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This is a photo of me at my first birthday. I am serving looks in a onesie and a bib whilst clutching my froggy party hat in a really editorial manner. A birthday cake sits in front of me. It has a puppy candle on it beside another a candle in the shape of a one. The cake looks like some sort of vanilla sponge covered in icing sugar and filled with cream.

About Me

At age ten, I started sneaking copies of Vogue into my mum's trolley (that's a buggy, cart, or trundler for my international readers!) and designing my own product launches through a combination of Paint, Word, and ingenue determination.

 

At age fifteen, I was diagnosed with body dysmorphia, and by eighteen, my parents sent me to an eating disorder clinic.

 

I like to think these events were unrelated, but we're not that naive, are we, dear reader?

 

As I began the process of recovery, my relationship to makeup and fashion became complicated. I wanted to enjoy getting ready, but I knew I couldn't put an outfit together or try a new eye look without a soundtrack of unhelpful thoughts. I was always dressing the woman I wanted to be, the woman my sickness created, and feeling disappointed when I was still myself. It started to feel as though the only way to get better was to give up the love of lace and glitter I'd carried for so long. 

During lockdown, something changed. With days and nights spent at home, celebrating each milestone the year brings either by myself or with my partner, I found myself cutting the tags off that maybe-someday dress and reaching for the pastel eyeshadow palette I'd decided was off limits for a face like mine. With worries over what other people might think out of the way, I was finally actually getting done up for myself. It became clear to me: All this time I was treating fashion and makeup as tools of conformity when I should've been treating them as tools of expression, unburdened by the noise that made my adolescent self feel like a flat note.    

 

I started keeping notes in my phone: affirmations, looks I wanted to try, ways I could dress myself without losing myself. I was excited about fashion again, and it was no longer a hindrance to my (ongoing) recovery. 

Despite this shift, fashion and beauty media remained hazardous. During my time avoiding the stuff, it had managed to invent new ways our bodies and faces could be wrong. I would list some, but we both know that would be helping no one. This is a space for evolution, not new ways to blindfold ourselves and walk backwards. 

I wanted somewhere I could talk about fashion and beauty without having to body monitor, or question my lunch, or feel ashamed of my long-serving cable-knit cardigan. I considered YouTube. Dressed to kill, I spent an entire day in the one tidy corner of my office, ending up with over three-hours of footage. When I watched it back, my eyes never once left the viewfinder, and my sentences sounded more like overlapping zig-zags than straight lines. Writing it is, I decided.  With that, this blog was born.

I hope you enjoy this shady little spot I have found amongst the blaze of toxic misinformation. I hope you, too, can feel inspired to see getting dressed not as an opportunity not to cover yourself, but to recover yourself. Alas, I am not perfect (working on it). If anything I have ever published made you feel unseen, unheard, or less than, send me a message, and I will give it the attention it deserves. 

When I am not running this blog, I am either studying; looking at my phone for something I'll never find; or tripping on shrooms on a forest floor, howling at the moon. I have a Bachelor of Creative Arts, majoring in creative writing, and am currently working toward a PhD. If you would still like to work with me after reading all of that, feel free to visit my services or contact page. 

GET A MONTHLY LETTER FROM ME :)
(NOTHING CLINGY OR WEIRD. I PROMISE, DAD.)

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