HBIC and Their Other Halves

By Vanessa | Published: March 12, 2010

Yay! It’s Friday! Time to start gradually slacking off in preparation for the weekend… why not start with some adorbs pictures of celeb couples looking way too cute for their own good? It works for me! Maybe it’s the suit/snazzy dress combos but each one made me squee uncontrollably.

Geoffrey Arend and Christina Hendricks at Elton John AIDS Foundation Academy Award Party

Nicole Richie and Joel Madden at the same party (lalala I can’t see you Miley)

Michelle and Barack Obama at The Governor’s Ball

So… much…. cuteness! I think I need to go have a lie down now.

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Make It A Date: Blade Runner

By Vanessa | Published: March 10, 2010

Every time I see a make-over show or article one of the biggest questions is “What should I wear on a date?” and inevitably the same black dresses get wheeled out, a pair of boring mid-height heels, and an oh so risque neckline gets slashed into the top of a dress. Yawn yawn yawn. Dressing up for any occasion should be about fun and japes! Stop thinking about what will cinch your waist in or deflect from your big thighs and wear whatever the hell makes you feel happy and look amazing.

In this vein I have decided to start plundering some of the best date-worthy looks from my favourite movies, starting with Rachel out of Blade Runner. Now, admittedly, I watched half of this on a tiny telly at ATP back in November, and the rest of it yesterday afternoon, but I can firmly say that style wise this is one of the best films I have ever ever ever seen. Rachel’s sharp retro-futuristic look is to totally die for.

See? Even as someone who doesn’t normally wear shoulder pads I am salivating over that suit. Although the steep lines and close cut may seem hard to handle, there’s nothing better than the savvy cut of a tight skirt to make you swing your hips as you walk. Here are some pieces to take Rachel’s razor clean tailoring from the celluloid world into date territory:

As for the make-up, well, ok, there’s a lot of it, but hey, if it’s a first date ‘look don’t touch kind of thing’ (I hear they happen…) then you are totally in luck.


Thick brows, dark smudged eyes, and flushed cheeks provide a striking backdrop for the most delectable scarlet glossy lips. Just grab the items below and start working on your best thousand mile stare.

So there you go, no LBDs, nude lipstick, or control underwear, just pure genetically engineered hotness!! Now all you have to do is get out the hairpins and anchor down those ginormous victory rolls…

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Monday Mondays

By Vanessa | Published: March 8, 2010

Links, pictures, and other amusing tchotchkes to start your week!

Man gets married to a pillow: eating pasta dinners in booths, riding rollercoasters… adorable! I want dates like this!

Gala Darling’s doing a whole series called ‘The Playgirl’s Guide to Radical Self Love‘ which if you aren’t reading already you should!

Amazing tweets from SHOWStudio about the New York, London, Milan, and Paris Fashion Weeks have made my entire month.

It’s almost totally redundant to point out the ludicrous nature of Liz Jones’ column but OMG WATCH OUT MTV IS TURNING YOU ALL INTO HOOKERS!!!!!

Shia LeBeouf and Carey Mulligan smooching and being adorable in New York.

How to Reclaim Your Attention: I need to not just read this, but absorb it. // Raclette Mac & Cheese: Is it even possible to make Mac & Cheese any tastier than a $1 Kraft box? Well yes, but only with fancy cheese and potatoes. I’m drooling already. // Brompton Cemetary: One of the best cemeteries from the Magnificent Seven. The catacombs, though closed, are amazing! //

Pure Groove Records are running another Top 40 Singles night on Tuesday 9th March. Music, boys, girls, and no more than 3 minutes with someone if they’re terribly dull, what’s not to love? // The inside scoop on speed dating (read it before Pure Groove’s night maybe?) // Mickey Rourke ‘Had 14 Women In One Night‘ since night-time runs from approx. 7pm to 3am, that’s really not a good time/woman ratio…//

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Do You Remember The First Time?

By Vanessa | Published: March 4, 2010

Between the ages of 12 and 17 I was kissed precisely three times. First after my 12 birthday by my childhood crush (I screamed and kicked him in the legs) then aged 17 at a party where I got so drunk I passed out face down on the grass. The third time was by the person I would later lose my virginity to.

Most of my teenage years had been spent wondering why no-one wanted to kiss me. Ok so I was spotty and had bushy hair, but around age 15 I’d tamed my eyebrows and shrugged off the thick tortoiseshell glasses in favour of contact lenses, and yet offers were still thin on the ground. When I met my first boyfriend 3 weeks before my 18th birthday I realised he didn’t just want to kiss me while I was sloppy drunk. He wanted to hang out, talk rubbish, and watch telly with me. While we’d talked about lots of things on our 3 dates, but we’d not talked about whether I was virgin or not; it just hadn’t come up in conversation. For two whole weeks I thought about whether we would do it soon or not. If I told him that I’d never done it before I was worried he’d want to make it ’special’ and there was nothing worse in my mind. Rose petals and candles might do it for some girls but even then I knew they’d just make me laugh. Though the majority of my friends weren’t doing it I wanted to. I knew it was going to be great: adults never stopped talking about sex. There was a big secret in the world and I wanted in on it.

Providence was on my side.

My parents inexplicably went to Brazil for two weeks just after I started dating the boy. I called all my friends and told them that I was home alone and having a party. On Saturday night teenagers turned up in droves, clutching corner shop bottles of vodka and Panda Pops, and we drank ourselves silly. Sometime around 2am half a dozen of us were left to sober up and clean the house. After a cursory tidy we decided to heat up a pizza from the freezer. Everybody, minus the boy and I, went to the kitchen to figure out how exactly this would happen. We looked at each other and got down to some hardcore making out. As he scrabbled at my top I suddenly thought to myself “Oh my god, we could do it right now. Here. In my front room. On the sofa.” I pushed the door shut with my foot. We had sex.

For the next few days I wandered round thinking even harder than before. So that was sex. It must get better. Maybe I would figure out what to do, or he would, or maybe something would change inside me and it’d be like all those late night movies: thrashing, hair gone wild, screaming, that sort of thing. I still didn’t tell the boy it was my first time, I didn’t really care if he knew or not. He was my boyfriend, he cared about me and we were still going out. I figured adult life was going to be pretty awesome. I think I was right.

(Picture from Radioactive Lingerie)

Posted in Not So Sexy Times | Tagged , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Navigate-Colours

By Vanessa | Published: January 30, 2010

When I was a kid I told my mum that when I grew up I wanted ‘a red car, red dress, and red stilettos’ much like, it turns out, Cassandra in Wayne’s World. Though she looks totally sweet in a hair metal groupie sort of way, and I have always admired the work of Bebe Buelle and Sable Starr, I’ve found over the years that I’ve gravitated towards clothes with much less stretch lace, and a lot of bows and ruffles. Gradually the older I become the more childish my clothing choices. Only the other day I was thinking about getting my hair cut and the only photo I could find that in any way related to what I wanted was the youngest girl from The Chronicles of Narnia. Looking at that photo I would actually kill to own that cardi and dress too. Phwoar. Amazing.

Although wearing childish clothes could imply I’m some sort of infantilised, sexless, girl-child, forever trying to recapture a youth I never really had, it couldn’t be further from the truth. I don’t want to start deconstructing my outfit choices because I dread turning this post into Pseuds Corner, but it seems that both men and women are obsessed with judging people on the way they dress. It is apparently imperative that we all have a distinguishable look, one that is solid, unchangeable, and instantly recognisable. There is not scope for moods, changes of attitude, or concessions to comfort. If you want to look sexy, and attract men for one night stands (it appears) you need to wear something short, tight, or low-cut, and preferably all three. If you wear glasses you could maybe be a ‘sexy secretary‘ (extremely NSFW link!!! hint: it features a video of Sasha Grey) but if you fail that test you’re relegated to quirky, cutesy, or worse: interesting. Wait, you can only be one of these things by the way! If you were both things surely that would mean you were not only sentient and possibly interesting but also a sexual creature. Madness. We all know these things can’t go hand in hand.

I’m not saying men get off much better than women in this ridiculous charade, however the manners in which men have to dress to be considered sexy, seem to be a lot less time consuming than they are for women. Really everyone gets a bum deal, forcing us all to either feel dour and neutered or constantly on and aware of our sexuality. What we need to do is recognise that much like with sex itself different things can make different people’s heads turn. Whether its a ruffle along a neckline, or an pea-coat hitting a hipbone at a certain angle there’s something to float everyone’s sartorial boat.

Posted in Fashion, Questions | Tagged , , , , , | 1 Comment

Vampire Weekends

By Vanessa | Published: January 28, 2010

Recently I was googling how to get rid of lovebites (aka hickeys) and came across a mine of confusing, contradictory advice. Some people swore by ice-packs and tea bags. Others by  toothpaste, arnica cream, or hot compresses. Some people even recommended making them worse so you could pretend that you had a real injury (these people are obviously mad).

Scrolling through page after page of crackpot advice soon brought out the smarmy answers too: “Next time tell your sweetie not to bite so hard.”, “…don’t get one in the first place.” “Remember how unsightly they are.” and on and on. Some bloggers, writing for teenagers I imagine, advised talking to the hickey giver about it first. Not that I’m advocating forcing hickeys on teenage girls, but if someone starts to give you one and you don’t like it, whether you’re an adult or not, just tell them to stop. Sitting down, with a notepad and pen and saying to each other: “Do you like lovebites?” “Yup.” “Cool, what about blindfolds?” “Nope, sorry. How do you feel about oral sex?” etc etc would be one of the biggest passion killers I could ever imagine. However it is something I could imagine Topher and Bennett getting pretty into. That aside, what the heck is so wrong with a lovebite? Having one, getting one, or giving one, can all be fun, and it’s the douchey reactions from other people that make them less than worthwhile. Also, mate, telling them not to bite so hard? I think we’re all missing the point here…

I, for one, hope that with the sudden surge of interest in vampires (and to a lesser extent zombies) that lovebites, hickeys, blooms, strawberries, passion marks, tramp stamps, WHATEVERS will enter the mainstream and stop ignorant people making comments like this on urban dictionary:

After all if lovebites remain ‘a sign of sluttiness’ then whatever are we going to do when True Blood comes back later this year and everyone starts role-playing Eric and Sookeh at night?

Picture from a Google search on Pup’N'Taco… no I don’t know why I was doing that either.

Shameless self promotion time! I have a Tumblr and am sorely lacking people to tumbl with! Is that what you call it? Anyway, come join me! Don’t forget you can always find me on twitter and I mean always!

Posted in Advice, Sexy Times | Tagged , , , , , , | 3 Comments

I’m Just Way Too Into You.

By Vanessa | Published: January 19, 2010

Is it strange to be in crush with not just a celebrity but a celebrity couple? As much as I love love love Drew Barrymore, to the point where I own the autobiography she wrote as a teen I think I actually love her more when she’s dating Justin Long. Something about the completely unabashed way they are together makes me grin childishly everytime I see a picture of them, and so it was with great pleasure I read that they were back together (again). So many celebrity couples, and normal ones too(!), seem to look so bored when they are with each other, or just like they are putting on a show for people around them but these two look so bloody in love that I want to reach into my computer screen and give their cheeks a big old pinch.

Here are some gratuitous images of them being adorable together:

Do you have a celebrity couple crush? Or is it just me and my sentimental heart?

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Lipstick On Your Collar.

By Vanessa | Published: January 15, 2010

For the last week and a half I have been looking for a lipstick. Not any old lipstick, I found 100s of those, but the lipstick. One that will make me look like a lady, and that will not rub off all over cups, cigarettes, and boys’ faces.

Back in this post I mentioned a party so terrible that I forgot sleeping with someone at it. While I erased most of it from my mind I have never forgotten a lipstick related mishap that nearly stopped that entire sorry blog post unfolding (why didn’t it?? why??).

At the start of the evening I bumped into someone I thought was my ONE TRUE LOVE. We’ll call him Chet. My primary reason for thinking this was because I’d met Chet while blissed out on some Es. The moment I met him was amazing: I looked up from my scrabbling hands and in a split second the world slipped away. For a few hours I followed him around, hands in his pockets staring at him like there was no-one else in the room. It was probably pretty creepy. A few days later Chet invited me to this now apocryphal party and most of the sheen had worn off him I was still fairly smitten. When I arrived he’d necked half a bottle of Ritalin and was gabbling at me about everything under the sun. I was horrible disappointed but followed him into an empty room anyway to put my coat down. Inside Chet grabbed me by the arm: “Nadia just kissed me.” My heart sank as he was smiling broadly. “She kissed so badly; let me show you.” and before I could say anything he was lapping at my face like a St Bernard. I seized the opportunity as he broke away: “How would you prefer it was?” and so we kissed. We kissed for some time stood in the dingy light of Nadia’s bedroom surrounded by coats and shoes and someone sleeping under a curtain. In my head I was going “Yes! Yes! Yes!” because I am an idiot and do things like that.

Then someone stepped in to drop a bag off and we stood about awkardly talking about how this was a terrible idea and that we should just be friends. Well Chet said that and I said “Oh yes I suppose so.” Mortified that I could have misread a situation so badly I had been staring at the floor, and when I finally had the courage to look up I realised my lurid red lipstick was all over his face. He was telling me, all serious like, that this was just something that we’d done in the moment, and that it would be best if we didn’t think about it again, blah blah blah. I gave him a tissue, told him to clean himself and left the room. It wasn’t until days later that I realised I too must have looked like Robert Smith when I walked back into the party. Subtle.

And so to avoid this ever happening again I have been looking for a matte lipstick that doesn’t smell like crayons, isn’t neon red, won’t dry my lips, and yet won’t leave a trail of smears everywhere I go. Any ideas? It’s rather important you know.

Photo from Le Smoking.

Posted in Advice, Make-Up, Not So Sexy Times, Questions | Tagged , , , , | 6 Comments

B.A.B.Y.

By Vanessa | Published: January 8, 2010

Someday, in my uterus, where nothing other than blood, lining, and maybe a few lonely sperm cells have been, there may be, A BABY. Although I don’t particularly want one any time soon, or for a long time at all really, the thought sometimes enters my head and plagues me for days. Maybe it’s a sign that I’m getting older and more mature friends but I know of a handful of people pregnant in real life, and a few of my favourite bloggers are either getting ready to, or have just popped one out.

Excited as I am for them the idea of one day having one of my own freaks me out. Making a life? With someone else? And then looking after it for the next eighteen years MINIMUM? BEING RESPONSIBLE FOR CREATING SOMEONE WHO WILL ONE DAY GO ON TO BE A MEMBER OF SOCIETY? I’m having palpitations at the mere thought of it. What if you or your future baby daddy has a disease that you didn’t know about and you give it to your kid? Or you fuck them up badly when you thought you were parenting them in all the right ways? What if you drop the baby, or feed it the wrong thing? What if you just don’t love it?

But never mind any of that what about being pregnant? My mum said that she watched Alien not long after conceiving me, and sometimes when I kicked she would freak out and worry that I was an alien going to burst out of her stomach. It’s a thought I return to frequently when I see my friends bursting out of their dresses, waddling to the supermarket. They look amazing, but what if? what if?

People have always been around pushing babies out left, right and centre, which leads me to believe it really can’t be that bad. I try to soothe my anxiety related thoughts by telling myself that if it was so dreadful people would have stopped once effective contraception had been discovered, and we’d have slowly died out as a race.

So many people make it look like a fun, enjoyable way to spend time, rewarding even, but then there are the slew of programmes

that make it look like the worst idea you’ve ever had. In fact anything involving teenagers, or god forbid teenagers having babies, makes it look like hell.

All in all I think my paralysing fear of having a baby because it will a) inhabit my body like a parasitic host, b) change my life FOREVEREVER, is a good thing. This way I’m extra vigilant about making sure I don’t get in the club, and if and when it does happen I’ll have thought about it so much over the years that hopefully I won’t fuck it up. Or maybe I’ll fuck it up worse? Oh no, now a whole new can of worms has opened up in my brain!!

I really need to stop watching things like Teen Mom, 16 and Pregnant, Kizzy: Mum at 14, and reading things like Love It!, Hello, and old issues of Closer, and looking at other people’s baby’s with a stink eye while on the bus. I might get a reputation…

I have no idea where either the photo of Dakota Fanning or Lindsay Lohan came from, sorry!

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What I Learned This Year.

By Vanessa | Published: December 30, 2009

Although at one point 2009 seemed like the year that would never end, the last month especially, the finish line is finally in sight so I thought I would make a list of some pertinent things I learned this year. When I say pertinent I mean, ‘really obvious things that most people have probably figured out by now, but that surprised me, and which I still frequently forget’.

1. If the thought of going out with a particular person makes you have a panic attack, then don’t do it.
In January I rang Alex hyperventilating and crying because I was “going to have to be Conor’s girlfriend even though he’s mad and twitchy and has horrible teeth that look like the Berlin Wall”. He patiently explained that I didn’t have to be anyone’s girlfriend if I didn’t want to, and then hung up to watch Hollyoaks.

2. You are (probably) not going to die alone with cats.
And even if you did cats are pretty cool and can do awesome stuff like eat with a fork or chase a laser for hours, so maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all.

3. Don’t exchange numbers with someone the morning after if you have no intention of contacting them again.
This is less something I learned, and more something I wish everyone else would learn: If you do give your number over then prepare to be contacted, and either have the balls to say “I’m a prick who gave you my number because I thought it was ‘what you do’ and didn’t want to upset you because I can’t handle emotions.” or arrange a date and see if the other person is any cop.

4. Pretending to like things that you actually hate is pointless.
See: politics, Belgian cinema, thrash metal, Nietzsche, and kale.

5. Although drinking can help you talk to new people, being trashed only helps you pull douchebags.
Because once you’re so wasted you want to dance on a pool table the only man who’s in any state to cope with you is one who’s been drinking since yesterday afternoon.

I learned some other things too obviously (like where Minehead is, the best way to cook salmon, and how to network a printer) but they’re less relevant to this blog… anyway, I hope you all have a wonderful New Year’s Eve, and that whoever you snog at midnight is a keeper, or at least a good kisser.

Ace photo of Takashi Murakami and Kirsten Dunst taken from their video Akihabara Majokko Princess for Pop Life: Art in a Material World

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