The unexpected.


Country Road t-shirt, Lover Rosebud lace skirt, Proenza Schouler PS11 clutch, Chanel Le Vernis nail polish in ‘Rouge Noir’.

Sorry for the radio silence this week. As most of you know, I started a new job (and practically a new career) on Monday, so I’m currently trying to find my groove (like working out how to use the office coffee machine) whilst somehow finding time to buy shiny new things to celebrate a shiny new job.

I know, any excuse.

But the story with this clutch goes something like this: I’d been eyeing it off at Cultstatus for roughly a year now as the pain of paying that much for it was all too much for something a smidge ubiquitous and blogged to death. Fast forward to the weekend just gone – I walked into Cultstatus with the intention of doing some innocent browsing (ok, who am I kidding?) and lo and behold, there was a 40% off sale sticker on it. Resistance was indeed futile. It was meant to be. Just don’t tell my husband.

Photos by Jamie

So Frenchy, So Chyc.

Acne Palm Lynx dress, YSL Chyc clutch, Maison Martin Margiela x H&M ankle boots (not shown), Chanel Coco Rouge lipstick in ‘Gabrielle’, OPI ‘Big Apple Red’ manicure.

I hate the fact that I can never pull off the nonchalant non-smile that all you girls on Instagram seem to execute with such panache. Even my husband won’t press that shutter until I lose the bitchface that makes me look like I’m about to murder someone (isn’t that what husbands are for – to impart cold, hard truths?). So, I’m sorry to say that you’re stuck with photos of me smiling 100% of the time, unfortunately making it appear I’m happy as Larry 200% of the time.

I’m here to tell you, though – as with most things in life – it’s all smoke and mirrors. Some people are just really great at hiding it.

Which is something I’ve been trying in earnest to do all week. I’ve been grumpy and emotional as heck, even though I know it’ll all be over soon.

I’ve purposely taken the gas off the pedal and, consequently, February became such a haze for me; a transitional time in my life that I hope, at the very least, will pave the way for a much more promising year ahead. I just want to feel that thrill again of creating something new and exciting every day that is worth getting up in the morning for.

The heady scent of those glory days are in the air.

Not long to go now.

P.S. This was Tuesday night’s outfit. It was my husband’s birthday. We went out, just the two of us, for some pretty special Chinese food.

Cat-astrophe.


Theyskens’ Theory top, Country Road linen skort, Charlotte Olympia flats, Country Road leather zip pouch, Prada Baroque sunglasses.

A few snaps of Saturday’s outfit taken on the way to stocking up on pantry items from my favourite inner-city grocer.

I’ve been having a decidedly low-key and routine weekend; a perfect precursor to the goodbyes, farewell speeches and changes that lie ahead for me this week (and next). After catching up with some friends last night over Solo Pizza, today has been spent de-cluttering the house and make-up drawer (including a long-overdue clean of my make-up brushes) with The Brink on repeat.

Plans for the rest of the afternoon include a coffee catch-up with my bestie and maybe a 7km run. Maybe.

Photos by Jamie

In full bloom.

Everlane silk shirt, Nina Ricci skirt, Celine navy Trio purse, these Witchery black suede pumps, hair unwashed for days.

A ballerina bun and a fail-safe black and white combination seems to be my default work outfit these days. That’s right, not even the most (seemingly) romantic day of the year could persuade me to wear a hint of red. Pink, even.

In the spirit of the day, however, I’d like to publicly thank my husband for letting me drag him out of bed at 7am to take this picture (on his day off, no less). In typical Valentine’s Day fashion, it’s going to a quiet one for us, spent on the couch eating fish and chips in our pyjamas. Just your average Friday night.

To those of you who are celebrating Valentine’s Day, I wish you all a much more eventful one than mine and a wonderful weekend!

Breaking up is hard to do.

For anyone who’s experienced the pleasure and the pain of looking for a job, you would know that it’s a lot like finding (and losing) love.

Like being in the throes of a bad relationship, being stuck in a shitty job conjures up the same kind of rollercoaster emotions. It starts with a complete lack of effort on your part. You’re in disbelief as to how much you once cared. And loved.

And now, suddenly, nothing. There’s a numbness that ensues after mornings at your desk characterised by a whole lot of “screw you” and evenings spent achingly crying into your pillow because you’re convinced that no one’s going love you. Or hire you. Or like you. Ever. Again.

It’s blindingly obvious that you’re under-appreciated and under-valued and you know you should leave, but, hey, this is comfortable. And it’s fucking terrifying out there. So you stay for a little while longer.

But then the thrill of hopping onto Seek – like it’s RSVP – gets the better of you. And you become desperate for a date; recklessly looking for anyone – or any company – who’ll take you. Putting your feelers out there after several years of taking yourself off the market is daunting to say the least.

But this is the moment that separates the good from the great. The stragglers from the sprinters.

Breakin’ up is hard to do, so crooned Neil Sedaka once upon a time, and it takes a supremely brave person to decide to leave, then a great deal of strength to actually go.

The Perfect Boyfriend.

Finding the perfect pair of boyfriend jeans has proven to be as arduous as finding a boyfriend when I was 16 with hormonal problems.

So you can imagine my happiness when I finally came across what I think is true love a couple of weekends ago, in the denim section of DJs. I’ve been looking for the right shade of blue, distressing optional, a relaxed cut (but not too baggy), the softest denim perfect for couch days, and a just-right tapered ankle opening. Suffice to say, I’m as picky with my jeans as I am (or was) with boyfriends.

After these Joe’s Jeans sold out in my size (possibly the most perfect pair of boyfriendly jeans I’ve ever tried on), I discovered a new-found love for Paige, with its softest of soft denim. I had no idea that David Jones carried Paige, until a lazy Sunday saw me do some window shopping and ultimately pick up the ‘Jimmy Jimmy’ jeans (that also happened to be accompanied with a red sale sticker). Win!

For those who are also in the market for a similar pair of jeans, I love the ones Country Road have released as part of their A/W campaign, as well as these Current/Elliott Slouchy Stilettos for a more tailored but relaxed fit.

In my wildest dreams.

I’ve been feeling a little bleh at work this week, trying to serve out the rest of my notice period with a smile on my face (wish Get Out of Jail cards applied for times like these) so this freshly baked bread delivery – complete with its own Scanpan knife and French butter – couldn’t come at a more perfect time.

This sourdough cob loaf from South Fremantle-based Wild Bakery even has its own name – I kid you not – and is named after the owners’ daughter, Hannah. The hole-in-the-wall family bakery was conceived with a loaf of bread that was created for Hannah, who was showing signs of gluten intolerance. It’s the sort of story that nourishes the soul in more ways than one.

So much to the detriment of my currently non-existent clean eating plan, this loaf is taking pride of place on the dinner table tonight. The waft of baked bread (second to coffee on a Monday morning) gets me every single time.

Change.

What a week. A month, even.

As some of you may already know, I quit my job last week. And although it seems those words unceremoniously flit across the page (or screen) so casually, so effortlessly, it comes after spending the past few months figuring out what truly brings happiness and meaning to my little, insignificant life. 

The truth is, even after quitting my job, I still don’t know. Some things will just happen when they happen, I guess.

One of my best friends recently called me out for having ‘changed’. As if to say, how dare I. How dare you be a different person from when we were 18. At first I was angry, but then it quickly turned into this annoying little thing that repeated over and over inside my head. And then I curiously wanted to ask, “well, haven’t you?”.

I’ve always been the kind of person to embrace change. Chase it, even. Swallow it whole like Coca Cola and savour every last drop as if I would be never given another opportunity to do so. They call it an addiction, I guess, and I’ve never been one to be content at stopping at just one hourglass-shaped soda bottle.

I have a new (exciting!) job lined up at the end of this month, so I can’t wait to embark on my next adventure. Change is as good as a holiday, after all.

P.S. Thank you to each and every one of you who left words of support and well wishes on my Instagram. I’m sorry I haven’t had an opportunity to reply to each message personally, but know that I’ve read each and every one and feel a certain amount of assurance that I’m not alone in navigating this crazy thing called Life.