Hair of the dog, or something like that

Yesterday I made the first real break from my brief and spent an extortionate amount of money (€209, in the name of honest disclosure) on my hair. A cut, colour, and the purchase of one extremely essential hair styling product.

For the past two years or so, I’ve been going to Queen, on Aungier Street in Dublin 2.

I have curly hair, y’see, and as such it becomes quite difficult to find a hairdresser who understands and appreciates your needs. In Queen, I found Elanor, who does both, and Lorraine, who understands my colour needs and also has hilarious anecdotes about her obese guinea pig who for the life of him won’t understand why he should exercise.

I did wrestle with my conscience for a while about this one; is a haircut an essential purchase? In the name of non-consumption, shouldn’t I let my friends experiment on me, rather than spend copious amounts of money in a designated salon being primped and preened?

I came to the conclusion that no, it wouldn’t be the same; yes, I need to spend money on my hair because (a) I need to look professional at work, (b) I need to look good outside of work and (c) going to the hairdresser makes me happy, which is not entirely unrelated to the aforementioned guinea pig tales.

So judge me all you like – or maybe take a trip to Queen and then judge me again, and see how it feels trying to justify your haircuts to your friends and family.

Freedom of speech, like?

The Irish Times has finally launched a comment function on its website, entitled (ingeniously – no sarcasm, honestly) Have Your Say. But, aside from being tres difficult to find, it doesn’t apply to all op-ed pieces.

Still, a step in the right direction; full-on Guardian glory, here we come.

Today I dressed up for work

But it appeared that the world was against me. I wore white jeans which – aside from being very Liz Hurley – is not the most practical choice, especially when one is cycling. But I did feel the slightest bit smug as I cycled happily along the canal, alongside the thousands of other cyclists in their high-viz and socks-over-trousers combos.

However – when my chain fell off I soon began to regret that smugness. Somehow I’d never had to put a chain back on a bicycle, and I found it slightly tricky. Although I’ll admit that when I got the hang of it. . . well, it ain’t that hard now is it? Anyway I did have to recruit the help of a young Polish gentleman who proceeded to berate me:

- You don’t really need get off bike, you just put up gear, like this! [Helpful demonstration of gear change; obviously I looked really thick.]

In any case, I dressed up for work: heels, white jeans (yes, yes, an odd choice but it was sunny and I rarely wear them), flowery blouse, tailored jacket, hair up. And while I know that dressing up isn’t going to keep me my job, it makes me feel that little bit more competent while I’m doing it. Does that mean there’s something lacking in my work ethic? I don’t know, but I do know that on those lovely, lazy Sundays where I sit around in my pyjamas and watch Hollyoaks and old movies, I could barely solve the simple Sudoku.

Insuring the best deal

Today I called to renew my car insurance with Axa. “That’ll be €416 for the year,” he says (I have a very small car, 750cc to be precise). “Can you take anything off that?” I ask. “Yes,” he says. I was too taken aback to bargain, and when he returned with €350 I fairly rushed into giving him my Laser details.

I heard about this happening, you know, but now that it’s happened to me well gosh, I feel all warm and fuzzy. Vive la recession!*

* I know that is incredibly insensitive and apologise to those of you who have been laid off / have no job / drive a Porsche Cayenne and pay extortionate insurance and tax have something to complain about.

I buckled on Day 27

And bought three magazines: Glamour, Elle and Harper’s Bazaar. In my defence, I am attempting to come up with ideas to pitch for a fashion magazine, and I realised that in just 27 short days I had completely lost touch with what was relevant in the fashion world, and was feeling distinctly uninspired. So there it is: €15 on fashion magazines.

I also attended, on Day 27, the launch of the Barbara Hulanicki collection for Topshop. The collection is sweet, fresh and with an air of whimsy that is becoming more and more relevant as we go deeper down the recession hole. It’s interesting how designers from Dior to Burberry to Giles are adding certain “peppy” touches to their collections, adding that certain je ne sais quoi to lend a certain brightness and positivity to the fashion mood.

My sister, who designs for Diane von Furstenberg, recently summed it up when she said that consumers want that feelgood factor; whatever you think about the merits of achieving that through consumption of clothing, it’s true that people want bright, colourful, cheerful items. Colour is the new black, darlings – oh, and florals, therefore, ain’t going nowhere.

As for the Hulanicki collection, I’d go for this adorable orange dress if I had the legs for it and didn’t have a fear of the gynaecologist.

Life’s better when you’re laughing

Recently I decided that, whenever I was taking group photographs (or being photographed in a group), I would look the other person in the eye and laugh as if they’d just told the funniest joke in the world. It makes you look completely insane while the photograph is being taken, but it does make for some excellent holiday snaps. Cases in point:

D sistah et moi

D ma and d sistah

 

P, d sistah, et moi

Taking photographs like this also has the excellent side effect of actually making you laugh, for real.

Nothing great about graffiti?

On October 11th, 2008, The Irish Times published an article – four pages in the Saturday magazine – on the merits of graffiti, and its emergence as a form of political protest on Dublin’s streets. On October 14th, one (of many, I assume) gentleman wrote to object to the graffiti-love. “If I sneak across the road in the dead of night and spray-paint my neighbour’s house,” he asked, “am I connecting with him?” A valid point, one has to admit, when faced with statements by well-known Dublin artists who claim to be “connecting” with the city.

Here is a series of photographs of graffiti on one wall in Bologna, Italy. Does Irish graffiti really step up to the plate? (Those with corporate sponsorship need not apply. . .)

This song makes me want to. . .

Cry a little. But that’s the version, rather than the song.

Why working at the Guardian looks like fun #1

Via Mark: Tom Meltzer, while on work experience for the Guardian, covers for Charlie Brooker. And very nearly out-funnies him. And, while he’s at it, he manages to confirm everyone’s suspicions about Disappear Here. Two very enthusiastic thumbs up.

Retail therapy to soothe my soul

As I am unable to shop, I have been avoiding fashion magazines, fashion-related e-mails and scouring online clothing stores in an effort to wean myself off the shopping. But this weekend, in Bologna, forced to wander around H&M, Zara, Promod et al for an afternoon, taught me that I am stronger-willed than I had previously thought. And the fact is, I love fashion. There is a concern that this year of non-consumption will take that away from me, and I’d like to at least try to stay in touch with what’s au courant in the fashion world. So here is my wish list for today; these are the items that I would buy, were I able – and, in the case of the Moschino, had I won the Lotto.

Just enough whimsy

My wish list is, I should stress, mismatched; there is nothing on there that could be worn with anything else. Except, maybe, the sequinned waistcoat from Topshop and the Moschino dress, but even then I might be overdoing the detail and, although that sounds great in theory, I’m not quite sure I could pull it off. 

The problem with my own personal style is that I no longer really have one. When I was younger I dressed quite punky; I wore ripped jeans with tight t-shirts, headscarves and a lot of earrings. While I’m not upset that I have abandoned this look in favour of a more neutral style, I disappoint myself sometimes by not putting in the effort. I have resolved today (as if I haven’t got enough to be doing) to attempt, for a few weeks, to live like What I Wore. I’m not going to steal her idea though; for the moment, my snaps will be my own, but I’d imagine that, if you absolutely had to document what you wore each and every day, you’d look a whole lot better than I look now, for example.

A conversation with C recently about work attire got my confused though; while I maintain that putting in an effort where you work, regardless of the job you do, will serve you well in the long run, she argued that it depends on your office. Her office, she says, is casual, so she can wear jeans and Converse and be happy in her casual cool. As far as I know, there is no dress code in my office; I started off wearing tea dresses and heels, migrated to skirts and tops and boots, and am now quite often to be found in jeans and blouses. Well, no more, I say! From here on in I shall be co-ordinated, accessorised and professional. In these straitened economic times. . . oh, sod it, I feel better when I dress up. Ain’t that the troooof.

Loeffler Randall boots: pricey but perfect

Masculine modelling

Kooky print, feminine styling

Original and best

Disco-casual

Just enough whimsy