What’s it called when you hit a certain age (or ‘life stage’, given age does not equate experience) and you’ve tried everything at least once and nothing truly phases you anymore, or makes you tingle, or rouses those wild butterflies in your stomach? Nonplussness? NONPLUSSISM? I have that. I think I AM that: Captain Nonplus. It all started with a teenage ploy around Y2K to seem socially ‘cooler’, to appear as though opportunities should be grateful to have found my divine, supple presence. Except, this pretence has now stuck as a pesky personality trait. So much so, that my public reaction to the Beyonce & Jay-Z joint album was a ‘meh’ and a shrug. YOU MAY CALL THE POLICE.

Internally of course, and in the privacy of my own padded cell room and hi-fi system, I too praised hip-hop royalty.

This is why surrounding yourself with people that still gasp, or make other similarly satisfying appreciative noises, is crucial. My team is my vita, hence. This is why Graduate Fashion Week is so important. Isn’t the giddy excitement of young, unbridled enthusiasm practically palpable (at the risk of sounding like a dementor)? When frazzled nerves meet performer’s adrenaline, as years of experimentation is combed into artistically/commercially viable collection, then presented on a stage… all of this generates a sort of zing that keeps the jaded industry feel something again.

This, my second year of supporting the Tu scholarship collection, is in part a selfish way of reminding myself of the sparkle – wedging myself into the pie, for which the main ingredient is young talent, a spoonful of zeal, a dash of rock & roll and mentoring by way of Henry Holland. More on this soon.

Jumpsuit – Tu Clothing. Boots – Coach.

I love me. I really do, apparently – I listed all the symptoms into a search bar (Did you mean “Kanye West”?) and took a Buzzfeed test and everything. It’s legit. Dr Google says so. I, Shini Park, love spending time absolutely, completely alone.

With champagne, preferably.

I’ve written, time and time again, that my husband and I are keen observers of the Because-Why-the-Frick-Not day. We’ve done the ‘perfect date’ out, more times accidental than not, for reasons including but not limited to: the fact that there is sink full of dirty dishes at home and none of us remembers whose turn it is to clean, when the #Brexit landlady announces she would visit sometime during the day, or that time when I found a £5 note in an old coat and thought I’d treat us to a three-course dinner, a movie and some very expensive lingerie. Point is, we don’t need a reason to dig out champagnes flutes – every time I wear socks that match is a happy un-birthday, every time his spreadsheet runs without errors that’s a #MoetMoment. We are very happy. And highly cynical.

#MoetChandon

Bustier – ASOS. Skirt – Baum & Pferdgaten. Heels – Prada. Sofa – Sofa & Chair Company.

Moët Rosé Impérial ‘Emoëticons’

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What we also are, are a pair of hardcore introverts. Ones that can only charge batteries by being completely alone in a quiet room, surrounded ideally by inanimate objects, preferably also occasionally hugged by a machine with arms made of wood. Do you have anything fun planned for Valentine’s Day? Someone asked me in an email a few weeks ago. Why yes, I do. I took a bottle of Limited edition Moët Rosé Impérial ‘Emoëticons’ to the other room, painted on every surface but my sketchbook, and stuck Moet Stickers (Also available as app in iOS and Android) on my body while screeching to Ciara’s My Body (to the dude’s despair). My best use of a Tuesday in February, maybe EVER.

Sunnies – Celine via SmartBuyGlasses. Watch – Larsson & Jennings. Envelope clutch – Sezane. Wallet – Prada. Serum – Innisfree. Necklace – Louis Vuitton. Scarf – MiH.

Top – Paule Ka. Culotes – Charlie May. Bag – Marni. Sunnies – Celine via SmartBuyGlasses.

Current location: Seoul, South Korea. Time-zone: Galaxy far far away, corner of Asgard and one stop before Uranus. My body does not comprehend the blue tint of dusk creeping through the blinds at the wee hours of the morning and sends out confusing bodily signals including but not limited to: hunger, a need-to-pee, PMS, utter exhaustion and insomnia (at the same time), and demands that I do something about it. In return, I do what I usually do when faced with jetlag: eat something questionable out of my Airbnb host’s fridge, entangle self within a duvet and find a TV shopping channel sufficiently entertaining enough to sap the last of energy. The effect is sublime – I arrived on Thursday and woke up on Monday morning ,feeling brand spankin’ new.

Problem is, I still don’t know what time it is. Imma go pee.

Printemps x Prada Christmas windows

Gwyneth Paltrow, in all her goopyness and stuff.

Wearing: Coat – Anywho.dk x Brics. Cashmere sweater – Boden. Skirt – Zara. Shoes – Kurt Geiger ‘Stage’. Bag – Couronne. Outfit snaps thanks to Alice & Sabrina.

There’s a day in November when an email drops in my inbox that kick-starts the holiday season, attached, a return ticket to Paris and a promise of good, warm fun inside The Printemps department store. That email is my green light to start thinking about gifts and to dig out decorations from under the staircase, ensued of course by a chicken dance at the prospect of going back to Paris. I know I’ve bashed Paris a little in the past couple of months, but she is still my lover and I love me some glitter. Even better than saucy French maid costumes methinks. This is my third year (year 1, year 2) seeing the curtains come down for their Christmas windows and I have a feeling it’s become a bit of a tradition, and every year I go back after dinner to oogle at the animated windows with a similar fascination as when watching Ryan Gosling GIFs online. Occasionally I’d drool at a particularly glittery bauble, but not as much as when I do for special GIFs involving six packs. This year, Prada decked the chessboard halls with updated classics and limited edition satin pumps, and in the windows, let loose Pradabears to mingle, which I’m sure will stop a lot of children in front of the windows this season, if ye know what I mean*.

Thank you Ykone & Printemps for having me!

Dolce & Gabbana, 70% off

Matthew Williamson at ~£250

Prada perspex sandals; Bally boots

Burberry classics (around ~£200 mark)

Church’s brogues; Aquascutum red trenchcoat

Not my bags…

ASUS Transformer tablet with Kindle App

Mulberry envelope receipt holder for £35

Sweater – Gmarket, Shirt – Uniqlo, Jeans – Radcliffe Jeans, Shoes – Pierre Hardy for GAP, Watch – ASOS, Bag – Vehla Tote Bag NIV-E
, Sunglasses –Jeepers Peepers

This was such a gorgeous day, with one of those exotic weathers that London is yet to call back… I took a day off for a trip up to Bicester Village (designer outlet village just outside Oxford) with Kit, my usual honeymoon partner, with the invitation of lovely Laura of Chic Outlet. Rosy feelings aside, I must confess that while I was putting this post together I couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment in myself…

This blog has been steadily growing in my life to a point that it now amounts to a considerable portion of my polyjuice potion (me in a bottle) Truthfully, I don’t remember when was the last time I had a pep-talk with dear old self and looked back for self improvement. I can’t help but notice that this lack of reflective thinking and letting diem be Carpe‘d while I enjoy the scenery on autopilot have somehow led me to a rather unfamiliar territory. To this day I have never considered packing a bag and arranging travel to a destination with the sole purpose of shopping, possibly for the same reason there’s very little body revealing in this blog. I don’t mean to disdain – I too like shopping – but this time I feel like I’ve gone too far and tickled the Materialism beast. I know I had plenty fun that day, but on hindsight I don’t know what road this blog is taking me and to be honest I’m rather nervous.

To Bicester Village’s defence, the pricetags are digestible and the landscape is immaculate, and if your kidney needs a Dolce & Gabbana bejewelled boots then you know where to go. Alas, the beauty of this blog is that now it has a mind of its own and despite what I write here, if a visitor is inclined to skip the reading, then my reflection on virtue & yadda yadd will simply be dissolved into bytes, but ah, c’est la pee pee.