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Thursday, 16 June 2011

Living it Large: Volume I, Wardrobe Recirculation

I have taken up the annual task of de-cluttering my closet and consequential floordrobe. It’s a meagre task that requires a preparation of anti-histamines, fluids, rubbish bags and Spice World playing in the background. It should take me no less than a week. What once upon a time, was a perfectly organised space, dividing scarf from sock has escalated into a pit of terror and chiffon. As a result of this I have  been wearing the same, five interchangeable outfits for the last two months. So, for the sake of my health, my happiness and my street cred, I am taking my life into my hands and starting with my tights drawer.

I think I have more pairs of tights than anything else in the world, including friends. Each pair more ambitious than the last, I have an array of nylons that Cyndi Lauper would be proud of. In addition to this, about five million black pairs. And not one, not one single pair without a hole in it. I’ve developed an ineffective system of trying them on, in an early morning-induced coma, realising my leg bits are exposed in someway (heaven forefend!) and replacing them in the abyss. And the cycle continues…

The primary advantage of tidying is finding cool things I forgot I owned, particularly with clothes.  Being poor, does not accommodate shopping sprees and the St. Vincent de Paul don't give out Topshop vouchers. Wardrobe recirculation thus serves as the next best thing.

On this occasion I struck bric-a-brac gold! Within the hosiery pit, I found a hip flask, my First Holy Communion bag and a calculator. A 21st Century woman's Holy Trinity. 

As I became distracted with my new things I found, the clean up has been postponed until spelling BOOBIES on a calculator gets boring. Which is NEVER. 

Sunday, 12 June 2011


I always assumed that someone who wrote a blog was just a person with too much time on their hands, and too much opinion on their person. Since I’ve become one of these individuals, now that I have “finished” college, have a useless degree and am increasingly angry at the world, it is time.

Marginally qualified in the field of astrophysics, I am testament to the demise of the educational system in Ireland. If I do ever overcome the bane of my life, electromagnetism, I shall sellotape my degree to the wall, and cover it with a poster of A1.  It’ll be crazy symbolic.

Hoping to enter the field of “that dress is nice” journalism, I can only assume my background in calculus will help. It was my dream to be the founder of math-based fashion theory, intertwining the genius of Newton and Westwood, to create the ultimate elitist language. But then I remembered that it was boring.

I would aim for my musings to be insightful and intelligent, constructive and thought-provoking, but realistically  they won't.