New Face


Bought some new makeup this week! Chestnut and Currant lip liner both from Mac. Taupe matte finish lipstick from Mac too, as is the concealer in NC45. The lipstick on the left in Sashay Away from Topshop, a sheer brown which I'm not too crazy about, but I'll make it work because I need to validate my spending habits somehow.


Music | Chai Tea with 2 sugars.

I made this playlist for myself the other day, when I realised bumping headfirst into strangers due to being engrossed in my phone picking the next song to listen to, was just stupid. I was committing the cardinal sin of actually coming into close proximity with people I didn't know, and having to look them in the eye to apologise.*

The title? I'm terrible at picking names for things, so I didn't even try to be imaginative. I just thought of the feeling a good song gives me, and funnily enough all the songs on this playlist make me feel as good as a chai tea with 2 sugars does.

It's not rocket science at all.

*This is a quintessentially British problem, if you get it... you get it.



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Had the pleasure of shooting on location this week - my first ever time in my new job! It was a damn early start - 5.30am - but my sheer excitement eradicated any tiredness I may have had. I was bouncing off the walls so much, I couldn't even eat my bloody breakfast, which was a totally stupid idea. I got to visit a part of the UK I had never ventured to before, which was so stunning I almost gave up my Unashamedly Proud to be a Londoner and Rejecter of All Things Outside of the M25 Badge.


After nervously checking for Wifi at the top of a cliff, and cursing the universe that there was no signal and thus updating my Snapchat story was impossible, I realised it would be a while until the country lifestyle would actually be for me. Also: animal poo. Everywhere.
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Weekday scarf and coat, Pieces ankle boots, Monki denim shirt, Mac lippie in Taupe.
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Friday evening was for searching for appropriate outdoor wear (we own so many clothes, but how much of it is actually helpful for life?!?) because somehow, my All Saints biker wasn't the best at battling the elements. I had a fruitless time in H&M and resorted to mirror selfies in my new love, my Weekday Coat. Bowing under the sheer frustration, I met with my lovely Evil Hipster, Cherish for some Chicken Liquor in Brixton Village. SO good. I had the Thai chicken wings, full of flavour yet with that satisfying fried chicken crust which is exactly how I wanted to clog up my arteries. I'm ridiculous, so I had mine with champagne. Obviously.
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All Saints biker, Vans leather SK8 Hi, Reiss Trousers, & Other Stories Bag, Zara Jumper
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Sunday was for the Southbank, one of my favourite spots in my hometown.

Jacquie xxx


Weekday is Everyday

Weekday Coat Shamelessly bounding ahead in my blind ambition to become Swedish by donning myself in as much Scandavian garb as possible. Coat from Weekday, and boots from Pieces.


Around the Way

"Yeah I'd love to come - sounds like a vibe, where is it?"
"Oh er, somewhere East? Let me check... somewhere near Leyton"
"What? Where the hell is that even? Is that even in London?"
"It's on the Central Line, Zone 3 I think -"
"I'm not coming"
"But it's just -"
"I'm. Not. Coming."

Utterly spoilt, I know. I'm ridiculous when it comes to making long journeys, as living in Zone 1 has made me so accustomed to 20 minute bus rides and tube journeys with less than 10 stops. Oh you're getting married? Where? Outside Zone 2? Basically Shropshire. I'll send you a card. 

I'm in love with my area, how close I am to everything, yet far enough not to be in the thick of it all the time (although some would disagree, I guess a 20 minute walk from London Bridge is not exactly the sticks). But South London gets a bad rep; who cares if it's a bit rough sometimes? I like the grey 60s architecture, I like how the locals splash it with colour, I like the Shopping Centre and it's perpetual time warp (like stepping into a dystopian dark drama each time I visit), I like the bus pile ups, the hipster students shopping for veg next to elderly grandmothers pushing their trollies (they've seen it all, rolling their eyes to the new fashions), I even like the grubby pavements pockmarked with blackened chewing gum.

But all that's changing. They're 'regenerating' the area: ah yes, the sweet buzzword bandied about by those who won't admit what it really is. Gentrification. Now don't get me wrong, I'm no anarchist, neither am I a staunch idealist blindly refusing to admit that okay, the piss puddles in corners are fucking gross and need to go. But with all this change, I'm facing renting out my lady parts just to be able to consider the possibility that I may have my own place one day. If only there was away to welcome change without booting out all the people that make this community bubble with vibrancy. As all these homogenous glass structures shoot up with the fervency of unwelcome facial hairs, I wonder how long it'll be until the people become homogenous too.

I got upset about all this one weekend, so I decided to leave my house and take some photos of my manor. Nothing fancy - and I didn't see this as a photography project as such. More documenting. I love to take photos just to look back and remember, so why not do that for where I live? As I wandered round taking it all in, I fell in love with my hometown more and more with each click, savouring every image for myself.

Elephant and Castle Elephant and Castle Elephant and Castle Elephant and Castle Elephant and Castle Elephant and Castle Elephant and Castle Elephant and Castle Elephant and Castle



Only Time You On The 'Net Is When You Google My Ass.

Another day, another celebrity ass spilled all over the interwebs for the braying crowd's viewing pleasure. Only this time, the furore is much louder than normal, for it is Kim Kardashian's oiled up derriere splayed unapologetically on the front of an arty fash mag. Even Naya Rivera waded in with her sanctimonious granny panties in a twist and with the air of an unbearably holier-than-thou prude - commented 'you're someone's mother'.

And so a string of misogynistic and ignorant expressions followed: 

'How could Kanye let her do this?' 

'What a whore!' 

- And so on and so forth. Look, Kim Kardashian is a grown ass woman (pun actually not intended, but it works so well, I'm just gonna leave it there) - being a mother, or a wife, a sister, a candlestick maker doesn't limit her from making decisions to do with her own body. If she wants to run up and down the M5 in nothing but a pair of toe socks and a hairnet, then so be it.  

A fair number agreed with this too: 'What if it was a skinny girl?' 'If it was Rihanna, you would be praising her right now'. Which may be true; fashion pages are the longstanding domain of impossibly tall and slender creatures, and curvier women are often treated like steak tartare at the buffet of a Vegan Convention. Bodies with too big buts, thigh dimples and belly pooches are a definite no and don't even think about bringing your floppy boobs to the party - they ain't invited. Yet, whilst I do agree that these photos should incite debate, I feel these debates are slightly missing the target. 

In the aftermath of the photos being shared on the internet, so follows the This-Has-Been-Done-Before brigade, ready to ram down our throats that 'erm actually, she's not the first to do this, so she's like so unoriginal'.* We all know that Kim probably had little to do with the artistic direction of these photos and likely just turned up with her artfully perfected vacant expression ready to strip off. Don't worry, I'm not about to embark on a pathetically sycophantic defence of Kim. Yes, the photos are indeed the work of Jean Paul Goude famed for his photos of Grace Jones, with whom he was romantically involved and later had a child with. His photos centralised on manipulating his subjects, exaggerating their assets, oiling their bodies and placing them in highly staged settings. 

His work has become synonymous with the popular image of Grace Jones and has been copied frequently. His work reminds me of the uncomfortable matter of Sarah Baartman, who during the 19th Century due to her rounded figure became little more than a circus attraction as she toured Europe against her will, finally dying in France where her body was stuffed and preserved and left on display to be gawped at by the curious. Goude's flagrant objectification of the black female form is not something that should be celebrated or revered, and Kim's latest spread only serves to pay homage to an 'artist' who does nothing more than to perpetuate fetishisation of black women.

Yeah, okay fair enough, you cry, but why is everyone hating on Kim so much! She has a right to pose nude, models and other celebrities do it all the time!

Not quite. You see, no matter what Kim does, she will never escape this issue that she is simply famous for being famous. She doesn't appear to have a particular talent, and seems to thrive of being the subject of watercooler chats all over the world. Marrying one of the most talented music artists of our time, having several successful businesses and being stunningly beautiful hasn't really helped us forget just how she got a stab at fame in the first place and at times it seems she embraces it: 'My girl a superstar all off a home movie' raps her husband proudly. But we believe in retribution, right? Again, not quite. Kim Kardashian with the help of Momager Kris has capitalised on her notoriety and has shamelessly made every effort to make sure she remains on the front pages of gossip magazines. Much like the artificially warped image of her on Paper Mag, Kim embodies the part of society we all love to hate: the incessant thirst for fame, fortune and perfection regardless of the cost. Her body oiled to plasticisation, her body is a metaphor for the object that she has become. By buying into celebrity culture, Kim is the monster/product that we have created and we're uncomfortable with it. She is an easily replaceable commodity of mass-produced proportions and due to our obsession with Stars, the conveyor belt of the glory-seeking hapless souls will never run empty.



1 Month Anniversary

Well, I celebrated one month at my new job this week! When I say 'celebrated', I mean I turned up to work as though it was a normal day, got on with my tasks and realised with a strange jolt to my insides that it was exactly 1 month to the day since I had started. And what did I do? Send fevered WhatsApp messages to my mates highlighting this fact and ordering afterwork cocktails to toast to the occasion? No, primarily because we do that anyways, regardless of having something to celebrate (who really needs an excuse to get turnt anyways?) and secondly, because I'm a neurotic bag of nerves.

As I trawled the Interwebs and books for titbits of juicy historical nuggets, my mind began to tick over: was I doing well in my role? Am I making enough of an effort? How noticeable are miso soup stains on a white shirt? How many trips to the loo is too much? Oh God, I haven't done a tea round today - am I the Queen of the Selfish Tea? And so on and so forth.

In an industry as large and as oversaturated as TV and media, getting in is purported to be notoriously difficult; more difficult than eating half a bag of share-sized Maltesers and leaving the rest for the next day (I've tried and failed on numerous occasions). But on 'getting in' I've quickly learned that putting yourself out there, getting the best gigs and therefore progressing is akin to threading your own eyebrows: there are some talented gods that can do it, you wish you could do it and gosh darn it, with some practice you just might be able to one day. You're only going to get ahead by being your own orchestra - I'm talking tooting your own horn, blowing your own trumpet and clashing the hell out of your own cymbals. This is something, I am terrible at doing. What I like to think is bashful modestly is actually a self-crippling and annoying tendency to subsist between self-depreciation and shyness. Excellent. Apparently, women are most likely to feel this way - we like to wait for a pat on the back and never like to boast - lest we be seen as bossy

So, in that vein, I decided to draw up the Get The Hell Out of Your Fucking Feelings and Put Yourself Out There or You'll Not Get Very Bloody Far At All Initiative - which for my sins can be shortened, but hey, I like to be a loquacious as possible. Here goes:
  1. When you've completed a task, let your colleagues know. This may sound ridiculously obvious to some, but just this week, a Researcher I work under was looking over some work I'd done, and commented on how amazing it all was. She couldn't believe I'd done it, even though she'd asked me to; I just assumed she knew that's what I was up to. Apparently not. So unless you want your colleagues to think you're a snotty-nosed freeloader taking up valuable oxygen, I suggest you pipe up hella quick with all that amazing shit you're doing.
  2. When new people come along, be it a new boss, contributor, animal handler, introduce yourself! No Jacquie, don't shuffle around like the spectre of Twenteen Angst in the background, step forward and say 'Hi'.
  3. Yeah and when you do say 'hi', don't gabble embarrassingly: 'I'm just the intern - actually I'm a bit of a fraud, I have no idea why I'm here!' Yes, I've actually said this. Repeatedly. I like to follow this statement with nervous, angsty laughter whilst the person sentenced with the pleasure of my company, looks on, completely nonplussed. 
  4. Own it. Own yourself. Be Your Brand. Yes, this does sound like sickly-sweet crap usually spoken by people with impossibly glossy hair and LA bright-white teeth, but it's true. Stop doubting yourself, what you believe in and questioning why you stick out/think differently. It's okay. Adapt to your surroundings by all means (no one like the obnoxious prat who barks about how alternative and anti-establishment they are) but accept what makes you different - who knows, maybe you'll be able to use it to your advantage one day?
Mediate on this, everyday.


Stimulus | Can't Get Blue Out of My Mind

I've been drawn to the colour blue lately so naturally, I Googled 'What does blue mean' (patiently awaits offers of investigative journalism jobs) and I clicked on the first link that came up (bats away the onslaught of calls from the Secret Service) the Internets provided me with this
  • Blue is the color of the sky and sea. It is often associated with depth and stability. It symbolizes trust, loyalty, wisdom, confidence, intelligence, faith, truth, and heaven.
  • Blue is considered beneficial to the mind and body. It slows human metabolism and produces a calming effect. Blue is strongly associated with tranquility and calmness. In heraldry, blue is used to symbolize piety and sincerity.

Well, there ya go.

1. Alek Wek for Elle 2. Clare Kuo, Boundaries 27 3. Allen by Ricardo Rivera 4. Photo by me 5. Henri Matisse 'Nu assis, fond bleu' (1936) 6. & Other Stories Tumblr 7. Kianja Strobert, 'Untitled' (2011) 8. Drew Tyndell, 9. Photo by me.