Haha. What do you think of this illustration?
Haha. What do you think of this illustration?
Fashion saves me. Everyday.
Some see it as an annoying intruder, a pointless culture, and a distraction from what’s important. Others see it as an occasional indulgence meant to be partaken in, only during special occasions. And a few, like me, see it as an integral party of the everyday, a constant saviour in the journey of life.
When I was little, my mother dressed me up in smocking frocks with peter-pan collars and puff sleeves, matching ribbons for my hair – little bows, white socks, and smart Mary-Janes. I was the “well-dressed” child in every circle, never without a missing ribbon or shoe, never with snot running down my face, and never in flimsy spaghetti straps and careless hot-pants. I was quiet, well-behaved, and disciplined enough to sit with my shoes and socks, white without a speck of dirt, at parties.
I wasn’t a cute child. I wasn’t adorable or talkative. And I had no special talent apart from being able to draw – not something you can show off to your relatives about. I couldn’t dance or sing or act or mimic. I couldn’t play an instrument or say adorable things that grownups could listen to and go, “awww…”. Nope. I was quiet, I sat in the corner, played with my dolls and read. I spoke when spoken to and answered with a “yes” or “no”.
Then I went to boarding school. And the awkward pre-puberty age set in. I no longer liked frocks and I wanted to look more boyish than ever. I looked at my friends with their jeans and shorts and rubber floaters and that’s all I wanted to wear. I lost my love for pink, I lost my love for frocks and a part of me lost myself for a little while. I tried to fit into boarding school, by borrowing aesthetics from the people around me. Baggy shorts and baggier denims. The more boyish, the better. With my skinny legs, bony knees, gawky face and giant braces, nothing looked good on me. And my school uniform? That looked particularly horrid. No matter how much I tried, the grey pleated skirt refused to sit flat on my tummy, puffing up in an odd sort of way.
My rebellious hair was chopped up – “Maggie cuts her hair” style with no real definition. And I would comb through my hair – a hundred strokes every night, hoping for some semblance of straightness. I would oil, shampoo and condition it twice a week. I would buy the serums “specially formulated for dry, frizzy hair”, as the Livons of the world smiled inwardly , conscious of the giant prank they had played upon frizzy-haired believers everywhere. And none of it worked. Of course.
As I grew older, little by little I realised the reason everything looked odd on me. It wasn’t my genes or the lack of effort on my part – trust me. I tried everything.
And subconsciously I began to define myself. I lathered on kohl, got a set of double piercings on my ears, and I got my skirts shortened. I began to tie my hair up in a high ponytail, and wear my skirts an inch shorter than the knees (everybody else was going for the low wasted, extra baggy-long skirt look at that time). And I gave up trying to straighten my hair. I washed my hair less, stopped combing it like an idiot.
And that’s how I made my little mark in the sea of identical uniforms. But, when it came to “coloured” clothes or clothes that weren’t uniform, I was lost. I tried long skirts, short skirts, capris and flared denims. But, nothing… nothing made me feel like me. I felt odd, my body felt sloppy and I just didn’t feel like “me”. The me who wore her smocked frocks with matching ribbons and pretty shoes. The “smartly dressed” me.
I read up the Vogues and the Cosmos, and I tried to draw inspiration… For the longest time, I blamed my weight for making clothes look odd on me. But, then again, I wasn’t really fat.
I knew I had toned legs, and so I should wear shorter silhouettes. But I had a tummy, and at that time, shops were only selling really fitted tees and body-con dresses. So, I struggled and struggled to find clothes that would flatter me. And would make me feel more “me”.
I think, it was only recently, say around 3 years back, that I discovered my aesthetic. I think it was repeated trial and error and a conscious understanding of my body-type. It was finding the middle point between comfort and style. And understanding my mind a little better. That lead me to it. And slowly I knew I was all about cottons, checks, anti-fits and comfort. Of button-down dresses, fit and flare silhouettes and skater dresses. Of bright florals, knee skimming lengths and floaty-breathables – The exact opposite of tight jeans and synthetic tops – my uniform throughout college and early years of working.
And once I found my aesthetic, I suddenly knew, no amount of taunts and jabs and magazine advice could hurt this strong extension of my being – my everyday armour. And even though plenty in India would call my style “jhalla” for it’s incredible looseness, and even though I admire those who can pull off the tight dress and stiletto look, when I look at myself in the mirror, with my ultra faded-plaid dress and black-floppy-chappals, I know i couldn’t wear anything else – for the sole reason that it won’t fit in with me. It just won’t be me.
The deep-pockets for storing the odd lip-balm. The loose fit to cover the slight overeating at lunch. The knee-skimming length for leg-freedom. The cotton fabric to beat the humidity. And the absence of fluff to drive attention to my face rather than the dress. The dullness of colour to serve as a canvas to my personality. And the detailing of the dress, finally, to ground me sartorially and to pay homage to the talented designer.
This may seem too intense for something as seemingly light as fashion. But if you were to watch the documentary on Bill Cunningham and hear what people around have to say, you may understand things a little better.
Fashion is not just feathers and fluff and an ostentatious display of cloth for thrill. All that is advertising. Fashion is more. It’s advertising (of course), but it’s also style and craft and art and a tool that ordinary people like you and me can use to build ourselves a little brighter.
And as I found my aesthetic – an aesthetic surprisingly similar to the 5-year-old me with her plaid frocks and smart shoes – I found myself.
Hello generous-followers-who-actually (hopefully)-read-my-blog,
I’ve started this thing on Instagram. You know, one of those hashtag contest/activity like things. Thanks to everybody’s suggestions to do something meaningful, something with an “idea” otherwise, I’ll drown in the sea of packed-like-sardines hashtags with no real engagement.
Anyway, so I came up with this BRILLIANT idea (right!) to post a picture of what I wore for a week and (yes, so smart isn’t it) I encouraged others to share their outfits too, for the gigantic reward on being featured on MY blog. Yes, you heard me. MY blog.
And, the hashtag I came up with for this exciting, new idea *roll-eye-emoticon* was #OneWeekOfStyle.
The interesting thing in this entire story is probably the fact that every one of these pictures will be taken in the exact same spot (Don’t ask me where. Shhh…my office loo), and hence it will lead in to a fun GIF at the end.
Anyway, so since I started this thing on Tuesday, I have just put up 3 pictures on Insta right now. Here they are.
You too, can participate in this humble (but fun) initiative and after a week, won’t it be exciting to see what you wore?
You can even compare looks, hairstyles and see your varying styles. I think, it’s fun.
Plaid Dress: Forever 21 | Sandals: Charles and Keith
Black basic vest: Forever 21 | Black handloom skirt: Designed by mom
Midi Dress: Cotton-on | Kolhapuri Slip-ons: Linking Road, Bandra
In one shot, here are my 3 looks.
To participate, all you have to do is upload your pictures on Instagram using the hashtag #OneWeekOfStyle.
Chalo, I got to go and work.
When you’ve been in hostel a lot, without realising it, you begin to get inspired by it. So much so, that even your aesthetics assume a boarding school vibe.
Actually, what am I saying ‘you’ for? It’s me whose sensibility has been taken over by a hostelesque vibe. 1 single bed, 1 cupboard and 1 study table, please. Yes, leave those shelves bare. Yes, I know they’re ‘shelves’ but please do not stuff them with your belongings. Leave the counterpane on. And yeah, do pick up your shoes. (Joote-chappal-uthao-joote-chappal-uthao).
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I recently moved into a new house. A new room in a new house, to be precise. I wanted my space. I am almost 27. And I have been living with girls for far too long ( 18 years) to be excited by late-night-gossip and girlish banter. So, April this year, I decided to move to a place where I’d get my own room, my own privacy, so that after years of sharing room-space, finding wet towels on my bed and dealing with aesthetics that didn’t match my own (read piles of laundry fighting for space on the bed and cigarette ash competing for attention on the floor), I would finally be able to keep my room the way I always wanted to.
Turns out, my aesthetics (contrary to what I believed) are nowhere near that of interior decorators and people with supposedly “good taste” in high society. It’s more of a clinically clean, orderly aesthetic, with books stashed so neatly in their shelves that I hesitate before reaching out to read one. In the fear that I might upset the entire beauty of it.
In anticipation of this shift, I got 4 paintings of mine framed. One of which you can see in the picture. As for the other? Well… well, turns out my landlady is so particular about her interiors that we aren’t allowed to hammer nails! *sniff* And to think that hanging my priced paintings up was one of the reasons to shift home…
Anyway, not to be deterred (since I had already moved in and there was no other option), I looked for ways to hang stuff without hammering nails and after reading one of those listicle-thingys (1o ways to…), I decided to ignore everything I read and just placed my drawings on a cardboard box masked as a table by putting a cloth over it (yes, as boarding school people, we do have a trick or two up our sleeves. “Jugaad” as they call it here), and lo and behold, I was satisfied.
Yes. Even I don’t like the floors. It gives the room a hospital-hostel-bathroom feel and inspite of my acquired hostel aesthetic, I am still a diehard fan of wooden floors, but yes, like I mentioned in a previous post, my salary wasn’t getting any higher, so I just told myself “beggars can’t be choosers”, packed my bags and moved in.
The first thing I did, was buy those orange curtains. I wanted my room to feel really bright, and welcoming and I read somewhere (I think it was one of those colour therapy articles) that orange stands for vitality and energy and people suffering from depression must wear orange underwear or something like that; and even though I neither own orange underwear (the only one I did got flicked in boarding school when I was in 10th std and irritated I was one entire semester as I really loved that one), and neither am I suffering from depression (even though there are days when I am convinced that I am), I still chose to go ahead and envelope my room in vivid splashes of oranges, yellows and reds.
But before I changed my sheets to orange, I had a blue and white check cover on it.
Weird, as it is, I only recently realised that my hostel room at MICA (the first image) is strikingly similar to my new room (the second image). So much so, that even the bedcover used is the same, not to mention the large window on the opposite wall and the bed on the left and the white tiled floors.
That’s why I changed my covers. Get it? Get it?
It’s almost subconscious I’d say, that I gravitate towards smaller rooms with single beds and large windows. Maybe it’s a desperate means to grasp my younger, freer days. Or maybe it’s a subconscious preference for clean, clinical spaces, thanks to 10 years of boarding school life. I really don’t have an answer.
However, it only came to light when I showed my friends the picture of my new room, and all they said was that it reminded them of their hostel rooms.
So then I went and dug around for old college pictures. And, man was I surprised at the uncanny resemblance?
Which comes to prove that hostel life has indeed left a deeper mark on my subconscious than I have realised. From choosing a room that takes me back in time, to probably eating food that reminds me of school (Maggi), I am drenched in nostalgia so deep that I can barely even notice it.
And the fact that my new room’s scrubbed clean, single-bed, no-air-conditioning, clinical vibe is in fact inspired from my years living in different parts of the country, in no way should be taken lightly. It’s definitely worth a study, I’d say?
It’s weird, and I hope to discover other aspects of my personality that have been shaped by hostel life. And yes, I will definitely blog about them too (provided, it’s nothing embarrassing). 😉
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Anyway, it’s getting late. In case you don’t follow me on Instagram, do click here. You’ll find me putting up pictures of well-dressed people interspersed with some random out-of-blog shit like today’s post.
“Shit” you’ll like. (hopefully, at least).
Chalo, I’m going to read my book. Bye.
(Yes, guess I got the abruptness from boarding school too. We would just pop into another dorm and pop out saying,”Chalo, I’m going to read my book. Bye”.)
Hello nice people of the world,
Hope you had a relaxing weekend. Hope you didn’t party till you threw up. Hope you slept 8 hours, ate healthy and dressed up to the movies. 😉
For those of you who know me, you’d know what a stay-at-home, tea-drinking monkey I am. Hence my old-aunty-like advice. 😉
Anyway, jokes apart, I’m going to talk about a trend that’s stolen the global catwalks, local sidewalks and every other Instagram feed, including mine.
Though I’m in love with this trend, and I have been trying to find the perfect pair in India, what my worry is, what is indeed the longevity of this style? Especially, since the white sneaker has been around for almost 2 years now. Which means, is it soon about to flood the local markets and become passé?
The white sneaker is a shoe that’s been worn with everything from summer dresses to torn jeans. It’s all-encompassing, versatile glory has captured the imaginations of bloggers, Instagram-addicts and models. Especially Gigi Hadid, who appears to be a huge fan of this trend.
Check her rocking the White Sneaker trend in the pictures below.
Now, there are many variations of this trend. And everybody takes it and interprets it in their own unique manner.
While most team it with ripped jeans and cropped pants, the more experimental wear it to sportify flowing dresses.
If you’ve stuck long enough to make it till down here, chances are, you have the same questions I do.
I mean, yes, the white sneaker trend is incredibly versatile. And, it goes with everything from mini skirts and flowing midis to torn jeans and slacks. But, how long is it here to stay? And, indeed, is it just a lazy girl’s way to get out of dressing up?
Is it just our way to buy into a one-shoe-fits-all, cookie-cutter philosophy, so we don’t have to spend all that time planning our outfits every morning? Wedges or mules? Brogues or loafers? No, girl, go and buy the white sneakers. You don’t need no other shoe.
Smart move, I’d say. Being a tad fashion-obsessed, I still don’t know the genius behind making the Sneaker legit. But, maybe the world was a bit tired of walking-fashion-disasters everyday. So some smart mind just woke up one morning and decided to come up with a wonder shoe, that will be embraced by the “androgynous” and the “girlish” alike.
Hello. White Sneaker.
Given the maddening obsession with this trend and the heightened style status of every even-slightly-interested-in-fashion person, I am incredibly tempted to hop on to the bandwagon like everybody else and buy myself a pair.
But each time, I am about to slip out my credit card and enter the fated digits towards the online purchase, something stops me.
I think, it’s just my huge “early-adopter-wannabe” ego, that says, “Shivani. Since you didn’t adopt this trend in time, now you shall wait it out, and adopt the next trend.”
Hell yeah. I wore torn denims before it became mainstream-cool.
So, now I don’t wear them no more, inspite of people telling me why I should. Guess, some things just don’t make it past my style-ego. No. Don’t say it. I know I am weird.
So here’s my question to you all. How long do you think this trend will last? Will it make it to the classics? Or will it soon be replaced by a brogue, a black sneaker or a loafer?
Comment below. 🙂
So I recently discovered how to get more people to see my Instagram posts. “Hashtag Marketing” they call it. So basically, there are these specific hashtags that are trending. And you need to find the relevant ones and just post it with your update.
Ta da! And just like that from a maximum of 21 likes per post, I have gone to a maximum of 133 likes. And God knows how many views. In just two weeks. Oh, now, that sounds like a tele-marketing commercial. 😉
Anyway, ever since a friend told me how to leverage this magic-tool, one that I really turned my nose down upon once, I have been posting left, right and centre. And hash-tagging everything left, right and centre too.
“Yes. Come on. You can fit one more hashtag, Shivani. Yeah. See.”
#StyleInspo #FashionInspo #OutfitInspo #LookInspo
Make every goddamn thing Inspo.
And many people have unfollowed me too, I guess. *sigh*
With my discovery of the wonder-tool, came the discovery of the “right” Instagram handles to follow.
Like Man Repeller. That Boho Girl. etc. etc.
You can follow me here. (It’s honestly not that bad. I think, you will like it.)
Anyway. Here’s what’s really hot on my Instagram feed right now. You can click on the names to be directed to their respective Instagram pages.
3. VOGUE India
8. Man Repeller
11. Amanda Shadforth
12. Song of style
13. Nicole Warne
So, what did you think? I loved all of these posts and more. Do click on the handles you like and explore more posts.
And, in case you still don’t follow me on Instagram, here‘s a link. 🙂
Goodbye. And Happy Thursday to you.
It’s been a while since I have posted anything here and I have been feeling so so so guilty. Been caught up in packing my house, working at work (yes. FINALLY), and watching Game of Thrones. Woohoo!
How have you all been? Anyone else planning to shift house? Any packing tips you’d like to give me? Cause I am going positively insane trying to wrap things up, stealing and begging for cardboard boxes from anyone who’d listen, and washing my face a zillion times. Thanks to the year-long layers of collected dust on my bags. *sigh*
Last to last weekend, I attended (or rather volunteered) at an exhibition. Both Saturday and Sunday. My friend Pallavi Dhyani is the founder of THREE, a darling label of anti-fits, innovative cuts, cottons, linens, whites and stripes, and she needed someone to mind the stall with her. Now this exhibition was quite an interesting one. Firstly, the venue was unlike the usual hall or ground. It was held in the backyard of a colonial style bungalow; an area in Bandra, Mumbai called The Vintage Garden.
Doesn’t this bungalow look cool?
So on the 23rd and 24th of April, I walked into the Vintage Garden for the first time. A sweltering hot day, with just some half-hearted floor fans for respite, I began helping Pallavi sell her gorgeous clothes.
Here’s a glimpse.
A muted palette of light greys, whites, off-whites and stripes met soft cottons, linens and cotton-linens, in a collection that instantly brought your temperature down by a couple of degrees. One look, and you’d feel easy-breezy, summery and happy, even as the sun scorched its angry rays, trying to get you to furrow your brow.
That’s Pallavi, the mastermind behind THREE. She’s wearing a light grey semi-sheer shirt layered over a navy and white stripes slip dress – an outfit from her creation. In fact, everyone who passed by our stall, wanted to wear what Pallavi was wearing.
I mean, what better brand ambassador than the designer, herself, right?
Her clothes are a delightful mix of wrap jackets, thin-enough-to-be-sheer cotton shirts, long dresses with slits, button-down skirts with attached pants and more.
Pallavi wears a comfy overall on the second day of the exhibition. Once again, everybody wanted to wear what she was wearing.
Neighbouring stall owner and artist Ratna Gupta wore a THREE playsuit. It wasn’t long before the jailer stripes-meets-daddy’s shirt vibe had engulfed everybody present.
The fabrics are so comfortable to wear and so loose and flowing, that the sweltering Mumbai weather doesn’t just ask for THREE, it DEMANDS it.
I mean, look how actor, TV host and anchor, Kubra Sait pulls of her THREE creation. This slip dress can be wore with shorts underneath (like Kubra) or even layered under THREE‘s semi-sheer button-downs.
The vibe of the place was so happy. There was music, jokes and a lot of mutual admiration with people buying each other’s creations.
Well, well, it was indeed a lot of fun. So many well-dressed people in one enclosed space! Wow. 😉
Here’s a glimpse of artist Ratna Gupta‘s brand – Restories.
She creates these extraordinary products by upcycling the ordinary and the everyday, into gorgeous, innovative designs.
Well, with this, I come to the end of this blog post. Hope you enjoyed going through it. 🙂
P.S: I managed to shift my luggage today. Yes. I started this a while back.
Have fun. Tomorrow is Friday. So yayiiiee. 😀 😀
It’s Saturday today and 7:58 in the morning here in Mumbai. I woke up at 6:30. To run. Yeah right. 😉 Didn’t so much as lift my finger to plug in my Macbook to watch some Suits. And meanwhile took Vogue’s advice on who to follow on Instagram. From Kazakhstan.
(In case you want to follow me on Instagram, click here.)
And after my routine bout of self-pity, a habit I just can’t seem to shake off, even after repeated reading of “Spiritual” texts and “self-help” guides and quotes that people share on Facebook, and a mug of chai (of course), I am now starting on doing something productive.
Anyway, so again, since we are on Chai High, which is supposed to be my blog on fashion and anti-fashion, I’ve put together a few fashion (and anti-fashion) selfies I’d clicked over the past few months. You can read more about my article on how to be stylish effortlessly, here.
So, on this day, I was wearing a white knee-length dress with a saree blouse and gold Kolhapuri slippers. To see the complete look, click here.
If you like my look, you can follow me on Instagram, here.
My mom bought me this dress from Bangkok. It’s crafted in this slinky material that flatters your body beautifully.
I chose to add more texture to this outfit by wrapping an Indian printed dupatta around my neck and slinging on a gold, hot pink and green bag. I matched my slippers to the bag.
What do you think about this look?
Here’s a close-up of the very kitsch slippers I wore with my dress.
If you like my look, you can follow me on Instagram, here.
This one was at night when I was feeling a little low (and gothic in my head). Hence the darkness. However, the dress in light couldn’t be happier. It’s a blue printed Forever 21 maxi dress. Perfect for the beach and light summer evenings.
What I wore to work two days back. It’s a basic blue pair of boyfriend jeans from United Colors of Benetton and a white sleeveless long shirt that I’ve worn tucked in. I teamed it up with brown leather brogues from a shop called Shoe Biz on Linking Road, Mumbai.
Again, from my Goth phase, this is what I wore to bed and to my early morning cup of tea.
I was trying to mimic the illustration on my cupboard door. haha! 😀
This selfie marked the end of my Goth phase. Read more here, on my Instagram account.
Well, I hope you liked my looks and my phases in this series of mirror selfies. Stay tuned for more.
Have a happy weekend. 🙂
So Kata Middleton’s in India and all journalists, magazines, blogs, websites, fashionistas, wannabe fashionistas, critics and Shobha De, who is considered “an authority on popular culture” are going berserk about her clothes.
Including me. Yeah. That woman!
So, let me follow the norm, and take you through the Duchess’s wardrobe. Personally, I love how she’s carried off dresses with full sleeves and modest necklines so gracefully. And I think, all of us who love wearing dresses but are unsure of the “area” we are travelling to or the “crowd”, can borrow from Kate’s delightful take on the quintessential frock.
Check out more from Emilia Wickstead here
In fact, this red dress can even be pre-ordered. Just click here. 😉
The skirt is called ‘Kira’ and the jacket ‘Tego’. The fabric of the skirt was handwoven by Mrs. Kelzang Wangmo, also believed to have created the wedding outfits for the King and Queen of Bhutan. The embroidered woollen cape is by Paul an Joe.
Phew. That’s all for now.
So many outfits. So many events. It’s difficult to keep up.
Let’s see what she’s going to wear today.
Stay tuned for more. Because soon I’m going to be featuring a designer who creates contemporary skirts from traditional Bhutanese material. Yes. She’s even got mini skirts. Don’t go anywhere.
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Images have been sourced from harpersbazaar.com, http://www.vanityfair.com, dailymail.co.uk, and http://fashion.hellomagazine.com/
Content sourced from @. Follow to be up-to-date with what the royal couple’s doing.
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I am going to burn my jeans, my bra and every pokey, itchy article of clothing I find. It’s hot. It’s so hot in Bombay that you feel like you’re about to explode. In fact, yesterday I had a breakdown. It was so hot that I died at least once. I went home early because my stomach was queasy, my head was wheezy and my legs were like jelly. But going home didn’t make it any better.
I had no book to read, no show to watch (smartly, I’d left my macbook at work) and no drawing to sketch (again left it at work). So I became a ticking time-bomb. I lay down, sat up, walked around and repeated the process for a good two hours. As the air-conditioning tried its best to keep up, panting and fainting and ultimately giving up. Which lead to the fans having a field day, running round and round, rustling the curtains and anything that would fly.
And me, a jittery mess, fluctuated between restlessness and tiredness.
It was so damn hot both outside and inside. My stomach was burning, my cheeks were flushing and the air was thick with the smell of fish, open drains and frustrated humans on their way home from work. The sound of incessantly honking auto-rickshaws and cars didn’t make it any better.
The phone rang. Ooh I have a date. What do I wear? I hopped, skipped and jumped to my cupboard in the balcony, and the evening babble greeted me. Honk, Honk, Peep Peep… Argh, I was so excited to dress up. So many new clothes to wear. But damn the weather!
So I rummaged through my balcony-cupboard inhaling hot air, the internal bomb just a few seconds from detonation. And my sweaty fingers grasped a pair of cut-offs and a thin white tee in urgent need for ironing, pulled it from under more layers of clothes and toppled everything in the process. And it was so hot, and the clothes were on me, and I was already burning from within, so i stuffed the falling piles of clothing back into the cupboard and shut the door angrily on it and rushed indoors to change. I was breathing fast, my face and organs were steaming and I changed into my date outfit. Darn, the ends of the bra were poking and turning the hot, sweaty me even hotter and sweatier. And the denim in the shorts was feeling alien. Man! Since when do you feel hot even in shorts?
So I went back to my fiery cupboard in the balcony and pulled out a thin, low cut cotton dress and wore it, removing my bra. And oh my God! It felt better, but was it too revealing?
My phone started vibrating, and I got even more hyper. Shit, he’s here! And I am still not ready. I ran, back into the balcony and looked at the tumbling bits of clothing in my cupboard and the weather, in the mood for vengeance, threw balls of fire in my face, as it grinned cheekily at my state.
I looked at myself in the mirror and sighed. I checked out my hair. Disobedient hair. Refuses to curl. Refuses to straighten. Hangs haughtily around my shoulder every strand in a different direction silently revolting. And my face had little dots, threatening to burst into full-bodied zits, in the heat. Argh. I was definitely losing it.
I rushed back in and picked up the phone. “Hey! Oh, you’re here. Coming Coming!”
And then changed back into the white tee and shorts, picked up a sweatshirt (In case we’re watching a movie) and a dupatta (I don’t know why) and stumbled downstairs, clad in an unfortunate combination.
I cursed the weather for a good 15 minutes and I would have cursed it for the next 5 hours, but I got myself some yummy frozen yoghurt with strawberries on my date, and that changed it all.
Anyway, the whole point of this story was, gah, we need more designers making white, cotton flowing, loose dresses, thin enough to feel cool and thick enough to let us go bra-less.
Signing off now. Need to get myself a cool glass of water.
Happy Summer, folks. (yea, right)