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Front-facing catwalk images from Fashion GPS via Topshop, all others by Park & Cube

Aside from the usual stack of multi-coloured foodstuff/beetroot juices (all made by elves, I swear) inhaled by fashion-folk as their first meal of the day at 2pm, and Arya Stark looking all kinds of fierce/cute in the corner, Topshop had a slightly different take on things this time round. This was the second season- while not consecutive – they’d set up camp at the Tate Modern, and instead of the usual fenced-off/dungeon venue broadcast via narrow fire optics and blurry inta-sight by attendees, whoever that happened to be visiting the Tate that oddly sunny Sunday held, in essence, one of the most highly coveted tickets of LFW. The mezzanine offered a vantage point over the entire catwalk and FROWers, and while show goers did the tennis-ball chase with our respective devices, eyeballs, what have you, over the catwalk, the public saw the collection from the privileged Style.com point of view. While I suspect it wouldn’t have made much sense to a lot of the people that watched (‘can you buy those clothes tomorrow?‘ I heard a girl ask) it was admirable of Topshop to embrace such a straightforward approach to ‘public relations’ that suits a brand that is, at the end of the day, an accessible, high-street brand loved by girls across the UK. 

On a separate note, watch me skin a giant teddy bear next fall and wear that over rebellious schoolgirl garbs.

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Coat – H&M. Jeans – DIY slashed Supertrash. Loafers – Hudson. Bag – Couronne. Sweater – Topshop Cardigan worn backwards. Bar bracelet – Zara. Watch – Larsson & Jennings. Tiger bracelet – Kenzo. Rings – Monica Vinader.

I have but moments before the car arrives to take me and one embarrassingly large piece of luggage to Heathrow – Seoul, here I come, start heating up the food. I’m putting this up right before I run out because, if I know my mother correctly, she will compose a short but powerful message on Whatsapp reading something along the lines of those broken jeans in your blog better not be coming with you to Seoul and this time I can be all aw but I’m already in the car. No. Don’t worry ma, I’m fully anticipating to go up a dress size or even two on this trip, I’ve basically packed fifty variations of sweatpants. (엄마 청바지 꼬메지 말아쥬쎄요ㅠ) Plus, after road-testing the jeans in London and finding out getting a sore throat thanks to cold wind through the knee-holes is the very definition of irony, I’ve decided to leave it out of the packing.

On a side note, I know I’ve put this up on Facebook already but I’d really love to get some recommendations of places in Seoul – I’ve never lived there properly and the only places I know are basically the Big Ben equivalents so please do help this hipster out if you can.

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Coat – Mango. Trousers – Topshop. Shoes – Nike. Sweater – Zara. Bag – Chanel Resort ’14 (on loan, don’t be silly). Rings – Monica Vinader. Photos from help from Abi, thanks!

It’s borrowed, don’t ask. I’m flattered though, that anyone would assume I have enough speech & debate skills to convince my husband, to whom Tommy Hilfiger is couture and Tom Ford is the CEO of Ford – the car company – that spending three months’ rent on a bag (a transparent one at that) is reasonable. I can’t even convince him to shower when he’s Shrek-green. My usual tactic is throwing self down in the middle of the aisle/kitchen and crying hysterically but this only seems to work up to a certain price limit, it being £40 for sock yarn. Truth is, deep inside I don’t believe we (I say we, but I mean me) are not yet in a junction in life to warrant a brand spankin’ new Chanel boy bag. I’ve always seen luxury goods as sex: the right person, the right time. Admittedly, this blog did place me in a bit of a ho-bag tangent with some of the generous gifts, I still want to work towards a stage in life where I can afford a Chanel/Hermes/LV bag without disrupting priorities. So please forgive me if, for the time being, I can be a little cheeky and seize the opportunity when the press office allows me to borrow to ‘play with’. Play we did, generally by me wearing it under a big coat and treating it like a secret, walking around town like Aladdin stealing bread: sartorial equivalent to ‘bubble-wrap it and place in safe’.

Disclaimer – this is not a sponsored post, by any means, nor do I frequently borrow items from brands to feature in this blog. On rare occasion that I do borrow, it is enclosed so readers are fully aware.

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Plus, the winners for the 5th Anniversary giveaway!

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White coat – Charlie May AW13. Leather trousers – Topshop (similar Topshop). Shoes – Kurt Geiger. Sweater – H&M.

I’m a simple person, not minimalist simple, just tea in a mug, juice in a glass type of simple, in fact, I may be one of society’s flock of sheep that buy things with louder packaging. I’ll even add a beeehhh while I’m at it. Is it just me, or minimalist simple seems a somewhat superior form of lifestyle – I mean, how do you deal with so much white with all the food flying around in life? I have orange bedsheets for when I feel like taking my Spaghetti Bolognese dinner to bed, for example – which is every day except curry day. Curry day is green sheets day. I pinched this coat (Charlie May AW13) off Charlie’s studio the other morning when I’d arrived completely underdressed for a coffee date, and given my history with food/drinks and how famously it orbits the massive body that is, well, me, naturally I was hesitant to take it out. Alas, it was freezing and eventually I convinced myself that since I’m craving a flat white anyway it could as well be fine. I don’t know about the chocolate brownie though.

Thank you so much to those who entered the 5th Anniversary giveaway. Here are the five winners by random selection, congratulations!* Additionally, I’ve decided to pick 8 extra winners because I figured that’s the least I can do for the beyond amazing response I’ve had in the past week. I’m sorry if you weren’t one of the 13 to be picked, but if my love is worth anything you can download some here.

*Winners will be notified by email, please make sure you add shini@parkandcube.com to your contacts so that none of them end up next to ‘you win £3 million’ emails by Nigerian princesses, I can’t compete with that.

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Que pasa, Barcelona!

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White skirt – Mango. Frill bra-let – Topshop. Check shirt – Motel Rocks (similar). Heels – Mango. Pyramid leather cuff – Mango. Rose-gold watch – Guess. Clutch – Kurt Geiger Dino.

This is my seventh year in London and I have a feeling I just may have crossed over to the dark side sometime in the past year or so. The dark side where everything is blown out of proportion, that is, most especially the weather: where basically, anything other than overcast, dull skies is considered a gift from the apocalypse. So now I’ve come to accept that a bit of wind and rain is a HURRICANE, a bit of snow a SNOWSTORM, and hot-dang it’s sunny out, there must be SCORPIONS lurking outside the door. Any reason to cancel work and stay in bed with tea… it’s quite clever actually. I noticed this though, only as I was packing for Barcelona, because it seems I had exaggerated SPAIN in my brain and packed a summer vacation wardrobe. I really should have stuck my arm out the window, i.e Googled, and learnt that autumn in Barcelona is actually a slightly warmer version of autumn in London – definitely not bikini top and straw hat weather. Good thing there were clothes a-plenty at the Mango DIY workshops, because apparently a denim shirt and boyfriend jeans a great pair of long-johns make. Enough about me, Barcelona: what a beauty! While not my first time in Spain, it was my first time in the city and hence the region of Catalonia, and once again despite my exaggerated image of hammocks-and-palm-trees Spain, it was quite the contrary. The Barcelona I found, was a true West-Europa metropolitan city, bustling with professionals shuffling by busily with their heads low, or with tourists that walk with their heads generally fixed on a second floor level, Carrie (travel buddy) and self included in the latter. You won’t believe how many photos of beautiful balconies and building detailing I came home with. The city is rich in architectural history: Gaudi to the famous Gothic quarters (Barri Gòtic), although in our under-researched pride we’d seen very little of either. In fact, we’d spent the afternoon tossing Cheetos’ into eachother’s mouths under the Arc de Triomf, convinced this was the place to be, blissfully ignorant of the hip El Born area around the corner we meant explore. Oh, mañana.

By the by, my Polish friends wag their fingers at my tweets about how I may die of trench-foot because it’s 10 degrees (50°F) out. Yes, I have failed them.