so this week I am stuck in bed. tonsillitis came earlier than usual. boredom and pain is a killer combo. literally
(Lips drawn by Gabriele Gumu, Poster by me)
Let me begin by expressing how pissed I am. It’s quite the norm in the blog, in case you haven’t noticed, douchebags. Why? Oh, well, I don’t know… MAYBEBECAUSE Valentine’s is already gone!!! Let me explain myself, as I am not one of those extreme fanatics who are secretly tickling the taco (wink, wink) because off some random day in the calendar. No, no… sending myself flowers under the name Leo, Tom or Robert? It is too bold, even as a joke, for such countryside girl as myself.
My Valentine’s agenda, if written on a paper, would be entirely empty (sadly?). But, thankfully, a little something ended up in the repertoire. That is a prank. Trust me, Valentine’s pranks are more cruel, but at the same time priceless.
This is the moment when I enter a metaphorical confessional. With my keyboard… (Have I mentioned that blogging is super weird sometimes?).
So, me and my little Russian bandit (read about this legend here) decided to prank the shit out of our close girlfriend. Wrote around 6 love letters under the names of 6 different guys she fancied at some point. Bitch is so affectionate, easily likes or dislikes a person, depending on the mood, basically. We changed our handwriting styles, wrote some poems, made some drawings, we even considered the importance of different layout and typography approaches. Pretty genius, just saying…
Oh, before judging, let me point out that mailbox of love-letters was our University of The Arts’ idea. Donating money for children with cancer was also an option. And we did put all of our coins in. BAM – cruelty justified. Classic Karmic good action annulling the bad one. Anyway, our victim has received an email, saying that she got those love letters and has to come and get it. Obviously, being a girl,she started to timidly brag and ask for advise.
-‘Do you think this is spam?’ – she asked. I swear, I saw a little grin on her face.
-No, not at all. – I tried to hold in the laughter. It was hard, but I handled well.- Oh, I remember there was this thing at Uni. I think you should go and look it up.
Yadda Yadda Yadda.
-Do you think wearing red t-shirt on Valentine’s is too obvious?- She was now self-conscious.
-Sincerely, i don’t really give a flying fuck.
-I really mean it, can you tell me?
-I really meant it too, i just don’t give a damn fuck.
This and that happened, then Russian mate was a true secret spy, master of the lies, the top right hand of Vladimir Putin himself ( let me inform you for the sake of Sochi’s fiasco – she is not anti-gay). Pulled the whole scam off like a pro, with a straight face, confirming all of the lies I fed to the little bird. This started to look good, but the end result has not met the expectations. Unfortunately, due to a lack of time on the busy day, the girl, could not go and receive the letters by hand.
This would be the part of the confession when I say I am sorry. Or guilty… Shit, how does it go again?
We had a great lough. All of us, the masterminds and the victim. So, my metaphorical priests, what I am pissed about is not that the prank did not end as planned. I am sad because there is that big of a ruckus on the date itself: people throwing chocolates, flowers and panties around, but only a mere Sahara of post-reactions, on the day after. A shameful walk with messed-up hair coming from singles and poor ‘let’s invest some time into this relationship’ breakfast from the couples in the shitty dinners. Even extreme cases of cake overdose or just neutral series-watching marathons is better.
I want as much love on any day!!! Pardon, my keyboard just vomited rainbows. But,indeed, It sucks that there has to be the day in the calendar to remind us about the necessity of attention for the loved ones. Any kind of attention is great, actually. Even a prank would do. Just grow yourself a pair of James Dean’s balls and rebel. Sometimes for a cause too.
Keep it UMC, UMC, UMC, babies.
London Ethnic & Fashion London were hosting a Closing party for Fashion Week in aid of Capital FM’s charity ‘Help A Capital Child’ at one of London’s most extravagant venues – Rise The Superclub and I have been invited to attend the event as a blogger.
Fashion party was raising funds for Capital FM’s charity ‘Help A Capital Child’. DJs, live bands, catwalk shows, a bar, free drinks for guests on entry, a celebrity memorabilia auction and raffle to raise funds for the charity and finally a dancefloor until late was plated to the ones who attended.
‘Partying for a cause’ was never my thing, but I was sort of bribed by the idea of two juxtapositions meeting at a point of a party. The theoretical formula should go like: fashion+charity=party and in the memory of maths I decided to see how it works when applied practically.
Flashing lights and zero amount of available couches combo wasn’t great for my dying feet (killer heels), so I rushed to the bar to order a glass of my favorite – gin&tonic. I found some sort of barrier to lean on and then got myself slowly absorbed into the world of fashion… While skimming through people’s outfits, faces and fabrics I rediscovered my own closet and my head was already making a train of thoughts for new mix’n’matching marathon for my wardrobe.
One formula leads to another one, isn’t it?
Dozing of didn’t last much, since live performers ended whatever they were doing (have to admit, didn’t like Justin-Timberlake-wanna-be’s singing ) and then the show began.
Catwalk shows spotlighted some of the London Ethnic Fashion House’s home-grown London Fashion Designers, including Soumia Ghouini , Rabbit Hole London , Carlotta Actis Barone and Rebecca Suanli-Goh , who have been featured previously at London’s Graduate Fashion Week and London Fashion Week shows.
Each designer had unique approach to fashion and personal tendencies but I would also like to give some credit to the DJs. They have done great work, functioning as a glue to make the catwalk and the party duo happen. I won’t go into the details about the fashion designs itself, simply because I am not an expert of that kind, so I leave this for the wardrobe gurus.
And at some point the fashion + charity thingy ended. And to be fair the premises were abandoned by the press/designers pretty fast. Either they are no good at maths, since they just got to know a single figure of the formula (fashion), or they don’t give a crap and just did what they were paid for. Consumerism whispers that the second case is probably more accurate. I never understood were charity is positioned, probably cause I wasn’t really listening to the people on stage. And we all know how charities are interconnected with speeches on stage. Finally, free drinks helped to forget about the emptiness of the venue for only a short period of time and I had to stop my mathematical research at this point.
The formula doesn’t work. Maybe, by singling those three subjects out you can say that the event did succeed, everyone got what they came for. Fashion masses- fashion itself, people that came for charity – donated their money and party people – did got a bit of a party (I assume it got busier when I left).
I have to admit, my grades were pretty average in maths.
DASH Magazine is the London-based illustrated magazine on fashion and fashion art. Published biannually and distributed worldwide, DASH is aimed at opinion formers of all genders with an interest in fashion and art-related fields. It is its strong focus on fashion illustration – a previously under-appreciated art form currently celebrating a vivid comeback – which makes the magazine one of a kind. Visually unique and with in-depth editorial content, DASH Magazine provides seasonal coverage as well as a launch platform for emerging talent from the fields of illustration, photography, the arts and journalism to showcase, and thus gain exposure, for their work.
September 11th Dash Magazine: Issue Launch Party
Venue doors open up and we are welcomed by photographers and a freebie bag with sample magazine plus other trifle paraphernalia that I didn’t bother to check. And suddenly my face had a petite grin on it. I love free stuff, especially food (gotta admit it sounds chintzy). Anyways, the party just exploded, when I was about to finish my first cigarette. There was definitely a good-hip vibe going on, with familiar first-rate tunes in the background and chick crowd chatting. I am most certainly sure that free alcohol still has effect on my blood circulation, but shoot out to Dash for the good time. It is upsetting that the little nibbles never reached me, though.