You Shall Go to the Ball

I’m telling you now, it is an absolute miracle that this blog is up, on time, looking half decent. I have, this last week been a hermit either serving ice creams in the rain at my parents ice cream parlour or sat at my very sick little lap top typing up an essay about gay bars, so typing anything on top of that is practically torture. On top of this, my usual space in the kitchen for banging out blogs is currently under siege by a burly group of grubby builders drilling and banging so that the cogs in my mind are whirring even harder to try and make sense of anything while I sit awkwardly on the edge of my fold out bed, with my lap top balanced on my knees and a dog, with a bucket collar on his head for company.

My only refuge this week has been dipping into ELLE and VOGUE in the evenings which is where this week’s botched together blog subject has emerged from.

(I really want this dress in my life)

Ball gowns. I’m sure this sentiment has got several of you smiling already. Do you remember when you were younger and your only aspiration for the future was a ball gown? I used to sit for hour after hour talking to myself in my room, envisaging myself walking slowly down a large carpeted stair case, wearing a dress made by mice out of magical fairy wings, with one curl of hair that’s slipped out of place brushing against my perfectly powered neck. Whilst Daniel Radcliffe waited at the bottom of the stairs (yes you heard me right, luckily that obsession has passed on to made in Chelsea pastures.)

(The amount of times I prayed that a nana from Genovia would show up in my life)

I am now 20 years old and I can quite safely say that nothing of that sort has remotely ever happened to me, I do have several holes in my clothes from gerbils, but not quite Cinderella. And yet I have not gotten over this notion as I still walk slowly down stairs in stately homes, and neither it seems has the rest of the world. ELLE and VOGUE both announced the opening of the V&A’s ball gown exhibition this summer and VOGUE did a whole feature on it, with pictures of glorious gowns, spectacular enough to make you cry, (I know I did, the combination of too much work and a glass of wine and I was hysterical.)

(This, this needs no introduction)

Now this is all very lovely, and yes I was really pleased to be relieved from by gay bar duties to look at some ball gowns, but by the end of it I was just feeling sadder because I was sat there in a dressing gown and not a ball gown. Why don’t ball gowns have a place in modern society? I think my whole life would be improved if I could hop and skip off to uni each day wearing Valentino, or at least something similar that Primark’s reproduced.

OK it’s not entirely accurate to say that ball gowns are completely obsolete. Katie Price did a pretty good job of wearing an outrageous ball gown to her wedding to poor old Pete (don’t get mixed up with my very similar looking father Pete Cliff.) And let’s not forget those Gypsies; they crack out identical reproductions of our favourite fairy tale dresses, something the Disney shop would produce only bigger and better and with more plastic on it. So when did ball gowns become trash culture? And more importantly why?

(That she can keep)

If we think about our modern day princesses, you know heroines in movies and society, a ball gown is no longer the compulsory uniform. Society would argue that if Lorraine Candy (editor of ELLE) or Meryl Streep started popping to the corner shop or turning up at meetings  in ball gowns, they might not evoke the kick ass attitude that we love them for.  This emerged with power dressing in the 80’s, women wanted to be taken seriously in both the work place and life in general so a more androgynous look emerged. Those of you who know me will know I sport both a big purple power blazer and a women’s rights attitude (mentally, I don’t where a badge or anything) but androgyny isn’t always the prettiest peach in the picnic.

This season we have seen a re-emergence of the ‘pretty.’ Meadham Kirchhoff sent flurries of tulle and pastels down the runway and Louis Vuitton displayed lavish lace and princess tiaras. As you can imagine I was delighted and was soon rummaging through my dressing up box in search of a plastic tiara. But of course the critics followed arguing that by dressing like a girl we were harping back to an age when women were objects and by being pretty we were concentrating on aesthetic rather than brains.

(I feel pretty- Meadham Kirchhoff s/s 12)

Myself and fellow style blogger Susie Bubble disagree. Why should women apologise for looking like women? Why should I have to dress like a man to get myself taken seriously? If anything this girly trend is a step forward, we’re making the point that you don’t have to dress like a hard core lesbian to get your voice heard, were pretty and we’re political.

So yes, that is my argument for the reinstatement of ball gowns into everyday life. That and the fact that no one looks ugly in a ball gown. I hope that next time I knock back a jager bomb I will be wearing a full skirted Dior number and have glass slippers on my feet. I understand that this is quite unlikely seeing as I am unfortunately not Lorraine Candy so my gospel is perhaps not quite so influential. But if you think about it they are just a trend, if plastic clothes can come back into fashion then why can’t ball gowns?

I also feel a little like jeans have had their day. I can hear people saying ‘but they’re so easy!’ Wrong ball gowns are easy; you only have to wear one item of clothing. Jeans are lazy, just something to go with an outfit (says she who’s wearing a pair with a hole in the crotch right now.)

And so to end, here is a gallery of some gowns to oooh and ahhhh at. Shall we dance?

(ahhh Dior, let me count the ways)

(Valentino)

(Ellie Saab)

(Mcqueen of course)

(John Galliano- is it too soon?)

Just and end note this piece of writing is 1070 words long, why can’t my essay go this well?

Boys or Butlers?

So this is like one of those awkward situations where you casually haven't spoken to a close friend for months, not because you hate them but because you're a very busy very glamorous bee and then you bump into them and its a bit like 'oooo awk sitch' and you have to make the decision whether to acknowledge the fact that you have been out of the picture for months or whether to just pretend nothings happened.


Well I am going to be the grown up in this situation and admit to my mistakes and recognise the fact that yes there has been no Fashion Nerd for 3 weeks and I will apologise (as I do every week) for my absence. As always, I do have an excuse, I was off in wonderful London at first pretending to be the obnoxious rich kid we all hate, then I had a presentation, then 2 film packages, a critical appraisal, a work book and then a holiday in Wales (not quite Chelsea darling) and this week although I have been frantically applying for work placements and doing essay plans and here I am begging you lot for forgiveness (well not begging rather, assuming you'll still give us a read.)

(My mood since returning from London, 'don't care how, I want it now!')

Anyway, speaking of London, which I love to do and have been boring EVERYONE with my constant London verbal diarrhoea. I was accompanied by my wonderful pal who as well as being lovely and Welsh and was wonderful company, also provided me with a blog idea. As we strolled through Hyde Park she suddenly announced to me,


"Imagine if I just turned round to you now and said 'I hate you, I hate everything about you, I don't know why I ever bothered spending time with you, you just piss me off so much, I don't want to see you EVER again!"


I, of course, was slightly perplexed and slightly worried as to why this thought might have entered one of my best friends heads. But then after we both agreed this would be absolutely devastating for us both and, because we were hungover, acted out what our reactions might be she said;


"Well we say stuff like that to our boyfriends all the time and it really doesn't matter, cause you can say what you want to 'em and they just don't give a shit really." (Imagine all that in a welsh accent.)

(heartbreaking but we put our boyfs through it most days)

When she said 'our boyfriends' she was obviously forgetting that I am as single as a singleton who's eaten loads of sour cream and chive pringles then stood under the mistletoe. But that's beside the point, the point is she's incredibly right. Some of my most upsetting fights have been when me and a girlfriend have fallen out, I've cried far more over them than any boy.


 But it also took me back to when I actually was in a relationship and one of my favourite things was to just abuse him. I loved the fact that I could shout and scream at him like a banshee and he would just sit there and then 2 hours later we'd watch midsomer murders together (his choice not mine.) But I know I'm not the only one, my trendy friend once told her boyfriend, on a night out, that he was pathetic and she 'never wanted to see his ugly little face again.' The very next day they could have been Will and Kate themselves (she'll appreciate that comparison.)

(Pretty sure Kate just told Wills she never wanted to see his ugly little face again)

The more I think about it the more I realise the real motives of wanting a boyfriend. In the breaks between filming our news package me and my other fringey single pal would discuss our want for a relationship and our reasons for wanting them. They consisted of the following reasons:
-They don't have a choice about going to things with us, e.g. the new twilight film has just come out and all your friends have vetoed then boyfriend has to go.
-Someone to take you out to dinner.
-Someone to do your washing up if they come and stay.
-Someone to present you with random bunches of flowers.
-Someone to come and stay if your home alone.
-Someone to be at your beckon call if you're bored.
-Someone to have a massive argument with and it not matter.

(I don't understand how men find it hard to succeed with women, this is the one simple requirement)

See the evidence is quite clear, I, we, want a relationship purely for abusing purposes. Even in marriage, my mother would kick off big time if my father did not present her with a cup of coffee in bed every morning and quite right too. Last summer when I was presented with glee tickets and had a two night stay up in London (sigh) it would have been fantastically easy and simple if I had a boyfriend to force to come with me, but after months of begging and pleading I resulted to actually paying my very poor best friend to come with me.


So yeah, that's my new criteria for a boyfriend, someone who looks like they could be easily manipulated and maybe who I like a little bit and don't find too annoying, but annoying enough so that I have a reason to shout at them.


My mum just thinks I should get a butler.


Also I wrote this yesterday, that's how prepared I was this week, next week fashion theme of some sort.