When growing up is not a bad thing...

I used to think nothing, N.O.T.H.I.N.G would kill my obsession with cartoons. During one of my mother's frequent flippant remarks in my younger years about my attachment to every thing cartoon network had to offer, I swore never to give up on this (then) seemingly eternal passion of mine. Alas, eleven years on, my constant cartoon watching days have withered to days during the year when I am 'reliving' my childhood years. And okay, so those cartoon watching days are quite intense, like staying indoors for two days and watching pretty much all the Disney movies type intense.
But still.

 I was adamant that my love for cartoons would never ever wane - in fact, I expected to love cartoons more each year. Yet, I grew up into a One Tree Hill, Gilmore Girls watching freak of nature who sings Ella Fitzgerald to her teddy bear when no one...

 ... I digress. I guess the point I was, or essentially, am trying to make, is that life never fails to surprise me. Our convictions and passions, during the moments we experience them seem so big and real, that the possibilities of these passions diminishing never cross our minds. My love for fashion has taken this course. Oh, the first days of my fash-session were beautiful. I spent days researching the chances of being recruited by Teen Vogue and becoming the next Lauren Conrad. When that failed, I learned all I could about designers (Mr Largerfield took my fashginity, you see. For that, you will remain in my heart forever Karl. 4EVA), their modus operandi, the little quirks that distinguished them (I can spot a Balmain piece miles away, WITHOUT MY GLASSES, Ghesquiere, Mcqueen and of course Galliano). Style[dot]com, Vogue, Harpers Bazaar... You know, the major ones - I devoured them. I did everything a fash-sessed teenager would, even the blogging thing. I was definitely romanced by the world of fashion and clothes.

 

Now however, my former fash-pash (fashion passion, had to take it back to the streets) is leaving me. No longer do I feel the urge to make my rounds on the websites for runway shows, or weep at the fallen prospects of my attendance at any fashion weeks, or even desire to know what my beloved Karl is up to. Now, this does not mean to say that my love for clothes has run away with Naomi Campbell's hairline. Oh no. The way in which art is brought alive through clothing is still and I would like to think, will continuously be a constant hobby of mine. But who knows these things anymore. All of a sudden, the world of fashion has taken on an ugly shade of hollow emptiness and narcissism, appraising only those who can be at runway shows and dress in runway couture and be mannequins or 'muses', as the phrase goes these days. The originality, the art, the creations which once drew me to this world are being blindsighted by the bloggers and the Litas and the Nikons. Of course these are all my problems, rather than the problems of the world of fashion itself, nevertheless, the thrill is gone *cue BB King tune*

If not entirely gone, well, the thrill is going. Yet, despite all this, one thing remains clear - I will always be fascinated by fashion in all its ephemeral glory. The oohs and ahhs will never cease, because the artistry of clothes will always captivate me. And of course, Catherine Baba. To her, my allegiance will never cease.

... 4EVA.

<End Fragment>

Fashion Week// Yet another lonely day in the month of September...

So as everyone who is anyone who is concerned with the events unfolding in the fashion world will know, the major fashion events of the year have begun and are almost upon us (New York Fashion Week has taken over blogsphere TOTALLY, and London Fashion Week starts next week).


And right now, I am in an extremely surly mood. No, it is not because I am actually Wednesday from The Addams family and enjoy living in a state of sour-pussness (I am VERY aware that this is not a word. But I am very intent on starting a revolution, sooo.... Might as well start with words eh?), It is because EVERY year since, well... The years I have been such a fashion obsessed scarecrow, something or the other has prevented me from attending.

Shoes; Rachel Antonoff SS12

There's always, ALWAYS the problem of a lack of funds. I know, a clever person/someone who is actually that interested in fulfilling their dreams of attending London Fashion Week and getting hugged by Vivienne Westwood (so vivid is my imagination, you see) would save and scrounge pennies away to make this dream an actuality. But life is not that way, my dear friends. In my head, it seems achievable. But when one is faced with the decision of either-save-your-money-so-you-don't-spend-yet-another-semester-of-university-eating-cereal-daily, or buy-a-ticket-for-twenty-quids-and-spend-a-fortune-getting-to-London-for-one-day, life kinda wins. This pains me, because now I realise that I am becoming less of a dreamer and more of a realist. Which means I am growing up. Oh goody. 

United Bamboo Spring 2012;  I'm loving the monochromatic/ minimal feel of this collection. Shweet!

*Sidebar* See, if I were a rich girl, na na naaaaa, then I'd have all the money in the world and actually SIT IN ON A RUNWAY SHOW oh ohh ohhhh.... 

I really HATE being dependent on money for everything. Yes, yess, I have not been living under a rock, and    I have known for awhile that to live, money is expedient. I am very much aware. But in this case, I mean I hate the fact that I always have to pick and choose between, you know, DEATH and going to a fashion event which will make me momentarily happy. I just want to be able to live without having to pick or choose all the time. Is anyone with me in this, or am I just ranting for the sake of it? Is everyone but me privy to a trust fund and a rich daddy and mummy? 

Because that will just make me even more sad. And I might probably cry, and proceed to write dark, emo poetry on the inherent unfairness of life where my fashion obsession is concerned. 

Right, back to nursing my woes with a cuppa like the true fake Brit I am (Nigerian, baby). You see, everything seems to work itself out just by drinking a little Twinings.

I will be back, after my scheduled sulk - sesh, with more oohs and ahhs over the clothes... 

For now, Adios!

xoxo

Pictures courtesy of TUMBLR and STYLE.COM. Yee-HAR!

"Ahhh... Life."

I know. These words. Don't lie, you've said it AT least four times in your lifetime. Sometimes, you go days, weeks, months, having escaped these utterances, but then BAAM. The moment you least expect it, this thing called life rears its ugly, unwanted head, and brutally reminds you of its unfair existence.

I know.

By the tone of my writing, it is possible that you think that I am here to address something so heinous or ridiculously emotive to explain my wistful tone towards this thing called life. But alas, I am not. At least, I am not here to whimper about why life is unfair and blah blah blah, because, well, I am learning not to be the quintessential, whimpering girl, who let's everything and anything get to her. Emotions are a female dog, and, quite frankly, I cannot constantly weigh myself down with things which are inevitably bound to happen to me as a human.

Okay. It must seem as though I am speaking Greek.  Let us begin.  Seeing as I have a penchant for storytelling, I might as well bore you with a little anecdotal analogy of mine. Do bear with me on this. 

All my life, it seems at least, I have been living to please people. I know, now, in retrospect, I think about how much time, effort, and energy I have wasted put in to please people, and I shudder inwardly. As a teenager, I was told that my boisterous nature was not appealing, and that it meant that people would not like me. So I tried to make myself less loud, less talkative (psssh.), less... ME. Afterwards, after trying soooo unbelievably hard to be less Professor Trelawney and more Professor McGonagall,  I was accused of having a split personality, and that being two different people meant I was cunning and conniving. 

I KNOW!

Not to bore you with the intricate details of my very, well, interesting life, I shall just tell you that this exact pattern has followed me from my teens till this day. Naturally, during those formative years of my adolescence, so many things about my personality were assessed and scrutinised so often that I became quite unsure about who I was as person. I was changing myself quicker than... well... I don't know, but you get the picture, and trust me on this, juggling multiple personalities is a very tasking job. Very tasking job, I tell you.  And the worst part of it all? The worst part of it all was the fact that no matter how hard I tried to make myself into that perfect person that would please these particular people, my best was never good enough. When there was nothing to complain about, complaints about mindless things would ensue, resulting in harsh words and unnecessary antagonism. 

Yeaaaah, so it was rather hard being myself. I was so scared of what people would say, or think, or act towards me, that I became a shell of my former self in order not to let people have opinions about me. Well, I finally decided I was tired of living the life of an Egyptian slave, and thought that if I was this bad, or if my personality was this heinous, then I would like to hear it from the mouths of the WORLD itself. Screw being an emotional pansy who was being told not to act in this manner and dress in that manner, or present myself in such manner. Let's face it, all those times when I was trying to be Supergirl  and please the masses did not really work well in my favour, seeing as there was ALWAYS something I did not get right, or do right anyway. 

To cut the diatribe short, I would say that meeting my true self, and finally finding out who I was as a person was ridiculously liberating. It was like that moment in 'The Runaway Bride' where Julia Roberts finalllly realises what type of eggs she likes. I am not even kidding.  It was that bad!

Okay. So now, you've read my sob story, perhaps you can understand why I stand so strongly for individuality? If I could leave anyone with anything from this verbose article of mine, it would be that you should NEVER, EVER, let the opinions of the masses be the ultimate ruling factor of your life. As humans, we are ALWAYS prone to having opinions; even about things that are so factual, that having an opinion would be ridiculously foolhardy, but there you have it. And, although it may seem like I am preaching to the converted (or is the term 'preaching to the choir'? Ohhh I don't know), I just felt like re-iterating this point. The whole world will NEVER love you. Heck, they won't even like you. And even when you put in all your effort and sweat into trying to make yourself that person that people tell you you ought to be, that will never be ENOUGH. So, you are better off being yourself; enjoy being that crazy lady who is slightly over obsessed with Christmas and Miuiccia Prada. Ohhh... And her Ted. I know. *flutters eyelashes* I am quite comfortable being Professor Trelawney now more than ever. But if you are naturally a Professor McGonagall, then that's also cool.

BE YOURSELF. It's the best person worth being, honestly.

"If God wanted to create me otherwise, then he would have created me otherwise".

                                                                                                        - Goethe      

*P.S: Professor Trelawney and Professor McGonagall... Haaah. All my Harry Potter fans throw yo' hands in the airrrrr*

Best Blogger Award? Me? *reddens*...

Haaa, this post is so late. But it has made its way here, so...

Yeahhh... Okay. So the lovely Mbabazi of unsung dots tagged my little ole self in one of these cool award things that only cool bloggers give out to other cool bloggers... (LOL. Me? Blogger? Urm... Well, I do own a blog, so... )

ANYWAYS! Yeah. I got an award. And with it comes the requisition of letting blogsphere know seven things about you... So, here goes. Sorry if you already know this/do not care in the slightest/ get tired of the verbose essay which I am about to unleash upon you...

1. My name is... Okay, no. That just seems stifled and stuffy to start with my name.

1. *Take two* I have always, ALWAYS wanted to be a powerpuff girl. Laugh all you want, but this dream has followed me all the way through my childhood, up until this moment. There was something so magical about Blossom, Bubbles and Buttercup that made me constantly yearn to be the fourth member of their group. Had my outfit colour picked out and everything.

2. I have watched the Prince of Egypt SO MANY TIMES, that I even know the musical sequence. It used to be bad enough that I had memorised the whole dialogue, but, upon watching it for the upteenth time sometime ago, I have now realised that I know how the little musical fillers go. Sad, but there you have it. Aaron to Moses when he is being told that he is actually an Israelite: "Go ask the man you call father" . Classic moment.

3. My hormones let me know yesterday that I am quite healthily attracted to Ronald Weasley. You heard it here first, homies. *flutters eyelashes* 

4. I have this dream (Of which, my brain is filled with loads of them) of owning a boulangerie in the South of France or Italy, whilst living in one of those French maisonettes or the brightly painted Italian houses in a neighbourhood steeped in picturesque culture. Oh, and I would have a dog named superwoof. Or something moronic like that. I would live such a happy life, so happy that one day, whilst churning the butter to be used to make my mouth watering, world conquering croissants, I meet the most beautifully sculpted man who will sweep me off my feet right there and then and ask me for my hand in marriage. Yes, the imagery in my dream is THIS VIVID.

5. I am a Christian, in case nobody already figured that out. I try to live by the ethos of the Bible. Sometimes I think, ahhh screw it all, I want to live 'life' and participate in the mind blowing, fun experiences that my generation engage in. My impulses are very short lived, however. Not out of guilt or some latent puritanical streak I possess, merely by thoroughly watching and addressing that which is seemingly FUN and eye catching and realising that such earth shattering experiences are not actually to my taste. For this, I have only the Holy Spirit to thank.

6. Added to the spiritual mumbo jumbo, I would like to think that the only thing unique about me as a person is my dynamic relationship with God. Not that it's ANYWHERE near perfect, but I am trying, nonetheless.

7. Apparently I am a bit of a loner? Oh well. With such a vivid imagination as mine, who needs actual friends? Lawwl. I kid, I joke.

Yeahhh, this has been wayyyy fun, and wayyyy long. Sorry!

Now to tag other people who kick serious blogging ass and whose blogs are seeped in awesomeness...

Well, really, all you loverly blogs I frequently stalk are ALL the best! So please, do this. I love reading blog posts. I reaaaaallly enjoy the reading part, in case I have not mentioned that before.

Toodles!!!

xoxo

Shoes Shmooze// Current obsessions...

 

Prada creepers

Jil Sander two tone brogues

(source)

My current 'summer' obsession(s). I am rather infatuated with creepers at the minute. I was fascinated by them when they originally graced the Prada catwalk last year, but now, my fascination has become obsession. I love the gothic schoolgirl look they personify. And because, naturally, I AM indeed a gothic schoolgirl (Lol. I do like rock music, but erm... I wouldn't call myself a mosher) , I have to snag myself a pair. Can't you just imagine them paired with nice babydoll dresses?

And the two toned brogues from Jil Sander, 'cos well, normal brogues are so last summer. *disinterested face*

Yeah... My brain's already making outfits for my creepers/breepers that I am yet to purchase...

And since I am not yet at Anna Dello Russo's status with respect to the cash flow, I am on the lookout for cheaper imitations of the Prada ones...

Vans creeper-esque shoes - £28.79

River Island fringed brogues - £30

 

Miss Selfridge: NOW £25 from £50?!?!

My spirit is torn between the vans and the Miss Selfridge ones... 

And no, I am not gravitating towards these ones because they're the cheapest and I am a renowned cheapskate...

So... Yeah, new shoes here I come! 

Toodle- oo! And thank you all for your lovely comments, they really do make me smile.

xoxo

You are my sunshine, my only... Sunshine?

 

*Claps hands* I got an award! A sunshine award actually. Yaaaay! *does the rumba*

I'm not altogether sure what this award means, but it was given to me by the wonderful Adiya of The Corner Shop whose blog showcases small business ventures and praises creativity (Go, check her outtt!), which means this award has warmed my heart and made me feel very cool :)

Speaking of the SUN, England is still yet to make up its mind about this whole summer thing. And I love summer. I love the scorching heat, and barbeques, and wearing almost next to nothing (even though I NEVER actually wear next to nothing, but you know..), and lazing around watching Charmed for, well, the whole day on Living TV.

Take today for example. I woke up to miserable weather: dreary, gloomy skies, dark clouds and all that jazz. Then, it starts raining and it's windy, and I'm all "well, that ends my leaving this house today", THEN, just as abruptly as this rain starts, it disappears quicker than Hermione Granger dissapparates (Ooooh, who's excited for the final Harry Potter? I cannot WAIT). But the wind still stays though.

So Seyi's not happy, 'cos damn it,  I'm tired of wearing tights in June! I muster up all the courage left in me to brace the wind and rain and go out, clad in boots and tights AGAIN:

Shirt: Next; Shorts: Primark, I  think? Facial Expression: erm... Mine. Lol... Boots: Dr Martens

Okay. So, I get dressed, get out of the house, despite my lack of enthusiasm about the weather, and walk a few minutes, ONLY to feel the sun on me.

*deadpan expression*

I'mma need England's mother nature to please, make her mind up. This does not fly with me!

Yeah. Rant over, by the by.

Toodles!
xoxo

Pile it all on ya, why... dontcha?...

 

 Orange shoooooezzz! - some random shop in uni. Massive reduction from about 30quids to 6. I was going to treat myself to some Nando's with that money, but then...Lol.

Shirt- Aunty's clothes from the 90s that she don't wear no' mo' :)

Waistcoat- My friend stole it from her 11 year old brother, and I nicely 'borrowed' it,

Superskinnies- Gap

P.S: I've decided to embark upon a new venture, to you know, boost my street cred.

Notice the title? Guys, I do believe I have been hiding a talent of mine which can no longer be supressed.

I have decided I want to become a rapper. Don't you think I'd be good at it? Rhyming the 'ya' with 'dontcha' is so genius, like toh-tuh-lee genius, I think I should take myself more serious, and pursue this newly apparent dream/talent of mine...

...'Dontcha' think?

Now to find a befitting, cool name to go with my rapper status. More information to come soon!

Oh yeah. Every once in a while, when my narcissism overshadows my shyness, I am able to take pictures of myself and post it on here....

These outfit post things still give me the heebie jeebies. You know? I'd much rather write than have my face on here. 'Cos I'm chicken like that... 

...On to the clothes now. Gosh I talk an awful lot. Well, as you can see, I decided to wear the world and its mama's jewellery on my person to church yesterday. Sometimes, dressing in a kitschy manner is all you need to lift your sunken spirits!

There's a monkey somewhere in between all that rubble on my neck, which I am in love with right now, from Claire's Accesories. For a paaand. Score!

Okay. Erm. I'll be back. Waaay too much talkations going on here.

Shmoodleloooo!

xoxo

When the music fades...

The brain is a weird mechanism.

Very weird. I'm beginning to think that perhaps good ole' Sigmund (Freud sounds waaay too ordinary) was actually onto something with his Superego, Id and Ego business. 

Okay. I must stop speaking metaphorically and get on with it. This is a slightly different post than expected from Queen Crazy, because, well. Every body gets their quota of unhappiness/grief/sadness/depression soon enough. There's no running away from life is there?

Hence, I re-iterate once again: The brain is a very weird piece of equipment. My last post, the one about life's ever changing routes? Weeeellll, when I wrote that, I was simply thinking aloud, you know, with maturity, realisations such as those become normal. Sometimes these realisations become reality.

Yerp. What begun as a thought has translated into my reality, because as I type, something which I can say has NEVER happened to me, has indeed happened.

I failed an exam. 

No, no... I failed three exams, to be exact. 

I have never failed at anything in my life. Especially not exams. This is not me being boastful, or claiming intelligence as my God - given right. But as is our intrinsic human nature, being accustomed to something, and having that thing taken away from you shakes you to your very core.

Upon receiving this news, my tears have been non stop. One would think I am in a situation reminiscent to Anne Frank's. I know, none of my parents are dead, I am not a Jew in a foreign country, and nobody is searching high and nigh for my body; dead or alive.

But still. 

It feels like my whole life, my existence, who I am, has changed. My feelings towards this, towards life, has taken another turn. To some people who will read this, their reactions will either be for me to get a grip on life and stop whining about something as trivial as education or exams. But to others, my feelings and my fears will   probably be a mirroring of similar experiences, albeit not through exam failure: something or someone or some situation will have or is happening to you right now that you would NEVER have thought, even if Buzz Lightyear were to become president, would happen to you.

So, as my very understanding parents have been reassuring me, I come to you with this. Reach down into your soul, spirit, chakras, or whatever (my soul, that would be, being a Jesus kid and all), and find that strength that we have all been blessed with as humans. I think the scientists, with all their love for indecipherable jargon and mumbo jumbo have labelled it less ethereally and just tagged this strength asThe Survival Of The Fittest? or something?

Yeah. Find your inner strength, your survival, your sanity blanket, channel it, and keep moving. Though it may seem like the end of life infinity times over, it really is not. It is simply, just the beginning of a new reality.

So. Keep moving. And stop crying.

P.S. This post is simply my way of publicly reassuring myself (and anyone out there in a similar  situation) that I will not become a good for nothing statistic who will, due to this my very unfortunate mishap, never be able to fulfill my life-long dream/ambition of meeting Miuiccia Prada and having her fall in love with my sunny disposition and charming personality that we become confidantes. 


Since I have so cleverly imbibed fashion into this sad ole' tale of mine, I might as well show you the shoes I am currently salivating over when feelings of dread are not overtaking my whole system...

They're New Look wedges, and they used to have them in orange, but I think they must be sold out. I figure, fingers crossed, if all goes well with my resits, and I pass, these babies will be my present to myself...

And with that, ladies and gentlefolk, I bid you farewell.

God bless!
xoxo

On having natural hair... and all that jazz in between...

 

Only when I became 'natural', did I realise there was this feud between the natural haired ladies and the ones on 'creamy crack', as relaxers have been labelled now. Ohhh madame CJ Walker. See what you've caused!

Okay, I kid. Much respect for madame CJ actually.

I like the message this lady addresses. One's decision to become natural should not become the cause for speculation on the person's motive, or a reason to attack said person. I should also point out here that I have no problem whatsoever with people who perm their hair, or use weaves. Autonomy is key in life. However, I have a problem with the misconception that without a weave, you are not beautiful. I refuse to buy into that brainwashed ideology of straight hair being the key to beauty.

I've never had a weave. No, that is a fib. I had one of those glue in  block fringe thingies sometime last year, and that was a wholeeee new experience for me, seeing as that was the closest I had ever come to having a weave. And it itched like hell. And also resulted in the worst forehead breakout of my entire existence.

Coming from someone who is still dealing with insecurity issues due to the spot- infestation puberty so kindly graced my face with, having more spots was something I was not planning on dealing with. So off the fringe went. That was the last of my weave experimentation. Hahaha... I don't think I can handle that much itching, ALL OVER MY HEAD this time, should I get a full weave done. Bad times.

Anyways, the point of this rant herein, is just to spread this simple message: 'Chill out'. Yerp. I had to resort to  the use of youthful vernacular to get my message across.

I hear too many girls voice their opinions on natural hair being ugly, and not looking as nice as fake hair, and yada yada yada...

I see too many girls sold out on the silly idea that their real hair (Be it natural or relaxed), is not fit to be shown to society in that state, unless more hair has been sewn into it, or unless their 'signature' bouncy curls have been attached to their hair.

I see wayyyy too many girls who believe that the weave(s) on their heads define who they are, and therefore have the audacity to look down on girls who decide to go natural. This saddens me.
And the WORST part of it all? I see boys, who fuel this craze for Rapunzel hair within our community by requiring that their potential girlfriends or current girl affiliates have certain types of hair, or have ' hair length requirements' which these girls must adhere to.

Before I became natural, I was already dealing with MAJOR insecurity issues. Like most girls do; not thinking I was good enough, not pretty enough, too loud, too weird, easily misunderstood, too complicated, never being referred to as 'being pretty' during conversations, too different. That was the part that scared me the most. It's amazing now how the tables have turned, and weird is the new cool, and being different is celebrated. I HATED IT. I hated always having opinions on the topics that people would rather not know about, hated that I had to make myself into this particular type of person to please these particular type of people. Hated that I was not the quintessential 'damsel in distress' teenage girl who had all the boys swooning by the faintest batting of an eyelash. I was always the 'Best friend', the girl who understood the boys' predicament, the girl who drew conversations out of people by making a total fool of herself, the girl who, despite never having been in a relationship was the ultimate relationship guru. I wanted to be that other girl. Always.

Sheesh. Talk about being riddled with insecurities, right?

And then I went natural. W..elll... I just shaved my hair off really, not intending to 'go natural' or BC as the naturalistas call it. And the insecurities are intensified with every look in the mirror, despite people telling you that your hair looks beautiful, or, the funniest roundabout compliment I recieved: 'At least it looks okay on you', okay translating to ' Well, you could have looked a lot worse than you do'. Hilarious. Going natural has been one of the weirdest experiences of my life.

Anyways, before I go on filling this space without regard for the longevity of the post or the fact that I have to get back to my revision, I shall round this up. There is enough room for both natural haired girls and non - natural haired girls on the planet. There is no need for the naturalistas to look down upon the weave - laden women out there because of some latent belief that they are more 'woman' than the girl next door with a relaxer, neither is there need for the snobbery often witnessed from the 'permers' who think having such nappy hair on display for the world to see is abominable.

Let's all take a chill pill and enjoy the sunshine. Oh and  revel in the beauty of being individually different; be it whilst rockin' an afro, or a perm.


Toodle - oo!
xoxo

Deola Sagoe Autumn/Winter '11 - 'Oh Fashion, I love Thee'

Hi beautiful people! Hope you have had (or are having) a wonderful Sunday? I know I am! Yes. In fact, at this precise moment, thoughts of particles and drug formulations are what I am consumed with.

Or, perhaps not;  given that I am about to embark upon a rant about fashion again, suggesting that I am merely drifting in and out of this revision 'bizniz' and not solely focused on pharmaceutics. But I am not really to be blamed for this entirely. I just cannot help myself from clicking away and blog stalking during my very lengthy breaks, which are OBVIOUSLY much deserved.

But, I digress. Back to the topic at hand.

So, anyway, I was perusing one of the tumblr blogs I frequent, which just happens to be my very beautiful cousin's blog. All you tumblr lovers, go check it out here, she's, well, given that no other words will express this in its entirety, too dope. Despite my inadequacy at working tumblr, I manage to understand how to get around hers without letting off a fire alarm.  Okay. A tad bit exaggerated, but it makes for good, light hearted reading, si?

RIGHT! I was on her blog during my seventeenth break in the last two hours, and lo and behold. What do I see? Yes. You guessed right. I am privileged to witness a sneak peek of  Deola Sagoe's Autumn/Winter '11 collection.

I think the exact words I used on twitter would be 'jizzed'. Yurp. I'm so jizzed. Not even sure I even know what that means, but, oh well eh?

Every time I speak of couture, and how obsessed I am with collections that I probably will never be able to afford in this lifetime and the next, my friends always attack me with the same statement:

'Seyi, I really do not know why you bother with all this fashion; the clothes don't look normal, and it's not like you can afford it!'

Obviously, times like these usually involve my sheer amazement at the design and artistry of the collections that I have nothing to say to them, except gawk and gawk even more at the beautiful pieces. Call me what you may, I love loving clothes. I would delve into a thesis about why it would be inappropriate to call the embodiment of fashion 'just clothes', but, alas, there is not enough time.

Deola Sagoe as a fashion powerhouse in Nigeria, and as a designer, never fails to disappoint. Japanese inspiration is evident in the pieces, with the intricate fan detailing and the kimonos. And nothing says Deola Sagoe better than an influx of 'African-ness' right?

I love the use of lace. Exudes uber femininity... Ahhh it feels like the dress was literally painted on the model's body.

O...kayyy. I think I need to exit the building.

Goodbye guys! Hope you enjoy the collection as much as I do!

Picture credits: www.voguebespoke.tumblr.com. Peep the rest of the collection there also...

Aloha! Must get back to... ahem... my "work"..

Feel free to drop comments and tell me what you think!
xoxo

We are all intrinsically made to be SOMEONES...

This is what I have observed to be good: that it is appropriate for a person to eat, to drink and to find satisfaction in their toilsome labor under the sun during the few days of life God has given them—for this is their lot.  Moreover, when God gives someone wealth and possessions, and the ability to enjoy them, to accept their lot and be happy in their toil—this is a gift of God. 

Ecclesiastes 5: 18-19  

Go, eat your food with gladness, and drink your wine with a joyful heart, for God has already approved what you do. Always be clothed in white, and always anoint your head with oil. Enjoy life with your wife, whom you love, all the days of this meaningless life that God has given you under the sun—all your meaningless days. For this is your lot in life and in your toilsome labor under the sun.Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might, for in the realm of the dead, where you are going, there is neither working nor planning nor knowledge nor wisdom.

Ecclesiastes 9:7-10

... These Bible verses speak volumes to me, not because it almost condones hedonism by encouraging us to eat, be merry and make babies, but because of what I think is the main message of the whole book of Ecclesiastes. This life is not promised to us. I go through random days of nothingness sometimes, wallowing in self-pity, wondering where life is going to take me, assuming that the next day is promised to me. I neglect the simple things - simple things like the fact that I love painting, but haven't drawn since high school because I think it's a waste of time. Or the fact that I write poetry, but only limit myself to thinking these things up when I'm either earth shatteringly depressed, or in like/immensely feel something for someone. Not when things seem fine. Or, the fact that I sing, but for years, I've hidden under the 'I'm too shy' banner, thus doing nothing with what God has given me. 

There is talent embedded within every soul. Every being on earth has something or some things that make them happy, or things that cause that little twitch of excitement in their eyes once mentioned or once fulfilled. I know I get excited when people talk about the 20s. Or the 40s... Okayyyy... 50s, 60s, 70s.... all the eras except the actual one I was born in. My eyes widen, I begin talking even more so than I already do, indecipherable words like 'Oooh and Queen Nefertiti was blah blah blah', 'oooh, let me tell you about the Nubian kingdom', 'do you know that 20s fashion is still what we're thriving on in the twenty - first century?'.

So. My point? My point, ladies and gentlemen is: Find that thing that makes your eyes twitch with excitement. The one thing that elicits happiness just by your accomplishment of it, no matter how small and unimportant it might seem to everyone else. The gift(s) you can use to your happiness, your sanity, your fulfilment, to keeping your mind sane in this insane world we live in. 

We keep trying to find happiness by doing the same things, in the same ways others have done before us. Even if it has been done, or is being done by everyone already, the world has not experienced that same thing through YOUR EYES.  What do you do that the world does not know yet? DO IT AND LET THEM KNOW! YOUR TALENT IS WORTH BEING SHARED WITH THE WORLD. Your shower head probably loves when you croon softly, with your majestic voice to it, but is tired of being the only one hearing your amazing voice. Your friends and/or your diary are getting agitated by you only sharing your genius ideas with them only and not the rest of the world.

GO OUT THERE, AND BE THE YOU GOD WANTS YOU TO BE. Happiness? You want happiness? FIND YOU. AND DO YOU. Happiness is an easy A after that.

... Now I gotta go. Because, in staying true to myself, I have poured hot coffee all over myself. Gosh. Now that I have shown you what an incurable, clumsy kid I am, I might as well be back with the story of how I walked into a door and busted my lip a few weeks back. This being 'cool' façade is slowly beginning to wear thin.

Aloha friendies! 

God bless!

xoxo

Healthy Obsession// Unhealthy Covetousness . . . Miuiccia FOR THE WHOLE UNIVERSE!

Ohmygoodness!

I am super duper high on serotonin right now, for a variety of reasons;

• The sun was out today. This is rather monumental for England you see, especially as it's only April. And when I mean out, I mean like scorching heat that makes you SWEAT. Or slap yo' momma. Or whatever else those crazy Americans do.

Which obviously meant I was able to get my legs out and have a gander in the sun. Oh, and act foolishly (foolishly like getting on one of the tables in Starbucks and belting Jackson Five songs out, since my friends have labelled me little Mikey 'cos of the 'fro), get frappuccinos... Because every 'fashion-related blogger' (pukes at stereotype) is obsessed with Starbucks.

Okay. I am obsessed with Starbucks (WHOEVER INVENTED COSTA, deserves taekwondo Jet Li style)  and I tend to go off on fashiony rants a lot.. which makes me a Mulberry-toting, Giuseppe Zanotti wearing cool blogger person. Yerrp.

• I handed in my last piece of coursework for this year. Which means I'm done, finito, with second year. Except, there's the whole exam thing. But that's in May. Which means, there is obviously, OBVIOUSLY time on my hands for trivially important (haha... paradoxical, right?) things such as blogging and pining for Miuiccia Prada to become a member of my family.

There's Miu Miu... Which resonates with the ultimate kookiness that makes up my slightly... normal persona... The sheer artistry of the collections are just mind boggling. Yes, boggling.

There's Prada, the more 'mature' collection that is usually expected to be a tamer version of her very vibrant, pattern heavy Miu Miu collection, but she is not a woman who likes to be boxed into such defined categories. Hence why her spring 2011RTW collection literally made me scream like a kid on cocaine candy. Bleurgh. Innovation and creativity turns me to putty too much.

I really wish I could adopt her, or get her to adopt me. Or just telepathically let her know how much I admire her work and her drive and just  love her in general.

That will be all for now.  Too many pictures, I know! Too many words as well. Ummph. I am not good with striking balances. Apologies. 

Toodo - loo!

"You with the sad eyes..."

...I've noticed that of recent, my post titles tend to be quotes; unauthentic and stolen from other great minds. Take this post title, for example. It has nothing to do with anything, it just so happens that my iTunes has decided to play the Glee version of Jill Scott and Fredro Starr's 'True Colours' at this precise moment, thus leading to its name.

Not that I would have thought of an appropriate post title anyway. But... Oh well. These things happen.

We shall begin, before I go off on another pointless rant on this thing. It's almost going on 2am here, I have a test tomorrow that I know pretty much NOTHING about (I promise I am not a slobby university student who is at uni simply for the 'experience' and the 'bursaries'. I actually want to secure myself a future of some sort... Buuuut, trust me when I say that studying Pharmacy is not for the faint hearted) , and blogging is what has taken my interest right now.  Earlier, I was trying on all the shoes in my wardrobe, before that, I was wowing the people on twitter with mindless, unneccesary information (a la the existential purpose of twitter), and even before that, I gave myself a break to get myself  a MUCH DESERVED Skittles milkshake. 


Do not fret; despite my warped prioritization skills, I have resigned myself to the fact that I will not be sleeping tonight. It has to be done, eh?

Anyways, to the matter at hand. I have noticed yet another trend within my age group. Boys are falling in love, girls are falling in love with love, everyone's listening to Esperanza's 'Fall In' on repeat, girls are sighing and looking wistfully into oblivion during those uber romantic scenes in movies  (YES.. Okay. I fall into this category...) and as a result, news of emerging relationships are reaching me as quickly as Facebook status updates. Is it just me, or is it the same everywhere else?


Added to the fact that we are about ushering the WONDERFUL MONTHS OF SUMMER in. I know what you're thinking. Relationships and summer are like, the best combinations ever invented.

Only after PB&J sandwiches though.

But, yeah. Relationships. I honestly do not know what to make of them. I really wanted one during the winter months, so  I could be the proud owner of a six-foot something, Boris Kodjoe looking, guitar-toting, personal radiator. Note that I used the word 'own'. It's bad, I know. Priorities again, right? I'm still at that point where I want a relationship more for the aesthetic, Hollywood instilled reasons. For emotional stability; to be a constant in my life. The guy I could demand a cuddle from at the most unreasonable of moments, or who would let me babble on and on... and on... about how Miuiccia's shoes are a godsend, even when he has no CLUE whatsoever if Miuiccia is a brand of vormicelli, talk less of being human.

I haven't even given any thought to what HE might want from me. Not once. Not ever. My idea of an ideal relationship is always based on how much he can do for me, never once stopping to think about his feelings. Like, how he'd probably expect me to understand that when he's playing those silly games or watching some sport or the other, he is not to be disturbed?

... I guess, for right now, at this point in my life, listening to Esperanza croon about how she's found heaven by falling in love should be as far as my 'relationship' dreams go.

As well as constantly watching this video...



...Because I don't want to 'end up with HIM'. Deep stuff yo.

I must exeunt now!!!

Off to try and get some information about bacteria into my brain.

So long lovelies!
xoxo