Tuesday, 19 September 2017

Back To School

"Conkers lying on the ground, the air is cooler. And I feel like I've just started uni."
Zorbing by Stornoway

Every late September I can't help but remember the autumn that I was 18. Seeing the streets of Leicester suddenly clogged with excited, fresh-faced students takes me back to the year I was one of them.

1996. I'd dyed my hair black over the summer, listened to too much gloomy indie music, and been suffering from what I now recognize as crippling anxiety attacks. I hid in my room when the phone rang; I panicked if I received any post. The world suddenly felt too big and too wide and I was about to go out into it.

I went to university in pursuit of adventure. My most fervent hope was to find my people, which at the time meant slim-hipped boys with floppy hair and eyeliner; girls in Manics t-shirts and glittery nail polish. I thought that if I could just find these people I'd finally be happy (conveniently ignoring the fact that I'd spent the previous two years hanging out with people who exactly matched that description, and it hadn't got me anything except a self-harm problem and the editorship of a mildly successful indie fanzine).

I was nothing short of devastated, then, to meet the students at Leicester University and discover that they were so far from being my people it was almost laughable. My fellow halls of residence, erm, residents were genuinely nice but, from the rugby-playing law students downstairs to the Home Counties public school girls on my corridor, I had nothing in common with them. For their part, they viewed me as something akin to an exotic animal in a zoo: something to be gazed at from afar, but not got too close to.

Having been planning my escape from Bradford since the age of ten, the reality of life at university was a disappointment to say the least. I'd sincerely hoped that, after years of being the brightest kid in class, further education would finally provide me with the challenge and intellectual debate I so sorely wished for (and yes, I do realise that makes me sound like a particularly pretentious Adrian Mole). My hope was quickly dashed against the rocks of a dull curriculum taught by indifferent lecturers. I'll readily admit that I gave up, decided not to bother trying, and emerged a few years later with a 2:2 degree that I barely deserved.

So it's with no little trepidation that, this week, I start a Masters degree in Gender Studies at the University of Leeds.

My first assignment is to write about a text that inspired me to study this course I'm struggling. I was born into a family in which political activism comes as naturally as breathing. My mum raised me as a feminist and I grew up in a house lined with books by Germaine Greer, Audre Lorde, Sheila Rowbotham and numerous other feminist luminaries. When I was at school (and later, during my undergraduate degree) I was the person who brought every discussion back to feminism or queer theory. Whether discussing the works of Charlotte Bronte or the sociology of the city, my preoccupying thought was always, "what's the feminist perspective on this?"

It's difficult, therefore, to pinpoint a single text or moment in time that made me think, "Aha! I want to study gender!" Honestly, as long as I can remember in my adult life, this course has been my dream. I still have, stashed away somewhere, the Gender Studies MA prospectus from 2001. And every few years since then I've opened the Leeds University website and idly looked through the course content thinking, "If only." But it always felt like an impossible goal - too far away from my work in Leicester, too competitive for someone with my crappy degree and, most importantly, too expensive.

As with so many things in our unfortunately couple-centric world, what seemed impossible when I was on my own became within reach once I met a partner. Since Thomas moved in I've been able to put more into savings than was possible before and, because he now has a three year contract at Loughborough University on a very decent salary, we're able to take the financial hit of me cutting my hours at work. More than anything, though, he has been my cheerleader and chief encourager, telling me that of course I should apply, that of course I'd be accepted, and that of course I'll manage the work. Whenever I have wobbles about the huge reading list or the added stress, I have an actual academic on hand to talk me down, find the journal articles I need, make me cups of tea, and remind me just what the hell Harvard referencing is.

I have no doubt that the next two years will be challenging. That at times, between the workload and the six hour weekly commutes, I'll feel like giving up. But for now, at least, I'm looking forward to being one of those excited and fresh-faced (ahem) students again. Because how many people can say that their dreams come true?

Friday, 15 September 2017

A Public Saying To All Our Friends: Our Wedding Ceremony

When you're planning a wedding ceremony from scratch there's so much to think about. We wanted ours to be entirely different from the traditional legal wedding ceremony, both in wording and in structure. We wanted it to reflect our values, as individuals and as a couple, and to be explicitly feminist. Most importantly, we wanted it to be fun.

We'd chosen Leicester's Guildhall for our ceremony for a number of reasons, chief amongst which was OH MY GOD JUST LOOK HOW BEAUTIFUL IT IS! It was also, being a council-run venue, reasonably priced, and the staff were amazing and totally on board with our plans for a quirky, untraditional ceremony.
Having greeted all our guests together (which was lovely and something I'd highly recommend, as it gave me a chance to say hello to everyone - and admire their outfits - instead of sitting somewhere 'backstage', as brides usually do, feeling increasingly nervous), everyone was seated ready to begin. Instead of entering separately or, god forbid, me being 'given away' by my dad, we walked into the ceremony hall together to the strains of Sam Cooke's You Send Me.

Our friend Richard was officiating the ceremony for us - as a teacher, he had the perfect voice to fill the hall and the confidence to stand up in front of 70 people. Although he confessed later that he'd felt anxious about it, you'd never have guessed.
Richard opened with a beautifully written, and very funny, speech, and was followed by Julia, Thomas's sister, reading the Marge Piercy poem that I shared in my last wedding post. We'd decided to have all the speeches within the ceremony, rather than at the party afterwards, so two of Thomas's best friends - Bart and Tim - gave what became the equivalent of a best man's speech (I certainly wasn't expecting the word "balls" to be bandied around quite so much!). My mum also spoke, beautifully and movingly, and two friends - Cara and Mathijs - both gave readings.
"In my opinion the best thing you can you do is find a person who loves you for exactly what you are. Good mood, bad mood, ugly, pretty, handsome, what have you, the right person will still think the sun shines out of your ass. That’s the kind of person that’s worth sticking with."
From the film Juno

We'd chosen our readings carefully - of course, who doesn't - because we wanted them to reflect not just the ethos of our day but also the person reading. So Julia, one of the bravest and most awesome feminists I know, got the Marge Piercy poem. Cara seemed perfectly suited to the extract from Juno (plus it has the bonus of being short, as she wasn't wild about having to speak in public). Finally, Mathijs read a quote from the film Frida which we knew would suit his oratory style and, for us, summed up everything we hoped for about our marriage.

"I don't believe in marriage... I think at worst it's a hostile political act, a way for small-minded men to keep women in the house and out of the way, wrapped up in the guise of tradition and conservative religious nonsense. At best, it's a happy delusion - these two people who truly love each other and have no idea how truly miserable they're about to make each other. But, when two people know that, and they decide with eyes wide open to face each other and get married anyway, then I don't think it's conservative or delusional. I think it's radical and courageous and very romantic."
From the film Frida
My strongest memory of my whole wedding day - but particularly of the ceremony - is of laughter. We'd wanted it to feel relaxed and joyful, and for people to feel more involved in proceedings than  the traditional ceremony usually allows. Having a friend officiate and therefore removing the legal stuff meant every single word was meaningful and personal to us. But we retained some bits of a traditional ceremony, for example exchanging rings and saying vows, although our vows were ones we'd written together:


"I commit myself to our life together because I love who you are now
and who you are yet to become.
I promise to stand with you and to fight with you for everything we believe in.
I promise to support your freedom to be, to grow and to do all you wish."
And then, all too soon, it was time for Prosecco and cake in the Guildhall courtyard, and a chance to properly catch up with people (I recall a lot of hugging and squealing, most of it from me).

It's been wonderful, while writing this, to reflect on our ceremony and I'm very glad to say that with the benefit of hindsight there's nothing we'd do differently. We had so very many lovely comments afterwards, saying how much people had enjoyed and been moved by the ceremony. I'm going to end by quoting our friend Rose who, the day afterwards, wrote the following on Instagram:
"I'm not a fan of weddings [preach!]. They are largely tedious exercises in conspicuous consumption in the services of an archaic institution. But Janet and Thomas's was utterly joyous and felt totally authentic to them as a couple." Wedding goals achieved.
All photographs by James Mottram Photography

Tuesday, 5 September 2017

The Buyer's Archive: July & August

Since February 2015, inspired by Elise's Buyer's Archive project, I've been keeping a record of all my clothing purchases in an effort to track what works and what doesn't and - in theory - cut down on my spending. 

July and August were two months in which I, once again, managed to rein in my spending. I'm really not sure what's becoming of me... could I (whisper it) actually be getting good with money? Or is it just that I'm having a massive style crisis and don't know what to buy?

Mint green top, Sue Ryder Vintage £6
Something which looked better on the hanger than on my body, but I bought anyway for some reason. I love mint green, I love this kind of vintage shell top, but because of my gigantic basoomas it ends up being a really weird length on me. This may find itself on eBay before too long.

Polka dot midi skirt, Sue Ryder Vintage £10
The vintage gods were smiling on me when I went to Nottingham with Becks. Having been on the hunt for a navy blue, pleated polka dot skirt for a while, I was thrilled to find this in my size. It ideally needs taking up a bit, but I've already worn it a few times.

Primark black denim skirt, via eBay £4.40
I bought this exact same skirt in January in the Primark sale and have worn it literally to death - the stitching is all coming out on the front darts - so when I saw a brand new one on eBay I leapt into action and nabbed it.

Tan Saltwater sandals, £34 (not pictured)
Having had a black pair that I didn't wear much but found really comfortable, I was desperate for a tan pair but not keen on paying £60 in this country. So when my cousin booked her flights for the wedding I cheekily asked if I could order them from Modcloth to be delivered to her place in Brooklyn, for her to bring over. I'm so so happy with them - they really are incredibly comfortable and hard-wearing - and I'm already planning how many pairs I can buy in Canada next summer. I also sold my black pair on eBay for more than these new ones cost me, so I'm taking them off the total for July.
90s midi skirt, charity shop £3
I seem to be on a mission to collect 80s & 90s midi skirts that remind me of ones my mum and her friends owned: this one is on the nose.

Striped ringer t-shirt, H&M £6.99
Another one of those purchases where I liked it more on the hanger but bought it anyway. Doh. It's fine tucked in but, thanks to my boobs (again), an awkward length when not tucked: not really cropped, but not a proper t-shirt length either.
In July last year I bought a ridiculous amount of stripes and spent a total of £55.97 (an improvement on July 2015 when I spent £159.38). Of what I bought in 2016, most of it has been well worn. The denim skirt was a staple last summer that has only recently - thanks to stretching out - made its way into the charity bag. Meanwhile, all the striped tops were worn regularly although again, the Sainsburys and H&M t-shirts have both been donated as they stretched until they were too big for me.
In August 2016 my total spend was £50 on yet more stripes - all three of those tops have become the centre of my stripes collection and continue to fare well, being worn on a weekly basis - a pair of jeans that I wore until the thighs gave up, plus a Dorothy Perkins skirt that I ended up selling unworn on eBay.

I'm pleased to see my annual total dropping further compared to last year, although whether I'll keep that up as we transition into a new season's offerings in the shops I don't know.

Total for July: £16 (thanks to selling my old sandals for more than my new ones cost)

Total for August: £13.39

Total so far for 2017: £321.08

Total this time last year: £440.06

Look out for the #buyersarchive hashtag on Twitter and Instagram to see the other bloggers taking part.

Saturday, 2 September 2017

A Great Excuse For A Party

We didn't want to call it a wedding. We avoided using that word on the invitations and, in conversation and social media posts, opted for phrases like liefdesfeestje and celebration instead.

Our motivation when planning was simple: to get all our friends and family together for a big party. Why not just do exactly that, I hear you ask. Just throw a party and not bother with the wedding stuff? It'd be easy, right? Well, for most people maybe. But not if your parents are immigrants so you don't have any relatives in the UK, and your partners best friends all live in other countries. Then, it's less easy to get people together for 'just' a party. We had to ask ourselves, what would motivate people to travel hundreds or even thousands of miles? Only a wedding, a celebration, a liefdesfeestje, would do.

Still, though we continued to avoid the W-word (although we also got annoyed when my mum and step-mum said "It wasn't really a wedding" - go figure). For reasons both political and personal - weddings, lets face it, aren't very cool or punk - both Thomas and I resisted until, a few months before the celebration, we came across a poem that ended up playing a central part of our ceremony. Read beautifully by Thomas' sister, Julia (a fellow kickass feminist), I'm going to reproduce it here because, for me, there's nothing that better explains how we came to be at peace with the W-word and, indeed, with the notion of marriage.
Why Marry At All by Marge Piercy

Why mar what has grown up between the cracks
and flourished like a weed
that discovers itself to bear rugged
spikes of magenta blossoms in August,
ironweed sturdy and bold,
a perennial that endures winters to persist?

Why register with the state?
Why enlist in the legions of the respectable?
Why risk the whole apparatus of roles
and rules, of laws and liabilities?
Why license our bed at the foot
like our Datsun truck: will the mileage improve?

Why encumber our love with patriarchal
word stones, with the old armor
of husband and the corset stays
and the chains of wife? Marriage
meant buying a breeding womb
and sole claim to enforced sexual service.

Marriage has built boxes in which women
have burst their hearts sooner
than those walls; boxes of private
slow murder and the fading of the bloom
in the blood; boxes in which secret
bruises appear like toadstools in the morning.

But we cannot invent a language
of new grunts. We start where we find
ourselves, at this time and place.

Which is always the crossing of roads
that began beyond the earth’s curve
but whose destination we can now alter.

This is a public saying to all our friends
that we want to stay together. We want
to share our lives. We mean to pledge
ourselves through times of broken stone
and seasons of rose and ripe plum;
we have found out, we know, we want to continue.

"A public saying to all our friends," isn't that beautiful? The poem brought us round to thinking about the purpose of weddings, of the ways in which they can be a positive declaration and, yes, a celebration. Ultimately, we found ourselves realising, we could call it whatever we liked but, if you're both wearing fancy clothes and saying vows and there's cake and confetti, it's probably a wedding. And a really great excuse for a party.

Sunday, 27 August 2017

Photo An Hour: Saturday 26th August 2017

I remembered Photo An Hour two months in a row - hooray! It's a rare occurrence for sure. Last year I missed it, but in August 2015 I was at my mum's for Photo An Hour with Thomas, who was playing in a football tournament and opening his birthday presents. 

This year? Sunshine, cat time, an afternoon jaunt to Rugby, and lots of food. Oh, and I had problems with both my camera memory card and my iPhone Photo Stream, which means that some of the pictures here aren't the ones that I Instagrammed. Oh well.
9.30am:
A slow start to the day. Missy very kindly allowed us a long lie-in before coming to ask for her breakfast.
10.30am:
After spending an hour cleaning the house, we rewarded ourselves with banana pancakes with lashings of the maple syrup my uncle brought us from Canada last month when he came for the wedding.
11.30am:
I've finished cleaning the bathroom; now it's time for a shower. 
12.30pm:
Obligatory Photo An Hour picture of my outfit. Today it's a thrifted midi skirt, Primark tee, Fuck The Tories necklace and my favourite Make Zines, Destroy Fascism tote bag, because I'm never subtle in my politics or my fashion.
2.30pm:
My photo for 1.30pm - some plants on a stall in Rugby market - has disappeared entirely. So onto 2.30pm, when we'd just bought a bargain Ercol chair and were browsing the secondhand books in British Heart Foundation.
3.30pm:
A late lunch at the Bacco Lounge in Rugby. The Lounge chain have a reliably great vegan menu and often seem to have venues in smaller towns where otherwise we'd struggle to find vegan food - that being said, I am eating an extremely non-vegan steak & cheddar ciabatta here!
4.30pm:
Complete lack of inspiration for a photograph so it's the Insta-cliche of my feet. I am so completely in love with my new tan Saltwater sandals.
5.30pm:
Home after a diversion into Home Sense just outside Rugby that yielded some Orla Kiely bedding and the best smelling scented candle ever (Olivia Black Wild Pumpkin & Nutmeg). Excited about my bargain finds (and trying not to think about the £££ I've spent), it's time to find the new chair a home, and it fits perfectly into the office/craft room at the back of our house. 
6.30pm:
Ok, I know I'm biased, but isn't this the most beautiful cat?! She sometimes holds her pose so nicely while I take a picture, like she's auditioning for America's Next Top Cat Model.
7.30pm:
Neither of us are hungry yet (well, we did have lunch at half three after all) so we're using the time wisely and making a start on thank you notes. The beautiful linocut cards show our ceremony venue and I fortuitously stumbled upon them in a bookshop this week. We're saving them for our families: everyone else gets the beautiful Thank You stationery designed by my cousin, who also made our invitations.
10.30pm:
Oops, missed a few hours there! We had dinner and watched Jonathan Creek, then spent a while messing about staring at our phones in an annoying manner, before coming to bed to read for a while.

Monday, 21 August 2017

A Short Break In Wales

As we're still waiting for our wedding photographs to be ready, I thought I'd start at the end: with our post-wedding trip to Wales. Unfortunately, we were both in the opening stages of the virus that's been kicking my ass for the past couple of weeks, so it wasn't quite the romantic mini-break we'd envisaged. Rather less champagne-on-the-veranda and more catarrh-on-the-sofa, but we still had a lovely time.

We started off with a night in Hay-On-Wye, Wales' official book town and somewhere I always enjoy visiting. We'd booked into Radnor House B&B and would heartily recommend it: a reasonable price for an insanely luxurious room in the centre of Hay, and the most incredible breakfast (French toast for me, a vegan fry-up for Thomas).
We spent some time on Thursday afternoon and again on Friday morning pootling around the town, popping into all of the (many) bookshops and picking up some bargains. I usually visit Hay during the festival, and it's always nice to see the town a little calmer and quieter (albeit lacking the exciting buzz of festival time). 

Having struggled to find vegan options for Thomas on Thursday, it was a relief to stumble upon the marvellous vintage shop/independent makers' marketplace/vegetarian cafe/venue space at The Old Electric Shop. Fully fed and watered, we set off to drive to our final destination on the west coast of Wales.
A three hour drive later and we were in Aberporth. I'd read about Wendy, the vintage train carriage-cum-holiday let located on the cliffs at Aberporth clifftop, years ago on Gemma's blog and had bookmarked it because I knew train-mad Thomas would love it. By some strange quirk of fate, the usually fully-booked carriage happened to have two nights free the weekend after the wedding: it was meant to be!
Wendy was just as charming as I'd expected, full of cute vintage details that had Thomas fantasising about living in a train carriage full-time (two days later and the reality of being a 6'4" man in a small space had sunk in and he wasn't so keen!).

After a week of rain, Saturday dawned bright and sunny and we took advantage of the weather to walk the coastal path - which runs directly in front of Wendy - to the nearby village of Tresaith for lunch at The Ship Inn. The coast of west Wales is just stunning, reminiscent of Cornwall at its finest (although with significantly fewer crowds), and the stretch from Aberporth to Tresaith shows it off at its best. After a pint or two, we retreated back to Wendy and spent the afternoon reading some of our Hay book haul, log burner lit for extra cosiness.

It was a lovely few days away and just what we needed after the wedding. And although it's a shame neither of us were well, it does give us a good excuse for another honeymoon!

Friday, 18 August 2017

What I've Been Reading Recently

July and the start of August haven't been great for reading: in July I was mostly incredibly busy and stressed with wedding and family stuff, and almost immediately after the wedding I fell ill and still haven't properly recovered. As a result, I've mostly been rereading for comfort - lots of Miss Marple mysteries and the whole Georgia Nicholson series - with a small sprinkling of new release thrillers and dystopias.

Fever*
Deon Meyer
Rating: ****
When I was at school we read Z For Zachariah and I was completely absorbed by its presentation of not just the dramatic events, but also the minutia of daily life and survival after a nuclear incident. Fever provides something of the same reading experience, dealing as it does with the establishment - by narrator Nico Storm's father, Willem - of a new settlement in the South African Karoo desert following a disastrous global pandemic. There is a refreshing focus on the mundane realities of survival, from planting crops and building irrigation systems to producing diesel from sunflower oil. The challenges of not just scraping by, but building a successful community, are made clear to the reader without the narrative ever feeling bogged down with detail. Excitement is provided by the regular incursions by groups of piratical raiders on motorbikes known as the KTM, and the battle scenes have a harrowing realism. Meanwhile, tension is derived from the fact that reader, from the first few pages of the book, knows that we are building to the murder of Willem Storm. Meyer is best known as a writer of Cape Town-set police procedural thrillers (which are, in my opinion, criminally under-read outside of his native South Africa) but this departure into dystopian post-apocalypse fiction is hugely absorbing, combining Meyer's knack for characterisation with his ability to pile on the narrative tension.

No Dominion
Louise Welsh
Rating: ****
Welsh's Plague Times trilogy has been a timely and inventive example of post-pandemic fiction, spreading the action across three books of varying tone: the first book in the series, A Lovely Way To Burn, was a masterful murder mystery-meets-disaster novel and introduced us to the character of glamorous TV presenter Stevie. The second, Death Is A Welcome Guest, followed stand-up comedian Magnus' attempts to get out of plague-hit London and to his  childhood home of Orkney. No Dominion is the final book and opens ten years down the line, with Stevie and Magnus both on Orkney, where a settlement of survivors has been established with Stevie as president. The teenagers of the settlement, however, are getting antsy and difficult (as teenagers do), and when a group of new arrivals turn up, events are set in motion which mean Stevie and Magnus have to leave the islands and head to Glasgow. Essentially a dystopian road trip novel, No Dominion was grippingly brilliant and it was a real pleasure to be back with the characters of Stevie and Magnus. As is typical of the road trip genre, there's an episodic nature to it which I thoroughly enjoyed (with their encounters at the castle of Lord Ramsey being a particularly enjoyable episode, with what I assume was a deliberate take on Game Of Thrones as modern dystopia).

True Love At The Lonely Hearts Bookshop*
Annie Darling
Rating: **
Verity Love, our titular heroine, is a vicar's daughter. We know this because we are told it repeatedly, in lieu of providing her with an actual personality. She's also an introvert, something that we're again repeatedly told - with introversion presented here as a pathological condition unique to our heroine, instead of a way of being for approximately 50% of the population, Seriously, there's even a whole scene where she solemnly sits the hero down and explains this terrible affliction called introversion. She has a cat, likes Jane Austen, and is so much a romantic fiction stereotype that I wanted to scream. Anyway, one day she has a meet-cute with handsome architect Johnny which leads, inevitably, to a summer of being each other's dates at various weddings, baptisms, bar mitzvahs, etc. Love, of course, ensues. As does boredom, on the part of the reader at least. Romance is not a genre I know particularly well but one author I do like and respect is Sarra Manning, so it was on her recommendation that I decided to read True Love At The Lonely Hearts Bookshop. After this experience, I think I'll accept that romance isn't my genre and move on.

The Good Daughter*
Karin Slaughter
Rating: ****
I'd been craving a properly involving, gripping thriller that wouldn't make me shout in frustration at ludicrous plot twists or grit my teeth at sympathetic depictions of police brutality, and The Good Daughter ticked all my boxes and then some. Slaughter's standalone novel, set in smalltown Georgia, is on the surface about two tragedies within the community - a family attacked 30 years ago by masked gunmen, and a subsequent school shooting in the present day - but it goes much deeper than that, asking challenging questions about guilt, complicity, family and trust. Refreshingly for a US crime novel, the town police are portrayed not as highly trained investigators who'll always save the day, but as bumbling at best and trigger-happy at worst, while the central characters are all entirely believable and utterly sympathetic.

* This title kindly provided for review by the publishers via NetGalley

Monday, 14 August 2017

I Have A Wedding Hangover

Our leftover confetti, as seen the next morning when we went to clear up

I have the hangover from hell: a wedding hangover.

Two weeks ago today was the day Thomas and I had spent the previous three years planning and now I'm looking around my house, empty at last of wedding supplies, and feeling a bit empty myself.

Because it turns out that all of those old cliches are true.

It will go by in a flash.

Enjoy every moment, it goes so fast.

It's the best day of your lives.

This last I had been especially resistant to in the run-up to the big event. "Best day of my life," I scoffed, "I like to think my life is more interesting than one in which participating in an ancient patriarchal ritual is the best day I ever experience."

Well, don't I have egg on my face. What I should have realised was that, for us, the ritual isn't what makes it the best day ever, but the people who came to participate in it.

I can't properly describe to you how beautiful it was when I looked around the room and saw my family, who'd travelled from five different countries, the Nijmegen gang who'd decamped to Leicester for the weekend, Thomas' Scottish friends & family, and my local pals, all gathered together to celebrate with us. It's humbling to be faced with such love and affection: people who care so much about our stupid selves that they travelled hundreds or thousands of miles to share in our joy.

I'm tearing up writing this, realising that never again will that strange, wonderful combination of people come together, never again will we get to experience such a special day. So my advice to anyone planning a wedding at the moment? It will go by in a flash, enjoy every moment. And it is the best day of your lives.

Note: many more wedding posts to come, don't worry! (She says, as if you're all so desperate to read more of me boring on about it. Well tough cos I'm gonna). But I'm really sick at the moment so it'll have to wait until I'm better.

Saturday, 22 July 2017

The Buyer's Archive: June

Since February 2015, inspired by Elise's Buyer's Archive project, I've been keeping a record of all my clothing purchases in an effort to track what works and what doesn't and - in theory - cut down on my spending. 

Apart from this post being extremely delayed, I actually didn't do too badly last month.

Denim skirt, Primark £7
I really can't explain why I bought yet another denim skirt: I think this is maybe my seventh? And not even black, like I wanted. It was a panic buy, a desperate grab at the only denim skirt near to my size (oh yeah it's also a size too big). Not my smartest ever buy, but I have worn it a few times, with a belt to prevent it falling down, so I'm trying to get my money's worth.

Grey marl t-shirt, Primark £2.50
Steff alerted me to the brilliance that is Primark's slouchy tees and I am so glad. This dark grey marl one is one of my buys of the summer: I wear it constantly, tucked into a variety of vintage midi skirts. This is a size 12 (and I am a size 16/18) so their size range would fit well into plus sizes.

Tote bag, Black Lodge Press £7.50 (bought with Etsy vouchers)
Isn't this just THE best bag you've ever seen? I've had Etsy vouchers burning a hole in my pocket since Christmas, but hadn't spied anything I really wanted to spend them on until I saw this on Black Lodge Press's Instagram feed.
Tan loafers, Clarks £25
I've worked my way through a variety of uncomfortable and ill-fitting tan loafers from fashion stores like Dorothy Perkins, and thought it was more than time I invested in a proper, leather pair. So I was thrilled to find the Griffin Milly loafers in the Clarks sale (they don't seem to be online anymore but they might still have them instore). Once autumn hits, I'll be wearing these non-stop with my skinny jeans.

I'm finding at the moment that either there aren't any clothes in the shops that interest me, or that I don't feel like I *need* new stuff, which is great. Could it be that my addiction to fast fashion and shopping is starting to wane? We'll see... But with six months of 2017 gone, I'm almost exactly on target to achieve my goal of spending only £600 on clothes, shoes and accessories.
But  June 2016 was a different story: I went on a real shopping spree and ended up spending a whopping £131.99. Of what I bought then, unfortunately nothing has been particularly well-worn with the exception of the ASOS T-bar shoes. I ended up having to sell the cat t-shirt because Missy hated it(!), and the turquoise midi skirt also got sold on. The polka dot skirt hasn't yet found its way into my regular wardrobe as I can't ever quite figure out what to wear it with. And I've found it hard to wean myself off my tote bag habit, so the Fjallraven rucksack - although a bargain - doesn't get used a huge amount. So yeah, overall not a terribly successful month of shopping.

Total for June: £42

Total so far for 2017: £291.69

Total this time last year: £334.63

Look out for the #buyersarchive hashtag on Twitter and Instagram to see the other bloggers taking part.