The Glamour Grab

So tonight after stumbling out of my feature writing class I was pleasently suprised by the pink glow and schmoozy cocktail-bar music music coming from the Glass House fashion building at university.

I saw girls, lots of them. Then as the gyrating crowd parted like the Red Sea infront of Mozes, I saw the racks of clothes. Curosity won me over so I simultaneously did up my blazer and stubbed out my half smoked cigarette as I crossed the quadrant to obtain shelter amongst the glamouratti of QUT's fashion hub. I mean, who wouldn't want to escape the cold and rub shoulders with the university it girls and racks and racks of vintage clothing?

My suspicions were confirmed when I saw the sign "The Glamour Grab". This was one of those fashion swap events where you bring in old items from your wardrobe and exchange them for the same amount of items surrendered by others. It's free, and makes a lot of sense given the whole one-man's-trash-is-another-man's-treasure thing.

The journalist in me instantly whipped out my blackberry and started making notes on my surroundings:

• Glamouratti blindly clawing at racks.
• Makeshift change rooms - there is no dignity here. The clothes are off and the claws are out.
• Crazed fashionistas clinging to newly found garments like a hungry lioness protects her freshly killed prey.
• The vultures linger around the racks, suspiciously sipping their champagne then pouncing on that faux fur the brunette tossed aside.
• Assistants getting mauled as they bring in new racks of clothing for the crazed mob to assail.
• Come to these things more often!
  

I quickly found my secret mentor (she doesn't quite know it, yet) and started quizzing her on the event. She's probably one of the coolest women alive, her wealth of knowledge, her style and her generosity set her apart from others in the Brisbane fashion elite. As we were chatting about the organisers of the event, she spotted a woman holding a black and gold taffeta dress up to her body "NO!" snapped Kay, "Too tacky!" And with that, the bobbed woman humbly obliged, disposing of the offending item and disappearing into the feverish crowd.

It's this kind of influence that delivers me in constant awe of this woman. Nonchantly, Kay returned to me and we continued our conversation. After champagne flutes, some more general chit chat about my blog and the magazine we worked on together last year, we spotted an amazing vintage shift dress hanging on the rack. We quickly snatched it up and cooed over it like it was the rarest thing we'd ever seen. "Holy shit", breathed Kay as she demanded I try it on.

It was perfect and Kay insisted I get it, but the only issue was that I didn't bring anything to exchange. "Screw the exchange, you're getting that dress." And so with a few nods from Kay, the dress was mine and next thing I know I'm being snapped by the event photographers, wearing the newest edition to my wardrobe.

the hungry crowd at The Glamour Grab
my new dress

Sorry, this is a long post, I know. But I'm feeling fresh and creative. Oh, and excuse the crappy photos - my blackberry isn't exactly the best tool for portraying the dress. But if Patty Huntington can do it, then I can too!

Note to Self:

Go shopping tomorrow!

I know this Gripp collection isn't fresh off the rack or anything, but I just remembered how much I would kill for some of this stuff. Luckily it's all in my price range and available locally (not to mention that they cater for my love affiar with lay-by).

The mix of leather, body-con, zips, blazers, a-symmerty, slouch, chunky heels, corsets and lace make me want to stand in front of a camera with a ciggie hanging from my lips for the rest of my life. Hate to say it but what was once a shitty little jeans label has become an outlet for all that is now.

Now nocking off Alexander Wang isn't the rarest thing in the world, but somehow the designers at Gripp have managed to channel his aesthetic rather than ripping off item for item *cough Steve Madden cough*. The blonde shaggy crop, cross necklaces and injections of detailed leather are all wonderful references to the great Wang - and I'm happy that Gripp have taken a step back and employed their own creativity to present this coveatable winter 09 collection.

I wonder if they sell shoes/accessories (given I'm not a regular of Gripp stores), because I'm totally needing that fantastic hat! They also have amazing shoe harnesses featured in the lookbook (see: Balenciaga and these on Jak & Jil) to punk-up your fave heels with.

that dress

that blouse + skirtthat hatthat bodysuitthat blouse and those pantsthat dress and that heel harness

"Maddona is a crack whore"

So last night I pretty much felt king. You know those nights you go out and you feel shit hot even on an extremely high level of sobriety? Yeah, that good.

Anyway my brother (bless his academicly inclined soul) was determined I took off my lace singlet - "Miann, Maddonna was a crack whore and I don't want people thinking you're a crack whore too". Nawww.

I don't have a picture becuase my night was cut short by the cold, and a fight with the bf.

So much drama.

Wore my old/new wittner heels, leona edmiston opaque stockings, borrowed dress and vintage lace underneath.

Try and get a photo soon.

Much love, Miann.



P.S: Fuck you Northernhemispherians for getting summer soon.

Lolita

There's something so sweet and innocent about children in editorials. So Lolita, so questionably mysterious, so enchanting. Children in editorial call for the reminisence of untainted imagination and allow me to delight in tea cosy, lace doily, bobby sock and night gown filled reflections of my own childhood. These editorials bring about memories of dream catchers, talking teddybears, wishes upon stars, treasure chests, blankeys and dress ups. One day I'll pull out my photo ablum and show you some of this.

robin schwartz, knight cat.

What the fuck do you want?

After about two weeks of fucking everything up I'm feeling a little unstable.
I currently want the following, but before that I beg the question: What the fuck do you want?

I want to go out and party the hardest I ever have.
I want to hybernate under my doona for a season and wake up radiant, healthy and new.
I want to study for 24 hours straight and complete my degree by tomorrow.
I want to rid my life of distractions and personal paperweights.
I want to know if there's life on Mars, where it is and how I can get there.
I want to buy a type writer - or find my old one and use it more often.I want to go to a foreign country, have no money and not speak a word of the dialect.
I want to write and write and write until I can't remember why I started writing.
I want to sit on the floor of a steamy shower and never, ever get out.
I want to get lost somewhere and find my way out.
I want to finish my portfolio and start approaching editors.I want to experience free love, free spirits and the music of the 70s.
I want to stop procrastinating and quit smoking.
I want to get the fuck out of Brisbane.
I want to hide under a hooded cloak for the rest of the year.
I want to have my tan, sun bleached hair and 14 year old body back.
I want to press pause and make the world stop while I chill out a little.I want to bear witness to a federal crime and get a new identity.
I want to live within the pages of Lula for the rest of my life.
I want to get lost in the woods and survive on berries and stream water.
I want to write my next article with a victorian quill.
I want to die Anna Wintour and be born Jim Morrison.
I want to wear my Moschino belt so much that people forget who I am and only remember me for wearing that belt.
I want to punch the next person who attempts small talk with me.
Lula, knightcat, cobrasnake.

Outfit Repeater

The first time I heard the term 'outfit repeater' was on Lizzie McGuire in like 6th grade when the mean chick was screaming it at Hillary. Poor little Hillary before she lost about 10kg and stuck a set of horse teeth in her mouth.

Anyway, should I completely repeat this outfit tomorrow night? I'm talking ev-er-y-thing... right down to the jewelry. Is that sad? Or should I cave in and wear my new Zimmermann (the same dress I wore last weekend... twice)? Shocked and appauled by my limited choices? Yeah, you would be too if you had to support an addiction on my budget.

Hat, vintage from Retro Metro, Paddington. Dress, Emma Rea from Fallow. Bag, vintage from St Vincent de Paul. Bangles/ring, Diva, vintage, my Grandmother, Red Bull. Watch, Time magazine from Subscription Services. Heels (not shown), Wittner.

Hint: Click photo to make it bigger.

F O L L O W Fashion Falsehood

There are enough fashion blogs out there that prefer to stick to one genre of posting or another - be it outfit posting, reviewing, inspirational pictures, streetstyle or editorial. But if you're looking for a combination of all of the above plus more - follow Fashion Falsehood.

Sometimes I'll treat you with pretty pictures, a bit of a wrap up on a season or sneaky little insights into Australian fashion, but given my nature as a writer you're going to have to hear my opinion once in a while.

I'm open to suggestion, discussion and questions.

If all this is cool with you, follow me by clicking on the link at the top of this page, or be my first follower on Bloglovin'. (I've just worked out how to use the stupid thing).

Much love, Miann x

wildfox cotoure

I need more fingers

So I can wear all of these at once....

influence

cartier
roberto cavalli

matina amanita

Personal Works

henrik purienne

So I've been tagged by Francheska of Fashion Canvas to tell you all seven things you probably don't know/don't need to know about myself.

1. Conspicious consumption and the overt opulence circulating the fashion industry makes me sick. So much money that is wasted on fickle shit like an $8000 Hermes bag could be donated to charity.
2. I don't donate to charity (as much as I could).
3. I really want an $8000 Birkin.
4. I get off when people don't recognise me.
5. I want to look like every single female Henrik Purienne has ever photographed.
6. I like to pretend I'm hell French, though I only know the extreme basics of the language - the shit you learn off cartoons like Madeline.
7. I'm terrified of sparklers.

Vegetarians can't wear fur

Bullshit.

Just because I don't eat animals, doesn't mean I can't wear them. Their carcasses aren't decomposing in my stomach like they are in yours. Instead they are complimenting my outfit and keeping me warm. The latter option is far more fabulous, no?

So next time you come up to me and give me grief for being a fur loving hypocrite - don't expect any sort of reaction from me, just know that I think you and your faux fur both look like shit.



viktor vauthier (aka current obsession)