We Are What We Do, we are ‘buy’

Anya Hindmarch’s new bag cooked up a storm in Ireland last week. Well, I say it’s ‘new’, it’s not really. Just new here. The fashion must have of the moment went on sale last Saturday at 9am in Brown Thomas, Dublin, Limerick, Galway and Cork. While many of the tired ‘fashionistas’ kept civil, reports suggest that various petrol bombs were thrown in Limerick. This may or may not be linked to the bag’s release, one young boy gave a statement of ’so?’ when he heard of the news.

I heard some girls started queing at about 3am. Lol ffs. It was 12euro like, even that knack that you suspect is living in yer wheelie bin was spotted buying one after shoplifting attempts failed. Luckily no one went overboard, which is more than the ‘Taiwan-ees’ can say

In Taiwan, the launch caused a stampede and left some people in hospital, prompting retailers in Singapore, Beijing, Shanghai and Jakarta to cancel the launch of designer Anya Hindmarch’s environmentally friendly bag.

I would have loved one of these bags, basically just to carry it around empty and show everyone how dedicated I am to camp outside Brown Thomas in some Hobos piss on Wicklow Street. Unfortunatly, I was working that day and didn’t even know of this launches existance until I was on my way home, when reports of the bags selling out were on the radio. I know, shame on me.

Don’t bother trying ebay, they are charging as much as 300euro for the fucking thing, wowz warra bargain. Just get a fake instead, you know you want to. SURE you’d buy the bag if you could get your hands on it, but it’s proving difficult. This is official permission to make your way over to the dodgy looking guy with the stall on O’Connell’s street and let him charge you 20 for it. It’s still doing the same job at the end of the day, besides ironically being sold in plastic bags.

The main message of Hindmarch’s (oh so sophisticated) creation is for the global social change movement, ‘We Are What We Do’, which is trying to encourage people to stop using plastic bags. No one actually cares about this message though or they would just go to Marks and Spencer and buy one of those attractive ‘granny green’ re-useable bags. The amount of attention this is getting, you’d swear it was one of a kind.

I still want one though.

Clothing is SO last year

No, your eyes are not deceiving you. That thing is actually wearing pajamas bottoms as, trousers.

Many would laugh at such a sight the first time, take a second glance just to check that you saw right, that’s fair enough. Second sighting, you laugh again and think to yourself that it must be the same tragedy from before. Third time… you KNOW it’s a different person, either that or the girl from before has become obese within minutes and has dyed her hair a tacky glowing yellow color. No, no, it must be someone else. Fourth time, this is taking the piss, it must be some new trouser pattern? Tenth time, you don’t even consider it strange.

This seems to be an ongoing trend in inner city Dublin these days. Whenever I dare to drive past these sort of areas, besides attaching a riot screen and a panic button, I have become acustomed to seeing young chav girls dressed in pajamas, ugg boots, and a columbia jacket or sports hoody of some description, usually stolen from the guy they slept with the night before, complete with his wallet and his freedom from any STI’s.

I didn’t take that picture myself, but have witnessed this pure, digusting, ’style’, far too often. Just the other day infact. A girl, of about 16, crossed the road infront of the car, clutching a pint of milk, fully kitted out in her pajamas, slippers, and a jacket from primark’s finest. I was half thinking of revving up and carrying on at full speed. Kate Moss would not approve. I doubt even Vicky Pollard would approve.

Makes you wonder whether they actually wash, or is it just a continous cycle of pajama wearing. I mean, you get up, shower, change, get home, shower if you wish, change, and repeat. When you take out the prospect of ‘changing’ you are left with, get up, go, come back, sleep, repeat. Ew.

Maybe it’s just a simple message of ‘I’m ready for bed, so why not chance your arm, stud?’ Like the buggy they are pushing doesn’t portray this message well enough.

Overdressed

I seriously underestimated the heat in Dublin today. I just dragged myself out of bed and into a loose hoody and jeans, and headed for the bus stop. Once I had woken up to the world around me I noticed that the sun was glaring down from behind a couple of scattered clouds. Damn. It was one of those situations whether to run home and change (I was wearing a VILE top underneath the hoody) or wait and suffer. I ended up contemplating this for about 20 minutes before a bus actually came, while simultaneously thinking, ‘damn, I would SO make it back.’ Actions speak lounder than thoughts.

To make matters worse each shop I went into seemed to be in one some joke against me, like, ‘turn off your air-con when she enters’ type thing. These shop entries could not be avoided however. The summer sales are now going on. They are just too tempting. I mean, it’s not even a bargain at the end of the day;

“Wow look, this is only 30e now!”

“Uh, it was 35e originally, and is a pair of socks.”

Who can resist Ralph Lauren socks? That’s the most genius thing I’ve heard all day.

Was flicking through Vogue when I should have been paying my friend some attention today when I met him for coffee. A picture of Cameron Diaz rocking the Dior jumped out at me.

I love this Dior collection by John Galliano, it was probably just the Stam ad campaign that done it for me. I love it! Anyway, my point being, it’s pretty much the same color as my debs/prom/whatever the fuck you call it, dress. The shop called today to say it was ready for pick up. Pity I am car-less and parent-less at the moment. I’m not feeling the blue accessories. Well actually I am, but it just seems so wrong and therefore feels so wrong to say.

Disclaimer: My dress is not actually that fucking hot.

I don’t mean to pry, BUT…

If you’re lucky enough to live in a housing estate in a Dublin suburb *cough*, chances are, you’ll have neighbours close by. Maybe a little too close for comfort. My estate is full of refined upper middle class families and couples. The type that hears every single penny drop, and rushes to their windows to see it falling, just incase it wasn’t a penny, but a husband having an affair, or simply a woman copying your hanging baskets. I always get an eery feeling walking from the estate entrance to my house, like someone is watching me.

Today I was proven correct, as I looked straight at this woman literally standing at her fucking ‘double glazed bay window’, gazing back at me. Her ‘07 Merc and overgrown exotic berry bushes seemed to somewhat obstruct her view as she was bending and turning to get a better look. I felt like giving her a wave, but would hate to ‘disgrace’ my family like that. The estate may disown us. She was half expecting me to pull out a crowbar and start mindlessly vandalising her property. Stupid cow, how often do I have to walk by for her to realise that I LIVE there. I’m sure she takes notes on who enters and leaves, complete with time and date.

This estate is fucking boring. Since a mate from school moved away there is literally no one here I would bother having a conversation with unless forced. However, I don’t think conversation is necessary for the majority of people here, they already know everything there is to know about you.

It wasn’t always as boring. We used to have great summers dashing around on our bikes, all the kids, who have now all grown up and gone their own ways (or just become twats). Now it’s all little ‘Bretts’ and ‘Cocos’ riding their petrol powered karts while Mummy and Daddy stand around vacant bitching with other Mummies and Daddies about how Irene McClean from number 72 hasn’t cut her lawn in 2 weeks and how Jonny Jones keeps driving at a ridiculous speed, endangering poor little Coco because I can’t be arsed to actually pay attention to her instead of gossiping.

Gone are the days when we could rollerblade into kerbs, knock on empty looking houses and run away, built forts in overgrown grass, make forts on mounds of muck, have meetings in our back yard shed, balance on the top of walls, and hide behind cars without being bothered.

Now you’re accused of trying to hotwire it. The fact that you are 10 is irrelevant.