Kitty Purry

Cat Eye Sunglasses are like Buses. You wait years for a pair and then suddenly three come at once.
Cat eye Sunglasses are one of those things that aren't expensive, I've always wanted, yet never got round to owning. And due to buying a pair of sunglasses every year only to despise them the next, I lunged for lolita lovelies I've always wanted. The white pair were stumbled upon during a routine raping of Oxfor Circus Topshop, the top pink were gazing provocatively at me from within the glass cabinet in Beyond retro, and the other pair I found under my dad's bed.

Despite heralding from the same breed, each pair brings something very different to a look. The white transform you into a pouting 60s siren, peering poolside from behind the lenses. The angular quadrilateral frames of the pink look either ridiculously 70s or like  a super intergalactic power ranger space babe who shoots lazer beams from her eyes upon removal. And the baby pink diamante spectacles are so girlish you expect them to be plagued with Hello Kitty Prints and are perfect for sporting the ironic Barbie look.
The only problem with the trio is I love them all and can never decide which pair to wear, so of course I wear all 3.

 

 

(Cat Eye Sunglasses, Lolita sunglasses)

Would you like two pints of mint choc-chip or a single olive with your lethal injection?

Death Row has always fascinated me. Rows and rows of men who at maybe one point in time made a decision that resulted in them living the claustrophobic life of a box resident whilst waiting to die. I can not begin to imagine the thoughts that go through a persons head when they are being lead to a chair or a table, and as much disgust and hatred that's directed at these people, I have never felt as if they are so different from myself. After all, they are people. As someone who has experience with addictions and uncontrollable impulsivity and tricks of the mind, I've always thought to myself, that could be me, there, peeing next to my bed, petting my cat an watching the clock. It doesn't matter how repulsed I am by the thought of taking a life, it only takes one impulse, one flash of uncontrollable urge or anger, and its done. And,before you even know it, there you are sitting along side the people you thought you were so diffferent from, on death row. Sometimes I have dreams where I relapse or  commit a terrible act and I wake up to the most euphoric feeling of relief. But I wonder, if I'm capable of doing something awful in my subconscious, who's not to say it can't transfer into my consciousness?

And now, Henry Hargreeves has provided us with a link to the minds of America's most lethal serial killers...by photographing the requests of their last suppers. By providing us with a tangible and relatable peephole into the last wishes of a condemned man, Hargreeves has forced us all to acknowledge our ability to identify with murderers and rapists.
The meals range from huge mounds of deep fried comfort food to more eccentric requests (One man requested merely a single pitted olive) which you cant view without feeling their is a sinister message being conveyed through their final act.




My friends and I used to play the Death Row Last Supper game all the time. I always felt it was a good way to really get to know somebody, as their last wishes and behaviour tell you a lot about that person. My fantasy was to have my primary school team of Dinner ladies flown out to cook the Roast Dinner and Syrup Sponge and Custard that will be engraved in my memory until the day I die. Unfortunately, the American Prisons don't tend to go to such distances to satisfy the wishes of a man that will be dead the following morning, and in all honesty I really don't think I could stomach anything the night before I die. Maybe Seafood, like the kind you get by the sea on holidays, complete with big tomatoes and frites. Who knows. Whatever I choose, as long as it my final meal ends with Syrup Sponge and Custard, I will die a sufficiently satisfied girl.

Read the Full Interview Here


(Death row, Deat row final meals, serial killers, henry hargreeves, last supper, pitted olives, mint choc-chip ice cream)

Heart Shaped Box

'I know what you're thinking. Is this an ad for eczema or what?'
 

Yesterday I had my first dressmaking class with the cutest selection of old biddys. Being the pationceless, impulsive, frivolous fairy I am, I expected to come home after the first lesson with my dress finished but all I did was zone out whilst she told us everything we needed to know and practice straight lines...which if my ability to do so was a representation of my sexual orientation, I'd have to make some major lifestyle changes.

Buuuut, by the end of the lesson I learnt that you didn't have to put the pedal down all the way and go at a gazillion miles per hour and you had to actually hold on to your material during the process. Thus, unable to face ending the day without producing something I could wear, I went home and straight away churned out not just something wearable, but something I've wanted for fashion YEARS.

A Clueless Barbie Top! ;)

My first attempt at sewing clothes and it actually turned out suffieciently aesthetically pleasing.

 

Here's the top in Clueless:

 

Here's the top on my Barbie which I forever wanted a human sized version of:

 

And here's my baby.

 

What I like about it is the juxtoposition between the almost childlike, sickeningly girly ness of a heart t-shirt and my style history as a goth/punk. Wearing with irony is everything when I sport Clueless style and girly clothes, but in the words of White Goodmand from Dodgeball: A True Underdog Story 'half of what you say when you are joking is true'. Thus, the irony I sport walks hand in hand with the blatant truth that blares from my chest.

 I've got an awfully big heart.

 

(clueless, diy, dressmaking, barbie, barbie clothes, fashion, 90s fashion, nikki minaj)

THROWBACK THURSDAY

I've just realised its not Thursday and in fact its not even Friday anymore, but I've already uploaded the pictures so ima do it anyway 'cause im such a bad bitch.
Last Summer I worked at Urban outfitters for a week in which I spent the entire experience sleeping in Pret a Manger throughout my Lunch Break and wishing I was dead. I recall one dismal moment whilst I was guarding the changing rooms when I felt a sneeze build up and fail. I almost hung myself with the discarded chinos as I realised that my quivering nasal passages was the most excitement I'd felt in the past 2 hours. But 2 things I did get from the experience, was a goodybag of unsold homeware items and the chance to dress u in 'work clothes' (albeit My take on work clothes).

 

Electric Symmetric

I did it. I found my dream woman. Ladies and Gentleman, I give you Nova from Planet of the Apes.

 

 

Perhaps its because I love long hair. Or Per Chance its because I'm secretly a 19th century man who likes their women silent and obediant. Or Per Una its because she's the only person in history dressed as a sexy caveperson who actually looks sexy.

 

But twhatever my motive, they Definitely don't make them like this anymore. 60s movie stars, what I'd Give.

So as a teenage girl growing up in the late naughties, I spent the majority of my adolescence sporting the common side parting, a look I cemented once I got an undercut at the age of 15, which is the uniform of both the bombshell (hey there Jessica Rabbit) and the common or garden girl who sits in front of you in maths. So its no wonder I have recently become partial to a middle parting, especially in long dark hair in her straight but free spirited style. So 60s.

So as of now I'm into the middle parting paired with the choker, creating a cocktail of gothic witch and 60s Sexkitten, and mama knows I love a belly chain ;) Now all I have to do is find a few rags and an intergalactic belly dancing costume.

 

Is it fucked up that she kind of reminds me of what my mum looked like at that age?

My Top 10 Middle Partings



The divine locks of Kendall Jenner. This bitch really was the sperm that won.

 
Look at the way the breeze lifts and drops it in a mexican wave of chocolate strands. Don't read if you're at work because this hair porn is hardcore.

On a different note, I must be completely bored with my generation because recently I've been so into 60s an 70s movie star males. Of course I've always loved Jack Nicholson, duh who doesn't, but Charlton Heston has definitely got it in that daddy issues kind of way. They were just so manly back then.

Here are my favourite Vintage Actors:

I Can See Your Dirty Pillows

There are some things that must be said and things that must be said are these things. I have twice, in the last week, been penetrated with unexpected emotion and despair. Don't fret, I'm not about to pour my aching teenage heart into a pop song or list 10,000 white girl problems to prove I'm living the romantic life of a teenage depressive, but I am going to share two film experiences that have left me feeling discombobulated to say the least.

 

A week ago, I watched Carrie. What I expected to be an empty teenage slasher about high school bimbos, turned out to be a Stephen King Novel. I have never been bullied or felt victimised, yet I found the opening scene possibly the most disturbing film experience I've ever had. And I've seen both of the Human centipede films. Carrie is the most tragic figure one can imagine, abused both mentally and physically by her religious psycho mother, and tormented so sadistically by her piers, all the life and strength and humanity in her has been beaten down into repression only to lay dormant in waiting for one final Push. The Theme of Female Sexuality and the empowerment of women is represented in the 2 bookends of blood, her first period and a bucket of Pig innards.

'It's largely about how women find their own channels of power," King wrote in Danse Macabre in 1981. "And what men fear about women and women's sexuality." In the end, it is the perfect revenge story, but the disturbing part for me was that there was no comfort or triumph in it for her, she wasn't a sadist, she wasn't evil, she was merely damaged by the poisonous people around her. And what began as the perfect, most beautiful night and first chance of happiness she had was ripped away for the shits and gigs of her class mates, forming the most beautiful and iconic gif I have ever come across. I know that if I was a male watching this, I would be terrified of females for the rest of my life. Is this King and De Palma's revenge against oppressive authority, religion as a whole or - paging Dr Freid - against dear old Mother? Revenge, its bitter sweet.

The second experience was far less dramatic but carried twice as much emotion that seemed to filtre from nowhere. For Anyone who has not yet reached the end of Mad Men Season 5, I suggest you refrain from reading on. We all knew it was coming, I'd known since last season it was coming, in the season premier you could tell even he knew it was coming. And come it did. Just the site of him swinging sadly on his door, I realised for the first time how real these characters felt to me and how much I cared about them. I felt like a friend had died. It wasn't just that he died, it was that his vulnerable, crooked smiled, gentlemanly, geeky british, warm hearted self had taken his own life. He was just so lovable and so sweet, (those Dumbledore genes are obviously passed on in Actor Natural Selection). Suicide is always sensitive, and its laughable that I talk about it in this sense in referral to a fictional character, but I can't explain. Perhaps its the juxtoposition of the usual showcase of strong, start-over Don ploughing through life whether he hates it or not, with the fragility of a mind such as Lane's. There are personalities who never dream of taking their life, and there are people who dream of it every night. There must be some significance in the fact this is the 2nd suicide that has been traced back to Don and his unwillingness to involve him self, and his willingness to believe money will satisfy their problems. But Don wasn't unreasonable, or harsh, or unjust, and Lane was such an honest man. And that is why Mad Men is so popular. It is about people who are human. Flawed and imperfect, showing that even the most honest of people still slip up, still act impulsively and make mistakes. Lane effected me little in the time he worked at Sterling Cooper, yet his death effected me more than a thousand times more than Margaret Thatcher's. Call him a coward, call him weak, just don't call him irrelevant to Sterling Cooper.

RIP Lane Pryce - for doig what everyone wanted to since season 1

 

Vanessa, Queen Of The Desert

I feel such a fool for never having appreciated the adorable ball of sexy that is Vanessa Hudgens. Maybe its because I've just seen her in Spring breakers,  or perhaps its due to her being a cute, oriental, tanned shortarse like me or that she has naked pictures online, but I have fallen a little in love with style.
Its true I spent the entire duration of Spring Breakers wanting to fuck her, and I used to feel her bohemian style was same old same old and unoriginal and she's usually not the type of girl or style I'm into,but after seeing pictures of her at Coachella this weekend I feel she was the only one there who got that she was at a festival and looked like she'd been lifted straight from a weed covered photograph of the front row at Woodstock.
Boho Dresses, hippy two pieces, bindis and dangly bits, she was a vision of a groupie angel and all I wanted to do was sit on her shoulders, smell her hair and snort coke off her chest...Just Joking...But seriously.

So Perfect. Who did you Think was the Coachelliest at Coachella?

 

More Vanessa Style Porn....

 

(big cuddly black woman voice) Mama knows I gotta thing for an orange jumpsuit, mmhmm

 

And her best look of all...

Sex Up Your Stationary Set

Did you ever want a pen so pretty that when it slips from your fingers in the middle of class the new guy will pick it up with a smile and a compliment about your shoes? Well I did, and thus Clueless Obsession continues...

Ever since discovering a simply DIVINE fabric shop near my house I have set it my life's goal to pimp every single household item I own into a tacky, furry, glittery, girly, camp, bejazzled pile of pretty. Being that I've yet to begin my Dress making Class, I decided to coolify items within my range of skills, and everybody knows your school stationary deciphers your social status in the classroom, forget looks and personality - a sexy pink pencil sharpener is key to eturnal popularity!
So, Voici my own spin on the feathered pen. Since I spend a lot of time at school not listening and looking for ways to not perish in the lukewarm flames of boredom, I added fur to the pen to add texture and something to rub my face up against in class. I can't stop. seriously. I just walk around rubbing a pen against my face and in between my fingers, it feels so sensual. So yeah, it turned out looking like a furry dildo for drag queens (Thats right, bitches, I am now manufacturing my own line of sex toys), but its imperfections, just like Cher, are what makes it all the more adorable. So if you like them, leave a comment and I'll make one in any colour your heart desires. Just remember to treat it like your friend and comb its fur and treat it like the flamboyant, homosexual it is.

A Lady In Leather

Celine Pre-Collection A/W 13

When I first began reading Vogue, I remember flicking past the Celine ads with scorn, wondering why a brand that was so bland was so popular and highly praised. Minimalism, to my 13 year old self, was a mystery, and one I believed you had to be old to solve. But since then my palette has matured and I have garnered a taste for the sartorial splendour that is Celine.

After the Rawness of her Spring Collection, Phoebe Philo's Pre A/W 13 collection pushed the boundaries of traditional tailoring by pushing and pulling to extreme proportions to achieve an anarchic take on sartorial classics.With mannish two piece suits  and the classic blouse being supersized into Alice in Wonderland standards, their masculinity is juxtoposed by feminine pear buttons and oversized A-line leaher skirts. Slick Leather overcoats and fur mounds of jacket are paired with androgynous platforms, my biggest weakness this season. The Deep straw boaters perched on the sleek, girl next door hair brings to mind the image of a teenage Jane March in the Lover, travelling to China in a silk dress and her father's hat. And these Giant belt buckles are so pantomime-esque I expect them to be accompanied by a Celine ivory Giant's beater and pirate boots.

Coachella HELLa

My favourite aspect of Coachella is not the sun, nor the celebrities or the style, but the vast contrast between the polished dress code and oh so planned and put together outfits they sport and the clothes that are worn at the festivals I go to.
Where they swan about in designer blouses and chloe back packs, I bring clothes that I expect to be trashed or stolen by the end of the weekend and hope they won't get ripped off in a pit. You don't wear makeup, You can't wear anything but wellies and if you tie your hair up don't expect it to come down for at least a week. What I'd give to see Kate Bosworth strolling down red camp in her chiffon maxi dresses and kitten heels.

Sweet Celebrities, there's no denying you get an A+ for effort but for the grade that matters the proof is in the pudding...

OMG tousled, boho hair and aviators bravo Kate that's sooo original! Suree the Kate Moss circa 2007 Glastonbury Boho Chic look always goes down well but its 2013, woman, shake it up a bit. I understand that Coachella is an entirely different breed of festival and her outfit is cute, very sweet and matchy matchy. But do you really want to look sweet and smart and prim at a music festival? One grimy fingerprint on that pretty blouse and its game over, dollface, god forbid if there's mud at a festival... 

Someone should tell Alexa Chung Coachella isn't  Bible Camp. Peter Pan collared dresses are cute, yeah, but the Chung's the one who brought these back 6 YEARS AGO. We get it, you're Kooky, now wear something else.

As meticulously planned and put together this conveys, I actually really loe this outfit. Kudos, Kate.

I love Kristen because she really couldn't give a lesser shit.

 Rita Ora I feel your aura. 

Someone call Alessandra Ambrosio, every prepubescentin topshop wants their look back! If I had a body like Alessandra's I certainly wouldn't be trying to dress like a 14 year old...

Queen Katy, Coachella's saviour. Leave it to KP to rule them all in her Dolce and Gabbana, Dali Two Piece, Lulu Guinness handbag, white, strappy block heels and a pineapple beaker.

This has been an uncharacteristically bitchy post, but every year we get the same wave of celebrities comandeering showers of praise and attention for their dull, personalityless outfits that they spent the last 6 months planning with their stylist and butcher the name of festival fashions. Kate Moss raised the bar, its about time they met it