Weekly Edit: Feeling Blue

Weekly Edit #1 - Scrapbook page devoted to denim, denim, denim! 

Denim, ladies and gentlemen, is having a moment.
I do not mean a 15 minutes of fame kind of moment, I do not mean a flash-fashion kind of moment, but a full blown, Susan Boyle I Dreamed A Dream kind of moment.

And I am completely swept away.

I would just like to begin with the statement that I, quite royally, DESPISE jeans.
I hate them.
I hate skinny. I hate flared. I hate bootcut. I hate boyfriend. I hate coloured and patterned and stone wash and black.
I just hate jeans.

Yes, it all down to a MASSIVE inferiority complex. Skinny jeans have always and will always be cool and I cannot pull them off. The fabric itself stretches across my thighs the way Lycra would go across an elephant. The colours are unflattering, and I've only ever encountered one pair that fit me at both the waist and the length and those were from a shop in California. Helpful.

Perfect Pini

But denim, I love.

And it's back in every form possible. From handbags to dresses, everyone is in on it.

Topshop's current denim range include the most perfect Pini I've ever seen. My wardrobe has to have it, coming into summer it'll be worn with lacy socks inside pretty Converse, and brightly coloured crop tops. Then come the winter the socks will become woolen tights and the crop tops into long sleeved shirts and jumpers. Stylish and warm (well, living in Manchester, a girl has to find a way to do both!).

A few of the beautiful Mary Katrantzou collection.

Meanwhile, Mary Katrantzou's Current/Elliot collaboration  combines must have prints with the season's must have fabric, creating everything from tops and shirts to dresses and shorts. I mean, yes, it's pricey and no, I'll never own an item within the collection, but, look at it! It's just such a pretty collection, which is almost a miracle since denim is a pretty hideous fabric.


I have also, been after an over sized denim jacket for what feels like a life time, but two of my housemates beat me to it (despite my insesnt whining) so now I just borrow theirs. It feels to me like even if the summer doesn't see in many blue skies (see again the note on me living in Manchester) then at least my wardrobe will be. I support double denim. I really do, if you can pull it off without looking a member of B*Witched then you're going places in life, and if you're one of the few lucky bitches/indie boys that can rock the skinny, then chances are you are already within life's elite.

- Much love xo

The One In Which I Acquire a Boyfriend

A strange, funny and mysterious thing happened this weekend my darling, devoted readers.
I became a 'girlfriend'.
Which, for those of you who are unaware of relationship terminologies means that I, yes, me, Miss Hayley Olimba Devlin, have a boyfriend.
A boy who is more than merely just my friend.
Not someone I am sleeping with.
Not even someone I am texting and sort of fancy.
No, no. I have a full blown, bonafide, real as the present day boyfriend.

I know, I know. I'm still waiting to wake up and for it to have been an odd dream following a heavy night out.

So, here comes the question. How, I ask, does the girl who has been single forever, and who very much liked it that way, despite her near constant drone, become someone's other half? And how does she do so without turning into one of the regular relationship psychopaths?
You know, because people in relationships are all insane and things...?

I have learn how to be someone's other half, whilst still being me. Technically, it shouldn't be that hard. I've been me for 19 years, and I've never had to compromise with myself. People tell me that every relationship involves sacrifice, and compromise and that it's the little things that matter. I would like to think that after 19 years of it being just me, I know myself well enough to know how to bring all the best parts of myself to a relationship  Lord knows, I've witnessed enough of them over the years!

I will, of course, have my moments, I'm not sane at the best of times, let alone when my emotions are heightened but I will keep calm. I will. I will NOT turn into a crazy person... Ok, crazier person.
I will not get scared and push him away, I've seen quite a few people do that, I've never understood why... again, see my note on crazy people in relationships.

No, I will be the most wonderful girlfriend ever.
I mean, I have absolutely no idea what that entails; smiles, a good amount of make up, making sure his parents and friends like me, cooking...
Oh God, cooking.
We can cross that bridge when it comes to it.

Wonderful. Girlfriend.

I can do this.
I can do this... Right?

- Much love xo

It's a Carrie 2.0

Whilst Blair Waldorf is my home girl (do excuse the experssion), there will only ever be one New York girl who truely has my heart;  Carrie Bradshaw.

She is just about everything I want to be, and because technically, she isn't a real person, I might actually stand a chance of seeing it happen. With a warbrobe busting at the seams, Vogue on speed dial, amazing friends, Big AND a successful career being paid to write about her own life and opinions.
She pretty much is the dream.

Ok, so I was just too young to catch SATC when it was in it's prime (a girl can't help when she was born), but I spent a lot of time playing catch up, and can now pretty reciete the 6th season and the first film. Naturally I was over joyed when Candace Bushnell realesed The Carrie Diaries and Summer and The City - tale of Miss Bradshaw back when she was still at school, still trying to find herself, still a virgin and still helplessly in love with the city.

Sound familiar, much?!

It was time for a new era of Carrie's to take the reigns, of course we were lucky, we already Queen B and Serena, but now that they are off the airwaves for good *sobs* The Carrie Diaries can FINALLY take centre stage.

It doesn't disappoint, Anna Sophia Robb is kinda perf as the young Carrie, the outfits are great, especially the scenes shot in New York (I mean, obviously), and at long last a TV show about young women who lose their virginity and, praise be, actually say that it hurts! Hoorah!

I look forward to my Bradshaw/Manhatten obsession kicking back into full swing, I look forward to being reminded exactly what it is I want to do, who it is I want to be and quite why Carrie is so important as a female figure within the public media. Because fictional as she may be, Carrie Bradshaw and the rest of SATC girl really have inspired and shaped countless amounts of women.

And who knows, maybe I will possess the writing skills of Ms Bradshaw, the edge of Ms Waldorf and their wardrobes combind and actually make something of myself... One day...

If I ever finish University!!

Much love xo

The Real University Challenge

Motivation, for most students, is not something that comes to us all that easy.
Reveling in our freedom, and our seemingly adult lives, actually sitting down and writing the essay is never as simple a task as it seems.
Especially not when your department, nay, when a specific unit within your department is run by people who appear to have absolutely no communication skills, what. so. ever.

It has actually got the point now, where, I would rather not turn up to a single lecture or seminar and just email the head of the unit in regards to the coursework, seeming as each individual tutor has a different idea as to what the coursework entails.

It's not that freaking hard, people!

If we have to slug our way through 4 unit handbooks at the start of the year, then so can you! Hell, you should know what you're reading since you wrote the damn things!

I am aware that university is about individual learning, but I never signed up for mind reading. I cannot read your mind, Tutor dear. So for the love of ALL that holy can you lot please pay attention at your start of term meetings so that maybe, just, I dunno, maybe, come deadline week, you aren't bombarded with emails by students confused out of their minds and we aren't all ripping our hair out because our mates in the other class have been told something COMPLETELY DIFFERENT?!

I don't know. I just seems that, for this much money, knowing what the hell is going on would be a good place to start... Don't you think!?

The Resolution Solution

Every year without fail I make the same New Year's Resolution; lose weight.
Then, every year turns into a constant battle between feeling comfortable in my own skin and crying myself to sleep because I cannot bare to see my hideous, flabby reflection.

Well, I say no more to this madness!

In 2013, I am going to start the year in tune with my body, rather than pushing myself for limits beyond what my body is physically capable of (put down the size 8 Topshop jeans, Hayley, for God's sake you are Italian!). I want 2013 to be a year where I focus far less on how brilliant my life will be once I'm slim, and open my eyes to how brilliant my life is right in the moment. I want to try and treat my body with more respect, and if that means drinking less wine and maybe, possibly not eating a large bar of Cadbury's Bubbly 4 times a week then fine. I am going to go to the gym, not with the hope of stepping out of the place looking like Miranda Kerr (see note on me being Italian), but with the knowledge that yes, the exercise really does make me feel less stressed, calmer and healthier over all. I want 2013 to be a year of love, not another year wasted on my constant desire to be everything I am not.

Therefore, my New Year's Resolutions are as followed:
Spend more time writing. Blog more frequently. Read more F. Scott Fitzgerald. Say yes to new opportunities. Volunteer at something. Make time for the people I miss. Apply for, and obtain, an internship for a magazine...ANY magazine. Spend a month of my summer somewhere utterly mind-blowing and do it alone. Save a little bit of money every month. Visit Barcelona. See my family in Sicily. Love more, laugh more & love more.

If I can do half of that, then loosing weight without battling my body will simply be an added bonus.

Happy New Year, my darlings. xo

2012 Has Been...

An adventure. Exciting. Inspiring. Scary. Drunken. Sometimes slutty. Fun. Messy. Hilarious. Tragic. Beautiful. It was The Olympics. London. The Jubilee. Sporty. Fireworks. Cakes. Music. Full of new friendships. Lovable. Interesting. Boring. Second Year. The Girls. Heart breaking. An experience. And oh so much fun.

As with most years, 2012 has taught me a lot about myself, about the people I love and about the people who love me. I have very few regrets from this year and am so thankful to all the amazing people who have been a part of it.

I hope they stick about 2013, it's set to be even better...

A Reason to Campaign

I am a girl. I work in a bar.
I do not know what it is about that fact that suddenly makes ridiculous comments of a sexual nature alright in a blokes mind, but it's not.

I appreciate that yes, part of the job is to smile, have a pretty outlook and be plesant and warm with the customers. I am aware that various punters, drunk or otherwise may try and use whatever hideous line they've caught on to, to try and chat me up and yes, I know that a low cut top or stupidly short skirt may better my chances ate getting tip. I know all of that and yet, here's the thing.

I do not wear anything even remotely inappropriate to work, as we have discussed on multiple occasions, I do not actually enjoy having my boobs on show... makes me horrifically awkward and besides... I prefer my legs.

I've always been quite lucky, apart from the odd guy trying to ask me if it hurt when I fell from heaven, I've never had anyone behave in an inappropriate manner towards me. Until Friday, when, as I was simply trying to shake three cocktails, one of the customers turns around to his mate and say, right in front of me 'Watch her tits wobble when she shakes them.' Next thing I know, I look up for about 6 blokes ALL with their eyes directed straight at my chest. Delightful.

The worst thing was how powerless I felt, I know that I should have refused to serve them further, my supervisors and managers would have supported that decision and the three gentlemen (if we can EVEN call them that) would have been escorted out of the building by one of our lovely doormen.
But I didn't, instead, I instantly fell quite, finished off making the other two cocktails, took their money and then mumbled to one of the boys saying I didn't really want them being served again and asking him to take over. I was left feeling shell shocked and in many ways, a little bit dirty.

Did this make me bad at my job? Am I just being over sensitive? Who knows.

About 30 seconds afterwards, I realized that what I wanted to do was to walk up to customer and inform that, if his dick was where my tits are, it too would wobble, and it wouldn't be half as pretty to watch.

The whole thing just manged to reconfirm why I think the campaign against Page 3 is so important. I was not out on the pull, I was not dressed inappropriately and I certainly was not 'asking for it'. Why the hell should it be ok for someone to make such a vulgar comment just because he didn't reach across the bar and grab my boobs?

The story is starting to get old. Girls have tits. Blokes have dicks. Dogs have fur and Leopards have spots. Can we all move on now please?! Get them out of the paper and for the love of all that is Holy, get some manners, because I can hardly turn around and tell my managers that actually, I don't feel comfortable making cocktails now because 'my tits wobble'. I'll get the sack.