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Sweater – COS. Leather trousers – Topshop. Bag – Couronne. Watch – GUESS. Glasses – YesStyle. Star necklace – MyFlashTrash. Heels – Christian Louboutin. Thank you Niek for helping with the photos!

So, apparently a work-out bench is a very different thing than of a normal bench. For example, it is not possible to pass out on a work-out bench clutching a beer can and half-eaten kebab. I have tried this. A few weeks ago, just as our holiday in Sardinia was coming to a close, hubby and I happened to weigh ourselves on the hotel spa scale and both did a double take. We threw away the pizza crusts we smuggled into the pool, raced back to the room; he ordered a work-out bench off Amazon, I Googled female sumo-wrestler blogs, then ordered a yoga mat and some macaron-coloured dumbbells, finding none. We had a steak for dinner, telling each other it would be our last, and then the next day we had our ‘last ever’ steak again. That was weeks ago, and only this past weekend we managed to sit down and plan a exercise pattern, and put together the work-out bench that was already gathering dust. I spent three hours exercising my Polish swearwords volcabulary on 2kg (4.4lbs) weights, and hubby picked up from his pre-wedding fitness and pumped 25kgs (55lbs)… all the while grunting and advertising to our neighbours that we’re having a merry time as married couple. I don’t need no bikini body, but I’d really like my boyfriend jeans NOT to fit like skinny jeans. Losing 2kg I got as a Christmas gift + 3kg I brought home as souvenir from Italy would be a definite plus.

Bah, THE PAIN though! It feels like I’m turning into Pinocchio, and apparently I walk like Forrest Gump. Louboutins ain’t the shoes to wear for post-workout, that I know now.







Coat – Zara (similar here). Bag – 3.1 Phillip Lim Pashli. Skirt – ASOS. Shoes – Vintage Salvatore Ferragamo. Glasses – YesStyle. Sweater – YesStyle. Shirt – Zara.

Apart from falling asleep everywhere and routinely waking up in zone 5 thanks to some heavy-duty anti-histamines I’ve been taking lately, not much else is up. I tell ya, those hotdang things apparently knock out a grown man within 15 minutes and yet I find myself fondling my phone at 4am with crusty eyes, scrolling the Instagram feed like all life mattered and eventually falling back asleep after the fiftieth cherry blossom pic. But during the day it’d kick in when I’m a least bit idle and then my eyelids get as heavy than the damn Pashli bag and I’m desperately asking twitter whether there’s anywhere to nap in the West end. (Quo Vadis on Dean Street, thank you Sophie.) I know I eat a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey every other day and I guess in essence that makes me chunkier than a ‘grown man’ but COME ON I CAN’T BE FALLING ASLEEP WHILE QUEUING FOR THE ATM.





















Shirt – Iris & Ink (the Outnet). Skirt – YesStyle. Shoes – Vintage Ferragamo. Bag – Kurt Geiger. Belt – Vintage LV. Thank you Kit for helping with the outfit shots!

The first few days of Spring, when you can make any sarcastic, over-exaggerated remark and funnily to some extent it will be correct, and for once you get to be a legitimate smartass. (Woo!) This is literally the most sun we’ve had the whole damn year, it’s so beautiful, I am like literally dying – normally this would be classic case of ‘I don’t think she knows what literally means but just nod and smile’but in April, it’s all technically true! The sun is stronger by day and hanging around much longer; the trees are in full blossom and it’s finally starting to prove the apocalypse wrong. And in my own defense, the last bit is always true, no? Anyhoo. Following up on the previously expressed thoughts regarding my love/hate relationship with London, the sun really is a catalyst. It’s like coming home and finding brownies – it calls for a good snogging-on-the-couch session, which is what the above set of photos is, lucky you.


Pleased to meet you, NYC










Distributing fingerprints on every surface at the Marc Jacobs SoHo boutique






Marc Jacobs Daisy






Marc by Marc Jacobs FW13






Wearing: Shearling leather jacket – Muubaa Aurora. Contrast-sleeve jumper – Topshop. Quilted orange skirt – Topshop Boutique . Geometric print skirt – YesStyle. Bag –Kurt Geiger Shoes –Givenchy.

This post was drafted the day after I’d returned from a trip I still suspect was only a dream, one of those sickly-sweet ones you get when your bed linen are freshly washed and you’ve just jumped in from a hot bath. The photos were edited ten thousand feet above the pond, then strung together in a sequence once home, I was drunk with fatigue, but my head was still in the clouds with fresh giddines. I decided I’d leave it at that to pick up fresh the next day, which was the day I read the infamous piece by Suzy Menkes on the circus around fashion weeks and the general integrity of bloggers. Now, to be clear, this is not a rebuttal, or even a commentary. I’m not in the bleachers when it comes to  the street circus game – I’m neither a ‘peacock’ (not that I choose not to, but learnt early on that I do not have the tailfeather(x) -factor), or a ‘black crow’ fashion industry member shuffling through to do their job at fashion week. But it did make me halt because that blogger in paragraph twelve who accepts ‘trophy gifts and paid-for trips’, does refer to me too – in fact, isn’t this sort of post exactly one of the latter? A few days later Leandra wrote her two cents, and then Susie, both gracefully agreeing and disagreeing with Menkes’ points, but also undeniably displaying an attitude of self-reflection which I also found myself to adopt on reading the article. The only difference was, I couldn’t find a suitable response (preferably backed by stellar writing talent) or even the balls to ignore it completely, especially having this post lined up. So every evening since returning I’ve been arguing with myself whether to man-up and post, or seek refuge in the Winchester with a pint and wait for it all to blow over… and this went for two weeks. Who was I kidding, this was not going to ‘blow over’. Echoing what Leandra wrote earlier, we are indeed entering an era where bloggers will not be able to show preference without having our motives questioned. So here I am, withdrawing myself from behind the oh no, will they judge me too wall, with a small promise to you that I will be as honest as I possibly can when it comes to the content of this blog, and that quality control will come before any amount of kebab-money.

With that said, I’d like to thank the Coty and Marc Jacobs teams for the opportunity for an amazing first-time experience in New York, and a privilege to learn more about Marc Jacobs fragrances through #MJDaisyChain. Stay tuned for more!


Uniqlooks January: One item, three looks – Dotted silk blouse







Look 1: Dotted silk blouse – Uniqlo. Shearling leather jacket – Muubaa Phoenix. Khaki pants – Uniqlo. Shoes – Zara. Bag – 3.1 Phillip Lim Pashli. Hat – Gap.
Look 2:   Dotted silk blouse – Uniqlo. Sleeveless trenchYesStyle. Leather shorts – Vintage. Shoes – H&M x MMM. Puffer vest – Uniqlo. Bag – Kurt Geiger.
Look 3:  Dotted silk blouse – Uniqlo. Shearling leather jacket – Muubaa Aurora. Bag – Reiss. Skirt – ASOS. Lace-up booties - Sam Edelman. Headphones – Frends @ Avenue32

Hello, what’s up? My dog ate my keyboard. Once again I got an overwhelmingly positive response for a post and this time I just had to take a step back and bask in that momentary bliss, shedding the occasional hot tear that would fall in the wine glass that I’d drink from while bobbing my head to Alanis Morissette. (Fact: it is actually impossible to bob head to AM) Recycle-chic, you saw it here first. Let’s get back with the program, shall we – and what better way than to let trusty old Uniqlooks to press the resume button! Over to you, dotty blouse. Wish I could fake it and pretend this was shot relatively recently but snow in London – the kind that stays white below the ankles – is so rare that we all know these looks were shot that particular day over a week ago. Not sure which day it was, but I’m pretty sure it’s the one where lots of babies will be born exactly nine months down the line because heck I’ve never seen a city that doesn’t actually clean the snow. Hands up if you live in London and own a snow shovel? Of course, yours truly is out in the streets with the hubby only getting as intimate as getting a snowball in the face. Oh the things I write in this blog to keep it PG-13… (apparently thirteen-year-olds are the key to blogging success, hey)