Fartypants

February 24, 2016

Eye see you over there baby, shaking that thang…

(See more Knitwittery here and here
Flatutent leather culottes! Questionable tan lines! Sequinned eyes on the world’s most impractical compact satchel! That’s what you get when you combine jet lag and Shoreditch douchebagg-ery because this sort of award-winning ensemble should be best left to the clamourers outside Somerset House this time of year, the pages of Grazia, and fashion blogs. There’s a disconcerting breeze around my shins - and not just because my leather culottes make the most embarrassingly realistic fart noises when I walk (it’s my trousers, guys, I SWEAR) - yet my top half is toastier than the Brick Lane bagel shop. My ankle boots cover my weird ankle tan lines from Malaysia but not the remnants of my gold flash tattoos (which now look like odd scabs on my shins, ugh). Also, my handbag is as adequately-sized as my self-awareness is ample (in other words, not at all).  
And this, kids, is why you don’t attempt any sort of sartorial statement right after landing in London at four in the morning after a 13 hour flight.   
At least this hot mess kinda sorta photographs well…? No? Yes?  
PHOTOGRAPHY BY HENRY RIDLEY-COOK. QUESTIONABLE SARTORIAL CHOICES ALL MINE.

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Cigarettes and vainglory, the breakfast of champions. 
The real champion here is Henry. As soon as our plane took off, the style maverick changed into his pyjamas - a groundbreaking outfit of Moroccan purple kaftan with gold embroidery and a silk brocade Chinese dressing gown with more gold embroidery (dragons, naturally). God, I should be blogging that



The moment our plane hit the tarmac at Heathrow, yesterday morning at six, Henry and I hit the ground running. After a relaxed couple hours of unpacking, we headed to nearby Geffrye Museum in Shoreditch for some interiors inspiration. This well-laid out gem of a museum is an exploration of homes from 1600 to present day. With eleven elaborate, authentic period rooms, the exhibits are lovely little glimpses of life from ages past. London has a wonderfully democratic approach to education with most of her galleries and museums free to visit, and the Geffreye is no different - although I would happily pay £4 to see their restored almhouse from the 1700s. Absolutely worth a trip even if you're not a huge fan of history and home - the herb garden is absolutely charming in summer.









And what of this bedazzled Hermes Kelly-rip off I'm sporting? Funny you ask - hot Korean label PLAYNOMORE champions 'Fake for Fun' with their signature doe eyes sequinned all over Hermes-shaped handbags. I couldn't decide if their delightfully childish satchels were deliciously tacky or just terrible, so to be sure I went and bought three. 
This one, in mint, is my favourite.



If there is one positive side effect of jet lag (aside that it's the perfect 'get out of jail free card' - "I can't do lunch/yoga/coherence! I'm jet lagged!) it's that it resets my seriously messed-up body clock. Nocturnal doesn't even come close to describing my waking/sleeping pattern - try crepuscular. Yes, I'm a hamster - I'm most awake before dawn and after dusk. Believe me when I say that in ten years of living in London I can count on both hands the occasions that I've risen naturally at a respectable hour ie. between the hours of seven and eight a.m. But Monday evening's was so perfectly timed - the plane left Kuala Lumpur at 11pm local time, which gave me a decent night's sleep before waking up at 4am London time to land at 6am. By the time I reached my digs in Shoreditch and got dressed it was a very reasonable 8am, and so as of yesterday I've been fighting the urge to nap and running around London like a *gasp* productive person! Hold the phone, I went to bed at ten. TEN.

Who else here loves jet lag, flying long haul, childish 'cartoony' handbags, and fartypants? 

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