Male Privilege

Tuesday, 25 February 2014

Let me break down Male privilege for you.
Male Privilege: knowing that saying “I have a boyfriend” is the only thing that can actually stop a guy from chatting you up because they respect another guy more than they respect your lack of interest or right to rejection.

Fashion Inspiration: February '14

Monday, 24 February 2014

Life in Film

Friday, 21 February 2014

I had some film from my Canon AE-1 developed today and thought I'd share some of the photos with you!

What I'm Wearing #2

Tuesday, 18 February 2014

Silk Top - Topshop // Print Trousers - Zara // Scarf - Rag & Bone // Bag- Mulberry // Boots - Topshop

[Photography Dunja Opalko - Facebook - Twitter - Portfolio]

An Interview With: Ellie Goulding

Monday, 17 February 2014

'She's been the nations go-to girl next door since 2009.'
Is one of several unimaginative opening statements that are usually prefixed onto an article about Ellie Goulding, I'm so keen to avoid it I've actually ended up using it.
We get it, she gets it, Kate and Wills even got it- so I think it's about time we moved on from it.
Luckily, from the release of her second album Halcyon, it aids you to do exactly that.
Raspy vocals ripping up your past preconceptions, electro-pop twists burning away all whimsical memories of that John Lewis ad.
It's still Ellie, undefiled lyrically and full of movie-soundtrack worthy hooks, comfortingly captivating by all means, but this girl next door definitely doesn't live next to you anymore.

It can't be ignored, Ellie has had a no less than groundbreaking career, glittered with dates at the White House and a songstress invite to the royal wedding party, all done with an incredibly cultivated stance throughout.
But that was then, when Goulding's polite nod at pop was a cute and artful concussion to critics, an almost sugared novelty that the Hertfordshire born singer-songwriter proved undaunted by turning folky vocals on their head, a gallant strike at powering them through with electro leads.
Swapping sweet and innocuous for a fortissimo of cathartic heartbreak ballads alongside potential punchy singles, Halcyon allows an insight into a more vehement Ellie, ensuring you question the day you ever undersold her as merely a bashful beauty.

It's a Monday morning and Ellie wakes up at 9:30am, peruses her kitchen for something healthy to eat and then goes to work out.
I know that if I were her, I'd have other ideas as to how to spend my early waking hours as a chart topping success.
In fact, I'm certain it wouldn't be half as simple as how she describes it.
But that is the over all impression she leaves, despite teetering towards the superlative of her genre, she remains totally grounded.
So far grounded, she's almost incredibly normal, this self-effacing fille who's discovered herself amidst the show garments and under-cuts of fame, even four or so years in.
I break the hypothetical news that Friday night's major party has been cancelled and ask how she spends her night instead? Perhaps her morning routine was far too much of a lacklustre question for her to give the rock n' roll answer she's dying to dish out.
"I'd go to the gym and then sit with a glass of wine in my flat and watch TV."
I think we could be friends, you know.

It could well be argued that my approach to this interview was poor journalism, querying the mundane and stereotypical is by no means exciting, but in this instance I think it's of grave importance that it's explored.
Does your perception of a good night in change when your face is on tomorrow's newspaper?
Do you become complacent of a sunny day in London when you know next week you could be in the decadent degrees of LA?
Ellie Goulding isn't about gossip, she's not a frontrunner for diva-like behaviour nor the opening gambit for a piece on controversialist actions, and this is exactly the point.
Who's on the guest list for her perfect imaginary head-line tour? Her friends.
Not Ryan Gosling nor Elvis Presley, there's no obtrusive desire to be anything more than who she really is, no outlandish suggestion or dream too unhinged, and it's admirable.
It almost dips back to who we were first introduced to, a quaint and quiet warbling blonde still bodes unseen within her, a concealed self reminder that illustrious events and model-perfect boyfriends don't change who you are.
Even if they do change your next album.

Sexting: I demand some respect, please.

Sunday, 16 February 2014

It is with awkward and somewhat vain compulsion that I feel the need to infiltrate my blog and whoever decides to stumble upon it with my views on sex. It's something that I have an inane desire to write about not because it is 'controversial' (as I've ignorantly been slammed for in previous posts) but because it's life.

At 18 I fall categorically and involuntarily into a role of total naivety and likely arrogance, it's something as new and exciting to me as is trying foreign food and drinking wines I can't pronounce. Never is it when I do those things am I apologetic for my inexperience, my apprehension or my scrunched face- yet with relationships and sex, these incredibly natural and honest emotions are shunned. I'm told to hide them away into a box and feel embarrassed.
I refuse to feel embarrassed.

It infuriates me to my core that talking about something so normal, so human and so dominant in our lives, particularly our young ones as it takes its imperfect debuted, is considered to be a taboo topic.

Instead of ranting broadly, which I know all too well I could do for the next fifteen years, I'm prompted to write this particularly personal and longwinded post about 'Sexting'.
I'll try and make this as ironically abrupt as the time I have spent sexting, in hope to get this across as succinctly as possible.

Much like everything else we do in life, our role in it should always be with heavy and happy consent. Sadly, that's frequently not the case.
In this digital age and as an online generation, we turn to our phones and to our computers eagerly over face-to-face contact, particularly when it's to communicate or request something that we'd feel a little ruddy cheeked over in person.

On a few occasions I've had guys text me asking for 'a photo'.
Unfortunately, they don't usually share my sense of humour when I turn the face-side camera on and do my best impression of a fish with twelve chins.

"I understand if you're not comfortable with your body." One boy once retorted with.
I have so many issues with this my hands fidget angrily over the keyboard as I type.
How dare you so precociously, wrongly and self-obsessively make the assumption that I am uncomfortable with my body because I wont show it to you.
I am so god damn comfortable with my body that I owe and demand it the respect you have zero intent of showing it.
Your sweet addition of kiss-face 'emoji's and the abundance of 'x's' after your cowardly request (there is nothing brave about asking to see someone's body behind the comfort of a screen) hold no persuasive form.
Attempting to camouflage your upset over rejection by shifting the attention to my own hang-ups and self-doubts speaks volumes about how right I am to withhold pressing send on an awkwardly posed, poorly lit photograph.

I've had all sorts of onslaught, offense and hostility thrown at me for standing my ground on something potentially permanently damaging (...we've all seen -that- Tulisa video) and I'm fed up of having to sit silent to it.
If you so desperately wanted to see me, awkwardly posed, in poor lighting, you'd get up from off your arse and come to my front door.
I can't promise I'll open it though, I might not be feeling 'comfortable' with my body.

"Whatever you do, don't go writing about me in your blog, Charly Cox!"

Saturday, 15 February 2014

Remember when you needed to borrow a pen at school and some shy self-effacing student would rummage in her unnecessarily large pencil case and remove a multi-pack wad of biros?
I was that girl, I was your saviour.

My worldly selfless ways didn't stop there, oh no, I'd also do my homework 5 times so you and your friends didn't have to.
With pride I would produce hot-off-the-printer essays, fact files and math sheets, desperately vying for some sort of elementary friends with benefits relationship; whereby I'd do your homework and you might smile at me in the corridor.
This technique sadly never served me too well for the 5 years I attended school, until I'd left.

"I had you wrong Charlotte, you're actually alright." Says a worryingly large span of people I bump into on a night out in my hometown just recently.
I've learnt the power of GHD straighteners, NARS blusher and a tight Topshop skirt.
Suddenly, my homework prowess is no longer needed- just the personality I was always too deafeningly afraid to show in the classroom. I've shed my geeky school persona, not from social pressure, but merely because I've re-clothed myself in the confidence that I knew I was 'actually alright' without someone in a bar telling me so.

I mould their backwards compliment into some sort of hindsight letter to my 15 year old self:
"Dear Charlotte, one day you wont have to stay up until 2am on spark notes for some boy you fancy in Religious Education. You actually make a great friend, not that half of the people you'll spend the next 3 years with will ever know- it's their loss not yours. PS. when you do cut your hair off and straighten the frizzy mess, people will start calling you Charly and want to sit next to you. Get as far away from them as possible, they're as fickle as that Frankie from The Saturday's photo you took to the hairdressers."

Some days later I find the 15 year old me pinching myself that I'm 6 cocktails in with someone I once slaved over homework for and took hideous amounts of gratification when he chose to sit next to me one lesson.
"Whatever you do, don't go writing about me in your blog, Charly Cox!"
He moves his face from mine with a mischievous grin, probably how I once imagined it.

It's a lovely smile, so it'd be a shame not to give it some space on the internet further than a Facebook profile picture.

Jacky O'Shaugnessy: 62 Year Old American Apparel Underwear Model

Monday, 10 February 2014

"There was something so compelling about Jacky’s look and energy when we first spotted her in a New York restaurant this winter, we introduced ourselves and pulled up a chair. During a long discussion that touched on everything from career choices and nutrition to insights on relationships, age and beauty, we asked if she would consider being photographed by us. We were thrilled when she agreed. " - American Apparel 

Jacky is now modelling for their underwear range, aged 62. 

A Monday lift of inspiration. You go GuUuUrL!!!!!!!!

What I'm Wearing #1

Friday, 7 February 2014

Dress - Zara // Scarf - All Saints // Headband - Topshop
Photographs by Dunja Opalko

An Open Letter: 'Don't Brand Suicide As Selfish'

Thursday, 6 February 2014

I write this to the tweet-ers, the facebook-ers, the 'Sorry I'm late some arsehole threw himself in front of my tube'-ers.
At least twice a week my journey to work is delayed because somebody has committed suicide on the train tracks.
Instead of swearing into the air, posting an expletive filled tweet, angry at the prospect of clocking in late- I feel cold, I feel empty- I feel compassionate.
I, apparently, unlike the majority of those who join me on this journey, am a human being. I feel these things not because I am a good person, but because I am A PERSON.

Time and time again I watch my timeline flood with inconsiderate users who express their utter discontent at the idea someone could be so selfish as to end their life right at the same time they're heading off to work.

Whilst it would make this letter all the shorter, it would do little justice for me simply to state the obvious- THE WORLD DOES NOT ONLY REVOLVE AROUND YOU.
When plagued with mental illness, when you feel so past the point of despair, your perception of selfishness is not limited to the commuters whose journey you've delayed, but the space you once occupied on their train when you were alive, the shoulders of those you brushed past, the sullen eye contact you'd bashfully catch.
You don't feel worthy of the space that contains you, you feel as though each breath is stolen from the people whose lives you enter even if only for a brief second.
It chills me when suicide is looked at as selfish, when really, those who sadly take their own lives, often feel as though that is the most selfless act they can commit.

Perhaps it had been a feeling that had been brooding for weeks upon months, a burning brash heat that sweat across their suited body, pushing and niggling their inner workings- "What if I jumped today?"
Until one day the curiosity showed its head, the burden, the guilt, the unholy weighted feeling that had lay heavy upon their shoulders that they were living without a purpose, that they were living in a caged and mottled existence, all became too much.
Mental illness is all consuming, regardless of the scale or length those who experience it are effected by it. It can be terrifying and lonely, a paradoxical mix of feeling so trapped within your own mind it's almost outer body

It is so outrageously morbid and unforgiving to suggest your 15 minute longer commute is quite so possibly tragic and tormenting that you could think somebody who is so brutally unhappy and scared and alone is selfish for giving you some extra reading time on the train.
Instead of being so self absorbed, so ignorant and callous, use that tweet, that delayed half an hour, to think of their family, to think of the destruction that is about to unfold before a loved on or an old school friend.
The last breathing moments of a human beings life spent so intoxicated by chemical persuasions of the brain that they've persecuted themselves to a violent undeserving end.

Be grateful that today you looked at the arriving train with a look of contempt because it was late, not because it was too slow to throw yourself in front of.

interior #1

Wednesday, 5 February 2014

I am currently in the long and looming process of flying the nest and looking for my own place in the big smoke of London. I am incessantly saving images of minimalistic studio flats and creating mood boards bigger than the space I'll ever be able to afford. Vicariously, I shall live through these for the time being.

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