Strong Suit

Maybe it's just a mini-trend, or perhaps it's in retaliation against a dictate from the latest President of the United States that women dress "like women", but we are currently seeing more women in suits on the red carpets at this year's awards season.

Evan Rachel Wood kicked things off at the Golden Globes earlier this year, and it has been carried on with sparkly aplomb by Emma Stone in Chanel and Meryl Streep at the BAFTAs, all the way through to the kiddies, with Blue Ivy nailing the trend at the Grammys.

Can't see the pants?

There they are!

 

Following Streep's highly political address at the Globes, I'd have to suggest her choice of outfit was a definite statement.  

So there you have it Trump: here in the 21st Century, dressing like a woman means dressing however the hell we want to dress.

Happy Little Vegemites

With Australia Day (or "Invasion Day", depending on your perspective) almost upon us there is some good news, with the iconic Australian spread Vegemite now back in Australian hands. Bega Cheese has announced it will acquire Vegemite from its US owner Mondelez International, meaning Vegemite will be back in Aussie hands for the first time in 90 years.

Derived from leftover brewer's yeast and pitch black in colour, Vegemite certainly takes some getting used to for those not lucky enough to start eating it from the age of nought. Personally, I love the stuff. It's comfort food when you're feeling a bit sad, hastens the departure of unwelcome hangovers (welcome to your 30s), and is perfect on toast on rainy afternoons.

My advice for those trying it for the first time? Toast, lots of butter, thinly spread and (a little like applying foundation) build up to what makes you feel most comfortable. I also love it with cheese on salty crackers, or on fresh bread with butter. My Dad likes his on fresh grainy bread, butter (a staple in our household), a generous smear of Vegemite and ... green apple. Strangely delicious.

Another important feature of Australia Day is, of course, the lamb lovers Australia Day ad. This year's ad has stirred up rather a lot of controversy. The ad doesn't mention 'Australia Day' (which I think is smart given recent pushes to change the date to a date that is more inclusive and that doesn't celebrate the European invasion of Indigenous Australians' lands), and indeed pokes fun at those who seek to prevent boat people permanently migrating to Australia - "hang on, aren't we all boat people?".

As the politics of everything becomes more heated and divisive, I think it's important that debate is sparked on a variety of platforms. While some may disagree that the Meat & Livestock Association have any say at all, I say we should embrace respectful, thought provoking discussion - from wherever it is generated.

Nani?

Travellers to Japan will know that dining out in Japan without Japanese language skills can be a real challenge. Although English is taught to most Japanese from a very young age, this doesn't necessarily translate to a population with excellent English language skills - or maybe they're just really coy about showing off their English. And of course when you're going for the authentic Japanese meal experience, I think it's safe to say most of us steer away from restaurants with the somewhat off-putting plastic toy depiction of menu items sitting in the front window.

At Tokyo's top sushi restaurants, it's typical to take the omakase course, where the chef decides the menu and explains what everything is as it is delivered to the table. In Japanese. To assist travellers who'd like to know with certainty what they're eating, Sushi University recently launched, which enables customers to dine at a sushi counter with a translator by their side. As the website states:


In SushiUniversity, we offer escort interpreting services so that you can not only tease taste buds, but you can gain deeper knowledge of the culture and history associated with sushi, seasonal sushi neta (topping), Sushi Chef’s relentless pursuit of sushi perfection and his bar’s tradition and you can ask questions you feel at that time. Have a memorable time with a feeling the Chef’s passion and dedication contained in each piece of sushi at this Sushi Bar.


Ok, so the English isn't perfect, but the concept is!

Happy Friday: Perspective

One fine, slightly windy day in August this year, I found myself in hospital in labor and very close to meeting a freshly minted baby girl. Fast forward approximately 11 weeks, and I'm sitting at my work laptop tapping out emails (and procrastinating via this blog), and waiting for the little squawk that signals wake up time for the divine Little Miss.

While I would prefer not to be at work so soon, I am lucky for now in that I get to work from home. While I have ventured into the concrete jungle of the city a number of times for meetings and half days in an office to test out how I'll go working away from Little Miss as well as juggling my laptop, work phone and a breast pump, I am doing the bulk of my work from home. In a few short weeks, I'll be back down south and back on site: donning PPE and full throttle back in to project life. A very large part of me is dreading the return to work.

I adore hanging out with my baby. I think I have totally scored (so far) in that she is calm much of the time, doles out the most gratifying of smiles, and sleeps through the night, meaning my tiredness is not as bad as I had expected. Breastfeeding has been a breeze, and during those hours spent feeding her not only is there the joy of moments spent entirely together as one happy unit, I have been churning through books and TV series with gusto. Those few weeks of not working actually felt like a rather pleasant little holiday (albeit housebound and with good heapings of domestic chores). But the weeks were numbered, and I have been back at work in some capacity for several weeks. This week has marked a fuller return to work, and in a few weeks once I'm back at site, I will be 110% there. As the project ramps up, I know the expectations of the workplace will be high (as it is for everyone in our team).

As I extremely tearfully waved goodbye to my mum this week after she helped me out with trialing me working back in the office, it all felt a bit much. Missing the lovely days spent together with Little Miss, and feeling the pressure of my job and the demands of a stressful workplace, I wondered what the hell I was doing. Just as I asked, the Universe delivered an answer.

Back in September, I wheeled Little Miss in her pram to a Brisbane Writers' Festival event featuring Kirstine Stewart. Kirstine Stewart - VP Media for Twitter and named one of Canadian Business's Power 50 of 2016 - had recently released Our Turn, a book that joins the ranks of Sheryl Sandberg's Lean In. A  passage that I read last night really resonated with me (thanks, Universe):

...along with the elusive "have-it-all" brass ring we've been primed to capture, the other concept that does a disservice to parents everywhere is the idea that you should strive for work-life balance. You may as well hunt unicorns. The very word "balance" suggests that somehow you can give equal importance and time to all corners of your life at the same time. The person who loses most in that equation is you; if exhaustion doesn't get to you, the guilt will.
The idea of balance doesn't reflect how the world works, or how we truly spend our time. It's not about achieving balance, it's about flow. We swing from one priority to the next, pushing hard at work and then pulling back to be with family. How hard you push and pull depends entirely on the moment. There are high-pressure times on the job when deadlines loom, trips need to be taken, or tough decisions have to be made, and you work flat out for a long stretch without making it home for dinner. But there are other times when a sick child or parent or spouse, say, or simply a much-needed vacation, takes precedence over any job. The key is to aim for a career in which you can earn the freedom to achieve work-life flow.

While the pursuit of freedom can sometimes be a trap in itself, I think we are now in an environment where many workplaces are more flexible than ever. As I work from home, I realise I needn't tie myself up in knots ensuring the green light of "available and working" is blinking on my Outlook profile at all times. As long as my work gets done, I should be taking this window of time and the enormous luxury I have of these remaining weeks of workplace freedom to spend  time with Little Miss. While dealing with perceptions once I'm back in the workplace will be another challenge in itself, it is not the challenge for this moment. For the next few weeks, I have earned the freedom to focus on Little Miss as well as still contributing to my Project team - so I might as well just enjoy it rather than fretting about something that is probably all just in my own head anyway.

Perspective is everything. What do you think of Kirstine's words?

Shoesday: Feeling Flat

"Oh my god! You really are pregnant - you're wearing flats!!" my friend exclaimed: partly in horror, partly amused and partly in sympathy: there's no way I'd be giving up my beloved heels without a solid fight (and very firm advice from a medical professional, and even then I tend to ignore such advice. Frankly, I gave up the heels because I was scared).

I can narrow it down to the exact moment when I believe my attempts at super-human activity as a pregnant woman lead to the downfall of my pelvis, and marked the end of wearing high heels for the next few months.

Since the beginning of June I have been moving at the pace of a crippled snail thanks to a condition that affects about 2% of pregnant women: pubic symphysis disfunction (PSD). Essentially, the ligaments that normally keep your pelvic bone aligned during pregnancy become too relaxed too soon before birth (it's meant to happen closer to birth - I've had symptoms since the start of June. With a due date at the later part of August this is waaaay too early) . As a result, the pelvic joint (aka the symphysis pubis) becomes unstable and can cause pelvic pain, the most common symptom being difficulty walking and wrenching pain - as though your very being is tearing apart.

Thankfully, the weekend this happened an Occupational Therapist friend of mine was in town, and she quickly told me the symptoms were not normal, that she had heard of it happening, and the best thing to do was to get some help from a physio. I had wrongly assumed this was a normal - horrible - part of pregnancy and that I would just have to slug through it. Admittedly, I am just slugging through it, but I have been getting some assistance from a physio and massage therapist and it has helped somewhat. To be perfectly honest though, the pain is still pretty intense and there are days where I spend most of my afternoon or evening in tears because it is so painful and so frustrating. I am frustrated in the sense that I can't walk without pain, and for a person who extols the virtues of tuck jumps, not being able to move freely is an awful impediment to living what I consider a normal, healthy life.

So there it is: pregnancy since the start of June has been hell on earth, and some days, it is a struggle to remain upbeat. My pity parties can be quite intense (I'm sure exacerbated by pregnant lady hormones). Not even a new visual album from Beyonce is enough to cheer me up some days.

Beyonce: feeling the feels.

For those of you who are pregnant or are planning on getting pregnant, fear not: this isn't a common side effect of pregnancy. My only advice is that if you are feeling any type of pain during pregnancy, do NOT stoically soldier on and go and get some professional help. You may continue to damage yourself or make worse your new condition. For example, don't go to a gym class thinking a nice bit of exercise will tease out the muscular pain you are suddenly and intensely feeling (#iamanidiot).

In case you don't believe me, there are women out there still doing these types of activities at 40 weeks pregnant:

Photo courtesy of YogawithGeorgia 

Shots like that actually make me want to cry tears of frustration, as I know pregnancy is not meant to be 100% nightmare. I am feeling unfairly targeted by the Universe and wondering what I did so wrong for this to happen. Also distressing for me is that the only cure for my malaise is child birth, which seems like such an abstract - and frankly not very reassuring - cure, that I remain fearful that I will never be fixed and this is permanent. No more tuck jumps - ever. *cry*

Enough of my sooking. Next week, hubby and I are off to Palm Cove for a long awaited Babymoon. I can't wait! I am so, so tired (the PSD means rolling over in bed is wretchedly painful, so my sleep is frequently punctuated with trips to the loo and painful attempts at rolling over, plus my workplace commences every day at 7:30am sharp with a site meeting). Having been in a winter climate since March, I am also looking forward to tropical weather, tropical fruits and open toed shoes!

FLAT ONES OF COURSE.

Metallic, bejewelled or adorned with pom-poms, I really don't care. As long as they're pretty and come with a pedicure, I'll be happy.

Happy Friday: You Can Run, But You Can't Hide...

...from the realities of 33 weeks of pregnancy (hello, BUMP!) and - for first time mummas at least - the baby shower. This weekend I'm having the first of 2 baby showers (one of the big positives of living in two different places is twice the number of parties!).

And seriously. Is there any better way to spend a Saturday afternoon than with your friends, sipping champagne and eating scones with jam and cream?

Oh wait - there is. All of the above PLUS ribbon sandwiches (made by someone else of course).

I am very lucky to have a mother-in-law who was willing to host and essentially completely cater the baby shower - she has literally been in the kitchen all week experimenting with new recipes for the occasion. I feel pretty bad about this given my tendency to outsource catering activities (especially when the crowd is in excess of 4 people), but I think she's enjoying herself. At least that's what I'm telling myself.  I have taken it upon myself to organise booze for the occasion. I happily have an obstetrician who doesn't wring his hands about basically anything, but especially not a few drinks here and there.

I'm also very lucky to have a husband who wakes up in the middle of night to rub my legs when foot/hip/back cramps set in at inopportune moments #feelingold #getthisthingoutofme.

As I obsess over eating the cake-y, macaron-ish, sandwich-ish treats for tomorrow I am also pondering how social media seems to have done a complete 180 from people posting shots of their kale salads and bliss balls, to doughnuts being on seemingly every street corner and the #snackwave trend (happy snaps - mainly on Instagram - of the young uns hoeing in to basketball sized baked goods and burgers and cheese covered fries).

Pic courtesy of Girls With Gluten

I understand the reaction against the kale (it tastes like shit) and juicing (I need to chew) but the deliberate clogging of arteries I just don't get (unless you're in your first trimester AND HAVE NO CHOICE!). Most of the proponents of the sugary and/or salty snacks (they can be both - contemplate for a moment the popularity of Brisbane doughnut behemoth Doughnut Time's 'The Elvis' which contains jam filling with banana and peanut glaze and lashings of crispy bacon) are attractive females, so I'm wondering if they're actually eating the entire thing - if at all.

Baked to kill.

While I agree the obsession with healthy or clean eating was getting a little out of hand and it has been attributed to the rapid spread of orthorexia (an obsession with healthy eating that borders on eating disorder) particularly amongst females with an Instagram account, so too does the message that chowing down on "snacks" (burgers, ramen, cheesy fries, doughnuts etc) at every meal is something to be celebrated. It's all just a little too black and white - you really don't need to pick a side between the Carb Queens and the Bliss Ball Babes and frankly either way, I think you'd go insane limiting yourself in that way. I guess the healthy eating food pyramid just isn't very Instagram-able.

Happy Wintry Weekend

It is all kinds of cold in my isolated little neck of the woods, so I am attempting to embrace the weather by looking at the goop Summer Reading Guide.  Wait. That doesn't sound right. No matter - there are a bunch of great book recommendations in the guide, so go check it out if you're looking for some bedtime, fireside or beach-side stories to occupy yourself with.

In addition to reading (who am I kidding... I can barely finish the Saturday paper let alone anything else), I'll be sneaking off to Adelaide to hit up the latest go-to dining venue, The Henry Austin, attend some of their gloriously well-stocked farmer's markets and indulge in the best coffees and ham and cheese croissants a pregnant woman in a winter wonderland could possibly ask for.

On account of the rainy-ness of the weather, I'll probably be looking a little like this (with a really big bump under my shirt of course).

No matter what you're eating, drinking or reading... Have a lovely weekend x

Happy Friday: The Technology Surplus

All too often we can find ourselves swept out to sea by fear-mongerers and people threatened by change. To date, I think we are yet to see anything truly awful come of social disruptors like Uber - even though taxi companies and crusty old politicians would have us believe we'll all be out of pocket from our health insurers as we carve up the hospitals with our whiplash, or that we'll end up dead in the back of an Uber-driver's Prius. I don't think so.

I really love the sentiment outlined by Seth Godin in one of his precious thought bubbles this week:

When someone handed you a calculator for the first time, it meant that long division was never going to be required of you ever again. A huge savings in time, a decrease in the cognitive load of decision making.

Now what?

You can use that surplus to play video games and hang out.

Or you can use that surplus to go learn how to do something that can't be done by someone merely because she has a calculator.

Either way, your career as a long-divisionator was over.

Entire professions and industries are disrupted by the free work and shortcuts that are produced by the connection economy, by access to information, by robots. Significant parts of your job are almost certainly among them.

Now that we can get what you used to do really quickly and cheaply from someone else, you can either insist that you still get to do that for us at the same fee you used to charge, or you can move up the ladder and do something we can't do without you.

Imagine our world today if we'd never embraced fire... Without wood-fired pizza for a start!

Disruptors and advances in technology stretch us as a species to continue to develop and, hopefully, thrive. While all great change should be at a relatively measured pace (i.e. test that robot's ability to do the dishes without exploding before you put it in your kitchen full time), change should not be stifled due to fear of the redundancy of the human species or a demotion in our talents. We should see it for what it is: a challenge to rise to, a challenge that was, after all, set for us by a fellow human who saw fit to create, innovate and disrupt.

Go forth and be masterful!

Molten Metal

Raf Simons is one of Belgium's greatest exports (other than chocolate). Previously Creative Director at Jil Sanders, he is particularly well known for his (rather brief) star turn as Creative Director at Dior, with his first collection for the iconic fashion house being beautifully and most fascinatingly documented in Dior and I (if you haven't seen it, you really should).

Raf Simons and a gorgeous bunch of peonies, in France. What more could you ask for?

Since resigning from the fashion house (by all accounts on excellent terms) in order to, in his own words, "focus on other interests in my life, including my own brand, and passions that drive me outside my work".  

In addition to developing his own label (to be shown at Florence Fashion Week), Simons has collaborated a number of times with Adidas. His latest collection, released last week, is spectacularly metallic, and follows on from last year's gorgeous colours in the notorious Stan Smith shoe for Adidas.

Being a narcissist, I believe the "R" is designed specifically for me, however I think it is quite obviously not the case. In any event, I would love a pair, but retailing at a cool $500 a pop I am not entirely sure they will make it in to  my next online shopping cart... So sad.

Happy Friday: It's Not All Bad

Of course there are some plus sides to this pregnancy caper... Such as a new mode of dressing for a few months. Maybe it's because I'm pregnant myself, but I have noticed a tonne of celebrities getting themselves up the duff or having babies of late. Blake Lively and Chrissy Teigen are the most visible of late, and they have had some great maternity looks...

Not giving up on heels just because she's pregnant

Pregnancy #2 - at Cannes last week

Then of course there is the Duchess of Cambridge, whose Dalmatian print jacket sent me into raptures long before I fell pregnant.

Admittedly, her outfits are generally covered by wintry coats

There's also obviously a plethora of independent bloggers who are nailing maternity looks, with best of the bunch here in Australia being Nadia Bartel of shopping heaven website The Con-nection and WAG and weather girl Rebecca Judd.


As you can see from the looks above, the main thing about maternity dressing is to not try to hide the fact that you have a bump by dressing exclusively in muu-muus. I am sure there will come a time when there is a place for such an item (at home, alone, cramming peanut butter into your hungry mouth) but generally speaking simple, clingy dresses in a block colour are going to get you through. Not wanting to spend a huge amount on a wardrobe that has a short life span, I have been loving the slim-fit dresses (can I call them sausage dresses? that's what I call them in my head) from Cotton On.

While previously I would have thought twice about a skin-tight dress (back when I hallucinated that my flat stomach was sticking out...), nowadays I am loving wearing skin tight dresses. I can eat as much as I like and you can't tell what's baby and what's taco and quesadilla! It is so liberating!


Atmos&Here (stocked by The Iconic) and Witchery also have a bunch of dresses, stretch tees and tight leggings that do the trick, and of course Asos and TopShop have what looks like a pretty great range of maternity gear also (although I'm resisting wearing maternity clothes at this stage, and frankly hoping to put it off for as long as possible!). I have also found that Country Road jeggings - which have always had a larger waist and never fit me previously - are working their magic in the pants department (so far).


Bartel also recommends long line coats and vests, which serve to elongate the body and balance the proportions somewhat of a protruding bump.




Job done.

Finally, as we see from all the ladies (and provided there aren't any health reasons to prevent it) keep wearing your high heels. A little extra height never hurt any baby... ;o)

Ditch the slippers!

Am I Your Mummy?

The strangest thing happened at the end of November 2015.


After over a year of half-hearted attempts at getting pregnant (as in, I didn't really care so didn't obsess or worry, to the point I was - in all honesty - secretly relieved that I wasn't pregnant) ... I fell pregnant. Tomorrow I will clock in at 28 weeks pregnant. In August there will be a kid. That kid will be my responsibility (shared of course with my partner in crime, hubby).


Being pregnant hasn't been what I thought it would be. Things kicked off in earnest in January with round-the-clock morning sickness. I was disillusioned at best to think it was a trifling, highly feminine and delicate illness that really wasn't that bad. I was a barely functioning zombie. When I finally found the energy to get off the couch to walk the dog, I found myself vomiting into bushes. There was a disastrous attempt at going to a gym class, as I struggled to fight against the sickness and resume normal life. Mental note - denial is not a coping mechanism for morning sickness. I could barely make it to the fridge (don't worry, I got there... And to McDonalds) to shovel more carbs into my gob to make the nausea fade away. [NOTE: I found acupuncture of great benefit during this shitty month of my life. Even my needle phobia couldn't keep me away from the joint]. [DOUBLE NOTE: Hot chips also  saved my life - "Could I have a side of fries with my fries please?" It was utterly shameful].

Disgusting. Necessary.

Then, like all the books tell you, at 12/13 weeks it all just faded away.


As a non-Earth mother type, who has not embraced this pregnancy business in the manner of those who exaltedly cup their pregnant bellies in one hand and a chia pudding in the other as she expresses her #mummybliss and #blessed - ness to the world, it has been something of a struggle.


My boobs went bananas almost immediately - sore to touch, an entire bra size larger (accompanied by a frustrating fight with a bra-fitter called Dolly in a department store change room where I fought for my right to wear a lacy, underwire, non-maternity bra for as long as I could before I I would be forcibly transitioned to loathsome, ugly maternity bras. While I won the battle, she won the war when in her parting shot she told me my breast milk wouldn't flow on account of my selfish propensity for lace and underwire - let the mummy judgment begin!).


Then there has been the agony of a stomach expanding to accommodate another being. There are days where I feel like my stomach is being torn, one tendril of muscle and skin at a time, all day long. By the afternoon, my back aches. Sleeping is uncomfortable and disturbed as my unwieldy stomach imposes strict limitations on movement and position. I can't exercise like I used to because I get puffed, I'm carrying about 7 extra kgs (so far), and my stomach just generally gets in the way. I have random pimply break-outs that make me want to hide under the bed. And then there is the insanity of an alien life force kicking, wiggling and hiccupping IN YOUR STOMACH throughout the day and night. It just doesn't seem natural to me.




You've been living where?

The weight gain and the belly have been getting to me. I can't believe I ever had fat days pre-pregnancy. I used to have a flat stomach for goodness' sake - what was I thinking?! I never realised the great joy that freedom of movement actually brought to me. It simply felt natural, obvious and my God given right as a human being to be able to run, jump, skip and dance like Beyoncé in my living room. After spending much of my adult life being bombarded with the message that weight gain is the worst thing that can happen to a woman, the fact that it is happening - and it is to a large extent beyond my control - is distressing and counter-intuitive, despite logic telling me this is a natural process and not to fret. I have had to stop looking at certain Instagram feeds (mainly the ones of women who are in the same stage of pregnancy as me, are teeny tiny and still somehow doing kick boxing). I also worry about the post-natal implications for my figure: Will I ever look the same again? Will I ever physically feel the same again? Will I ever stop eating hot chips??


Then there are the mental gymnastics. The rage at knowing my career will be hampered by impending and actual motherhood (at least for a few years). The resentment and frustration that accompanies the understanding that in the partnership I have with my husband, he simply cannot share the physical burden of the first few years of child bearing, birthing and breast feeding.  The fear that something might be wrong with the child if I continue to have such negative thoughts throughout pregnancy. The guilt I feel for not enjoying pregnancy when I know so many others love it, and - worse - that others would kill to be pregnant and to have a child. And the genuine concern I feel that my ambivalence to pregnancy and motherhood will make me a selfish, dreadful parent.




Thank heavens for trained counsellors

And don't get me started on my inability to travel to far-flung, tropical destinations at a moment's due to fears for Zika virus and the fact that I can't fly internationally after 32 weeks. Having your passport essentially confiscated by someone other than law enforcement authorities is, well... criminal!


This quote in a Business Chicks article today (titled "You Absolutely, Definitely Can't Have it All") resonated with me:


They say that becoming a parent is about sacrifice and compromise – and I guess that’s what I’m getting a lesson in. I interpreted that as sacrificing nights out, sleep, weekly yoga and coffee with girlfriends … what I’m learning is that you have to sacrifice a little piece of yourself and I guess all these tears are me grieving for that part of me. I hate the word juggle, but that’s what it is – a constant compromise between family and work depending on which priority is currently on top, and I don’t think that’s ever ideal. I also feel resentment that my husband isn’t going through this; life has just become richer for him. I just need to soak up the tears and get on with it - letting go of that person who got to the office at 7.30am … and that person who watches her baby sleep. I know that I’ll come out the other side, because so many women have gone before me and I feel great comfort in that.

Ouch.

Logically I know that most women get their figures back; your career ambitions don't necessary stall forever; and while you have the opportunity to eat hot chips without reproach for 9 months, you should seize the moment (and add some chocolate sour cake and ice cream for good measure). So of course it's not all bad, and - like everything in life - it is not forever. But when you're in the thick of it and looking down the barrel of another 12 weeks of discomfort, and on top of that the further altered reality of parenting an infant for the next few years, it can be hard to keep that mantra front of mind.




Eventually, it will all fall into place. Or I will run away with the circus.

Chanel Does Cuba

This week, hot on the heels of the Met Gala (and consequently lacking the star power of most Chanel FROWs) Chanel launched its resort collection on the wide, picturesque avenues of Havana. Cuba is currently Flavour of the Month, having recently played host to the Rolling Stones, the Obamas and the first cruise ship full of 700 Americans since economic and diplomatic sanctions between the USA and Cuba - in place since the 1960s - were historically loosened in March this year.

This week, Karl Lagerfeld (without having visited the country previously) released an entire collection based on his perceptions of this time-warped and beautifully ageing country. Models cha-cha'd down the catwalk (Havana's Paseo del Prado flanked by Cuba's notably colourful cars from the 1950s), some smoking cigars and others decked out in Che Guevara-esque black berets.

Cuba is indeed a picturesque spot, and while I think it's great to promote tourism to the area, a small part of me feels a little discomfort between the dichotomy of ultra-luxe Chanel (which most of us in the developed, Western world can't afford) in Cuba, a country where people earn about US$20/month and food remains relatively scarce and subject to rations (for example, ice cream is only available on certain days of the week).

I will attempt to overcome my white, middle class guilt complex though, and go with the flow. Go and visit Cuba! It's a most fabulous country - beautiful, complicated and full of a the vim for life that can only come from a nation of people truly living an island life: unaffected by constant change, glorious concerns generated by the multitude of options that economic and social progression offers, and the pressure that social media and a bombardment of advertising imagery so well-advanced in its psychological manipulations that it can push the buttons of even the most confident of cats. And if you can afford to take your Chanel slip-ons, then best of luck to you - please spend lots of money in this wonderful country.

Cuban drivers catch a glimpse of some of the world they've been missing these last few decades

Happy Friday: Kate-niss Everdeen

As our favourite Royal couple winds up their tour of India, we are treated to Kate channeling The Hunger Games' Catniss Everdeen with bow & arrow. Apparently neither Kate nor Will were particularly talented at archery, but then again it's a talent that seems rather unnecessary in this day and age of more technologically advanced weaponry, and look how joyously Kate is missing her target! Zero f*cks given.

Have a happy, adventurous and blithely carefree weekend! x

Mario Testino Loves Oz

Mario Testino has guest-edited his first ever Vogue Australia cover, and in signature Testino style he has celebrated the beauty of the location as much as the beauty of the people.

Lara Stone covers Vogue Australia April 2016, as shot by Mario Testino

Particularly well known for his loving shots of Rio de Janeiro (he spent many years though growing up), Testino has appeared Down Under with a bunch of similarly iconic shots, sure to be a keepsake for Vogue tragics everywhere.

Happy Friday: All About That Bass

It has been stinking hot in my neck of the woods lately, and there is really no better way to luxuriate in the heat than to eat ice cream (or better yet, to bask in a roof top pool with ice cream and aperol spritz' on hand).

Things started off strong today with free ice creams handed out on the sidewalk (I can now confidently recommend Streets Fruttare coconut smoothie ice creams), and will continue throughout the weekend without a doubt. I am rubbing my fat, sticky little fingers together in anticipation....

Happy Friday indeed! x

New Year Mantra: Expectations

They say that disappointment is the difference between your expectations and reality. This is probably a fairly accurate equation, although disregards effort and work behind the scenes to achieve your expectations and transform reality. That's why I rather like Seth Godin's latest challenge regarding expectations.

Lower the expectations that you'll find an easy way out.

Raise your expectations for what you can contribute.

Lower your expectations for how effective that next shortcut is going to be. 

Raise your expectations about what technology can do for you if you patiently push it.

Lower your expectations about how an angry fight can help you win something you care about.

Raise your expectations for how much consistent daily action can transform your status quo.

Lower your expectations of finding a fairy godmother.

But raise them about the power of concrete goals that keep you from hiding.

This also reminds me of one of my favourite sayings: Dreams don't work unless you do.

A lot of people really loathe New Year's resolutions, and don't believe in hitting a reset button. To those cynics, I feel sorry for them - it's the most golden of opportunities, and the easiest mark in time to see how you are tracking throughout the year. I don't believe it's a tool for self-loathing, but a tool for self-improvement and progression as a minor cog in the wheel of humanity.

Admittedly, last year I was sporadic at best at keeping mine (last year's attempt at sending more handwritten notes tallied up to one thank you note, a number of birthday cards, and 1 Christmas card - lame!). This year, I have vowed to eat more vegetables which is an exercise also in deception for someone who hates vegetables. I am primarily eating soups with vegetables snuck in, but at least I'm a little more committed to this one. Yotam Ottolenghi - with all his chopping and pots and pans - will be my companion to 2016. I'm still trying to figure out if hot chips fall into the category of "Vegetables".

Another of my friends has boldly resolved to not buy clothes this year. Impressive. After hearing this, I immediately took back the clothes I'd impulsively and unnecessarily bought at Zara a few days prior and felt great! While I don't think I can commit to not buying new clothes for an entire year, I think it's a great resolution and kinda wish I'd thought of that. But at least by having the idea planted, it makes me think twice about my purchases, and that can only be a good thing (thank God for returns policies). For a great article on clearing out your wardrobe, and buying less stuff go here.

A little less of this in 2016

The benefits of sharing resolutions have now been proven. So... What did you resolve for 2016?

Innovations for the Film/Podcast/TV Series Tragic

Inadvertently telling someone the ending of a film or TV series, or giving away a major twist in a storyline is one of those things that, depending on your friend's demeanour, can spark either fuming, flame-spitting rage or (worse) mortally wounded you-stole-a-baby's-lolly, puppy-dog faces - possibly even tears depending on how attached to the narrative they are. Sometimes it's intentional (and evil) when you drop spoilers out there, other times it is a genuine mistake.

Last night, Handsome Hubby went to the midnight screening of Star Wars (geek alert) along with not only 20 of his closest mates, but also most of Australia it would seem based on social media, TV and radio this morning. He mentioned that one of his mates in the Northern hemisphere had made a semi-cryptic Star Wars reference on Facebook that part-way through the film made sense and was also something of a spoiler which, as Hubby commented, was almost a "de-friending offence". WOAH. That's serious.

But then I thought about that time I made a comment about Will Gardiner's fate at the end of a season finale The Good Wife episode, and the vitriol that came spewing at me from one particular friend, and I realised that you are skating on the edges of friendship when you make such pronouncements on social forums of any kind (including the oldest forum of all, in-person) - no matter how cryptic you think your statement is! And let's face it, there's always going to be a friend who makes a non-cryptic comment against your cryptic post, and it blows the storyline wide open and before you know it, friends are at war.

General thoughts on people who take pleasure in issuing spoilers via social media

Today I am issuing an edict to Zuckerberg and his Facebook-coding illuminati to go out there and resolve this first-world crisis and devise a filter which enables you to filter out stories and status updates regarding [insert guilty pleasure / TV, film, podcast addiction] so you may never have an ending spoilt again. In this age of NetFlix and binge TV series watching - where no one is really watching at the same time as anyone else, this invention must be developed. The sooner the better!

It was so hard on my poor little thumb as I furiously scrolled through Facebook in April this year to not see Mad Men spoilers before I had the opportunity to lock down access to that final season* (thank you, Qantas in-flight entertainment). More immediately, I am currently listening to the second Serial podcast, and finding it very hard to not read all those damn articles about Bowe Bergdahl that keep popping up in my newsfeed.

By the by, I believe this ingenious filter I have devised (that I'm sure no one has ever conceived of before), could also be used for blocking stories and photos certain people in your life you would prefer not to know a dang thing about but whom politeness dictates you cannot defriend (I know there is an Unfollow filter, but does that block photos of them with your friends? NO). This is so ingenious, I can't believe it doesn't already exist.

You may have a newborn baby and generous paternity leave to attend to Zuckerberg, but I think this is far more deserving of your attention. After all, friendships are at stake here.

* It was excellent, harrowing, beautiful. Please watch.