Saturday, April 23, 2011

because there aren't really enough photos of me on the internet yet.

This is probably the closest I'll ever get to a cricket pitch.
What I like about this pose is how it highlights my excellent posture honed by days hunched over my desk. 
  I guess Joy Division were right after all: love did tear us apart.


Why go take photos of yourself beside a cricket pitch where poor, misguided souls are doing boot camp and finding time to laugh at you at the same time? Why not?
My favourite part of this is shaming myself in front of you via the abused Ferragamos. This is why I should not own nice things. I don't keep them neat and tidy and away for a Good Occasion but I live in then and this, unfortunately, means coming into contact with my ever-so-slight messiness. It's more fun that way but it also means that my future/possible daughter is going to cut me with her eyes when she sees that I didn't wear them twice then package them in tissue paper for her but that I wore those suckers all over town ten times and then threw them out. 
But future/possible daughter, if you're lucky I'll still have this soft-as-holding-hands jumper from Bec&Bridge that you can wear sometimes. But you're not getting those sticky paws on the Armour ring, I need it to vaguely threaten people wearing Lulu Lemon who snigger at my blogging activities of an afternoon.


Customised Supre skirt // Bec&Bridge jumper // Alfred singlet // destroyed, mutilated, heartbusted Ferragamo brogues // Akubra hat // rings are assortedly from Vivienne Westwood, Sportsgirl, Georg Jensen, handmade and given as a gift for my mother's 21st birthday, Harry Wragg vintage and Surry Hills markets.


photos by the delectable Isabel 

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