Day 182: 2011 is coming

As promised I plan to be better at blogging in 2011 but unfortunately forgot to have my photo taken on day 180. Ahem. I went to Newcastle to meet my bestest and wore pretty much the same as day 182 though so fear not, you are missing nothing.

Day 181: Ready to leave the frozen North in my holiest jeans and a battered pair of boots.

I have a few bits and bobs that I have been mulling over in the last couple of days. I have one confession to make. I need to discuss the fact that I bought something a bit ago. Now, before you go yelling at me, this was a matter of professionalism. Following my post about Christmas parties I feel I must come clean and admit that over the festive period I was obliged to buy a Christmas jumper for a client party. Having spent some time considering whether I should attend at all and secondly whether I should make purchase, I came to the conclusion that it would be difficult to avoid taking a Christmas jumper to a Christmas jumper party. As it turned out my extraordinarily bad taste affair, purchased from Topman vintage saved me from hypothermia aboard a Thames boat cruise. Phew. Following the party I have stashed the offending item at the back of my wardrobe and haven't adorned myself with it since. This is partly due to Hanger Strike guilt but mostly borne from self respect. Please see photographic evidence below.

Myself and Dougan sporting our lovely jumpers pre party. 

As you can see this is hardly something one would covet and I was most displeased to be forced to falter for such a horrific item. I had hoped that any failure in my year would be for something entirely delectable rather than a piece of 1970 knit the texture of coarse sandpaper. Sigh.

Moving on from this confession I must take you through my days pondering. I appear to be feeling somewhat melancholy about the whole no shopping thing at present. I can only put this down to my forced exposure to shops during the festive period. Despite the suggestion by early blog supporters that shopping for other people would be an outlet for my inner demons, it appears that the opposite is true. Buying stuff for others is self harm and I was never the sort to enjoy pain, self inflicted or otherwise. I actually felt a true sense of loss in H&M the other day whilst looking at shirts for my brothers. The sheer quantity of knitwear was quite overwhelming, I shared a poignant moment of connection with a navy jumper dress and was forced to leave it behind me, hideously aware that it might be bought by some dimwitted fashion retard who would never appreciate for what it could truly be. I'm sure you too can understand how hard this was. Or, maybe not.

Regardless, I have certainly felt deepening levels of distress over the last couple of weeks and am beginning to become truly concerned as I wend my way into the second half of my strike. I genuinely wonder if I can actually make it and not end up looking like some sort of tramp. I crave black skinny jeans that have yet to fade, shoes with soles and (ideally) a crisp white shirt dress to see in the Spring As I peer into the depths of my wardrobe it seems that there is less and less there, dresses are old, distressed is becoming holey, black is now faded, socks are just gone..... Something needs to be done and fast.

I have chewed this problem over during the Christmas period and arrived at a conclusion. In order to continue with my quest without the need for Valium I need to view my belongings with new eyes, to don a set of virtual glasses and to think harder about my approach to 'my look'. Over the next few days I plan to approach the dilemma of aging attire with a new maturity, to reassess the possibilities that lay before me and to reconstruct my wardrobe in a new way.

Watch this space for a new take on Boothington's cupboard!

Day ermm....boxing day (179)

So, great news. I have a new camera and an early New Year resolution; be less tardy with my blog. First thing's first, my daily picture;

Now, before you get the fear and think I have taken leave of my senses, please be assured that my lack of style and in fact a clue, is (I hope) not a new trend but a result of extreme end of year exhaustion accompanied by a rather fearsome lack of warmth in the deep dark North. 

Now we have the honours over and done with I feel I should regale you with Hanger Strike trials and tribulations from the festive period. Let me assure you, things have been quite eventful on the wardrobe front and I have, I believe reached a seminal point in my challenge. I have gone beyond the stage at which I feel like a truculent and hard done by toddler denied chocolate, and into the unknown. I have faced, over the last few weeks a number of serious difficulties, some of which I have managed to chronicle and many as yet untold. 

I must start with the saga of the shoes. Following a post a few weeks ago in which I detailed some shoe based struggles, I am sad to report that things have frankly been going from bad to worse. I am having a complete crisis and have narrowly averted a number of tantrums. My flat black boots have holes in the soles and need to see a special man before they can be worn. My beige peep toe lovelies had an accident in some ice and need emergency reheeling before they can venture out again. Having finally managed to get the sole glued back onto a much loved but long time ailing pair of ankle boots, the other sole promptly fell off (naturally). Following this I found some industrial strength UHU in the drawer downstairs and managed to stick it back myself. Triumphant, I ventured to work only to have yet another frosty precipitation based incident and lost a heel. For the love of God I hear you cry.. but wait, it does not end here. With dwindling supplies of footwear I took to the street last weekend to do my Christmas shopping in my trusty grey knee highs. Yet again I was blighted by a horrendous snow storm  which may have been the end for them. Photographic evidence pending. Finally, my famously bargainous black leather vintage boots have also suffered at the hands of the salt and seem to have got a swelling and have gone all weird. I am in serious need of a friendly cobbler and a milder clime, either that or I shall be barefoot well before flip flop season. 

So, following this catastrophic depletion in functional footwear I turn to other Christmas problems. Parties in London seemed copious this month and I fear I am (yet again) not fully equipped for this 'straight from work, smart drinks but I could have a tequila too' sort of attire. I mean, it's the sort of focussed dressing that requires years of training and a level of discipline akin to that of the SAS. Those who do it well are remarkable and I could have done with a little help from the current high street. Alas, as the first party loomed I was forced to browse only within my current wardrobe and quickly panic set in. For the first party I resurrected an old Topshop number and found myself frantically rehemming in the dead of night. For the record, I believe my new housemates now think I am quite mad. This particular dress seemed to go down well with some people although I worry that the rehemming, whilst providing a fashionable update, did little for the general decency of the number and potentially little for my career (depending which way you look at it). Party number two saw me digging out an ancient little black thing but tragically I really didn't have the shoes for it, due to aforementioned multiple crises. Forced to don a pair of shoe boots and black opaques I am sad to report that it was a true fashion faux pas of which I was acutely aware. As a result I deigned not to go on from the party to which I was invited and sent myself home rather than attending the Microsoft Xmas party where The Pet Shop Boys were playing. Yes I am extraordinarily vain. 

The final party was a triumph. I ignored any thought of my feet and found my highest and least practical red heels, introduced them to my tightest dress, back combed the living daylights out of my hair and reunited myself with my favourite vintage handbag. It was quite wonderful and the night was further enhanced by some true Northern drinking, I am not ashamed that I really do enjoy Blue WKD on occasion. I don't think there are any photos but rest easy that I excelled myself for the first time on the London circuit (phew).

Further to all of this drama, jumper issues persist. It is most confusing to me that I own nothing warm. I have no distinct memories of being chilly last winter. I know not what I wore or where it may have gone. These problems continue to be compounded by the persisting fashion for chunky knitted loveliness and I continue to find it hard to be around retail outlets. As my insightful friend Lucy recently pointed out to me, it is my favourite season. I love a little knitted jumper dress and a corresponding sparkle. It so hard to turn a blind eye that Christmas shopping felt, quite frankly like self harm. 

In order to alleviate my stress levels I am off to try my hand at knitting. I have found some wool and am going to try to knit myself a snood. As the only way to actually bring myself out of this is to make stuff. I am going for broke and turning my hand to craft. Rest assured this is almost certain to have disastrous results. 

Day 152: the jumper conundrum

Today I am puzzling over something rather strange. Faithful blog devotees (I think I have a couple) will be well aware that I am a girl with 42 jumpers. This mini-fact has indeed been the subject of numerous conversations over the last few months. Apparently this is an unfathomable quantity of knitwear, particularly for a girl of diminutive stature. Unfortunately, it turns out that quite a few of these jumpers favour style over substance and as I am sure you will agree, given the current meteorological state of affairs, this is somewhat below par. I am freezing, in fact on some days in the last week I have been almost certain that I am about to lose a limb to frostbite.

In a ridiculous twist of fate it appears that although I have more jumpers than the average outdoorsy eskimo, not more than three actually foster any significant amount of heat. This alone would be bad enough, however, this season, the shops are awash with amazing, thick, knitted, novelty jumpers. Even if I had 100 furry wonders I would still crave one of these. As I sit feeling a little worse than chilly, their presence in the shop windows of the capital is almost too much to bear. In particular I am most upset by the proliferation of novelty Christmas jumpers. For many a year I have been searching for the perfect novelty affair and have failed to find one, this year it seems that they are ten a penny and yet it is not to be....sigh.

All of this has made me think a bit about last year, I don't really remember being cold and I don't remember throwing out any jumpers so I struggle to understand how it has come to pass that I have such a lacklustre collection of knitware. I can only imagine that I must have somehow become more sensitive to the cold as a result of living down south. There seems no other explanation.

Day 144 shoe crisis after shoe crisis

So this week I have been having shoe based struggles, it has been rather distressing. My woes can be split into two broad topic areas.

Firstly, and possibly worst, my shoe collection consists of a wide range of extraordinarily high heels. These vertiginous classics have carried me seamlessly from day to night. Indeed, I have happily taken my four inch marvels from the boardroom, to the pub and out on the town until 4am on many an occasion without so much as batting an eyelid. It is only now that I realise an awful lot of my life used to be spent in a car. I didn't actually walk very far EVER.

Now my life is different, I walk to the train and from the station to work, I sometimes do that a couple of times a day. I walk loads and I drive very little. I rarely deliver myself neatly to the clients' office with no need to exercise and often I need to break from walking to running. It has quickly become apparent that my shoe collection is entirely unsuitable for my new lifestyle. I realise I have a collection almost entirely made up of 'taxi shoes' and am mortified that I am (until July) without means of rectifying this problem. I have virtually no shoes that I can wear for work and I am unsure how to proceed (sob). All my beautiful lovely, beloved teetering lovelies are gathering godforsaken dust in the bottom of my wardrobe and my poor shoe boots are doing so many miles they might have an asthma attack. Its all very sub optimal as I am sure you will agree and serves only to highlight the culture shock I am currently experiencing. Yikes

The second problem is, I suppose related to the first, I have a few pairs of shoes (shoe boots included) which are suffering from exhaustion. The longest suffering are my flat black boots, as detailed on my last post they are in need of a little bit of sole based TLC. However, because I am silly and because I am suffering from having a shoe wardrobe which has effectively been halved, I decided to wear them on wednesday despite their fragile state. Unfortunately, yet unsurprisingly, the sole fell off on the right boot.

This alone would have been a tragedy worthy of tears, but to add insult to serious and grievous injury, it was peeing it down and I had to spend all day with squelchy feet. This was definitely NOT cricket. So now I need to visit the delightful man at the menders again. I hope sincerely that he is the bearer of great news as I am terrified he will not be able to mend them. Whilst the rules dictate that in fact I can replace shoes due to my need to remain professional and of course to leave the house without getting wet tootsies, I really don't want to have to buy lots of new shoes.

Hmm this whole London thing is having a larger impact than I had at first expected. Harumph. This week I am planning to buy myself an interim camera which should make this more interesting again.

Day 136 shall we call it a blip?

So it has been some time since I have blogged. I have some excuses, I have moved house, moved job, lost my camera (with lots of photos on it), had 4 weeks without an internet connection and 6 without a computer, am rubbish etc. However I suspect we should not dwell upon my inadequacies but should think about the month or two that have gone by without documentation. It is important to note that things are going swimmingly. I have not failed, not even once and still have quite a respectable number of tights which I have yet not worn. So here goes,  despite the dearth of activity on the blogging front I have indeed been doing lots of things.

Following the last post I put together a large (very large) pile of everything in the world that I own and put most of it in storage. I and my clothes jumped into my car and moved into lovely Lucy and George's flat in Brighton whilst I searched for a home of my own. Plunged headfirst into a new job and a new commuter lifestyle I quickly found myself with little time to dedicate to either what I wore or indeed documenting this. During the month I spent there, there were some significant  shoe based Hanger Strike moments; my faithful black flat boots developed a serious ailment of the sole and are currently bagged and waiting for a trip to the special shoe man. My beloved, yet underworn tan vintage boots enjoyed a trip to the special shoe man to have their sole reattached and it promptly fell back off again. Rest assured that they will be joining the black boots on their way to shoe man mark two. My black shoe boots were re heeled and have been stalwarts in the London footwear portfolio. Brown flat boots are looking a bit tired which is an area of concern for the future, but not something I believe we should be too worried about quite yet.

In October I attended 2 weddings and managed to construct a quite contemporary and respectable outfit which I wore to both lovely occasions (I'm not a magician). Apart from the alarming moment when the strap of my dress broke as I changed gear en route to wedding two, there were no wardrobe malfunctions and I felt very proud of myself as I put together an outfit I would probably never have tried to construct had I not been forced. I also wish to note that a lovely lady at wedding 2 told me she was impressed by the practicality of my animal coat. Now, those who know me, and indeed said coat will be aware of the ridiculousness of this statement. Nevertheless I was delighted at the complement and took it as permission to wear the animal to work. Hurrah hurrah hurrah.

And so to my new life...Firstly, I was shocked at the volume of precipitation that issued forth in my first few weeks. I had been told some vicious lies about improved quality of weather down here and have quickly realised that this is broadly fallacy. This has rendered all ballet style footwear largely useless for at least 60% of each week. Tsk. Despite this coming as a shock it has not impacted particularly on the clothing, I have moved from the raining capital of the universe after all. 

What has come as somewhat of a shock is this infernal culture of going out straight after work. Never before have I thought of myself as particularly Northern, or indeed perceived any real difference between Northern and Southern cities in the way they conduct themselves post work. It is apparent that I was sorely mistaken. Whilst up North we (or at least I and my friends) finished work, went home and then got ready to go out, down here it is straight to the pub from work and if you are unlucky on to a club. I have spent an inordinate amount of time in the last month staring into toilet mirrors in horror and trying in vain to backcomb some volume into my hair whilst sending my last email. This of course impacts not only on my face but also on my wardrobe. It is now clear that although I have a plethora of outfits, I don't really have a wardrobe filled with transitional day to night affairs. This is a method of dressing that I have yet to truly familiarise myself with, let alone perfect. I am concerned and a little distressed that it may be some months before I am able to truly remedy this issue. 

Despite this I am delighted to report that over the last month I have not been consumed with any serious levels of discomfort at my lack of shopping. Indeed I have actually found things have been going relatively smoothly which is, of course, most excellent news. Over a third of the challenge behind me I am actually starting to enjoy it and the way it makes me think about what I have and what that can become. 

I will be back very soon 

Day 71 to 78...where has all the time gone.

I am  a bad blogger and have failed to post ALL week! I have a good excuse, I have had what can only be described as a whirlwind few days. As the seasons appear to have changed over the last 72 hours, I have been preparing to entirely change my life in the next 72.

Today is the last day of three wonderful years in my current job and I have been industriously packing significant amounts of belongings, drinking significant amounts of alcohol and saying goodbye to huge numbers of significant people in my life. Sob. As a result I have failed to update of my antics and regale you all with tales of wardrobe exploits, however I have still been taking my photos and here they all are.

Day 71: A Thursday and a chilled day in the office, I ditched my jacket for the photo as it seemed to be making me look like quasimodo! EEK

Friday and Day 72: my leaving party ended with me looking considerably worse than I do in this. Although I love my M&S shift, I must remember NOT to put my arms above my head. Oopsy

Day 74: Sunday. Following a day and half of packing on a hangover I went out with Bekah to meet friends for lunch. (Day 73; no photo due to extreme hangover and inability to speak)



Day 75: Monday, the beginning of my last week at work and a nice little dress for the occasion. Thankyou Primani



Day 76: Tuesday, I think this was officially the last temperate day of the season. RIP sunshine, hello woolen outfits.

Day 78: Friday and my last ever day in the office, my last ever photo from Dawks (photographer extraordinaire) and a really wooly jumper! Hoorah.

So that's my last week and a fun week it certainly has been. However, as always I have been having a think about Hanger Strike as I have trundled through life. I think, despite the wall I came up against last week that I have begun to get into my stride. I have thought very little about my wardrobe famine as my mind has been taken over with mundane tasks such as cancelling the water bill and packing the kitchen utensils. It sort of makes me think that maybe part of my shopping obsession is a boredom thing.... I was definitely less preoccupied with my attire in the days when I had a pony to look after .I always put that down to a youthful lack of 'a clue' but perhaps this is an overinterpretation of the facts. Perhaps people who have more to do are less obsessive ad thus purchase a more easily mixable wardrobe, resulting in less time thinking about what to wear and therefore less time worrying that they have nothing to wear. In my mind I now try to think of stylish busy people who do this, however I can only think of Simon Cowell so am quickly deciding that this must in fact be a pile of complete tosh. I am now categorising boredom as one, not the only factor affecting my propensity to purchase.

Stay tuned for more, better thought through musings when I have a single second to sit down and ponder.

PS, my Day 77 photo has been taken but requires me to work out how to get it from i-phone to computer and thus to blog....it won't be long.

Days 68 to 70.....this is called 'the wall'

In my sporting life I am well versed in the concept of 'the wall', that moment during sport when your body says 'no ta, I think I will stop' and your brain madly tries to talk your body out of doing such a silly thing. I have experienced the wall from two main perspectives. Firstly and most obviously as something I am trying to get through in some well intentioned but remarkably unspectacular sporting endeavour and secondly as something I have watched and talked others through in my old role as a rowing cox.

Although there is something electrically satisfying in finding the other side of the wall as an individual, whether it be within a team sport or alone with only the treadmill to blame it on, I personally found more pleasure from the rowing type of wall. I enjoyed knowing the rowers I trained with, knowing where their limits lay and what motivated each one of them. I loved that understanding those things enabled me to talk to them as they pushed themselves to the physical limit and ultimately I loved knowing that the knowledge that I had and how I used it could be the difference between them breaking through the wall and not, the difference between winning and losing.

Now I find myself facing an altogether different type of wall. The wall I know is one laced with physical pain, broken down only with a grim tradeoff of sweat and tears as mind battles body on it's way to the fabled second wind. Today's wall is a wall of high street shops, glossy magazines and transactional websites, all beckoning me to fail. Like an intrepid member of the public preparing to run the gauntlet in the street style version of Gladiators, I find myself looking on the 10 months ahead as an almost insurmountable barrage of obstacles and temptations. Gratings to damage my shoes, dark socks to ruin my white t-shirts, Oxford Street two tube stops from my new office, GAP launching a transactional website and Jack Will catalogues raining on my head.

I suddenly find my mind telling me  that it is not possible to succeed, it strikes me as incredibly similar to the feeling one gets halfway through a hideous run in the rain. Your brain starts to tell you little lies, that death is just moments away unless you stop immediately and you find yourself in a battle to prevent your subsconscious forcing you to become immediately motionless. Metaphorically I am in that place, I could at any point lose control of myself and find that I have bought something with no conscious authorisation of a transaction. I have dreamt about buying just one little thing, a little pretty piece of jewellery or a teensy little cardi, in my dream it would hardly make any difference, no one would even notice.

It is such terribly covert workings of my mind which have begun to worry me a little as I consider the months ahead. Is it possible for me to make it, is it worth it. If I didn't make it would anyone care? I admit, I found myself having some form of schizophrenic argument with myself the other morning; the pragmatic side of my mind told the drama side that it was being ridiculous and the end of the world wouldn't be speeded by the lack of shoe boots in my wadrrobe (yes I was confused too). What it all seems to boil down to is whether the perceived gain of making it through Hanger Strike is worth the mental pain it will take me to achieve it.

Late on for a Monday at work and a Crunchie to help me through the evening. I suspect I would have benefited from having my snap taken earlier in the day.

I suppose only time will tell. In the mean time I had better manage this week as I have been featured in Manchester's Large Magazine and it would be embarrassing to fail when I have been put in the spotlight! Onwards and upwards my friends.

Day 69: my first outfit duplication, again I had a bit of a long day and this was taken after driving to and from London. Not my freshest.

Today is day 70 which feels in some way momentous. I celebrated by showcasing the whitest legs in Christendom before freaking out and buying St Tropez....more of that tomorrow.

Days 66 and 67 my pre Autumn musings

Firstly I must start by lamenting that unfortunately, yet again my weekend post is not accompanied by pictures. Unlike the previous weekend this is not due to a lack of organisation but, sadly, a complete lack of friends. I have been unaccompanied since I left Laura's in my scruffs on Saturday morning, my housemate has entirely vanished and I have only surfaced to visit the hairdressers. I am in fact relatively displeased at this state of afairs as I was quite proud of yesterdays get up, I had managed to team my little polka dot dress with some nice bits and bobs and was quite looking forward to seeing my outfit in freeze frame. Tut.

Even without leaving the house for more than 2 hours I have in achieved not insignificant amounts with my weekend. I have dedicated considerable proportions of the sabbath to the packing up of my life in preparation for the big move and have found myself marvelling once again at the sheer quantity of things that I own. I am sure all of this stuff cannot be necessary, yet I find myself almost incapable of throwing anything out. I have launched three bin bags but still I make not a dent on the piles of things to be moved to London. It is at this sort of life juncture that one would normally execute a somewhat ruthless wardrobe edit, however this seems incomprehensible given that I have 298 days of Hanger Strike still to go (of course I am counting). I have succeeded so far in adding a single pair of cord trousers to the car boot pile and consigning some horrideous capri pants to the bin. Hardly ruthless, and definitely unlikely to lighten the moving load.

Following a mentally exhausting morning I settled with a cup of Earl Grey in my beloved Emma Bridgewater and devoured Grazia from cover to cover. Once and for all it was time to get a grip on the Autumn style as I listened to the dulcet tones of Jo Wylie chatting to Gemma her fashion expert on Radion One's Top of the Shops.

It seems that the fashion world is gearing up for a real lift in tempo, much more so than anything we have seen for a few years. The winds of change are whistling and I for one plan to do all that I can to keep up. And so it is that I find myself writing a list of the key trends and musing over whether my wardrobe has what it takes to keep up;

1. The camel coat is the key trend, everyone is clamouring over soft, caramel tones accompanied by ruby lips and brown eyes for maximum effect. I think I will be able to work my trench to keep up (ish).



Kenzo Paris Fahion Week A/W 10

2. The midi skirt. Kenzo sent truly gorgeous stuff down their catwalk and left me dreaming of looking like these gazelle legged beauties with a cable knit talk and a narrow belt. Midi check, brown boots check, jumpers (erm probably) check, gazelle like legs......no comment
3. The trouser...we have been through this, we know it is a problem.
4. The aviator jacket complete with sheepskin clamours for guys and girls alike to channel TopGun and rock it like they have a call sign of their very own. Ok so I am a bit sad about this. I LOVE TopGun and believe I would enjoy executing many variations of the look, but think my trusty leather biker can get me through just about ok.
5. The classic understated bag. Well my bag collection is somewhat lacklustre but I believe that I have a couple of winners in there, not least my mega vintage messenger, it never ages....erm . Ok so fashion wise it is timeless, in terms of age, it is feeling it's years recently and will potentially benefit from a little TLC courtesy of a leather working expert.....
6. The leather skirt/ short. I plan to entirely ignore this ridiculous and visually unpleasant trend. It is perverse and I do not wish to be involved. Phew for Hanger Strike.
7. Court shoes. Thank the lord that the court shoe has yet to fall from grace, despite tantalising rivals in the form of the gorgeous shoe boot, the miltary lace up (sigh), the OTK, thats over the knee to the fashion challenged amonst us, the peep toe boot, and the sheepskin (just add sheepskin turn over to all aforementioned items...double sigh). So, I would't mind indulging in any of the above and rue the fact I did not invest in any OTK's last year but I think I will be ok, I have some shoe boots to reheel and a pair of little ankle boots to have resoled and then I will restyle like the proverbial biatch to achieve a semblance of current style. 
8. The shirt, this is a problem. The white shirt and the pussy bow blouse are fighting it out for pride of place on the fashion forward wish list and, shockingly, I own neither. I remain a little perplexed as to how I will fare in this chic tailored winter season with only two somewhat undramatic shirts. Watch this space for a cotton count based melt down.

So, to sum up, this coming season will be a mix of miltary toughness and ladylike silhouettes, all wrapped up in a sumptuous camel coat and topped with some classic 40's filmstar makeup. Ahhh red lips here we come. I think I am excited, I think I might be able to manage it. I think I am lying through my teeth.

Gulp

Days 63 to 65, a blog that brings people together

This week I have been chatting to lots of my boy mates about my blog. The upshot appears to be that the majority of men don't quite grasp what all of the fuss is about. In fact many feel they have been inadvertently partaking in a Hanger Strike of their own for years. Deiniol is convinced he hasn't bought a single item since him and I went shopping in Liverpool One about 18 months ago and James confidently confessed that he doesn't really understand having bought no new clothes for quite some time. Chris (known to many as Filthy) sent me a little facebook message to tell me he has found, read and reportedly enjoyed my blog but that he is one of many men who has been studiously avoiding the high street for eons. In fact he confesses to owning more clothes bought by his girlfriend and mother than clothes bought for himself.

Despite widespread scoffing from the male of the species, I have also been heartened to see that some men view my challenge with levels of alarm, not disimilar to that seen by the women in my life. One or two have straight out confessed that they couldn't do what I am attempting and others have expressed doubt that it is in any way a sensible or achieveable goal.

All of this got me thinking about the gulf that exists between the genders where clothes are concerned. Whilst of course many men are incredibly concerned with their appearence and spend as many hours as girls constructing the perfect look, there are more who find the entire rigmoral unfathomably confusing. They seem utterly nonplussed by the proportion of a women's life dedicated to the fabric within her closet. They are, it seem unable to comprehend the importance of the days outfit and the hallowed turf of the street style pages. In fact many claim not to care about clothes in the slightest and do not wish to devote a mere moment, a teensy ounce of stress to the construction of a classic look. I wonder why it is we are so different, why there is such a chasm between the sexes, and quite frighteningly, what would happen if men were in charge of what women wore.......I suspect the results would be quite the talking point for all concerned.
Regardless of their inability to comprehend my challenge on a personal level, the guys do seem to understand that this is not an easy task for a girl like me and the odd one has confessed a level of concern that I won't have any new shoes for some time. I too feel worried about the lack of shoe shopping available to me but suspect the concerns of these individuals had little to do with my personal happiness and inner peace. Enough said.

Day 63: a black dress for a client meeting and a pair of legs whiter than the snows of Hoth....Pale may be the new tan for Nicola Roberts but I feel the need to reach for the fake bake. PS no idea why this is so out of focus.

 Hearteningly, many of the guys do still seem to be following my ramblings as weeks turn to months. In fact, my blog has inadvertently rekindled the fires of a dormant friendship. As Deiniol and Filthy both found themselves engrossed in the literary epic that is Hanger Strike (ahem) they realised that they work around the corner from each other and now they are going to have a beer and discuss the varied merits of teaching English in Birmingham. I therefore declare it official that style brings people together, seemingly it's power knows no bounds.

Day 64: Black skinnes, boots and a classic piece of Hollister to welcome the first week of September 2010 into my life.

Some old but faithful Primani jeans and a vest helped me get through a long Friday in the office. I fear this may have been the beginning of the end for the Primani's though as a relatively small hole grew alarmingly in size.

Day 58 to 62....peaks troughs and plateau's

The last few days have been somewhat of a blur, Hanger Strike I fear has fallen to the bottom of my to do list as I find myself scrambling to organise my life. I have a new job and am busy packing up my entire life in order to move to the Big Smoke where I am reliably informed that the streets are paved with gold. Rather than worrying about having banished myself from the highstreet, I increasingly find myself concerned that I have no where to live. As one can surely imagine, this has meant that the mental capacity I have given over to Hanger Strike has been somewhat diminished over the last week.

Nevertheless the blog must go on and unfortunately this post starts with a little confession of natural blondeness (yes I am a natural blonde). I tootled off to London at the weekend in order to search for a new residence over the weekend and forgot to have any photos taken, such was my concern at impending homeslessness. I promise however that;
1. I wore clothes
2. I didnt purchase or come by any additional items over the course of the bank holiday period.

Day 58 was a bit of a scruffy Friday as I grappled with a distinct lack of interest in the concept of being awake. Some very comfy Jack Wills helped me alon, however I fear I looked a little scruffy

A loing day at the office immersed in handovers was followed by a night out and about with my lovely friend Becca, before setting off to London bright and early on Saturday.

A little brown H&M classic for a night out

Saturday, Sunday and Monday passed in a blur, not a moment's thought was given to the clothes that I cannot buy, however I couldn't help but note the easy style of South London as I perused the flat lettings market. I have to admit a not insignificant level of trepidation at the concept of completing the final 10 months of Hanger Strike in our capital city. Something about the whole situation feels rather ill thought through, as if a girl ever thinks about moving to a new city and a new job without arming herself with a single new item of attire. My office is two stops from Oxford Street and I can only imagine the final months of the challenge will stretch unendingly into the future, how extraordinarily unpleasant.

Again I find myself intrigued by the security of clothes. How they allow us to present ourselves to society in different ways and the feeling of safety that this gives us. I feel hugely uncomfortable about the idea of moving to a city where the styles are subtley different and being unable to amend my image in order to fit into that with a little more ease. I don't for a second wish to change who I am or my personal style but to not be able to buy a pair of shoeboots for Autumn in one of the most stylish cities in the world makes me feel quite frankly nauseous. I feel sure that the styles of London will feature regularly in the pages of Hanger Strike for quite some time as I adjust to the new challenges that lie ahead.

Tuesday Day 62 was a day for black and jewellery as I psyched myself up for the week ahead.

Day 55 to Day 57: to grey or not to grey

This week I am exepriencing a lack of enjoyment in the old blog. Suddenly I found myself feeling somewhat down in the mouth about the whole thing and wondering why it is that I have decided to do it at all. It seems that during the summer sun I went stark raving mad when I decided to deny myself one of life's great pleasures. I suppose perhaps it is such moments of madness which teach one the value of those things that are often taken for granted.

Whilst I acknowledge that there is no specific need for me to shop, no girl with 42 jumpers NEEDS to shop, I also acknowledge that I love to shop. There is something mystically healing about browsing the rails of the local Topshop, something cathartic and something that I miss a lot. Its most terribly sad that I am lacking the enjoyment of perusing the opportunities that new fashions present and so I find myself looking at the magazines and considering how I can amend what I have to fit in. It was doing this the other day that I found myself engrossed in an article with the wondrous title 'Gunmetal grey is the new black'.

Whilst this causes no problems for me in terms of the HangerStrike (I have copious grey pieces in my stash), I struggle somewhat with the concept of grey. Whilst it purports to be sultry, sexy and mysterious and to bestow it's wearers with bewitching powers, unfortunately it makes me feel a bit like a grumpy cloud. Time after time I have been seduced by grey's captivating promise but if I were honest I am always left feeling more like a drizzly October morning than a steely Autumnal sky.  In fact, I would go so far as to say that my experiences with the colour grey have been far from satisfactory.

As you can imagine my grumpy mood was not lifted by editorial suggestion that I should dress like a cloud as the rain settles in for the long haul. It was all quite displeasing, and as a result I found my mind wandering to the shops and the possibilities that the non grey Autumn collections may hold. And then I remembered that my mind is not allowed to wander in that direction...which left me feeling like a grumpy grey cloud. As you can clearly see, this has been a most unpleasant scenario to find myself within and I leave you questioning my silly little project. Tut.

In other news, this is what I have been wearing this week.

Day 55: I think it is a bit of a shame that my skirt make me look like a hobbit with detached feet. I think in the flesh I didn't look like this.

Day 56: I liked the picture of me on the phone and ignoring camera man extraordinaire Dawks more than his actual photo. I guess perhaps it makes me feel less selfconscious about my pictures because I look more normal and everyday in this one.

Day 57; At the last minute as I packed up to leave work I realised I needed someone to take my photo. Bambi obliged but I fear it was a little late in the day for my makeup. Saved by my most favourite shoes though!?

Day 51 to 54

So this weekend was about chilling out, not fashion and that suited me marvellously, I stayed with my lovely friend Chloe at her equally lovely parents' house in sunny (or not quite so sunny) Buckinghamshire and met Bramble the puppy. Heels were replaced with Hunters as we spent a weekend thinking about many things apart from clothes.

A practical friday outfit constructed for comfortable, practical post work driving. Highly compatible with my Friday mindset.

Saturday was most excellent and included a little stroll with Bramble the puppy in the post lunch, post Pimms lull. As I bumbled about in an outfit designed for comfort above style I found myself remembering the girl I used to be before I met the city. I was, at one with a pair of wellies and almost constantly covered in a liberal splattering of mud. I fed my horse before school and didn't really care about fashion, in fact I was rather anti impractical clothing. I only owned one pair of heels and in all honesty I really didn't care, in fact, I was happy. Strange, I know.

Me and my wellies reunited in a squelchy field. Note the mismatched yet comfortable outfit......

I suppose it was the momentous move to university that educated me in the ways of the world and the wonder of fashion. I soon learnt that practical is no fun at all and that all the best dancing is done in vertiginous heels. My subsequent returns home  for holidays and revision periods were punctuated with dramatic shoe based events as I attempted to integrate my new wardrobe in my old life. Note to self, even chunky heels cannot be worn to walk across fields.

Although for the most part I now regard myself as a city girl, I do on occasions such as this weekend, love to indulge in a bit of countryside based R&R. In small doses it is quite the thing for raising the spirits. This weekend the peace of the Buckinghamshire garden I sat in allowed me a little time to ponder how I have changed over the years. Almost definitely the old me would have sniffed loudly at my blog and made sniping comments centred around 'city idiots without a clue'. The truth is in the country, being well dressed is a different game to that of the city. It is based upon practicality and comfort as opposed to aesthetic and beauty, potentially driven by the unpredictabilty of terrain out in the fields. I don't for a minute wish to imply that those out beyond the suburbs are badly dressed, this is absolutely not the case. However interestingly it seems to me that style trumps fashion statement on a far more regular basis as the concrete to mud ratio alters in favour of the latter.

One can only wonder what would have happened to me if I had never left for the bright lights.

Day 54: Me back to the city life on Monday (I forgot to have my picture taken on Sunday)

Days 47 to 50....yes I said 50!

Yes it is true, I have completed 50 days of Hanger Strike, a stonking achievement, even if I say so myself. I have to admit that so far I have quite enjoyed myself, with the notable exception of last weekend in Edinburgh I haven't felt toooooo bad. One or two moments of sadness have largely been outweighed by the novelty of it all. Never fear though, I expect this to be shortlived. As I begin to run out of random observations about our attitudes to clothes I am almost certain to become increasingly interested in the damaging effect that abstinence has on the mind of a girl about town and am also likely to pay closer and closer attention to the new collections hitting the shops. In particular I predict that the impending Autumn shoe collections will cause my decline into an abyss of winter depression. Gross.

Nevertheless, at this interlude I am chirpy and cannot complain. Indeed, as it stands I feel relatively certain that I have yet to wear the same outfit twice. This week I admit has begun to become more than a challenge but I have an inkling that this is linked more to the distinct lack of laundry I have done rather than a lack of new variations in my astoundingly large wardobe.

Day 47, and a Monday at work, I whipped out my totally favourite T-Shirt and a blue stretchy skirt, comfy but tidy is definitely the bestest way.

The second day of the week and a drizzly morning necessitated a good solid set of boots and a nice H&M number courtesy of the lovely EJ....ahem.

Wednesday was day 49 and a nice evening was spent at Zizzi with EJ and Bambi.

Day 50 was a day on which I made an effort to wear things that have not yet been showcased (except my ever present Hollisters). From the very depths of my wardrobe I dug out an old blue jacket and a nice blue flowery scarf. Topped off with trusty old leopard flatties and a grey H&M t-shirt I enjoyed my outfit immensely.

The fact that I have yet to repeat an outfit has led to quite a lot of conversation this week. Friends and colleagues alike have considered the possibility for some time that I may have enough clothes to complete my entire year with not one single identikit outfit. Up until this point I have scoffed at such a ridiculous suggestion but potentially it is possible that I may actually have the capacity to achieve such a feat. If so I feel that through my blog I will have made a somewhat pertinent point. Namely that there is a significant difference between need and want. When we ladies declare loudly that we 'need' the latest handbag, shoe or trouser, this is not necessarily the case. We may need them if we wish to be bang up to the minute in the style stake however in order to actually have enough to wear on a daily basis I don't think need is quite the right word.

We want to be able to have new things because it makes us feel better in ourselves (for a shortlived, adrenalin filled moment of plastic cash hedonism). We want to stay up to the minute dressed with the latest shapes and styles because we fit in, or indeed stand out as a part of our social group. We have been conditioned to want to wear something new all of the time and never to be seen in the same dress by the same person EVER. Now I reserve the option to completely change my mind at the end of my year but I purport that in fact we don't need any of this stuff, we merely think we need it.

Days 44 to 46: Ok, Ok it is still the summer

Firstly I need to withdraw previous angry rantings about the state of the weather. Following my previous post rain clouds clearly got the hint and scuttled off for the weekend as I headed to Edinburgh for festival fun. Rather than the hair frizzing torrential downpours that we had expected we were greeted (after a rather damp journey) with a surprisingly temperate Northern evening.

 A practical driving outfit if ever I put one together. Me and the ever radiant Bekah drove up to the Burgh at a leisurely pace, stopping at my Dad's for a little Sandwich on the way.

Saturday dawned as a beautiful day and we were greeted by blue skies. Following a lovely lunch we found ourselves on Princes St and in the thick of a Saturday shopping during the Edinburgh festival, the atmosphere was friendly but frenetic as we looked for various items for the girls. I bought a pair of fake eyelashes and felt a little bereft.

For the first time since I started I felt a genuine stab of fear as I contemplated the considerable distance still to cover on my ridiculous self inflicted mission. I suspect this was brought on by the discovery of a rare but delightful maxi skirt in the depths of the Republic sale. I wanted one of these before I started this blog and seeing it there, rudely staring me in the face, willing me to fail was quite frankly distressing.

As I helped my friends with their purchasing and offered constructive criticism I felt myself worrying about my evening outfit and the fact that I had no opportunity to embelish with newly procured paraphenalia. It strikes me that on a big night out  it is rare that no item make a debut, that I am not accompanied by a piece of recently acquired costume jewellery or a pair of exciting yet bargaineous shoes. It is not that I need new items, my wardrobe inventory clearly catalogues a veritable wealth of pretty things, many of which I love and most of which I wear. I have yet to duplicate an outfit even though I have been going now for 46 days but yet I still cannot fully comprehend the task I have taken on.

I think a large driver of my success or failure will be my ability (or otherwise) to recalibrate my mind to deal with a world in which new things are not the norm. Even thirty years ago, the idea of buying new things all the time would have been ridiculous. Manufacturing was not what it is now, the Primani phenomenon would have been a bonkers concept and disposable income was not a patch on today. I would hazard a guess that that would be the case even accounting for the after shocks of a global recession which we still splattered all over the broadsheets. It is all too easy to forget that the days when a girl had only a few items of clothing in her wardrobe are not long gone.

Sometime over the last two decades we have changed. It used to be the case that a girl with a lovely dress would be encouraged, implored to wear her lovely dress repeatedly. 'You always look so pretty when you wear your red dress' would be the cry she would hear from her friends. Now, we should be ashamed of ourselves for muttering under our breath that 'she blatantly wore that dress at last year's party'. Yes we may well chortle and I am not one for living in the past, but at some point should we consider the sanity of our ways?

Surely one should prefer to wear a dress that makes you look like a goddess more than once rather than rushing round shops like a headless chicken, freaking out that you can't find anything new that suits. It seems faintly nonsensical when I actually think about it that we shun our forgotten wardrobe classics time and time again in favour of dresses that we have not yet bought, dresses that may not fit as well as our favourite.

Has the time not come to embrace our old favourites, the things we love because we can trust them? I dare you all to dig around in the back of your closet for the stuff that you would never throw away, to put it on and to fall in love without even spending a penny.

My Saturday outfit, post shopping crisis and without time to apply my fake eyelashes we rocked had a lovely evening watching the Amateur Transplants in a tiny but marvellous Edinburgh bar

A long drive back was broken up by a quick stop off at the petrol station, and a little moment for a photo before getting back on the road.

Days 40- 43 Like a true Brit I am troubled by weather

It is a cliche I know but I have been pondering the weather this week. I have been thinking mostly about how the tropical storms that we have experienced in Manchester over the last few days have in fact affected my choice of wardrobe.

Day in day out I have woken to find it piddling down with quite extraordinary volumes of H2O and have found my wardrobe decisions thrown into considerable disarray. It is hard enough thinking about making some form of fashionable statement each day (or at least trying to) it is quite another when the weather is somewhat atypical for the time of year. My main concern is that this adverse weather has come too early and that therefore the outfits that I am putting together now are in fact outfits that in an ideal world would not have made an appearence until the official change of the season. My only saving grace is that the temperature has remained relatively warm allowing me to maintain a minimal level of layering and save some elements of my wardrobe.

Monday saw me whipping out the knee highs and the black skinnies. A terrible occurence in mid August.

Throughout the week I have been saddened time and time again at being forced to turn my back on my newly purchased maxis and my faithful flowery dresses in favour of sensible items which do not soak excess water up to the thigh. Day after day I have seen more water than the average 18th century sailor would see in a maritime adventure. In all honesty this has resulted in a state of intense nervousness about the year to come and what on earth I am going to do. I am doomed to day upon day in shoes that can cope with monsoons and a ban on any form of tan that could run. I am entirely feared up about the perennial hair issue and have had at least three incidents involving an intense frizz crisis in the last week alone. This my friends, is no way to live.

Tuesday saw a mild reprive from rain although sunshine was far from common as we launched a campaign in Manchester with Steparoo the kangaroo.

I am increasingly alarmed that summer may in fact have ended and that Seasonal Affected Disorder could be a reality for me int he very near future if I don't even get to wear a pretty dress. I think we must all stick together, rebel against the weather and wear our most pretty flowery delights regardless of inclement conditions. This is the only way forward if we are to avoid sadness and embrace the mood of a summer in spite of the ridiculous climate.

Wednesday saw me braving the old sandals, this ended in tears for my feet as they were drowned in a sea of puddles whist negotiating the carpark.

Thursday was the rainiest day I have ever seen, as evidenced by the mild leak that appears to have emerged in my bedroom wall. In the evening there was a break in cloud and we dashed off out for a little work drinkie.

Day 39: the big jumper, a constant conundrum

Yesterday was exactly the sort of day on which a big jumper is a necessity. It was relaxed, lazy and a little bit drizzly so as I got ready for the day ahead I found myself reaching to the bottom of my jumper pile, to a small yet spacious number from Illustrated People (new website pending) which I bought in about 2006.

It was just the thing for a Sunday and got me thinking about the jumper trends doing the rounds at the moment. Possibly following the onset of the recession we have all found ourselves reaching for comfort, for things that make us feel safer and more secure. These things are often the simpler things in life; boardgames, sandwiches, home cooked meals and of course great big jumpers, ideally worn with a barbour and a pair of hunters.

Girls like Lily Cole and Alexa Chung have popularised the humble jumper over the last couple of years with Lily in particular waxing lyrical about the virtues of a vintage classic, holes and all.

Lily Cole and friends

Alexa working a striped effort

I don't claim to have anything like the fashion creds of these two girls but I too wish to speak in support of the outsized pullover. It strikes me as marvellous that clothes, like food can be both trendy and comforting at the same time, that snuggly does not have to be a sin and that large is not frumpy. Hurrah for the sense of perspective that the recession has brought us.

I find my myself wondering whether anyone has ever done a study to see whether comfort dressing is more prevalent during times of strife. Perhaps I will do a little digging and find out. I'm sure I can't be the only person intrigued by this little thought....or perhaps I am. What do you think?

Day 38: a sleepy, hungover, scruffy day

My Saturday was sleepy, and apparently a little bit dishevelled. Having spent the day chilling out and accompanying friends on a complex shoe shopping mission we chilled out in the pub with some wine and a lot of laughing.

I made the serious error of not having a photo taken until I had had a couple of glasses of wine and my hair had had a chance to go squiffy. Again I find myself cringing at my photo and placing myself on hypothetical worst dressed lists in style bibles the world over.

This faux pas has got me thinking yet again; what exactly is it that makes one outfit ok and another one NOT? There are the obvious things to watch for; clothes that fit, ironing done, neat lines, clashing to be avoided (unless you have the confidence and presence of Pixie Geldof). etc etc. On all of these counts I failed myself yesterday, I hang my head in despair of myself. However fashion is a strange beast and something that looks great today will look waful in four years time as we wonder what on earth we were thinking.

I have long been fascinated by this and have spent much of today thinking about what it is that makes us love things that are clearly not astoundingly flattering. I take leggings as a case in point. As a young gun I remember the leggings craze towards the end of the 80's and early 90's before I spent many teenage years dressed in bootcut jeans shunning the very idea of the legging. When they came back into fashion they were hailed by all but catwalk twiglets as a ridiculous idea, the perfect way to accentuate a large bottom and short legs. However slowly but surely they have wormed their way into our wardrobes as a staple must have. Everyone from the minute models of the noughties to the big bottomed girls frequenting local pubs have embraced the legging like a long lost friend. Whilst at the beginning of the revival I have distinct memories of wincing at women in leggings walking down the street, now I barely notice and often in fact envy the looks that have been constructed as I go about my daily life.

Personally I even own a couple of pairs although I confess I still harbour innate legging fear and rarely wear them without an extraordinarily long t-shirt. So how is it that the entire fashion world has done such a turnaround? How have items which, lets be honest, don't flatter the masses become such a ubiquitous must have? It seems alarming, arguably akin to some form of complex, brainwashing. What is the tipping point at which trends move from cat walk phenonenon to high street normality? Thinking back the legging has been stealthily making it's comeback for at least five years. Preceded by the footless tight this has been a slow burn trend helped along by such dramatic items as the robot inspired jeggings that trotted down Balenciaga catwalks in 2007 and Victoria Beckham who pioneered the look as she began to build her fashion credentials. 

Balenciaga catwalk awash with $100k leggings in the Autumn of 2007.....

Somehow repeated legging exposure throughout the Noughties has delivered us into a new world in which the concept of wearing tight, unforgiving lycra efforts is entirely normal. I just don't know if I quite understand how it has happened, how the look can go from being the most heinous of fashion crimes to being applauded by endless editors on a vast array of magazines. Leggings are just one example, puff ball skirts, shoulder pads and flares are others, as are DM's, platforms, animal print and (heaven forbid) velvet. All have spent time at the top and equally at the bottom of the style stakes with nothing really to explain it. Unlike classic items like the camel trench, a neatly cut jacket and of course Chanel handbags, their place in the styleometer has little to do with the way they make people look. One year we hail these items as flattering, sculpting or indeed classy but mere months later we are slamming on the brakes, pulling a hand brake turn and bemoaning the very same items.

Such are the peaks and troughs of the fashion world that my entire wardrobe could be comitted to the sin bin by the end of the year. Although no change in fashion could have ever made yesterdays outfit ok, it is interesting to think that some years it will go down better than others.