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The story goes that legendary fashion photographers Mert Atlas and Marcus Pigott were booked and ready to do the shoot. Allegedly they were all on set and everything. Next thing ya know Madonna walks in and says she wants to direct the video. They said great but we’re not paying you. At which point she whips out her iPod, teaches the girls some ‘moves’ and shoots the film in two hours.

Just not feeling this ad at all. The photo booth idea is cute but not very well executed I don’t think. Unless I’m missing something?

A great coup publicity-wise but do ya reckon Miu Miu made an error in judgement? Cos I do…

Too harsh?


So on another musical theme, LMFAO have that Miami song. Something about something about getting wasted in Miami or something.  Delightfully irritating. Never mind that though, the fashion people, the FASHION. Zebra print as far as the eye can see, sequins, boombox necklaces, an explosion of neon, outrageously stupid glasses. Read the rest of this entry »

So as we discovered in an earlier post, they call me Lips Mc Ginn. This might somehow imply I have big sumptuous lips or that I have a penchant for the lipstick, but neither are true. My lips are a part of my facial geography that I completely ignore. And I mean completely.

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Today wasn’t the most interesting of days for me. I woke up late, watched and re-watched old episodes of The Hills and The City, cleaned the kitchen and went into town to run a few errands for mother dearest. As I was driving along down the street, minding my own business and not really taking in the repetitive sights of my completely average town I came across a woman pushing a buggy. The woman was jogging down the street in a typically ‘motherish’ tracksuit sporting none other than high heel trainers. Read the rest of this entry »

The other night I had a dream. I was a teacher, Dylan Moran was my boyfriend and my parents were a travelling folk music duo. Somehow from this madness an epiphany emerged. I began to examine my fashion personality.

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nifty thrifty

job-hunting is hard. and tiring. and i am easily distracted from it.

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Off surfing again this weekend. This means natty hoodies, baggy tracksuit bottoms, mismatched bikinis, ridonculous booties, bruising, seaweed hair, sunburnt hands, runny noses, panda eyes, hangovers, carbs and most importantly, an inherited surfboard. A board that is slightly chipped, imprinted with dead flies and layered in sand and sexwax. Surfing the Irish Way. So imagine my shock and horror when I spotted this trend. A Chanel Surboard. Chanel, as in Coco, as in logomania, as in squillons of squids, as in serious luxury industry. Making surfboards. Surely this is wrong?

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Right. That’s it. I’ve had it. I’m packing in this fashion malarky. First it was the musicians, then it was the models, followed by celebrities, the politicos, the flaming cool street urchins of hip cities, and now kids. KIDS. I have to compete with kids. Look at these effortlessly cool children, with their languid posing and their arrogant stares. The artful layering and the blunt fringes. Read the rest of this entry »

Technology. I remember when the height of technology in Irish society was having a video player. And that was so you could record Corrie if you happened to be out. These days, it’s all I-phones at dawn. Over the pub table it’s an App-Off – with everyone trying to out-do each other with sleep tracking applications and Eurovision prediction databases and magnetic compasses. I have recently become an I-widow my boyfriend has taken to his I-phone with abandon and I have been relegated well below his World Cup app. Read the rest of this entry »

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