Cracks

There's no doubt about it, Eva Green is resplendent in her measured portrayal of Miss G in Cracks.
No wonder Miss G's diving students had girl-crushes on her; she's uber-stylish, witty, defiant, exotic, exciting and she let the dorm girls dress up and get boozy in a secret midnight feast.
"You can achieve anything you want, you just have to desire it."
I desire her wardrobe.  And her sitting room.

Cracks is set during the 1930s in a remote girl's boarding school, a place where the minds of adolescent girls are receptive to Miss G's thoroughly modern ideas on womanhood.
She dresses in flamboyant, colourful scarves, silk velvet coats and *gasp* trousers!

She entertains her special girls in her private sitting room by ordering their books to be put away, dancing to gramophone records and holding sway with "tales" of her far-out, glamourous adventures abroad.

Of course, all good things must come to an end and Miss G's triumphant reign as queen of fantasies and dreams is bound to reach a crisis point.  We can see that right from the start.

But I still want her smudged eye makeup and bitten nails, right up until the end and beyond.

I fancied a more vibrant version of the 1930s bohemian style and it all came together when I rediscovered a long, fine, silk scarf while I was unpacking.

It quickly became a Miss G-style head wrap paired with my crumpled vintage haori worn inside out and a wispy-thin silk onsie frippery as a top.

Haori silk linings are always so beautiful.

I had an absolute ball wearing this outfit yesterday, I didn't want to take it off.

Pink haori, 1930s silk onsie, jet beads - Etsy

Scarf, rings, beads, 1970s lurex flares - op shops and flea markets

Oh you want to know about the eye shadow?
It's Neon Green glitter shadow by Callas Cosmetics on Etsy.  I wear it with their glitter glue so it stays on my eyelid and not my cheeks, although there are usually strays that I fail to catch with a tissue.
The diamante-studded eyelashes are from a two-dollar shop and I'm wearing Lime Crime's Velvetine lip paint in Suedeberry.

Frida's always keeping an eye on me, I think she'd love some lime green warpaint don't you?
Baci,
Desiree x

The Growing Pains of Sybil

Meet Sour-Puss Sybil.
She's looking rather lovely in her best frock and pearls.
A rosy glow to her fair cheeks, a dab of lipstick, but not too much, Mother won't allow it.
Not after the fruit punch incident at the Fair Maiden's Ball last spring.
Aunt Bea said it was a disgraceful start to the season and now Father won't let Sybil out unchaperoned.

She has a full year to wait before she comes of age and her trust allowance starts, meanwhile, she has a good-sized chip on her shoulder the size of that on her portrait frame.
She never had good aim and pewter candlesticks are not as hard as silver.
Drat her brother's poker losing streak.

So poor Sour-Puss Sybil has been sent to stay with Aunt Dotty at the seaside.
Aunt Dotty is the only relative who would take on Sybil and now it's clear to the young lady why.

Aunt Dotty refuses to let her grey hair show, instead dyeing her hair platinum blond.
Scandalous for an ageing crone of 46.
She insists her under garments are too pretty to hide beneath frocks and she boldly wears her slips in public without a care.
She sways between humour and oblivion to the stares and whispers when she steps out with her pretty, yet silly, niece on her arm.

Aunt Bea can barely utter her younger sister's name without having a coughing fit and she's carefully cut Aunt Dotty's photographs out of the family album.
There's talk of a man, but no-one's seen him and it's said she wears his image on her ears.
If he's as handsome and wicked as he looks in the photograph, it's no wonder she's keeping him all to herself.

Finally, there's the bare legs in summer with purple toenails if you please!
Sybil can barely contain herself from asking her Aunt why she wears wings on her strange shoes and a woman in her 40s should at least be wearing a slip and stockings.
But Aunt Dotty insists she IS wearing a slip and one day women young and old will swap the silly stockings for artificial tanning to disguise evidence of summertime bites.
Meanwhile, Sour-Puss Sybil, who was once adamant that Pongo's parties were "simply the thing", spends most of her evenings these days with a furrowed brow, awaiting whatever evening's entertainment her Aunt will produce.
What will it be?  A seance?  A late-night trawl of dubious nightspots?  Cake for supper?  Knife-throwing or dance lessons?
Perhaps in time, Sybil's scowl will disappear.  Time will tell.

No I'll Call You.

I raced home to take a look in the mirror and see what the fuss was about.
While I was out, people had been falling over themselves to compliment me on my outfit, especially the shoes and dress.
I told everyone who was interested, my frock was actually an 80-year-old nightie.
One lucky woman well into her 80s was even lucky enough to cop a feel.
So I thought I might share what caused all the commotion.
Seriously don't know what the fuss was about.
After all, #2 Son, who is 16, didn't look at all embarrassed about me collecting him from student reception after his maths exam today. Couldn't resist ;).

1930s nightie, sunnies, fish skeleton earring - Etsy

FREEKY necklace - custom made by Phussy

1970s bag, bangles, rosary - op shops

Heart earring - DIY

Shoes - VW Melissa

Frankly I've been such a hermit in recent months (no thanks to the meds), it feels unfamiliar to talk to strangers freely like I once did.
Yakkity-yakkity-yak to anyone who looked vaguely interesting ... heehee.
Today was rather overwhelming but dammit, Helga is right ... "better to be looked over than overlooked".
So if this positivity keeps up I may be clogging up your reader feed with more dress-ups and droning.

Lily found the coolest spot in the house, one where she could enjoy the cross-breezes.  She's just had a flea treatment and in a calmer mood ... no more "mama why is I so itchy?"

Walk the walk, talk the talk.

On Friday night, The Stylist nearly fell over in a dead faint when I handed her the barber scissors and asked her to tidy up all my messy mistakes.
I swear her face was a picture to see.
Full of joy at such an onerous "adult" task.
I think she did a wonderful job.
Then we got dressed up for the season two finale of Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries.
It simply had to be done.

Manic Panic boa - gift from luscious Suzanne

Lace rabbit ears - shop in Melbourne's Chinatown

1950s sequin and bead top - op shop

Sloppy kisses just for you.
Desiree xo

Changing of the Guard

I've drawn the conclusion my hair colour has become my armour.

When I was working in newsrooms I used jewellery and shoes to carve out my little "happy place".

It was tricky though, earrings got in the way of phone interviews, armloads of bangles were just annoying when thumping out words on a keyboard, while rings were a distraction.

So I wore a jumble of big necklaces, most of my brooch collection and some fairly wild shoes each day.

The accessories also doubled as instant ice-breakers during interviews and I have them to thank for scoring stories because the subject was so surprised by my presentation, all they could do was just start talking.

No longer churning out news stories, I've experimented with other ways to protect myself from copping a beating with the greige stick and in the past six months my hair has been peroxide blond, neon pink and violet.

On Sunday morning I woke up and decided I needed to be a 1920s vamp so now, Manic Panic's Vampire Red adorns my crown.

Oh and I gave myself a rather radical haircut.

Gosh I really must go, there's a bus to Hollywood leaving in ten minutes, I have a meeting with Mr De Mille.
Here are a few pics from the past fortnight.

My toned down house-hunting look a couple of weeks ago.

1940s rayon frock - gift from hornacious Helga

1950s handbag - gift from my big sister

Bangles and silk scarf - op shops

VW Melissa shoes

I think my purple hair, Troll earrings from dumpster-diving Tamera and cat-ear headband may have helped allay pre-show jitters for the wee lassies at The Stylist's ballet matinee performance.
She danced like a floating feather and I really enjoyed being a dressing room mama for a day.

Another 1940s rayon frock with VW Melissa's and tapestry handbag, this time for the evening performance of The Stylist's ballet recital.
Three hours later I only just made it out of the car in time to have a "talk to god" on the front lawn.
I was incredibly dehydrated from working behind the scenes at the matinee and had developed a headache equal to a shovel whacked into the back of my head.
Fun!

A few days later I was back on my feet and snapping pics for some eBay sales.
It felt like work so I needed to dress for the job.
I fancied a bit of Manic Panic's pink glitter eyeshadow and Hot, Hot, Hot lippie, which beautiful Suzanne sent to me.
DIY green-dyed 1950s bra and 70s flares, plus rabbit ears and I'm sure the Meals on Wheels bloke nearly dropped his basket-load when he rapped at the front door to be confronted with this sight.

Happy days chickadees!
Baci,
Desiree x

Search Me Quick!

When you spot that gap in the fence, sometimes you've just got to slip through it.

In my case it was super-cheap fares to Melbourne.

So last week, The Stylist and I had a rare treat and flew down to visit her brother, #1 Son, in our favourite city, get some fresh air and much-needed R&R.

To me, Melbourne music is fucking awesome GanG$tA ninja sound so we're listening to some filthy deep house. K?

Thursday:

Two excited chickies.  The wee one was nervous about flying, but we distracted ourselves with colouring-in and making stupid movies, which incidentally, sparked an idiotic trend to film ourselves loudly and shamelessly singing made-up operettas on the city streets.

Rather cathartic for both of us really.

Our hotel was in Chinatown and around the corner from #1 Son's office, so first stop was the best freakin' DUMPRING around, then a twilight tour of his favourite graffitied alleys and lane ways.

The Stylist and I were gob-smacked at the beauty and love artists have put into their work.

It's a shame we didn't have better cameras to record, in the dark, the best of the best.

Friday:
Started the day with the best coffee I've ever tasted, made with both organic coffee and milk.
Nectar.
The lassie and I were headed for a tram tour of the city then the Miss Fisher Costume Exhibition at Ripponlea House.

We simply had to make a stop at The Windsor Hotel, where The Phoenix and I were married two years ago.

We weren't allowed to take pics of the spectacular 1920s dresses, suits, furs, coats, capes, hats and jewellery worn by that saucy wench, but we got to play dress-ups in the foyer.
The highlight of the day?
Meeting up with our dear friend, Miss Danni-Long-Legs - squeeeeeeeee!!

Ain't she a picture?
You may have noticed that I "lost" my original 1930s black lace gown.
That's because, although I reinforced the stitching before we left Brisneyland, I missed a side seam and the dress slowly became a cape over a two-hour period.
Luckily I was wearing my 1940s slip "dress" underneath.
Wardrobe malfunctions huh?
Totally fixable though.  No tearing, just old stitching to repair.

Miss Danni-Long-Legs took us to Chapel Street Bazaar, which was rammed with vintage temptations.
Although I didn't buy anything, Chesty Morgan's portraits were an eye-opener ... she made two films in 1974, Double Weapons and Double Agent.
All I could think of was "holy shit the back and shoulder pain, the poor woman!"

Saturday:
One selfie because The Stylist and I were slammed by a vomitting-flu bug.

Sunday:
The lass was well enough for Camberwell Markets ... yay!
My favourite markets ever.

She's a treasure-hunter at heart that one.

Woohoo ... super-bargainous SWAG for everyone!!

It was our final night before flying home so we crammed our bags with rare mags from Mag Nation, stocked up on sweets from the Sugar Station and flirted once more with The Stylist's stationery addiction (hello Kikki K, Typo, Smiggle).
Mama drank loads more coffee,then needed giant rabbit ears, Thai food and another graffiti fix.
Of course.

Monday:

An early morning visit to the zoo, the first in The Stylist's memory.

Our final goodbye to #1 Son, then we staggered onto our plane.

Tired but happy bunnies.

Missed you darlings.
Baci, 
Desiree xxxxx