My Granny is a grand 90 years old tomorrow. To celebrate this fact my family had a gathering at her house yesterday and it pushed me to finally write a blog about her, a woman I hold incredibly dearly in my heart.
She is now losing her short term memory, she is, of course, aged, slowing down but there is not a single slice of her spark missing. She often tells me stories about her life, recalling with impeccable detail things that happened years ago and no matter how many times I might hear the same story it will always fill me with wonder, I could, can and do listen to her for hours on end. She has lived a life that not many could compare to.
My Grandmother was born in 1920 in New York, to first generation German migrants. She lived through the Great Depression and served in the American Navy during the Second World War. She did things that were just not done in her time and often giggles as she recalls her mother frequently saying, "Dorothy whatever will you do next?". She trained as a professional ice skater, toured all over the USA and Europe as "Lady Rebecca" in Holiday on Ice, which coined her the nickname "Becky" which she still is called today. Following the war she went with her GI Biller Rights and studied in Paris, lived in the South of France, married once, divorced. Shared an apartment in Paris with a man who worked for a fashion magazine, has had drawings of her as a model in fashion magazines, went to modelling school. Met my Grandpa, a Navy Officer, whilst visiting friends in England and whimsically tells the story of how it really was love at first sight. After marrying my Grandpa they lived out in India on a tea plantation with my uncle and aunt before returning to England shortly before my father was born... and these are to name but a few things. She still tells me she opens her curtains of her sleepy little village on the outskirts of Preston and says, "How on earth did I end up here?". We have all said to her for years that she should've written her life story, sadly I think it's a little bit late for her to be able to do that now but it's been crossing my mind more and more these days that maybe I should do it for her. Her stories are imprinted on my heart and I'd love to share with the world the wisdom of this incredible woman and her stories that would out shine any fictitious piece.
She always was until very recently impeccably dressed. We used to share cups of tea on a Sunday afternoon both flicking enthusiastically through the Sunday Times Style supplement. She has the largest collection of berets of anybody I've ever met, all with matching scarves. She delights in my dressing and I love hearing her recounting various garments over the years and showing me beautiful black and white photographs of her in her youth. "Quite the diva" as my Aunt commented on Saturday and then looked pointedly at me. This "passion for fashion" is inherited it seems. It was she who pushed me to keep modelling and delving into a fashion career. Over the years she has given me many of her garments and pieces of jewellery - all of which I wear frequently and often delighted in showing me off to her tea guests before recounting another of her stories from her youth. A far cry from a "typical" Grandmother figure and she frequently protests at my giggles at her crackers comments, "but you wouldn't want a boring Granny would you?" ... to which I always respond telling her I wouldn't swap her for the whole world (and I mean it even more each time I say it).
My Granny and I hold a special bond, I lived with her at a young age and again as for a year and a half at 19, though I know she loves each and everyone of us equally, the extra time we have spent together has given us something, there is an underlying understand of the other and a very deep affection. She has had a massive influence in my life and I think out of all of my relations she and I have a very unique relationship - we share a spirit, a gumption for life, an attitude to go out and grab absolutely everything. It is hugely attributable to her that I look at the world as a mirage of riches, a kingdom of magic, a plethora of possibilities. I feel deeply honoured when she tells me that I remind her of a young version of herself - we live an awful lot through each others eyes.
It was incredibly moving that upon my Dad making a toast to her yesterday that she sipped her champagne with her shaky hand, she took a deep breath and made a speech. Words which I've had her say pragmatically my whole life, "I'd say to anyone, that in life you have to just go out and do things. See and find opportunity then do it. I have lived my life and I have lived it well. I don't regret anything- you will doubtless make mistakes, make wrong choices but I think it's far better to do that than to never have experienced at all. I think there can't be anything worse than getting to being old and sitting back saying I wish I'd done that... It's far worse to regret the things you haven't done than those you have. Go out and seize every opportunity because life is for living".
I can take my Granny's words from this day but more importantly I carry her soul with me, her spirit lives in my genes and I would be very, very content in my life if I live to be just even half the woman she is.
Sunday, 28 November 2010
Thursday, 25 November 2010
Mon Corps - C'est Mon Histoire
I have been contemplating getting a new tattoo for sometime now, I flirted with a few ideas, things I like and came to a few various conclusions based on where I am at this particular point in my life. This, of course, is something that is going to be imprinted on my body for the rest of my life so it needs to not only be meaningful but also have significance.
I view my body like a map of my life, it tells my story, which continues to be written daily with the aging process.
I was born with two birth marks that I still have, an upside down crown shape mark at the top of my thigh and a small non-descript one on my right ankle. I have a marking from being a toddler, a small tablet sized white scar at the top of my thigh on my crotch line from where my Dad (so I am told) squeezed a spot there whilst changing my nappy. My knees show faint silvery scars and purple patches from grazes as a school child playing in the street, falling over my first bicycle handle bars. My first pet Rosie, a black and white dwarf rabbit, has left me with a little line scar on my left ring finger where she bit me (and wouldn't let go) whilst I was cleaning out her hutch at seven. If I stick my tongue out, I have a noticeably "flowery" edge to it from where I fell off a bar stool at nine and bit my tongue in my Dad's kitchen and reaching behind me for a drink. The roof of my mouth has a smooth patch from where I burnt it eating a cheese and potato pie from the bakery near my Granny's house at eleven.
My little sister's place in my life stamped by the small scratch dint she left on my face when she was a toddler. Freckles that increase as the years go by, my fair skin aging and being exposed to sun, remind me of family holiday's abroad and getting sunburned whilst playing in water. My growth and development are noted by stretch marks, hips, thighs, breasts 12, 15, 18, 22. The passage of becoming a woman. Skin on my face already aging, crease lines on my brow - years of laughing and frowning. The fashionista's feet are a patchwork of colours from rubbing shoes and mishapped from wearing teetering shoes with pointed toes. Holes from piercings and dints from those closed up.
Turmoil is marked too, my knuckles on my right hand remain scarred by callouses from years of bulimia, I have faint white scars from periods of self harm. A tiny egg shaped scar at the bottom of my back from when I first moved out of home and still plagued by self harming thoughts I kept my razors in my bed and lead on one by accident.
My body for the most part will tell it's own story, as it has already done but does not always tell the stories of the mind, it does not denote the opinions and emotions around the marks. My tattoos however are deliberate and meaningful in their own right. The card print down my spine, the club, heart, spade and diamond; a tribute to my survival of my anorexia. My view of life being a game and having to play the hand you're given and also in relation to the "Solitaire" poem I wrote about my experience. The little ruby on my left buttock - both comical due to it's positioning and important in it's meaning. The ruby was done with my oldest friend (Lucy) Quinn as she too got the same design in black (Lucy in the sky with Diamonds). The ruby to me represents reinvention, regenerations and rebuilding the self - renaming and re birthing. It's a salute to the more frivolous things in life, joie de vivre and the riches life has to give as well as being a representation of my nickname.
I know my body will naturally continue to write it's story on itself but I too wish to add further to the story of my mind, express my creativity and pay tribute to the trials and tribulations, joys and triumph of my spirit too. I'll keep thee posted on what I decide to have inked next...
I view my body like a map of my life, it tells my story, which continues to be written daily with the aging process.
I was born with two birth marks that I still have, an upside down crown shape mark at the top of my thigh and a small non-descript one on my right ankle. I have a marking from being a toddler, a small tablet sized white scar at the top of my thigh on my crotch line from where my Dad (so I am told) squeezed a spot there whilst changing my nappy. My knees show faint silvery scars and purple patches from grazes as a school child playing in the street, falling over my first bicycle handle bars. My first pet Rosie, a black and white dwarf rabbit, has left me with a little line scar on my left ring finger where she bit me (and wouldn't let go) whilst I was cleaning out her hutch at seven. If I stick my tongue out, I have a noticeably "flowery" edge to it from where I fell off a bar stool at nine and bit my tongue in my Dad's kitchen and reaching behind me for a drink. The roof of my mouth has a smooth patch from where I burnt it eating a cheese and potato pie from the bakery near my Granny's house at eleven.
My little sister's place in my life stamped by the small scratch dint she left on my face when she was a toddler. Freckles that increase as the years go by, my fair skin aging and being exposed to sun, remind me of family holiday's abroad and getting sunburned whilst playing in water. My growth and development are noted by stretch marks, hips, thighs, breasts 12, 15, 18, 22. The passage of becoming a woman. Skin on my face already aging, crease lines on my brow - years of laughing and frowning. The fashionista's feet are a patchwork of colours from rubbing shoes and mishapped from wearing teetering shoes with pointed toes. Holes from piercings and dints from those closed up.
Turmoil is marked too, my knuckles on my right hand remain scarred by callouses from years of bulimia, I have faint white scars from periods of self harm. A tiny egg shaped scar at the bottom of my back from when I first moved out of home and still plagued by self harming thoughts I kept my razors in my bed and lead on one by accident.
My body for the most part will tell it's own story, as it has already done but does not always tell the stories of the mind, it does not denote the opinions and emotions around the marks. My tattoos however are deliberate and meaningful in their own right. The card print down my spine, the club, heart, spade and diamond; a tribute to my survival of my anorexia. My view of life being a game and having to play the hand you're given and also in relation to the "Solitaire" poem I wrote about my experience. The little ruby on my left buttock - both comical due to it's positioning and important in it's meaning. The ruby was done with my oldest friend (Lucy) Quinn as she too got the same design in black (Lucy in the sky with Diamonds). The ruby to me represents reinvention, regenerations and rebuilding the self - renaming and re birthing. It's a salute to the more frivolous things in life, joie de vivre and the riches life has to give as well as being a representation of my nickname.
I know my body will naturally continue to write it's story on itself but I too wish to add further to the story of my mind, express my creativity and pay tribute to the trials and tribulations, joys and triumph of my spirit too. I'll keep thee posted on what I decide to have inked next...
Thursday, 28 October 2010
Food For Thought
For those of you that know me well enough or frequently read my blog you will know that food has been somewhat of a taboo subject for large proportion of my life. I'd be lying if I said that it isn't still an issue at times, I have hiccups, though mercifully I have the strength, resources and enough experience to never again fall into the depths of anorexia that I once was.
This last week however I've found myself obsessed with food in a whole different way - cooking it! I have always had an interest in food but because it's been such a turbulent journey to being comfortable with what I put in my body I've never really pushed the interest too far. Just cooking for myself I could never really gather much enthusiasm for; all that effort for myself when usually I'd end up hating myself for eating it anyway didn't seem worth it. Food for me often came prepackaged - with clear calorific content safely printed on the box (and on my brain).
Feeling so wonderfully happy in my home, living with people that I not only enjoy the company of but care a great deal about brings out this nurturing and nesting instinct in me. Whilst these past few weeks I've lost quite a bit of weight I decided that something needed to be done and so not being able perhaps to cook just for myself I turned my hand to cooking and baking for the household. I had a conversation with my male housemate about how he sees food as a beautiful thing, not in a tongue in cheek kind of way, but how it is so incredible that you can put something in you that nourishes you, gives you life, vitality and joy and being given the gift of that is something really special. It warmed my heart greatly. I find it so rewarding knowing I can give that to somebody, it's so enriching to watch somebody enjoy something I have created and be nourished by it. In turn they're helping me, I feel the greatest gift of all is being able to give and I feel it so much easier eating my creations in sharing in them with the people around me. Meals become a loving experience not just a refuelling process.
This last week however I've found myself obsessed with food in a whole different way - cooking it! I have always had an interest in food but because it's been such a turbulent journey to being comfortable with what I put in my body I've never really pushed the interest too far. Just cooking for myself I could never really gather much enthusiasm for; all that effort for myself when usually I'd end up hating myself for eating it anyway didn't seem worth it. Food for me often came prepackaged - with clear calorific content safely printed on the box (and on my brain).
Feeling so wonderfully happy in my home, living with people that I not only enjoy the company of but care a great deal about brings out this nurturing and nesting instinct in me. Whilst these past few weeks I've lost quite a bit of weight I decided that something needed to be done and so not being able perhaps to cook just for myself I turned my hand to cooking and baking for the household. I had a conversation with my male housemate about how he sees food as a beautiful thing, not in a tongue in cheek kind of way, but how it is so incredible that you can put something in you that nourishes you, gives you life, vitality and joy and being given the gift of that is something really special. It warmed my heart greatly. I find it so rewarding knowing I can give that to somebody, it's so enriching to watch somebody enjoy something I have created and be nourished by it. In turn they're helping me, I feel the greatest gift of all is being able to give and I feel it so much easier eating my creations in sharing in them with the people around me. Meals become a loving experience not just a refuelling process.
Sunday, 17 October 2010
Bitch Therapy
Recently I've found myself increasingly feeling the heat. I feeling incredibly happy that my styling work has reached another level, that I feel confident enough to stop working just for images and add a reasonable fee to my services. I find it so difficult to switch my fashion obsession off, so combining this with cramming my (already over full) schedule with even more shoots is having a lovely sky rocketing effect on my stress levels.
I was getting to a point mid last week, especially being ill, of feeling perpetually sick that this is how my life is going to feel for the next "x" amount of years, working in the industry that I have chosen. Can I really keep this up without ending up an anorexic gibbering mess of delirium? I am such a ridiculous perfectionist that doing what I do will demand all of me no matter how much I try and schedule and organise in some "me" time I'll still find myself working. It's not exactly helped by the fact that all my leisure activities actually relate to work. I cannot sit on Facebook without networking, blogging involves fashion usually, going on a night out leaves me scouting for outfit ideas and making connections with like minded people, I can't watch films without thinking of things within it that give me shoot inspiration or articles to write. Going to bed is requiring diazepam because I can't stop my brain even when I stop my body.
I figured that something had to give - and seeing as I am unwilling to give anything up (I want this TOO much) - I decided I had to find some way to vent some of this steam. I am not a bitch by nature, I am actually quite sickeningly happy with a unnaturally positive outlook on life (I think I have to doing what I do), but there is a little element of me that is incredibly cynical. I know my chosen industry is going to require me to grow a thick skin, I am realising this more and more as my career progresses and so I do need to build my resistance. At heart I'll never be one of these cut throat fashionistas but I feel I have a gift for giving off that image. Hence the birth of "Viva Yer Diva", a new blog to my Ruby Noise family. It's striking a happy medium between still "working" by writing and researching but it's so cathartic and therapeutic in a sense that I am literally ripping to shreds all the things in life that irk me and venting a little bit of that frustration I feel under my work load.
It may possibly create me some enemies but those who know me do know better. As we know I have great fun playing with my alter ego the "Diva" and here she is in blog form: http://www.vivayerdiva.tumblr.com . It's also good practise for my life long ambition to become the next Mrs Mills (of the Sunday Times Style supplement).
It paints me out to be an absolute cow of the highest degree but my God it's fun to write and if it brings a giggle to someone else's day then I feel my karma is balanced out. Kind of. I hope.
I was getting to a point mid last week, especially being ill, of feeling perpetually sick that this is how my life is going to feel for the next "x" amount of years, working in the industry that I have chosen. Can I really keep this up without ending up an anorexic gibbering mess of delirium? I am such a ridiculous perfectionist that doing what I do will demand all of me no matter how much I try and schedule and organise in some "me" time I'll still find myself working. It's not exactly helped by the fact that all my leisure activities actually relate to work. I cannot sit on Facebook without networking, blogging involves fashion usually, going on a night out leaves me scouting for outfit ideas and making connections with like minded people, I can't watch films without thinking of things within it that give me shoot inspiration or articles to write. Going to bed is requiring diazepam because I can't stop my brain even when I stop my body.
I figured that something had to give - and seeing as I am unwilling to give anything up (I want this TOO much) - I decided I had to find some way to vent some of this steam. I am not a bitch by nature, I am actually quite sickeningly happy with a unnaturally positive outlook on life (I think I have to doing what I do), but there is a little element of me that is incredibly cynical. I know my chosen industry is going to require me to grow a thick skin, I am realising this more and more as my career progresses and so I do need to build my resistance. At heart I'll never be one of these cut throat fashionistas but I feel I have a gift for giving off that image. Hence the birth of "Viva Yer Diva", a new blog to my Ruby Noise family. It's striking a happy medium between still "working" by writing and researching but it's so cathartic and therapeutic in a sense that I am literally ripping to shreds all the things in life that irk me and venting a little bit of that frustration I feel under my work load.
It may possibly create me some enemies but those who know me do know better. As we know I have great fun playing with my alter ego the "Diva" and here she is in blog form: http://www.vivayerdiva.tumblr.com . It's also good practise for my life long ambition to become the next Mrs Mills (of the Sunday Times Style supplement).
It paints me out to be an absolute cow of the highest degree but my God it's fun to write and if it brings a giggle to someone else's day then I feel my karma is balanced out. Kind of. I hope.
Friday, 15 October 2010
You Eat Apples Right?
So I get a message from my Mum yesterday asking me what an iPhone was - I gave her a brief explanation saying it was a phone made by Apple that basically was le shiz. She then informs me that she's just received one with her Roger's (she lives in Canada) home package that she and her husband recently had installed. Which is lovely, except this is my mother who still gets me to send her text messages for her when we're together because she can't figure out how to do it without spending an hour over it (usually with her glasses on and a wonderfully comic expression of concentration on her face).
So whilst I'm trekking home from work at quarter to nine at night I'm also Facebooking her from my Blackberry (to her computer - we haven't got that far on the iPhone yet) trying to explain to her a) What an iPhone is and b) the beginnings of how to figure it out.
Now I don't mean to sound like I am calling my mother a technophobe - she's actually incredibly skilled with computers - to the extent that I once watched her manage to completely rebuild her laptop in my youth from despite it having absolutely no screen. Said screen being smashed to smithers because she dropped it down the stairs, actually my mother's track record with technology isn't too hot luck wise despite her skills, I do seem to be housing another rather intoxicated laptop that she fed a glass of wine to in my bedroom too. However phones for some reason seem to be an alien entity to her - so you can imagine my amusement when she declares she has this iPhone.
Well, the evening progresses - we both get excited when she manages to send me an international text message from it, I tell her she can use it like an iPod and play her music from it, if she downloads iTunes and from what I can gather she read the manual from cover to cover. I get frequent updates of the new features she's found with a particular highlight being the proclamation (with several exclamation marks) that she could play The Sims 2 on it!!! I am happy for my mother and her iPhone, wishing her a long and happy experience with it's joys (not jealous, not one bit).
Time passes, I sleep (don't think she does) and I received a message this morning from her saying, "This isn't an iPhone really, I don't think - the paperwork says it's an iPhone but it's Samsung and iPhones are Apple?". *face palm* I asked her to turn it over and to let me know if there was a picture of a little silver Apple on the back to which I got the response, "No it doesn't - I think it's a piece of shit actually".
I give up.
LOVE you Mammy and your phonophobia.
So whilst I'm trekking home from work at quarter to nine at night I'm also Facebooking her from my Blackberry (to her computer - we haven't got that far on the iPhone yet) trying to explain to her a) What an iPhone is and b) the beginnings of how to figure it out.
Now I don't mean to sound like I am calling my mother a technophobe - she's actually incredibly skilled with computers - to the extent that I once watched her manage to completely rebuild her laptop in my youth from despite it having absolutely no screen. Said screen being smashed to smithers because she dropped it down the stairs, actually my mother's track record with technology isn't too hot luck wise despite her skills, I do seem to be housing another rather intoxicated laptop that she fed a glass of wine to in my bedroom too. However phones for some reason seem to be an alien entity to her - so you can imagine my amusement when she declares she has this iPhone.
Well, the evening progresses - we both get excited when she manages to send me an international text message from it, I tell her she can use it like an iPod and play her music from it, if she downloads iTunes and from what I can gather she read the manual from cover to cover. I get frequent updates of the new features she's found with a particular highlight being the proclamation (with several exclamation marks) that she could play The Sims 2 on it!!! I am happy for my mother and her iPhone, wishing her a long and happy experience with it's joys (not jealous, not one bit).
Time passes, I sleep (don't think she does) and I received a message this morning from her saying, "This isn't an iPhone really, I don't think - the paperwork says it's an iPhone but it's Samsung and iPhones are Apple?". *face palm* I asked her to turn it over and to let me know if there was a picture of a little silver Apple on the back to which I got the response, "No it doesn't - I think it's a piece of shit actually".
I give up.
LOVE you Mammy and your phonophobia.
Monday, 27 September 2010
Faith from Paloma
I was rather enlightened and inspired by an interview with Paloma Faith that I read in Stella supplement from the Sunday Telegraph yesterday.
I do frequently get told that I remind people of Paloma - it was purely co-incidence that our styles seemed to be similar and we're both red lipped, red haired ladies. I was doing the "Paloma style" before she emerged on the main scene but it was upon reading this article that I realised we had quite a bit more our appearance in common.
My personal life motto, "everyday is fancy dress dah-ling" so frequently rolls from lips, but is so said in a way that is tongue in cheek and ever so slightly self deprecating. It is true that every day is fancy dress to me but that isn't necessarily referring to my sense of style reflecting that more of costume than of day wear. I spent many years searching for who I am, as I am sure does almost every young woman. I went on a journey before arriving at this point that I felt quite comfortable to express myself freely, and my chosen expression being my image and fashions. This said however, does not mean that I am completely safe and comfortable with who I am. I inwardly smile when somebody comments on how they wish they could have my confidence to go out dressed like I do - not caring what people think because the truth is actually more like the complete opposite. True, I don't care what people think about what I'm wearing, but I do care about what they think about me as a person. Dressing in the manner I do, in this "fancy dress", allows me to create a role for myself to play, I can walk out of my house playing a whole host of alter egos and therefore not myself. It's become somewhat of a personal little hobby of mine is adapting to being a different person in different situations, my favourite of course being the "diva dah-ling".
In reading this article with Paloma I was struck by the lines, "Faith, 25, has a deep need to dress up. Her "bog-standard look" is a pencil skirt, seamed stockings, a pair of heels, a silk shirt and a 1940's hat". Familiar much? It continues, "This is what she wears 'when I can't think'. When she can think there is no limit to the comedy clothing and rainbow-hued make-up she will don." She goes on to explain how a role in a primary school play allowed her to come out her shell, transforming from the painfully shy child she was, "I remember feeling like if it's not me it doesn't matter. And I still do that. You know, people ask me, 'Oh do you ever not dress up?' But it's to do with me sort of becoming somebody else in order to be confident".
Now this isn't to say I am not comfortable with who I am, incidentally I am very comfortable with who I am but I like to reveal that to only a select few, it's a method of self protection and almost a selection process if you like - this disguise gives me a distance at which to assess people and time to evaluate how they will respond to me and whether I can give them what they want and in return they can give to me. As Paloma commented, "When she's not dressed this way she thinks people are not as kind or respectful to me".
Dressing the way I do is my trademark - people recognise me instantly from behind, regardless of my current hair colour or that my style could be the complete opposite of the day before and I like this fact. It gives me a sense of purpose and my role in society. Like Paloma, my style has opened doors for me and people are intrigued by my creative ideas, I am not easily forgotten. I feel often that clothing is dismissed as unimportant outside of a fashion world but it communicates instantly with the receptor a lot about the wearer - even though neither part may realise it.
Now Paloma has an MA from Central Saint Martins, film and television work and a platinum album under her sequined garter and massively a lot of this kicked off thanks to her iconic style. Indeed she was asked to join her first band before any of them had heard her sing a note - the image sells. Now as it happens, in my opinion, Paloma has a sensational voice and following this article I found myself having to buy tickets to see her live at the end of October. The voice and the outfits in one place.
"Just close your eyes and make believe.
Do you want the truth or something beautiful?
I am happy to decieve you".
Do You Want the Truth or Something Beautiful - Paloma Faith.
...Now I'm just panicking about how not to be dressed in the "wannabe look a like" role at the concert.
Saturday, 25 September 2010
Dear London College of Fashion, PLEASE LET ME IN!
Round one. 3999 characters of the maximum allocated 4000... With special thanks to Sue Randall for professionally checking this for me, my personal statement reads:
Fashion infiltrates every aspect of society and evolves so rapidly that in a blink, as soon as one trend sets in another is already replacing it. Fashion journalism captures these moments, shares them with its viewer and documents them in fashion history, making them immortal.
There are few things in life that enthral me as much as seeing that process in which a model goes from being just a woman to a living, breathing work of art. She personifies self expression, and her garments denote a piece of future history and tell a story of the social and political ideologies of that moment in time.
I wish to study Fashion Journalism because it blends so beautifully the cocktail of my interests. These include an all-consuming enthusiasm for fashion, a predilection to express myself through the visual arts and language, with a driving need to understand the way our society is affected and influenced by the media and social reasoning. I chose to study my A Level subjects as a foundation for journalism, and then decided to further my understanding of fashion by studying fashion design formally. I aim to explore this subject in as many different aspects as possible, and have a particular interest in the contextual studies and fashion promotions units in the course content.
After leaving school and before furthering my formal education, I took two years out of studying to build an understanding of the working world and establish my own business as a fashion stylist. I built my business through extensive study of fashion trends and continually networking with photographers and creatives. Doing this has equipped me with skills that are essential within the industry, such as managing deadlines and the demands of others, being self motivated and working within a creative fashion-focused team. I also began employment with Tesco in customer service and clothing departments. Working in retail in this manner has provided me with an understanding of consumer needs, problem solving skills and the ways to achieve customer satisfaction—and the importance of this. Empathy is another essential skill in communicating through writing and being able to effectively market a product to the mass consumer base.
Outside of formal education I am a registered volunteer for the Harris Museum, working as a digital journalist for an up-and-coming exhibition that is part of the Cultural Olympiad, and which encompasses current fashions alongside historic textiles. I write for their blog and styled the promotional photoshoots, and worked with a team to produce the layout and style of their booklet. This booklet was sent to potential supporters and artists to encourage them to donate their pieces. Through this project I have been presented with opportunities to interview artists such as designer Holly Russell and textile artist Michael Brennand-Wood for the blog, to attend a lecture by and work alongside photographer/ stylist Gavin Fernandes, and to attend a digital journalism workshop. The latter is run by a company specialising in programs to support businesses in developing their marketing and promotion skills, and the workshop gave me further insight into the power of social media outlets and ways in which to utilise them most effectively.
When not working or studying I maintain two blogs, one focused on fashion and the other on creative writing. I also enjoy reinventing my own image frequently.
My years outside of formal education have given me life experience that has matured me to a level that will allow me to focus on university and apply myself fully to specialist study. With my varied tastes in different aspects of fashion business, I could apply myself well to a Fashion Journalism degree, and on completion I would be excited to explore the doors this course could open up for my career. I aspire one day to follow in the steps of those that have inspired me through their fashion work, and to create my own place within fashion history.
Fashion infiltrates every aspect of society and evolves so rapidly that in a blink, as soon as one trend sets in another is already replacing it. Fashion journalism captures these moments, shares them with its viewer and documents them in fashion history, making them immortal.
There are few things in life that enthral me as much as seeing that process in which a model goes from being just a woman to a living, breathing work of art. She personifies self expression, and her garments denote a piece of future history and tell a story of the social and political ideologies of that moment in time.
I wish to study Fashion Journalism because it blends so beautifully the cocktail of my interests. These include an all-consuming enthusiasm for fashion, a predilection to express myself through the visual arts and language, with a driving need to understand the way our society is affected and influenced by the media and social reasoning. I chose to study my A Level subjects as a foundation for journalism, and then decided to further my understanding of fashion by studying fashion design formally. I aim to explore this subject in as many different aspects as possible, and have a particular interest in the contextual studies and fashion promotions units in the course content.
After leaving school and before furthering my formal education, I took two years out of studying to build an understanding of the working world and establish my own business as a fashion stylist. I built my business through extensive study of fashion trends and continually networking with photographers and creatives. Doing this has equipped me with skills that are essential within the industry, such as managing deadlines and the demands of others, being self motivated and working within a creative fashion-focused team. I also began employment with Tesco in customer service and clothing departments. Working in retail in this manner has provided me with an understanding of consumer needs, problem solving skills and the ways to achieve customer satisfaction—and the importance of this. Empathy is another essential skill in communicating through writing and being able to effectively market a product to the mass consumer base.
Outside of formal education I am a registered volunteer for the Harris Museum, working as a digital journalist for an up-and-coming exhibition that is part of the Cultural Olympiad, and which encompasses current fashions alongside historic textiles. I write for their blog and styled the promotional photoshoots, and worked with a team to produce the layout and style of their booklet. This booklet was sent to potential supporters and artists to encourage them to donate their pieces. Through this project I have been presented with opportunities to interview artists such as designer Holly Russell and textile artist Michael Brennand-Wood for the blog, to attend a lecture by and work alongside photographer/ stylist Gavin Fernandes, and to attend a digital journalism workshop. The latter is run by a company specialising in programs to support businesses in developing their marketing and promotion skills, and the workshop gave me further insight into the power of social media outlets and ways in which to utilise them most effectively.
When not working or studying I maintain two blogs, one focused on fashion and the other on creative writing. I also enjoy reinventing my own image frequently.
My years outside of formal education have given me life experience that has matured me to a level that will allow me to focus on university and apply myself fully to specialist study. With my varied tastes in different aspects of fashion business, I could apply myself well to a Fashion Journalism degree, and on completion I would be excited to explore the doors this course could open up for my career. I aspire one day to follow in the steps of those that have inspired me through their fashion work, and to create my own place within fashion history.
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