Let me remember.

Let me sit quietly with you. Let me hold your hand and remember. Let me whisper truths and share sentiments. Let me dab at your eyes and kiss your face. Above all other things, let me love you.

Persevere.

So persevere. Love me despite my flaws. Adore me despite my follies. Wrap me in your arms. Kiss me. Tell me that one day, somehow, some way, we will make it. You and me. We are all that there is.

Photos via Instagram @owlfowl

Summer is here.

Dripping mangoes and cherry pips. Bubbles and limes loitering in tall glasses. Salty kisses and sandy hair. Limbs entwined in tangled white sheets. Freckly knees and a full mouth. Long hot days giving way to long hazy nights. Wake up lovers. Summer is here.

Fay Andrada

This morning in my bleary eyed haze I stumbled upon this.

Fay Andrada 

Designs in silver, bronze and brass.

All images from fayandrada.com

Michelle

You can keep your Louis Vuitton.

I'm not a huge fan. 

That easily recognisable logo...

Even if I had the cash...that's not for me.

Michelle Williams on the other hand.

Well these images are to die for.

LOUIS VUITTON AUTUMN/WINTER 2013-14

Instagram Addict.

I just did this...

I ate my muesli, apple, honey, yoghurt, tahini, strawberry combo out of an old marmalade jar. Prior to devouring, I took a couple of snaps then promptly whacked them on Instagram for your viewing pleasure. I have, so it would seem, joined the hordes of hipsters who have turned their backs on the humble bowl…

Yes. Instagram. I won’t bore you with the Wikipedia definition. We all know what it is. Don’t sit there pretending you haven’t taken a sneaky snap of your morning latte, given it a funky filter, blurred the edges then posted it with a witty, original caption “Good morning world!”….

I’m not judging, not for a second. I am, in fact an Instagram addict. I hurtled headlong into the depths of this particular social networking phenomenon with an insatiable appetite for unnaturally coloured, blurred out images.

I’d love to touch more on the incessant need people have to document their lives through this particular medium but that’s for another day. I must run. I’m short on time. (There won’t be enough minutes to make the bed but there absolutely will be enough to Instagram a photo of my own two feet…)

Gemma Grace x

Ginger & Smart SHAPESHIFTER SS13

TRENDS. Ahhhhh those pesky fashion obscurities that see us forking out untold dollars and sense (see what I did there?) in a bid to emulate those models and movie stars that grace our favourite glossies. Don’t sit there all smug thinking ‘What me? I’d never partake in fashion trends!’ Remember those jeans you had in the 90’s with the flowers embroidered up the leg that looked oh so cute with that little midriff top? Yeah you do! Trend! You’re casting your mind back now and thinking ‘What was I was thinking?!’  But don’t regret it my friend! Embrace it! You were simply expressing you! Albeit through mass produced, widely available nylon and polyester. (FYI Midriff tops are back in a major way this Summer)…

Anyway, I digress… Being something of a fashion whore myself I do succumb to the odd ludicrous trend here and there, but for the most part I have my own style, preferring not to clad myself in every ‘must have!’ trend that surfaces out in that mighty, dizzyingly fast, frenzied ocean of fashion. I do however ‘invest in staples’ (fashion speak for I spend a bucket load of money on items that the non-fashion pack would assume had humble beginnings on the racks of the nearest Kmart).

Again I digress, to get to the point, somewhere in transit there is a pair of Ginger & Smart pants with my name on them. This will not be the type of purchase I can pass off as a wardrobe staple. In fact these pants are decidedly un-staple like in design. They are also somewhat un-me like. No earthy tones, no flowing fabrics. These are tight. And bright. Bright for me anyway…  I got caught up in the Fashion Week trend madness; they came stalking down the runway towards me, dazzling me with their kaleidoscope of fabulousness. Soon enough that fabulousness will be on my body and no doubt my Instagram feed will be flooded with pictures of my legs encased in them.

So this is it… My inner fashion whore yielding to all its desires. Here’s to looking back in years to come and exclaiming ‘What the fuck was I thinking?!’ in mock horror, whilst maintaining a wry smile and a secret pleasure that in my 20’s I rocked out a pair of ridiculously ridiculous, amazing, oh so fabulous, oh so 'on trend' G&S pants.

GINGER & SMART SHAPESHIFTER SS13 is in stores now.

Gemma Grace x

The fabulousness in question.

Images: Ginger & Smart

Topman Design Menswear S/S14

If I was a boy 

I'd kiss all the pretty girls 

and dress like this every single day.

Topman Design Menswear S/S14

Seventeen days...

Seventeen

 days

 into

 Winter

 and

 here's

 a

 peek 

at 

Spring.

Indulgence.

Deadlines are imminent. 

Today I choose self-indulgence. 

Reading.

 Writing. 

Stretching out in Winter sun. 

Jack Carty, James Joyce and pots of tea. 

A Very Hairy Story.

When I was a kid I was vain about my hair. It was long. I mean really long. I was that girl in class sitting on her hair just to prove to the other girls how long (and therefore superior) my hair was. I’d braid it, plait it, side ponytail it, pigtail it, pile it on top of my head with an assortment of fluoro combs. I’d wind it up tight into a bun and fasten it with a scrunchie. I’d put clips in it and spray glitter in it.  I’d go to the local markets with one intention only; to buy more of those headbands with the interchangeable flowers. All I wanted was the latest in hair trends to hit the playground. Alligator clips featuring sparkly unidentifiable flowers? You’re mine!

As the 90’s (and thank god!) my love of all things glitter melted away I wanted more than what a few well placed accessories could offer me. I wanted cool cuts and crazy colours! There was however just one teensy tiny hurdle on my way to hair heaven. My mother.

For years her and I would go through the same hair routine. We’d walk the two blocks to our local hairdressers house, jump the ditch, go inside, pass a cute blonde kid playing with an enviable assortment of Barbies and find ourselves in the small familiar salon. I’d perch myself on the bright yellow chair and hear my mother say those words I’d come to dread.

“Just a trim.”

Snip, snip, snip. Chat, chat, chat. Snip, snip, snip.

And so it went on. I would get my trim. Five dollars would be handed over (a back to school special), and out we’d go, leaving the cute kid to her Barbies and the hairdresser to her small salon filled with all the things I longed for! So many mysterious bottles, that big bobbly thing that seemed to engulf a persons whole head, (was it a miraculous hair colour changer?) curling tongs, rollers, foaming mousse and so much spray!

My teenage years brought some change. No longer was the ability to sit on your own hair the height of schoolyard cool. That same hairdresser cut it a bit shorter for me, put a few layers in it, gave me a fringe, nothing extreme. My mother still in my ear,

 “Just a trim. Just a trim. Just a trim”

In an act of defiance I splashed out on an eight dollar packet of dye from Coles. ‘Mulberry’ it had said on the packet. ‘Uneven, patchy purply, pinkish mess’ is what it should have said on the packet.

I thought blonde may be the way to go.

“Squeeze some lemon juice in your hair and sit in the sun.” Ahhhh sure thing Mum...

Instead a friend introduced me to this miracle spray. You spray some in your hair, you catch a little sun, next thing you know sexy blonde hair is all yours! Easy! So we sprayed some in our hair, we caught a little sun, and we waited. We waited with our backs to a fireplace... Needless to say the heat from said fireplace turned the back portion of our hair blonde. The top was still our regular brown and the back was now a mousy, inconsistent blonde. Nice one...

A twenty-four hour plane trip and a slight visa debacle followed by a hurtling love affair with a wet, whisky filled city and I was ready. That is to say I was more than ready. Sleek black chairs, glossy mirrors, slick undercuts and hints of tattooed bodies. A new city bringing with it a new kind of hair experience. My salon of choice far different from that sweet little salon back home. This place? A revelation! Tucked away in an arcade full of dark shops. Records, vintage clothes and patent, platform shoes, leather and lace and cigarettes. And yet still my mother’s voice was in my ear.

“Just a trim. Just a trim. Just a trim.”

But this time was different. This time I was watching long lengths fall deliciously to the ground. I walked out of that place elated in the knowledge that pieces of that awkward, small town kid were being swept up by a tattooed Irish hipster.

Fast forward a year or so and I found myself back in that same country town I’d grown up in and back in that same hairdressers chair. This time however the chair was not yellow, the salon not at the back of her house. With a shiny new salon at her disposal and my mother (bless her) no longer accompanying me to my appointments we were free to venture down any hair styling path we chose. And so we did, her and I (and later as the business grew her fabulous team of stylists). I’ve dabbled in pixie cuts, undercuts, two tone, white blonde, pink highlights, red, copper, walnut, caramel, ombre and a whole host of other delicious sounding ‘hairdressy’ words.

A few months ago one of the hairdresser’s lovely staff members asked if she could use me as a hair model for a competition she was entering. I was of course more than happy to oblige. Well she won her category in that competition. Hooray! And I must also add that another stylist from that very same salon won her category in that same competition. Hooray, hooray! The real excitement came when the winning images along with an article by the hairdresser were PUBLISHED! Hooray, hooray, hooray!

My biggest thrill? Remembering those early days with the big yellow chair, and that cute blonde kid surrounded by Barbies. That same ‘kid’ who had dreamed and planned and cut and coloured and meticulously styled my own locks and who now had her work printed and glossy in a national fashion magazine.

To the hairdresser, Kerrie DiMattia and her fabulous team, CONGRATULATIONS!

The Autumn issue of Catalogue is out now. Go on...buy it!

Photographer Pixie Bella
Hair Lauren DiMattia, DiMattia Hairdressing
Make-up Candice Chevalley
Model Little old me... 

Photographer Pixie Bella
Hair Demi Brotherson, Dimattia Hairdressing
Make-Up Candice Chevalley
Model Jess Burt

Photographer Pixie Bella
Hair Demi Brotherson, Dimattia Hairdressing
Make-Up Candice Chevalley
Model Jess Burt

Photographer Pixie Bella
Hair Demi Brotherson, Dimattia Hairdressing
Make-Up Candice Chevalley
Model Jess Burt