Sunday morning trips to car boot sales were what I grew up on. My clothes were hand me downs or were found in charity shops. I felt like I stood out in all the wrong ways and all I wanted was to blend in. Under stimulated by my clothes and thanking God daily for the invention of the school uniform, hope came in the form of a part-time job when I turned 16. No more 'I can take this in a little and it’ll be perfect' and no more awkward hemlines. I was finally free of second-hand clothing and had the independence to make my own sartorial choices. But I became addicted.
Ah, technology - too often you come in as a white horse but damage us in ways we'd never expect. While I've been a long supporter of Pinterest I've recently noticed a problem with the social networking site. It's not an inherent issue with the concept itself, but rather with the way people are using it.
The same conversation has been going on since 2010 when the spark that lit the growing hatred towards bloggers at fashion week first set flame. No doubt, it was when Tavi Gevinson wore an oversized hat to a Dior show, thereby obstructing the view of everyone sitting behind her, that the anger really started to boil.
It starts out harmlessly enough. Tweak the colour balance, adjust the light, change the contrast. Maybe you soften the skin, remove a pimple, brighten your eyes. Oh, that nasty scar you got when you were a kid? It kind of distracts from the overall beauty of the picture. You might as well remove that too.
Fashion week felt different this season. Something wasn't quite the same - I didn't feel that same spark of excitement that I normally have. Maybe I was just having an off week but I kept getting the impression from other people that they felt the same way. I can't tell you the amount of times I heard people grumble, 'I'm so over it'.
I've thought a lot about what it means to be a blogger. There's an increasing amount of shame associated with having a blog, especially at industry events where there are real press and other people who actually deserve their invitations. I'd like to share my thoughts on this and find out how you feel.
Do you ever feel like an inanimate object has read your mind? 'Why hello Mr Tank, aren't you looking sultry there... basking in the hot sun on my balcony.' If you've ever been unfortunate enough to get into a conversation with me about magazines then you will know already that Tank is my favourite.