Friday, 31 December 2010
Monday, 27 December 2010
Monday, 20 December 2010
However, I sadly no longer possess either nail or hair extensions and have since spent the past few months feeling a little, well, meh. I can't rap my long acrylics purposefully on my desk, nor use them to open envelopes with ninja-like precision. Similarly, I can't curl and spray my weave to stratospheric proportions (the higher the hair, the closer to heaven etc). Nope, I have to make do with my normal, *shudder* natural state, being aided only by Laura Mercier's Illuminating Tinted Moisturiser and the occasional wipe-down with the ol' fake tan. So, obviously, when I was introduced to lash and brow specialists, Browhaus by the lovely girls at Chalk PR, my inner beauty fiend did a little celebratory dance whilst my outer, rather more bland, self booked to have my lashes extended in their cool Covent Garden store.
The girls in the salon were fantastic ambassadors for their treatments - each preened and presented to look, well, pretty hot really. I was ushered in, plonked down on a heated massage chair (exactly what you need when it's arctic outside) and asked what sort of lashes I wanted. I opted for long, fluttery and just-the-wrong-side-of-believable. The kind of lashes that cause disruptive gusts of wind when one blinks. Jodie, my utterly adorable therapist, was more than happy to oblige and didn't even mind when I nodded off half way through the treatment.
I woke up to full, wonderfully flirtatious-looking lashes; individually placed and striking the perfect balance between natural and dramatic - exactly what I'd asked for. And as I sit here, just over a week later and with a mini-break to Paris and a good few parties under my belt, they are still fully in-tact and as pantomime cow-esque as ever. Perfect for winking at Santa with.
Email email@example.com or call 020 7240 8408 to make an appointment.
Sunday, 19 December 2010
Despite writing about it for various publications, the iconic nameplate necklace made
less chavvy famous by Carrie Bradshaw has never managed to wing its way round my neck. It never shook off the Elizabeth Duke at Argos connotations enough for me. But - lo! What is this? NY-based 'Entrepreneur General Store' Survival Of The Hippest have started making and selling Twitter nameplate necklaces online. You know, to wear in the *whispers it* real world. The perfect blend of chav and geek! Now we can talk…
And just for, *cough*, posterity, here's the lovely little scene where Carrie finds her necklace in the lining of her Dior clutch, realises New York is where her heart is, and makes a break for it from the unfortunate-looking, million year-old Russian.
Oh, and speaking of Twitter names, mine is @FavouriteThing and you are most welcome to follow me here or, alternatively, buy me my eponymous necklace.
Saturday, 11 December 2010
Thursday, 9 December 2010
Tuesday, 7 December 2010
I had the distinct, and very pink, pleasure of briefly meeting stylist Anna Trevelyan backstage at the Charlie Le Mindu show at London Fashion Week. Obviously, I was immediately in awe of her candy-coloured hair and obviously I had heart palpitations over her pastel Moschino skirt suit and OBVIOUSLY I thought she was bloody cool and pretty jammy to be Charlie's Girl Friday. But it was only afterwards that I realised that she also happens to be Nicola Formichetti's assistant and, basically, my kitsch kindred spirit. Now I'm kind of in love with her. Obviously.