady named Carrie (!) she owned a Bridal Atelier on Fifth Avenue had seen my CV online and wanted to interview me on Wednesday.<br /><br /><strong>So…I jumped on a plane to New York…<br /></strong><br />I arrived at Newark Airport at around 4pm local time.<br />I had a hard time at customs when I told them I was a fashion designer travelling alone.<br />They searched my bag to check I wasn't carrying a suitcase full of samples to sell! (Luckily, they didn't find my portfolio which was secreted in my hand luggage…) after a thorough rummage through my case the friendly but firm airport security gentleman simply said <strong>‘nice shoes Mam…<em>a lot,</em> of nice shoes’</strong> and sent me on my way.<br /><br />On the airport shuttle I met an engineer from Berlin (of all places!) who was backpacking around America and a group of girlfriends from Newcastle on a Christmas shopping trip.<br /><br />I was staying in a hostel in Manhattan on the upper west side, I wanted to stay somewhere residential, with good transport links, somewhere that I might like to live one day. The hostel was basic but super cheap and it suited me fine, I unpacked put on some high heels, a little lipstick and a leopard print beret, and went for a walk down west 94th Street.<br /><br />I was as high as a kite that first night. Nothing could have bought me down and I couldn't help smiling as I took it all in, I was back, in New York City and anything could happen!<br />As I walked a man in a suit smiled at me and said he liked my hat as he passed me by, later a lady with a pushchair said <strong>‘cute outfit honey’</strong> as I crossed the street and then I stopped for a slice of pizza and a couple of beers and I felt content and at home and excited and the pizza was delicious. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div><strong>To Be Continued...</strong></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Gilly Woohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09499870444313490414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6041985873700227204.post-22769938527999359332010-01-28T18:05:00.000-08:002010-01-31T14:02:10.520-08:00A Fairy Tale In New York: part 1<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSfzocCyJPsrCMjKeXpgzpo5QTRB6dZRIiJ0N6RL_n4bVc99AJJAxAtXNB9CyRnGNt7vMqrUedScpKU4kGmLqncPScN-ZBT0TFDLp69eEVcqJosjTkvn_mljl4VryorCUOj6OosFn_sAOG/s1600-h/nyc+logo.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 127px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 97px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433025788725648130" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSfzocCyJPsrCMjKeXpgzpo5QTRB6dZRIiJ0N6RL_n4bVc99AJJAxAtXNB9CyRnGNt7vMqrUedScpKU4kGmLqncPScN-ZBT0TFDLp69eEVcqJosjTkvn_mljl4VryorCUOj6OosFn_sAOG/s200/nyc+logo.jpg" /></a><br /><div><strong>For my Amy...</strong><br /><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div>It all began in Earnest.<br /></div><div>It'd been a tricky year, 2009, what with heartbreaks and promises and all that jazz, I'd taken my eye off the ball for a while and I'd lost my <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">mojo</span></span>.</div><br /><div>Things weren't going my way (which was particularly hard for me because things always go my way, I'm a grafter after all.)</div><br /><div>A change is as good as a rest they say, and you should never rest on your laurels, and so, I decided... 'It's time for me to leave Bristol!'... for a while at least, to see if I can find what I've lost.</div><br /><div>The obvious choice was London Town, I have contacts and friends alike in that there capital city and visit a lot with work and play, the problem is... I'm always glad to leave.</div><br /><div>Bath? <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">Cheltenham</span></span>? the advantages are that people have heard of me in the South West, I've had some good press, done big shows in Bath and already have customers in both cities, the disadvantage is...I'm always glad to leave. </div><br /><div>So I decided to think in a different direction, where in the world am I always <em>sad</em> to leave.</div><br /><div><strong>Brighton. Berlin. New York.</strong><br /><br /></div><div>I don't speak German and much as I love Berlin I'm ashamed to say I have little knowledge of German culture.</div><br /><div><strong>Brighton. New York.</strong></div><br /><div>I'd be a small fish in either of these ponds but in one of these city's I'd stand out more, in Brighton I'm the girl in the great dress but in New York I'm the British girl in the great dress...SOLD! to the lady in the great dress!</div><br /><div><strong>New York.</strong></div><br /><div>I'm going to move to New York.</div><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQECzrFD0G-WadVIOjwwWGpeq8bGBurJ-ednUw0RuspzSTCjQDqh7LI06humh2vLeczA5B4gdhYVe8O6_jcz-DD6N8PTMEzMYoRUExj6KorBFwgWtjE4BCf8T_27NiZnsj6fGylv4dbUij/s1600-h/casa+dolly.bmp"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 112px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432013799574431346" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQECzrFD0G-WadVIOjwwWGpeq8bGBurJ-ednUw0RuspzSTCjQDqh7LI06humh2vLeczA5B4gdhYVe8O6_jcz-DD6N8PTMEzMYoRUExj6KorBFwgWtjE4BCf8T_27NiZnsj6fGylv4dbUij/s200/casa+dolly.bmp" /></a><strong>So... I hopped on a plane...to Spain,</strong> (I know what you're thinking, give me some credit, my geography's not that bad!!)<br /></div><div>I went to see my friend Dolly, a glamorous, beautiful BA air stewardess who lives in her fabulous villa '<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">Casa</span></span> Dolly' in <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">Alcalali</span></span>.</div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8I3giuVFG4FIW4C7CJ76VkXGpGWGGJjrxdBkhBbxHqP1l4BCiHhm4e477bHxIjFkgsTrKkH3IgW75lAaPH1EOmUthCRbgPtUaL0FLOmSeBxbLCzbaggF0GbbB0Al-Br0KLQLbQXkPM8Lg/s1600-h/dolly+and+gill.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 150px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 200px" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432015679042288050" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8I3giuVFG4FIW4C7CJ76VkXGpGWGGJjrxdBkhBbxHqP1l4BCiHhm4e477bHxIjFkgsTrKkH3IgW75lAaPH1EOmUthCRbgPtUaL0FLOmSeBxbLCzbaggF0GbbB0Al-Br0KLQLbQXkPM8Lg/s200/dolly+and+gill.jpg" /></a><br /></div><div>I'd been working very hard on the run up to a big fashion show, (stupid hours an d plenty of stress,) I needed a break to clear my head and gather my thoughts. </div><br /><div>I had a wonderful time reading and partying and talking and hugging.</div><br /><div>Dolly is one of those people who always makes you smile. A true hostess with the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">mostess</span></span> in every sense. </div><br /><div>We talked about America, and boys, and Edward Cullen, and broken hearts and dreams and aspirations and shoes and we dressed up in sequins and drank fizzy wine and ate artichoke hearts and she inspired me and encouraged me and sent me on my way.</div><br /><div><strong>So..I hopped on a plane...to London</strong>.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzvn0bEymbMwyNtbs-h3iF8ShnkuBEUiw4F2MtV2IgzB9dOzV3AGfKHzPkiTw8umoQ77mRZmxE1NDfrXZwoHZ0thHaWqySFgph7C_tTnX6A_oHaY1HuX3oaFdzal_lQKTfQ9pkG12waM1S/s1600-h/london.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 194px" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432016073700403330" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzvn0bEymbMwyNtbs-h3iF8ShnkuBEUiw4F2MtV2IgzB9dOzV3AGfKHzPkiTw8umoQ77mRZmxE1NDfrXZwoHZ0thHaWqySFgph7C_tTnX6A_oHaY1HuX3oaFdzal_lQKTfQ9pkG12waM1S/s200/london.jpg" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzvn0bEymbMwyNtbs-h3iF8ShnkuBEUiw4F2MtV2IgzB9dOzV3AGfKHzPkiTw8umoQ77mRZmxE1NDfrXZwoHZ0thHaWqySFgph7C_tTnX6A_oHaY1HuX3oaFdzal_lQKTfQ9pkG12waM1S/s1600-h/london.jpg"></a><br /><div>I wasn't ready to come back to Bristol yet, I still felt sore, a little let down by my home town, I work really hard why wasn't I getting anything back any more? why did that fashion show not sell out? why did I not get a buzz like I used to?</div><br /><br /><div>I flew into <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error">Gatwick</span></span> and bought two bottles of <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error">Tattinger</span></span> at the duty free. </div><br /><br /><div><strong>Then...I jumped on the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error">Gatwick</span></span> express... to Victoria.</strong></div><br /><div>It was midnight. I called Stuart, 'I'm in London and I have Champagne!' I said</div><br /><div>'Come right over sweetheart,' he said 'what time do you call this?' </div><br /><div>Stuart and I were lovers once, he used to read me books in bed, clever books that mostly I didn't understand, but I loved them all the same.<br /><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD4cYJZ62DLugOo5sKvgbNY6wTmtzgFVRlqpfKkEUEUglqUjX6NCSXzsMDcbMElf_p6QY2eqpBCUNZmBNWQCEpnjB68CUAOXvPb9JN7gbZzAhUbbgtdIUTPO5qvdp2VRsBd2axdiOMxPj2/s1600-h/tiffany_and_company_logo.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 125px" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432015342263527666" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD4cYJZ62DLugOo5sKvgbNY6wTmtzgFVRlqpfKkEUEUglqUjX6NCSXzsMDcbMElf_p6QY2eqpBCUNZmBNWQCEpnjB68CUAOXvPb9JN7gbZzAhUbbgtdIUTPO5qvdp2VRsBd2axdiOMxPj2/s200/tiffany_and_company_logo.jpg" /></a><br /><div>I got to <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-error">Islington</span></span> around 1.30am, we drank Champagne and talked about America and girls and books and a strip club he'd been to in San Fransisco and the next day we went to see Breakfast at Tiffany's at the Theatre Royal and we kissed, I think, and he inspired me and sent me on my way.</div><br /><br /><div><strong><br />So...I jumped on a tube... to <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_9" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_9" class="blsp-spelling-error">Clapham</span></span>.</strong></div><br /><div>I went to see my friend Lee, lovely, lovely Lee, who tidied his house up just for me (though I'll never know why) and we talked about work and when he lived in New York and how we loved it there and how much it felt like home, and he had Jack Daniel's and I had lager and we drank on his balcony for a while.</div><br /><div>Then we got dressed up and I wore red shoes and blue sequins and antique earrings and we danced all night and drank tequila with drag queens with pink hair and sang along to Kylie...and the next day we had roast chicken and he inspired me and encouraged me and sent emails on my behalf and advised me and sent me on my way.</div><br /><div><strong>So...I jumped on a tube... to Oxford Street.</strong></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTbMSfR0H1roKiyIr13tKJqOAu8MsiS-jIavMEKHBKsP3lZqTzX1T16EbBu_TXRSEuv_WOBmbtahAXQV6O31yT3HruaZL-WBPFI3q58hcvnyWBq8FTIRDtbMC36WTcysAWK-B8Dq3N1FmW/s1600-h/gill+and+davy.bmp"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 130px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 118px" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432014682347083714" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTbMSfR0H1roKiyIr13tKJqOAu8MsiS-jIavMEKHBKsP3lZqTzX1T16EbBu_TXRSEuv_WOBmbtahAXQV6O31yT3HruaZL-WBPFI3q58hcvnyWBq8FTIRDtbMC36WTcysAWK-B8Dq3N1FmW/s200/gill+and+davy.bmp" /></a><br /><div>I went to see my friend Davy, and we talked about our travels and photographs and Dublin and Stuart joined us briefly and did yoga in the pub and then we took a cab to C<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_10" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_10" class="blsp-spelling-error">rouchend</span>,</span> the next day we had Mexican for breakfast and went to a bar with a Union Jack sofa where me met a man, (who claimed to be, the manager of Arsenal) who asked me for my phone number... and when he had gone we laughed and we drank lager all afternoon and I kissed him then and he inspired me and advised me and the next day he drove me back to <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_11" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_11" class="blsp-spelling-error">Clapham</span></span> on his motorbike and we stopped at tower bridge on the way, just to look at it.</div><br /><div><strong>So...I collected my suitcase and jumped on a tube... to <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_12" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_12" class="blsp-spelling-error">Paddington</span></span>.</strong></div><br /><div>I drank coffee and ate sushi and made notes and then it was time to go.<br /><br /><strong>So...I jumped on a train... to Bristol</strong>.</div><br /><div>I went back to work and I was busy then so I asked Bod to come in and help me sew and I loved not being on my own in the work shop and I loved Bod being there, ray of sunshine that she is, and while we sewed we talked, about America and her travels and our dreams and possibilities and inspiration and different cultures and books and Jessica Mitford and we did research and phoned the American Embassy and looked at flights and we got excited and I felt a buzz that I hadn't felt in over a year.</div><br /><div><strong>So...I hopped on a plane...to NEW YORK!</strong></div><br /><div><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">To Be Continued...</span></strong></div></div>Gilly Woohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09499870444313490414noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6041985873700227204.post-91751498076851710142010-01-28T14:23:00.000-08:002010-01-31T13:25:14.498-08:00It's All In The Jeans<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid6KvVIVDfVS9T2TH3_R7lGN-h_gznpH6B0SRjWESCACEuio3gY3VwjoCeBgs7YnmkevkXmrcU8_3lJO-vunJ_goPpYNjVgztMGMQClU34_CB0QXvShpt-E8__sW6g1KIg6hBftwikdMFx/s1600-h/jean_diesel_ronhar_8DW_stretch.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431921810520178146" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid6KvVIVDfVS9T2TH3_R7lGN-h_gznpH6B0SRjWESCACEuio3gY3VwjoCeBgs7YnmkevkXmrcU8_3lJO-vunJ_goPpYNjVgztMGMQClU34_CB0QXvShpt-E8__sW6g1KIg6hBftwikdMFx/s320/jean_diesel_ronhar_8DW_stretch.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2OYRi47b0wDWNG1RFSYZe4XlXNIbhHOvBRaRspUFoyqHQEH5cVyujkDHAZGTj9hEn2-pvRLso6Z-LMDjV9OzFYc1M7df-75kmKfcb1yjrigMRVnTTj8aV_-QQiiNrjN7oZfrsOr-zNNFY/s1600-h/jean_diesel_ronhar_8DW_stretch.jpg"></a><br /><br /><br /><div><br />The perfect pair of blue jeans...</div><br /><div>That illusive staple item that is never quite right.</div><div><br />Now. You know I do my best for you dear reader, but obviously, even I, can not recommend the perfect pair of jeans for every one of you. This is because I don't have experience of every pair of blue jeans on the market nor intimate knowledge of every one of your figures.</div><br /><div>But I do know a lot about denim, I know a lot about fit and construction and I know a lot about what suits different body shapes so....</div><br /><div>In your quest you have two options, you take what you need from the advice here in and do a bit of educated shopping or you hire me as a stylist or a dressmaker and get a guaranteed result.</div><br /><div>(Without bias or agenda...as I said, just outlining your options ;-)</div><br /><div>First of all my own personal, favorite, <em><strong>perfect</strong></em> jeans, oh how I love them! </div><br /><div>Virtually every time I wear this style I get a compliment from someone, these are good jeans!My basic straight leg staple jean is <strong>Diesel <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">Ronhar</span></strong> (pictured)</div><br /><div>If your figure is similar to mine* (see previous post for details) they might well be exactly what you are looking for.</div><br /><div>The problems I find with most straight leg jeans are the following: they are too short, they gape at the back, they are too low cut, the pocket placement is appalling!, they are too tight in the thigh, the denim is stiff and uncomfortable.</div><br /><div>Diesel <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">Ronhar</span> are the perfect, classic straight leg cut, they will never date and will always look stylish. </div><br /><div>They make a 35" inside leg, they curve in beautifully at the back over your bum so that they fit snugly even when you are sat down, <span style="font-size:85%;">(the waist band is cleverly cut as a curved piece instead of a straight piece like most jeans and there are no seams in it so it is slim fitting and not bulky).</span></div><div><span style="font-size:85%;">T</span>hey sit on the hip but are cut about an inch higher than your average high street jean, the pocket placement is exquisite and makes your bum look neat and curvy, the shape in the leg is perfectly proportioned and the denim is soft and has 2% Lycra for fit and comfort.</div><br /><div></div><div>For me this is the perfect straight leg jean. </div><br /><div></div><div>I wear mine until they are worn out and then order them again.</div><div>I have done for several years now, I never shop for a straight leg jean because you can't improve on perfection.</div><br /><div></div><div>I'm afraid that I am yet to find the perfect skinny jean, so I have to alter mine, I have tried several brands and have exactly the same problem with all of them, they all gape at the waist at the back.</div><br /><div></div><div><strong>I would love you to tell me weather you have experienced this too because I know I'm not the only one. </strong></div><br /><div></div><div>I see girls with builders bums and <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">gapey</span> waist bands everywhere I look...</div><br /><div>The way I see it, is this: the problem, (which appears to me to be very common) is caused simply, by cheap, lazy, pattern cutting.</div><br /><div></div><div>I'm afraid you bring it all on yourselves, if you didn't settle for ill fitting clothing and instead spent a few extra quid on something that has been properly engineered to fit your body then other manufacturers would have to try harder and eventually the prices would come down.</div><br /><div></div><div>Most jeans are fitted with a waist band which is simply a straight strip of fabric, a long thin rectangle, a tube if you will, this is a shape which, as you know, tessellates well.</div><div>At the point at which the waist band of a pair of jeans sits is exactly where most women curve inward, therefore the waistband needs to be smaller at the top than at the bottom to fit this curve, this would mean the waist band would need to be cut in a crescent shape and in two pieces (instead of one folded in half.)</div><div>Crescent shapes do not tessellate so well, they take longer to cut and result in some fabric wastage.</div><div>This is why fitted jeans never fit you.</div><br /><div></div><div>Help is at hand of course, you could pay a bit more and try a brand like diesel who cut their waist bands correctly or you could ask your dress maker to dart the waist bands of your jeans to achieve a similar result (I charge around £30 for this service)</div><br /><div><strong>Pear Shape:</strong></div><div>I would recommend a straight leg or a slim boot cut in a dark colour, avoid distressed denim or lots of pockets or detailing at the hip which can make you look wider, go for a clean look and wear your jeans long with a high heel to elongate you legs. </div><br /><div><strong>Apple Shape:</strong></div><div>A low rise jean will elongate your body, choose a lighter colour and wear with a darker top to balance out your shape, choose a style with longer back pockets to draw attention down to your slim legs.</div><br /><div></div><div><strong>Hour Glass:</strong></div><div>A boot cut works well with your curves, a dark wash and a high heel will be more slimming, always choose a contoured waist to avoid the gaping back and a denim with a little stretch which will be more comfortable around your thigh.</div><br /><div></div><div>Specialists denim retailers can be very helpful, they usually know their stuff and if you tell them the problems you find with most jeans they can often <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">recommend</span> something to counter them.</div><br /><div>Don't be afraid to use this service, and don't feel under <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">pressure</span> to buy if you don't find the perfect fit this time. </div><br /><div></div><div>So there you have it ladies...</div><br /><div>Go forth and conquer!!</div></div>Gilly Woohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09499870444313490414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6041985873700227204.post-23132456341582731232010-01-27T09:38:00.000-08:002010-01-31T13:20:52.034-08:00The Naked Honest Truth.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifo3bPlb4hwPcu18kVSU9QBBJ9s2RapDKOEcZa4sYebPUriaDpQ_2NCTydE-0sMv6NlbpMOPAR0MhUZtXLjej9q1Abcq_4ckRsEFPImz8cTD6ZTI6RHcyxupTeODCpVb1BEm87T3Mf-WkW/s1600-h/waist+line.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 133px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431540258264201826" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifo3bPlb4hwPcu18kVSU9QBBJ9s2RapDKOEcZa4sYebPUriaDpQ_2NCTydE-0sMv6NlbpMOPAR0MhUZtXLjej9q1Abcq_4ckRsEFPImz8cTD6ZTI6RHcyxupTeODCpVb1BEm87T3Mf-WkW/s200/waist+line.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6Jtcwl2fY6smJIfLdRDZDnO1T3k7wrCgwejX1ZJA3vCwZEXUwXAMLkTBVyxFYchBdv2YMXdLPzrbDRRtt9Y1dngswoQjgdmP2QdYN5SDspYB06458G6MC6x8wgYybgGxakvyN42xdwvdv/s1600-h/dress_measurement.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 248px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431539686041221970" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6Jtcwl2fY6smJIfLdRDZDnO1T3k7wrCgwejX1ZJA3vCwZEXUwXAMLkTBVyxFYchBdv2YMXdLPzrbDRRtt9Y1dngswoQjgdmP2QdYN5SDspYB06458G6MC6x8wgYybgGxakvyN42xdwvdv/s320/dress_measurement.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgouBPe3VUETTk5fC5vlRZ8VE-PGizXXvZamKL1jd8wwu5-MU-UsGy3Cf2VoC7CnwqAjLniiX4AoZJlGAHzNIqu_VOvBXcwv_XJGaz3m8T__vYBrfvp644-jXTH6cWONHN740ok4VeVdkMH/s1600-h/dress_measurement.jpg"></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpOvOMXlIIH8KowApV51Y6-0P-_8ikHct4yQkg5AzZTClSbBz4AmQ7tXVVnZT-rOcCm3OzATKPr7h0AxuCdrY4vuXHuzENSxwT2PrKBv2VIQ1R_AUn0cXXnO-VQRY2twmfpiZyCSXZxLML/s1600-h/dress_measurement.jpg"></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrPtEGkNaMw11cEtAlDamixVuQzdAEw-kvZ1cHiwHacZA74WF7wJ4UDQNhJIlvXN3UPtcYoSwB8UNJwwkkfVH9Fx204cVZMK14Yqs08pB9GHiBBd3RvVhchNaijwqXtWm3pDmDEG7h3ZbR/s1600-h/waist+line.jpg"></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><strong>Preface:</strong><br /></div><br /><div>Today I started to compose a post (imaginatively titled 'It's All in the Jeans';-) it was (perhaps not surprisingly) to be about finding the perfect pair of blue jeans.</div><br /><div>I am lucky enough to have found a pair which are, in fact, 'perfect' for me and I found that by drawing from my own experience and recommending my 'perfect' pair to those of you with similar proportions to me I would have to discuss my own figure with you in some detail, otherwise how would you know?</div><br /><div>As I began to write down my statistics I went off on a tangent and decided to prelude 'It's all in the Jeans' with this post, I hope you find it interesting. I will talk about denim tomorrow. x</div><br /><div>P.S please bare in mind...SIZE DOESN'T MATTER:</div><br /><div><strong>*Gilly Woo's vital statistics:</strong> <span style="font-size:85%;">for your information and comparison,</span> <span style="font-size:78%;">(also useful when buying me presents;-)</span><br /></div><div><strong>bust 38", waist 30", hip 38", height 5'9", weight 10st12lb, inside leg, 33", bra 34E, shoe 7, dress 12, (quite well proportioned, bit of a flat bum, fairly low natural waist.) </strong></div><br /><div>It is good for you to <em><strong>know</strong></em> these details about yourself and not just guess them, get a tape measure and check out your statistics, write them down and keep them in your purse, take note of how your body changes, most of us fluctuate from week to week and our bodies change as we get older or have babies, knowing your <em>actual</em> shape will help you make good choices when buying clothes.</div><br /><div>You'd be surprised at how many of my clients think they are taller, shorter, slimmer or fatter than they actually are. Just this weekend I dressed a gorgeous woman in her sixties who told me she had awful legs, instead of taking her word for it I asked her to show me, actually, her legs were a great shape, they just had an uneven skin tone, I insisted she try a pencil skirt with opaque tights and she liked it so much she bought it, changed into it and strutted off to Harvey Nicks for a glass of champagne, (invoking a compliment from a random stranger on her way I'll have you know:-)</div><br /><div>The media publishing pictures of celebrities and randomly sticking numbers next to them which they claim are their correct statistics doesn't help women to be realistic about their figures.</div><br /><div>It's all nonsense of course, do you really think Cheryl Cole is gonna stand on a set of scales in front of a fashion editor or a news room to confirm their guess work? No. Ridiculous isn't it? </div><div>The only person who knows what Cheryl Cole weighs is Cheryl Cole (and maybe her personal trainer.)...and why do you care anyway?</div><br /><div><strong>The Fashion Industry is a Bitch.</strong><br /></div><div>It will build you up and knock you down at every opportunity.</div><div>On the one hand shops make their standard sizes subtly bigger every year to fool you into thinking you are slimmer than you are. </div><div>On the other hand they tell you you have to be smaller and smaller to be attractive.</div><br /><div>It doesn't matter what it says on the label as long as it fits you, don't buy a skirt that doesn't suit you just because it's a size 8, it doesn't make you a size 8 it just means you now own an incorrectly labeled garment that doesn't suit you.</div><br /><div><strong>Size Zero</strong></div><div>I had a Saturday job at The Gap 14 years ago and I sold size zero jeans.</div><div>At that time I wore an American size 6. American sizes are different to British sizes, an American size 6 equates roughly to a British size 10, but not exactly, the proportions are different, a UK10 would be far too small around my waist but probably fit my hips ok (because of my flatish bum) a USA6 fitted me for the same reason.</div><div>By this token a UK6 (USA 2) could comfortably wear a size zero jean if she had a smallish bum.</div><div>I realise that a UK6 is little but it's not ridiculous! a petite woman of 5'2" could easily be a healthy, curvy sexy UK6.</div><br /><div>God only knows why the British media have felt the need to make such a massive drama out of it now!</div><br /><div><strong>Your dress size is not a bloody status symbol, it's just your dress size</strong> and it really doesn't matter what it is at all as long as you are a healthy weight. If you're a size 14 in Topshop and a size 16 in M&S so what? get to know your favorite brands and you'll always know what size to try...and by the way 6ft tall models are <em>not</em> a size zero...I work with them, I take their <em>real</em> measurements, trust me, the media make it all up.</div><br /><div>While we are on the subject of models...do not be under any illusions that models are just a pretty face, there is a definitive skill to looking good in a photograph, and taking direction from a photographer, you could be the most beautiful person in the world and not make it as a successful model.</div><br /><div><span style="font-size:85%;">(N.B. Why ever models are such aspirational figures is beyond me! </span><span style="font-size:85%;">being photogenic is lovely I'm sure, making a career out of it might be a nice way to earn a living but it's not easy money, it's hard graft!)</span></div><br /><div>This may be controversial, but the fact of the matter is thin people look better in photographs.</div><br /><div>(Let me be clear, I promote a healthy body image and I am fully behind the idea of banning models with an unhealthy BMI but some girls are naturally very thin)</div><br /><div>They are easier to direct because there are less distortions when they reposition themselves and there is less airbrushing with angular subjects which means less time and less money needs to be spent on an image to achieve a slick and professional result. </div><br /><div>Hiring a thin model to make a pretty picture is the same as hiring a courageous fireman or a brainy lawyer, there is nothing more to it than that.</div><div>Please bare in mind that just because a girl is a model does not nesascerily mean that she is always the sexiest woman in the room, she is just the most photogenic....</div><br /><div><span style="font-size:85%;">(...also please don't hate her because she is beautiful, she is only doing her job and do</span><span style="font-size:85%;">es not necessarily have an eating disorder.)</span></div><br /><div>There is one more myth that I would like to put to bed please...</div><br /><div><strong>Marilyn Monroe was NOT a size 16.</strong></div><br /><div>I have been in the room with, and seen very close at hand <strong>actual dresses that Marilyn Monroe wore</strong> and, (unfortunately perhaps,) I would not have fitted into any of them, Marilyn Monroe by today's standards was around 5'4" and a size 8-10. Get over it. </div><div> </div><div><span style="font-size:78%;">N.B. If you use the measurements from a size 12 1950's commercial dress pattern they would equate roughly to a modern day size 16, Marilyn Monroe may have, once, (when she was having a fat day) worn a 1950's size 16 dress but she probably had to have it taken in even then.</span></div></div></div></div></div>Gilly Woohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09499870444313490414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6041985873700227204.post-75560359363141659362010-01-25T07:02:00.001-08:002010-01-31T13:23:52.172-08:00"Illusion is the First of All Pleasures" Oscar Wilde.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb08PVhCDvT7AzgRnbq5rUZ1vqLV7SB3za1_5aknp6TPkQB9tHPZd327PEhlrMUekSlyHvU3C_D-LzaxtkapsyvL7eFUKbeWlpN9iiAt3BPUj9vk9audszwhjlA1jxhySBCqvNLap5L1ql/s1600-h/woo.jpg"></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirHn7afHZeEccRB0qS81u5260TWc3R2avxBrYoPkCw1wCqhGJBjTYY1xpz2Tdpyl1yppFotHF6T5r9HXLmC0_tFD4i16F8U_sw7qKRNMSSjQp6Rw_RATZ4OoJPkA66KNi7c32CGMNiFBPf/s1600-h/agent+provoc+logo.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 144px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431208516960129346" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirHn7afHZeEccRB0qS81u5260TWc3R2avxBrYoPkCw1wCqhGJBjTYY1xpz2Tdpyl1yppFotHF6T5r9HXLmC0_tFD4i16F8U_sw7qKRNMSSjQp6Rw_RATZ4OoJPkA66KNi7c32CGMNiFBPf/s200/agent+provoc+logo.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZCwIFISMfUO9yq04icKYBW1qP8gzw9xfCbptWdbIMN5iYIGZ9L5CL2WjCAeZBpFDqKGCRDhu23YPM8INm0phTBYWxnb8NA20rzSZ9w7gD-W-YFS3nFLDCiblexxdyuGjW7lM5ZhwTkddC/s1600-h/waist+cincher+pants.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 251px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431208069989513426" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZCwIFISMfUO9yq04icKYBW1qP8gzw9xfCbptWdbIMN5iYIGZ9L5CL2WjCAeZBpFDqKGCRDhu23YPM8INm0phTBYWxnb8NA20rzSZ9w7gD-W-YFS3nFLDCiblexxdyuGjW7lM5ZhwTkddC/s320/waist+cincher+pants.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCf6F9MvlPjkFF8Z5NfisNDHB0t2V_4KgEOxmA4qVokQ5UMlGDciul2TyO9mwsPrKVbIzmilxM-WKelDw3A8zIXLL9tkQhbAJcOhhc9JrNkuNckSFp7XI0nAjpV2Btyn5rJDFMWq_j6N6h/s1600-h/waist+cincher+pants.jpg"></a><br /><br /><br /><div><div><br /><div>Did you know that Agent Provocateur was a house hold brand name before they had opened a single shop?<br />Their marketing campaign was so successful that everyone wanted the product before they even knew what it was.<br />Astounding isn't it?<br />The company branding was, (and still is) more important and more impressive than the actual product and people still, happily, pay a premium for it.<br />On the contrary there are people making exceptional products and paying attention to quality, design, ethics and value for money and no one has ever heard of them.<br /><br />Such is the crazy world we live in…<br /><br />It is my (self imposed,) mission to bring to your attention these unsung heros of the fashion and beauty world.<br />Without bias or agenda I will share with you the secrets of a stylish, quality, functional capsule wardrobe, I will advise you when to save and when to splurge, and I will educate you on garment production and alteration, and on how to achieve a perfect fit.<br /><br />But first... I need to talk a little bit more about your underwear. </div><br /><br /><div>I know you are probably thinking by now that I have an unhealthy obsession with your boobs and bums (and who wouldn’t? they are fabulous after all…) but this is important stuff! </div><br /><br /><div>All I’m doing is starting at the beginning...<br /><br />That is to say…eat well, sleep well, exercise regularly, smile lots, love lots, have good underwear...</div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div><strong>Problem solvers-the dos and don’ts:</strong><br />First of all if you have any of those awful ‘invisible’ clear plastic bra straps in your lingerie draw throw them out immediately!! I mean it! Do it right now, (dancer’s you are exempt but ONLY when you are on stage and to be seen from an extreme distance.)<br />They are NOT invisible. We can all see them…who are you trying to kid?<br />You have two choices, a good strapless undergarment, or a garment with straps, it’s as simple as that.<br /><br /><strong>Lingerie tape is your friend:</strong><br />Use it all the time.<br />Affectionately called ‘tit tape’ it is a double sided, hypo allergenic, tape, which is a staple in any good stylist’s (or stylish person’s) ‘kit’. Use it to stick your top to your skin or your bra in order to avoid ‘wardrobe malfunctions’ and nipple flashing.<br />A great quick fix for a loose hem, lingerie tape can also be used to secure a slippy sling back or stick a lose court shoe to your foot, (particularly useful when wearing tights)<br />It can be purchased on rolls or in strips, which can easily be popped in your purse for reapplication (or for educational gifting to less stylish friends.)<br /><br /><strong>Gym matters:</strong><br />A good sports bra is essential for every single woman.<br />I wear a normal underwired bra underneath a super supportive sports bra when I do any high impact activity.<br />I always wear 100% cotton knickers and socks to the gym too, it’s healthier and more comfortable.<br /><br /><strong>Magic knickers:</strong><br />I hope you realise how difficult this is for me, I go against everything I stand for by telling the world I used to hate my boobs and now I’m discussing my granny pants!<br /><br />First of all, as far as anyone knows, you don’t own any.<br /><br />Only wear the ‘cycling short’ type under trousers (…or floor length skirts if, you are not planning on doing any of the following during the course of the evening: falling over, dancing on tables, doing the cancan, or demonstrating your high kick.)<br /></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-size:78%;">N.B. As imposing these rules on yourself at any kind of social event is likely to hinder the experience Gilly Woo would suggest ONLY wearing them under trousers.</span><br /><br /></span>Tummy control knickers (which I don’t have any of;-) are great under dresses, particularly if they cinch your waist in too.<br />They smooth your contours and even out your shape.<br />The ones that I <em>don’t</em> own come up to my bra and are seamless, (this way you avoid the unsightly knicker line that can sometimes be visible at the waist.) Always buy them a size too small for maximum effect.<br />Department stores are your best resource for this item as they will carry lots of styles for you to try, I would avoid anything with boning unless you go made to measure, when buying off the peg I prefer to stick with ‘industrial strength’ elastic, it’s more comfy and less likely to show under clothing, boning only works when it’s rigid (as in corsetry.)<br />Do not be fooled by clever marketing! Just because Gok Wan or Trinny and Susanna are grinning at you from the label doesn’t mean it’s the best product on the market, try the old lady section in Debenhams, you might be surprised…<br /><br />If you own any kind of contour dress and are bigger than a size 10 you need these in your life. </div></div></div></div></div></div>Gilly Woohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09499870444313490414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6041985873700227204.post-46343045128086817032010-01-21T12:57:00.000-08:002010-01-31T13:26:30.512-08:00The Holy Grail<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT1hg-sbGrO5ejO3pGUUHP3qHi1Wr9e9WhyOSdMTqkGzIH9uLgughThDnO2R_NUhJ1iSfFcrOcPpQJNh6_dJ1qVHtw3PYzfStOAME0o2IUpEbexdS7_dYV0g7leXVoCuScS_fH4wZ0GiUn/s1600-h/wonderbra-black.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 199px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429327703462971282" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT1hg-sbGrO5ejO3pGUUHP3qHi1Wr9e9WhyOSdMTqkGzIH9uLgughThDnO2R_NUhJ1iSfFcrOcPpQJNh6_dJ1qVHtw3PYzfStOAME0o2IUpEbexdS7_dYV0g7leXVoCuScS_fH4wZ0GiUn/s200/wonderbra-black.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJNB1GZxHw9-WE2pCOLlOTH9f2ycDH-IpMaL9VMX654-aUqrqWEhQLP90bNJXJDjpNT3EEH7_3Nx8pZkmADpp6S4_xvUqopZsGb6GEBmNdUvjVQlA_wyI3pX-WqXwpRnOEqXY5DohVwuPW/s1600-h/wonderbra-black.jpg"></a><br /><br /><div><strong>The strapless bra.</strong><br />Complete waste of time...uncomfortable, unattractive, and always slipping down.<br /><strong>For <em>years</em> I have been saying 'why doesn't someone make a strapless bra based on corset technology?'<br /></strong>With corsetry all the support comes from underneath your bust so there is absolutely no need for a strap unless it is a design feature, <strong>no matter what your bust size.</strong><br /><br />(N.B: I'm talking about proper, good corsetry here girls, not basques or bodices or anything from Anne Summers, or anywhere at all actually, other than a proper corset maker.<br />I can't <em>begin</em> to explain the difference here, suffice to say, <strong>if it has less than 16 bones and less than 8 of them are steel it ain't a corset in my book...</strong>or in Dita's book or in any body else's, if they know their stuff.)<br /><br />Because a corset fits snugly around your rib cage there is no where for your bust to go, it <em>has</em> to remain in the cup that you put it in, it is impossible for a corset to slip down and they <strong><em>never</em> need to be 'yanked up'.<br /></strong>Because the cups are heavily boned you always have a perfect bust no matter how many shapes you throw on the dance floor.<br />As a perfect example I have a fabulous client who is a big fan of the 'running man' dance move (you know who you are;-)<br />To my knowledge, whilst donning her Gilly Woo Couture, she hasn't once had to do that awful unsightly 'hoik' action that so tragically accompanies most strapless ensembles.<br /><br /><strong>For <em>years</em> I have been saying 'why doesn't someone make a strapless bra based on corset technology?'<br /></strong></div><br /><br /><div><strong>and <em>finally</em>, FINALLY! someone has!!</strong></div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>I can not express how thrilling it was for me to discover this little gem in Debenhams 5 months ago.</div><br /><br /><div>As soon as I saw the oddly proportioned architectural esq structure, ( it was bathed in a halo of light, there were angels singing in my head and...) I said out loud, 'BY DIOR! THEY'VE ONLY BLOODY GONE AND DONE IT!!!'</div><br /><br /><div>This rush of elation was quickly followed by a swift metaphorical kick...as the hovering shop assistant backed away from me with an uneasy look in her eye and I realised, yet again, that somebody was going to make millions out of my idea and that somebody wasn't me....It was wonderbra actually.</div><br /><div><a href="http://www.ultimatestrapless.co.uk/">http://www.ultimatestrapless.co.uk/</a></div></div>Gilly Woohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09499870444313490414noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6041985873700227204.post-32258066809895038432010-01-19T12:54:00.000-08:002010-01-31T13:23:20.103-08:00The Foundations of Success<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggvifdYnAAzk0NUNIM4VFzLVpFsD_AEshCXAjuU0lD0o1ZO7oPU3HygVELWTFN0SuQ1RYA4913LD8KZ-dFBlrX7-9mpAaBrGyiCI1rUIyRA7CuzhGDAt3Q3NstgH4FPuxNLpYXLVqFCC6j/s1600-h/bravissimo_campiagn.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 188px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429019494781760098" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggvifdYnAAzk0NUNIM4VFzLVpFsD_AEshCXAjuU0lD0o1ZO7oPU3HygVELWTFN0SuQ1RYA4913LD8KZ-dFBlrX7-9mpAaBrGyiCI1rUIyRA7CuzhGDAt3Q3NstgH4FPuxNLpYXLVqFCC6j/s320/bravissimo_campiagn.jpg" /></a><br /><div>I have two lingerie draws... one is full of pretty everyday bra and knicker ensembles and occasional lingerie in fabrics such as, embroidered mesh, lace, silk satin and velvet, it also contains, suspender belts, seamed stockings, hold ups, fishnets and, of course...a home made lavender bag ;-)</div><br /><div>The other draw contains plain black 100% cotton briefs, sports bras, socks, opaque tights and weird looking 'problem solving' items. (more about these later...)</div><div></div>Please note that neither of these draws contain ANYTHING, <strong>grey</strong> (by design or decay), <strong>loose</strong> (in terms of fit or elastic) or <strong>holey</strong> (blergh!)<br /><br /><div></div>Your every day bra must <strong>fit,</strong> <strong>support,</strong> be <strong>comfortable </strong>and match your knickers<strong>.</strong><br /><br /><div></div><br /><div>If you want my advice, when you find a brand you like stick to it! I buy everything Freya make twice a year.</div><br /><br /><div>For me, their fit is second to none, their sizing is consistent, the quality is great and they use fabulous colours.</div><br /><div>In my opinion there is little point in shopping around for bras when you are a 32F.</div><div>The companies <em>beginning</em> to make bigger bras haven't got it right yet, and old faithfuls like Triumph and Fantasie (whilst achieving a faultless fit with years of research) are frankly in need of a new design team and a company image to match! (*note to self*: maybe I should send them some sketches...) </div><br /><div>I realise that they are working on it, but their collections continue to disappoint me season after season. For some reason lingerie companies were, until very recently, under the impression that every girl who is bigger than a D cup is also over 65 years of age and has no desire to look remotely sexy. Ever. </div><br /><div><strong>If you are amply blessed in the bosom department forget paying less than £20 for a bra. It's a false economy.</strong></div><br /><div>The fact of the matter is that you <em>can't</em> make a good, big bra cheaply (yet). </div><br /><div>I don't even think Marks and Spencer's do a good enough job, forget Asda and Primark!<br />They woo you with pretty fabrics, expensive (airbrushed) celebrity photo shoots and £7.99 price tags, but don't be fooled!</div><br /><div>They can not yet compete with lingerie companies who have been supporting giant bosoms for hundreds of years.</div><div>We are talking about engineering here! decades of pattern cutting and sampling and wear tests... you can't just send a vacuum press, a load of foam and some satin bows off to Shanghai and expect to get the same results.</div><br /><div>When you buy a bra it should fit you on the loosest hook, over time and through washing and wearing the elastic will stretch which is when you will use the other hooks to achieve the original fit.<br />Over more time the elastic will perish and lose it's stretch even more, which is when you will throw it in the bin, (not when you will rename it your 'comfy bra' and develop some kind of ugly attachment to it )</div><div>When putting your bra on you should lean forward and allow your breasts to 'fall' into the cups.</div><div>The underwire should be flat on your rib cage and sit snug to your breast bone, if you have a gap you need a bigger cup size.</div><div>Your breasts should sit comfortably in the cups and there should be no spilling or cutting in.</div><div>The support comes as much from the strap around your back as from the shoulder straps.</div><div>Don't be tempted to wear your shoulder straps too tight to achieve more up lift, all you will achieve is unsightly back fat and ridges in your shoulders (which can become permanent after years of incorrect wear)</div><div>The strap across your back should be straight and in line with your under bust It should be snug but not tight. </div><br /><div>As I said before your bra should ALWAYS match your knickers.</div><br /><div>Do not expect me to justify this statement, if you have to ask why I'm afraid there is no hope for you.</div><br /><div><strong>To Be Continued.... </strong></div>Gilly Woohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09499870444313490414noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6041985873700227204.post-43134103664472697302010-01-19T05:37:00.000-08:002010-01-19T12:54:38.269-08:00It's All In Your Mind<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIWKlVe5uEtnLH8FdBPbqi9F2z9gdDCaBWzPqVgQvl5p8JMwJj3hlRDXOocgL9fRxZjmt6HsA3aoXXQxMny65r7oiRRnnJ3NTbieMxsV0cKDCHLe2dIiQoK7UuecJ0x-B8i52HitM6Hx3c/s1600-h/recent.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 286px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428511183129408674" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIWKlVe5uEtnLH8FdBPbqi9F2z9gdDCaBWzPqVgQvl5p8JMwJj3hlRDXOocgL9fRxZjmt6HsA3aoXXQxMny65r7oiRRnnJ3NTbieMxsV0cKDCHLe2dIiQoK7UuecJ0x-B8i52HitM6Hx3c/s320/recent.jpg" /></a>To begin with I need to give you an important piece of advice.<br />NEVER discuss your flaws and body hang ups with anyone EVER.<br /><br /><div>There is absolutely no good that can come of it, at best you will be drawing attention to the bits you should be glossing over and at worst you will appear to be fishing for compliments.<br /></div><br /><div>The only exception to this rule is your trainer at the gym or your dressmaker, it is perfectly acceptable to say 'please help me tone my thighs' or 'design me something that hides my tummy' but only because you are taking a positive step towards realistic self improvement, a comment directed at a friend or (heaven forbid!) a boyfriend, such as 'look at this disgusting cellulite' or 'I hate my enormous feet' has no positive connotations what so ever and therefore has no place in your vocabulary. </div><div><br />I hate to tell you this girls but essentially, you are what you are, so you may as well deal with it because the alternative is being miserable about something you have no control over.<br />If you are a pear shape then you will always be a pear shape, if you are flat chested or have a round tummy or a large bust or short legs you just have to accept it, learn to work with it, and realise that you are beautiful just the way you are. </div><div><br /><strong>Allow me to paint you a picture...</strong><br />When I was 18 years old I started saving money for a breast reduction, I was of the impression, at that time, that if I had smaller boobs I would be happier and my life would be improved.<br />The only bras available in my size were enormous granny ones with inch thick straps, and no underwire. I couldn't wear anything strapless, backless, high necked or drapey, there wasn't a single dress on the high street that fitted my figure remotely, men would make rude comments at me when I was at work which made me uneasy and nervous (as a bar wench in a cocktail joint, why I would of expected anything else is beyond me!)<br />I felt uncomfortable in my own skin and it made me insecure and miserable.<br /></div><div>Around this time I met a man who inspired me to travel, to this day we are still the best of friends, he recommended a book called work your way around the world and I ended up spending my 'breast reduction' money on an 18 month trip around Europe.<br />There is little space for vanity when you have to live out of a backpack for over a year and I was so busy meeting people, seeing sights and experiencing new things, (and sometimes, just surviving!) that I didn't have time to obsess about my boobs!<br />I built up confidence because I felt I had interesting things to say about my trips and experiences, I found it easier to interact with strangers because I was forced out of my comfort zone and gradually I began to hear the compliments people paid me in a completely different way. </div><div><br /><strong>I began to believe them</strong>.<br /><br />When I returned I was a little slimmer, I stood a little taller, and...(I've never had a tan in my life but, after living in Spain for 6 months)...my skin was marginally less 'glow in the dark' white.<br />I went back to work in the cocktail bar briefly while I looked for a job.<br />When a raucous stag party came in and said '8 tequilas sweetheart, and by the way, GREAT tits!' I smiled genuinely, said 'thank you fellas, I agree' then I popped a drop of Tabasco in each of their shots ;-) </div><div><br />Those of you who know me may be surprised to learn of my early hatred of my fabulous embonpoint, not least, perhaps, because I don't look particularly top heavy, this is because I learned how to dress. When I couldn't find something that worked in the shops I made it myself, I scoured specialist boutiques for 'pretty' bras in larger sizes, I researched flattering necklines and made subtle alterations to shirts and tops. I do chest presses at the gym, wear a bra to bed and use a good body cream with collagen.<br />Now a days, with better lingerie production techniques, and the Internet, I have no trouble buying great underwear but dresses and tailored tops still need a nip and a tuck 99% of the time.</div><div><br />When I think back I can't believe I almost had unnecessary, major, invasive surgery.<br /><strong>The problem wasn't with my body, the problem was with my head.</strong><br /></div><div>I know a lot of women who have had reconstructive <em>and</em> cosmetic procedures and in some cases, I think plastic surgery is a wonderful option but I have to admit that in my experience it is rarely the quick fix it is often portrayed as in the media. </div><div><br />My point is this... make the best of yourself, <strong>always</strong>, but don't neglect your mental health or set yourself unrealistic goals. </div><div>Don't try and fit into anyone else's 'ideal'...If you have mousey, poker straight hair no amount of peroxide and hair extensions will make you look anything like the girl in the Timotae advert. If your skin is so fair that it looks blue in some lights no amount of fake tan will make you look like Penelopie Cruze. Just because Anna Wintour says purple leg warmers are 'in' doesn't mean you have to wear them.</div><div><strong>You'll just look ridiculous.</strong></div><div>Embrace what you have and make the best of it.</div><div><strong>Your own 'ideal' should be the best version of yourself, just the way you are.</strong></div><br /><div><strong>Most importantly of all, don't overlook the fact, that the problem you <em>think</em> you have with your looks <em>could </em>be all in your mind... </strong></div>Gilly Woohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09499870444313490414noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6041985873700227204.post-4005182521782370532010-01-18T14:20:00.000-08:002010-01-21T14:42:06.148-08:00Gilly Woo - An Introdution.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3cME-x5lJHQBVKUSaBcZN_Isu8nwk1KYwFJS-oDc0me3ovjzHN0gto717J4JN6x5Oxj5xXZkITyM80Ykgp0nAztFQwVuXyfGI7dY-Z1qhe_jYDC7Dn6uEHbBFsk_tMLuR1P4yZvifOjHC/s1600-h/woo+3.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 162px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429327025391033938" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3cME-x5lJHQBVKUSaBcZN_Isu8nwk1KYwFJS-oDc0me3ovjzHN0gto717J4JN6x5Oxj5xXZkITyM80Ykgp0nAztFQwVuXyfGI7dY-Z1qhe_jYDC7Dn6uEHbBFsk_tMLuR1P4yZvifOjHC/s200/woo+3.jpg" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfTe6iJY_jIKm9SfCYsrqBVKdZSg8tozvPoa3mPv3LeyBdNj525dNdR4w09ILCURMt5AfNX-CWZVmhdhBWWjV1hugoxcZOs0hTYH4JceLBMgR6OLJFNjbmsN2Ops-sUwauh9NvZOn0Ei9a/s1600-h/woo+2.jpg"></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsa_cjHoo3up__wE6BfWn_O-M1lxD7d0zBXneacqUE_rspnyL_X1fn1UMjOrlYEEPHxxJFf9Cr-izxM6Xq_hhppY78Nrws_CePslus8tE2rVc1zTMQMpT2t2uGI0yOTzBMleYs9NizCOQI/s1600-h/woo.jpg"></a><br /><br /><br /><div>Hello and welcome to my very first blog!<br /><br />My name is Gilly and I'm a designer, dressmaker and stylist based in Bristol in the UK.<br />I design and make bespoke finery: bridal gowns, occasion wear and corsets, I style photo shoots, fashion shows, performers and individuals and I party pretty hard too.<br />I'm 30, I'm single and I live with a gay man, a papier <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">mache</span></span> flamingo and a lot of hats in a little flat in <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">Cotham</span></span>.<br /><br />I decided to write this blog to offer impartial honest and realistic advice on style and beauty that comes from years of experience working with women of every age, shape and size and a deep seated, in built passion for making women feel beautiful, feminine, stylish and (above all) confident. Not from a load of celebrity endorsements and beauty industry back <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">handers</span></span> often designed to hard sell you unnecessary products by making you feel inadequate.<br /><br />I deal with self depreciating, body <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">dismorphic</span></span> women every day and it makes me so sad that they can't see the beauty in themselves that is so obvious to me.<br /><br />When I go out dressed up I get as many compliments from women about the way I look as I do from men, on one occasion, in a ladies powder room, I had an actual <em>queue</em> of women asking me where my outfit was from and complimenting me on my look, it took me 20 minutes to get out of the loo!... my date thought I'd climbed out the window ;-)<br />One of these women became a client, I told her her correct bra size, (2 cup sizes bigger that the one she was wearing) made her a corset (a welcome addition to any wardrobe and the only comfortable strapless garment she had ever owned) and altered some of her work suits so that they fitted her properly and drew attention to her tiny waist. I made an empire line dress which was <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">entirely</span> the wrong shape for her and far to small around her bust) into a pretty summer skirt and found a beautiful piece of silk to make a matching camisole (that fitted her bust perfectly.)<br /><br />Most of these jobs were small and inexpensive but that woman told me I'd changed her life.<br />By learning how to dress her figure she began to love it for the first time.<br />People asked her if she'd lost weight or been on holiday and complimented her on how well she looked, her posture improved with her confidence and she told me that she was genuinely happier.<br /><br />I'm not a model, I'm not unusually pretty, I'm an <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">average</span> size 12, I'm not rich or famous, (I'm not getting any younger!) there is nothing much spectacular about me at all, except that I know how to dress, I'm not <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">afraid</span> to stand out in a crowd, I know about underwear and <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">structure</span> and cut and fit and how to flatter my figure, I know how to apply good make up, I'm lucky enough to call my hairdresser my best friend and I'm on first name terms with my shoe repair guy.<br /><br />It's as simple as that girls, it just takes a little knowledge and a little practise and it could just change your life....</div></div></div>Gilly Woohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09499870444313490414noreply@blogger.com8