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Three ways I wear Nike LunarElite Sky Hi

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Look 1: Lace dress – Zara. Sweatshirt – Nike. Shoes – Nike LunarElite Sky Hi. Clutch – Chanel. Sunglasses – Mango.
Look 2: Coat – Nanushka. Sweater – COS. Skirt – ASOS. Shoes – Nike LunarElite Sky Hi
Look 3: Cardigan & skirt – Peter Pilotto for Target (via Net-a-porter). Shoes – Nike LunarElite Sky Hi. Bag – JinYoo103684. Bag – Kurt Geiger. Turtleneck – Uniqlo. Puffer Vest – Gap.

I don’t know what it is about my late twenties but boy am I working up a collection of trainers, each bought with the same reasoning technique that accounts for the thirty bags of jumbo peanuts in our pantry: THIS MUST BE HANDY DURING THE APOCALYPSE. It’s odd because 1) I am a hamburger when it comes to exercise (i.e I do not put the ‘train’ in ‘trainer’), and 2) I held a crusade against flats all throughout my teenage years and stuffed tissues, not only in my bra, but in my trainers as well for the wedge effect. So I came across these Nike LunarElite Sky Hi‘s, I reasoned that yes I needed another pair of trainers because APOCALYPSE, but also revelled at the fact that it was my teenage crusade manifested (Waterbra? check), in perforated neoprene and all the essential lightweight, cushioning technology of a classic Nike running model. Plus, neon yellow because I’m biologically hazardous like that.

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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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Forte Village Resort, Sardinia; Part 2

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Dress – Zara. Hat – Claire’s

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Gordon Ramsey’s

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White lace dress, Lace inset (blue/yellow) dress  - MGSM. Bag, floral dress (green & pink)- RED Valentino (all via Donne Concept Store at Forte Village).

The sound of rain and wind pelting against the windows on a drab Monday morning makes weaving together of this second part of my trip to Sardinia back in July a much, much easier task. Again, I don’t know what brand of hormone pills London’s been taking lately, but given its perpetual state of up, down and sometimes pickles + ice cream (i.e sun and hail within the same post code. WAHT IS DIS), I have to assume this time it’s actually three-months pregnant. Baby shower! Wait, no baby shower. Baby sun please. So do excuse me if I prefer resorting* to the ever-sunny European sibling to kick-start the week. Today I dream of Forte Village, the rustle of Oleander bushes in the mild morning breeze, bare-feet walk to breakfast, floating by way of seven sea-salt pools of the Thalassotherapy spa and rising higher with Gordon Ramsay’s exquisite dishes by the sea. Slumping back to earth completely, of course, with giddy midnight snacks on the terrace: pain au chocolats and toffee puddings stolen from breakfast. AH, would you look at this, the sun just came out here between the sheets of rain, looks like somebody’s jealous. Or craving toffee puddings. Oh heck, let it be the former.

* Resorting. Get it? get it? I am SOoohohoho funny.

A belated thank you to Forte Village Resort again for the stay. Part 1 here.

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Bag – Furla

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Coat – Zara. Knit – Goodnight Macaroon. Jeans – James Jeans. Sneakers – New Balance. Bag – Furla. Sunglasses – Celine. Watch – Daniel Wellington.

I’ve gone and dug my own grave this past holiday, I think. I played in the same chair I sit to work in, for like, ten whole days straight. We’re in a fresh new year on self-declared clean slate and all I can smell is 2013 wafting from the leather of the wheely desk chair because as we all know the entire year was peanut butter cookies and pizza, in a nutshell. Especially the last few days during which I successfully transformed my workstation into a food-smeared playstation. I got up early on the first working day of the year, got dressed, hosed down the chair with a febreeze and sat down, ready to do an honest day’s work and found myself clicking on the Call of Duty icon without thinking, then proceeded to tour Mother Russia in a tank to defeat the Nazis. Hooray for stupid. Well, to start with, it took several attempts to get dressed because I kept putting shoes on before any pants, and had to Youtube how to tie shoelaces. It’s like when you sit on your hand for too long and it goes so numb it forgets how to be a hand. Except I haven’t set a foot outside the house for the past two weeks and have forgotten how to human. Anyway, back to the grind, shoelaces flailing and all.

Speaking of cookies, I baked a whole new batch last night for some reason. Screw the new year, I’m staying in 2013 until they’re gone.