PREP-À-PORTER

Gridlines conjure up images of math class in my head, where I spent more time on my graphic display calculator making art than solving linear equations. So naturally, when I wore this grid-like pattern, I couldn't stop myself from feeling a little nostalgic and in the mood to pretend I was ready for school. If only I had a fraction of my current dress-sense back then.               There are few that can twist preppy into preppy-chic. Myself excluded, unfortunately. Most of the time if I do dare go down the back-to-school path, I actually end up looking like a kid ponning class. That's a little too real and on the verge of costume for me. This is one of those rare occasions where, by some stroke of sartorial luck, I kind of feel like I'm fancy enough to be in Cher Horowitz's squad. Can I sit with you, Cher? (No, not the teacher). Getting nostalgic about school got me thinking a lot about my time in ACS and how being there shaped my life. Who would have known that my random decision to get a camera 10 years ago, along with some very inspiring friends, would have made my dreams of becoming a vet do a complete 180? I remember spending many late nights not just doing essays, but satisfying my passions as well - editing photos, making banners, signatures and other graphics, creating posters for school events, etc. Back then, the haters (aka adults) told me that I was wasting my time on such nonsense... Looking back now, I can say with 100% certainty that it was definitely not a waste...

PONT ALEXANDRE III

    Upon stepping foot onto Parisian soil, most may flock to see the tour Eiffel, Musée du Louvre or Jardin des Tuileries, but my first pit stop had to be something more grand, more decadent, more in-tune with my aesthetic - the magnificent Pont Alexandre III. Even though I've seen it countless times before, captured in videos and photos, I was on a mission to see it with my own two eyes. And let me tell you something, it was worth the 40 minute walk along the Seine that chilled me to the bone. Note to self: bring a jacket no matter how warm the day might have seemed. As I came to the end of my frantic power-walk, I parked myself at the foot of the bridge to take in the scene that cold evening. Right on cue, the Eiffel Tower burst into life, with a dazzling display of sequin-like lights, against the faded pastels of sunset. If that isn't what you call magic, I don't know what is. It's in moments like these, when the universe slips into a recess of perfection and time stands still, that I truly feel appreciative of my life, and all I can do is smile. There's nothing left but you and the beauty of your surroundings.  In that moment I fell in love with Paris. Over the remainder of my trip I made several more visits here - crossing between Champs-Élysées and Invalides like a pingpong ball in a game of table tennis, fighting sea-legs while dining (snacking) on the river, still amazed by how the bridge looked like it had a different personality at different times of day. Luckily for me, Pont Alexandre III is located...

SUNDAY

      So, this weekend just outdid itself and made everyone's favourite day even better - dramatic drops in temperature, a jewel of a song from Adele and an extra hour of lazing in bed. Thank you, universe. Sweater weather? Check. Soundtrack? Check. An excuse to roll around in bed? Check. Although, does one ever really need an excuse to be comatose, sandwiched between the duvet and sheets? I think not. Such behaviour is definitely not reserved for an allocated day or occassion. Not for me, at least. Sundays, on the other hand, were made to be squandered away. That's how even the big guy intended it to be. After all, we do need to allot some recovery time for Friday and Saturday night shenanigans. Sundays are also the calm before a storm. And we all know that Monday can be a hell of a hurricane.       If Shakira can skip shower time on this day, I think the rest of us can be a little less hard on ourselves. I propose you stay home, in your PJs, bed-head and all, and enjoy some dedicated me-time. Listen to your favourite songs, or listen to your heartbeat while submerged in a tub. Cook yourself a meal, or make Pizza Hut's hotline bling. Read the book collecting dust that you picked up months ago, or read your landscape in braille. Watch the world go by from your window, or watch some reality tv, guilt-free (I repeat, guilt-free). You could do everything I just said, or nothing at all. The aim of the day is to de-stress and de-clutter your mind, so whatever works for you, go for it. Remember to relax, reflect and recharge yourself. It's...

A BLANK SPACE

On my inconclusive style and the colour white. "Don't you ever get bored of wearing white all the time?"As you may have noticed, I own a lot of white shirts (I do wear white a lot, but definitely not all the time) - exhibits A, B and C. Hence I often hear the aforementioned question over and over again. The simple answer would be no, I don't get bored of wearing white. Ah, but with me nothing is ever that simple, now is it? Story time, kids.Flashback to the mad rush of fashion week, in the too-narrow-for-life streets of London, where another question seemed to pop up ever too often - can you describe your style? I found myself answering with words like free, casual and experimental. Had this question been posed to me a mere two months earlier, the answer would have been completely different, entailing a response more along the lines of clean, minimal and comfortable. Hell, if I got asked this two weeks later, you would've heard me say sophisticated, luxe and bold.No, I don't have multiple personalities, despite what the phases of my style may make you think. What I decide to put on every morning is based on a whole multitude of factors, just like any other person. These may include the day's occasion, weather or even my mood. But for me, the biggest variable affecting my dress-sense usually relates to where I am.You're probably thinking well, duh, if you're at a beach in summer you wouldn't be wearing heattech and a fur coat, nor would you wear a swimsuit at a ski resort.What I mean is where I am geographically is what tends to sway my style in certain directions. The country, city or...

JE NE SAIS QUOI

After a glorious seven days in la Ville Lumière, I've come to a very concrete conclusion about Paris - this city was built out of magic and pixie dust. I can't quite put my finger on what exactly it was that enamoured me quicker than you could double tap an Instagram post. Was it the romantic and historically-rich architecture?  Was it the twisting wrought-iron balconies that overlooked the ridiculously photogenic streets that trapped my heart as I walked around? Or the fact that Paris is one of those places where you can actually walk everywhere you want to go? Or maybe it was because of the friendly people around me (I really don't know why the French get a bad rep for being rude)? The minute I settled into my charming Airbnb, I felt like I was home, and not like I was there for work or as a tourist. It could have been that? Whatever it may have been, it was the perfect mix of circumstances and a dash of that je ne sais quoi that makes Paris so Paris. I've left a trail of my heart through this city and you can track it through Instagram with #fixatedFRANCE. During the times that I wasn't floating through cobblestone streets, snapping every building, window and door that could be photographed, stuffing my face with every pastry and dessert in sight and stopping to smell the roses, I was covering Paris Fashion Week for the Fashionide. What a perfect marriage between pleasure and profession. In all honesty though, even the work side of this trip felt a lot like play to me. I guess that's what they...
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