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.

Day 33 to 37: The highest courage is to dare to appear to be what one is.

The last week I have had little to no excuse for not posting on my blog. In fact, it's been quite an education into my lack of personal discipline. On more than one evening I have looked at my computer and my camera, both clamouring for blog focused attention and have ignored them in preference for a repeat of CSI. However, despite this I have in fact had an interesting week where hangerstrike is concerned. My fashion literature consumption has included all of last weekend's Sunday supplements, as well as Vogue, Grazia, Stylist and a couple of urban outfitters emails. I have also, for the most part shunned jeans, having had a flick through the last month of photos it is clear I am over dependent and needed to diversify.

Monday morning train to London, trusty coat in tow. Not sure Mr St Laurent ever envisaged such classics being aped by H&M and worn along with Primani raspberry shoes, nevertheless....I like the look.

Tuesday saw me whipping out a knitted number usually sported on holiday and teaming it with my fave ponyskin shoes, possibly the look is let down by my rather intense facial expression but nevertheless I love the colour.

Wednesday, jeans day...it appears to be a physical impossibility to entirely avoid jeans but one day in fave isn't too bad.

Rather than feeling distressed at the lack of ability to actually walk into a shop and make a purchase I feel this week's displeasure has been directed at how fashion is changing at alarming pace. This blog is going to be harder than I ever thought. As reported by Grazia the other week, the trouser is to make a comeback, this is a fact backed up with a strong evidence base through all of my glossy magazine consumption this week. I feel frankly panicked about this.

As well as a return to a 90's esque betrousered state, the winds of change appear to be afoot in other areas. The catwalks this season are awash, not with fantasy clothes that could only be worn by the most impractical of ladies, but with functional clothes, sleek lines and an air of minimalism. Gone is layer upon layer of floating chiffon and teadresses adorned with delightfully whimsical flowers, instead they have been replaced by clean line, block, neutral colours and a distinctly minimal take on accessories. To coin a phrase, black is the new black. Now, apart from the trouser problem which has been discussed previously, I have less of a problem with these changes than I may have expected. The coming season will be about wearing less stuff, and before you pass comment I do not mean we all need to dress like pretty woman pre makeover. We will see considerably less focus on layering and more on intelligent dressing. One shift dress for me, trousers for everyone else (tsk), white shirt, classic trench or even camel coat and a non attention seeking scarf.

Now I think my wardrobe can manage, there are key items which I have had for a while which have stood the test of time and still deliver a neat, current and smart look...thank goodness. And here I make my point, whilst of course the likes of Vogue and Grazia must flog us new product, trousers mainly and camel coats as a close second, the undertone is that we should not be buying loads this season. In the inimitable words of Elisa Sednaoui 'It's about having less but loving the things you have more'. The post recession backlash against excessive consumption is apparently filtering through to even the most oppulent of labels and this has been reflected in the muted styles of the couture shows.

Of course this is a delight for me and my challenge, I am in fashion if I don't buy anything new. It's like a gift, except for the perennial trouser problem which is clearly going to plague me through coming drizzly months. I have a dress, a black fine knit from Oasis, I bought it for my first day at work almost three years ago, I remember even now the agonising I went through justifying my relatively low cost purchase, wondering if it would be a good buy and whether the 'price per wear' would live up to expectation. On Thursday I found myself pulling it from the wardrobe for a day chilling with friends (photo forgotten sorry) and thoroughly enjoyed the day I spent in it, drinking tea and shooting the breeze.Three years on I still love the dress. It has held it's colour and it's shape, it is appropriate for work and also manages that tricky day to night malarkey that fashion editors always hark on about at length. It is not too hot in summer and not too cold in winter. In short it is a high street classic, the sort that I have rarely searched for, having been too often distracted by something pretty that won't last in either style or washing machine stakes.

Perhaps this season alongside my challenge will educate me in the virtues of the classic item, of spending less yet getting more. Indeed it may be the making of the stylish rather than fashion hungry me, who knows?

A spot of Friday daytime drinking and posing beside an ornamental shovel in Manchesters lovely Northern Quarter. Shorts and boots the only way to roll when threatened with a mid summer storm. Yikes

Day 31 and 32: 1 month down....BOSH

This weekend started as Mancunian August weekends often do....with a monsoon! But fear not, this did not stop me from hitting the town to tackle my first real blog dilemma. A little while ago I was sent a most lovely invitation to a party, a 30th party nonetheless. Only one month into the year this should have posed no problem for me, however .....this invitation had a little twist. It was masquerade. Now, I am never one to shirk a fancy dress occasion, I love the opportunity to reinvent myself be it as Wonderwoman, Wilma, Cupid or indeed a Poddington Pea.

I grant you that masquerade is slightly more classy than dressing oneself in cushions wrapped in green lycra and drinking wkd blue, but nevertheless fancy dress is fancy dress and a competition is a competition. I therefore found myself plunged into what can only be described as a desperate quandary. I used to have a beautiful mask but at it's first and only outing I had a little too much fun and I fell asleep on it, ruining it's refined beauty and rendering it useless. As such I was left with somewhat of a dilemma, how could I partake in the party theme without a mask.......I had a little brainstorm with myself and I happened upon a plan.

I am not allowed to buy clothes but I am allowed to buy makeup, so what if I were to paint a mask on myself? This seemed an excellent approach and so I set out on Saturday morning with Bambi my trusty shopping comrade beside me to scour the shops for some hardcore glittery fayre. Following a brief interlude in which we actually met the real life Peter Rabbit (shock: see below) we headed off to Boots for some serious beauty retail.

After wandering aimlessly near some Barry M glitter in terrifying hues, Bambi remembered about Urban Decay; bless her organised cotton socks. They have rather upped their game and as if by magic I was met by not only a manned unit but by wonderfully well versed male beautician skilled in extreme makeup looks. He bought wholeheartedly into the idea of dramatic makeup, although when I explained about my blog I was momentarily concerned he may faint in shock at the absurdity of the task I have set myself. Anyway he successfully sold me most of the shop and I trotted off home to paint a masterpiece that Pat McGrath would be proud of.

Two hours and considerable layers of glitter later I had achieved a golden butterfly, complete with sequins and the largest pair of feather eyelashes I have ever seen. It was quite honestly a wonder I could even open my eyes.

The mask went down a storm although I didnt win any prizes, sadly I couldnt compete with the lentil encrusted epic that was wielded by one of the men at the event. However my efforts did succeed in sparking some interesting conversations. My attention was caught by a debate about how different women are driven by different factors when making purchases. Some women, we know are driven by fashion, they slavishly follow the catwalks and or the fashion pages and almost blindly purchase the 'new big thing' regardless of longevity, cut or indeed whether it suits them. Other women are motivated not by fashion but by an innate style, they choose classic shapes and colours and build a wardrobe around themselves and their personality.

I suspect it takes more presence of mind and inner confidence to develop a wardrobe around the latter mindset. The hallowed turf for me sits in no mans land, in the rare ability to achieve a balance of current style and a classic and ownable look. Not many women manage it and those who do it in the public eye become the idols of many. Think Kate Moss, Chloe Sevigny, maybe to a certain extent Alexa Chung, women who define fashion as well as following it. Their individual take on the styles of the moment creating a new layer to their fashion story, making them not only icons to women across the world but muses for those in the fashion industry driving seat.

For these women it is not about the latest catwalk look,  they recognise (subconsciously or otherwise) that fashion is a world that can be shaped with a strong personality and a focus of mind. This is the sort of woman I have always admired, the woman perfectly depicted in The Woman by French Connection. A little bit selfish perhaps, certainly self aware and aloof. Confident but with an air of vulnerability, it is her that people want to be like, the woman for whom fashion is an opportunity, not an obstacle or challenge. To her it is not about buying the 'It bag' or the must have shoe, she is the woman the bag is designed for, the woman on whom it looks natural, a part of her. Not an awkward accessory but the perfect complement to her personality and demeanour. She makes the clothes, they do not make her. For me, this is the ideal, how we should strive to be. We should be more than the clothes upon our back and should allow them to be an expression of ourselves.

Following from this thought I suppose I begin to realise that constant purchasing is not the point. I should notice the quality of things more often, choose things which will will withstand the test of time. Things that age with me and improve year on year. Clearly I need a Mulberry handbag.... my life has a new purpose. The rest of the weekend passed in a blur of fry ups and Formula One with great friends and an awful lot of cups of tea.....bliss.

Day 24 (poorly), to 30....a horrideous week

Today's update is LATE. I have had a most alarmingly busy week, I spent the last few days in a tornado of meetings, brainstorms and creative debates. This has left me with no time to blog and no will to stay awake for any more hours than absolutely necessary. Here is a whistlestop tour of the week.

Saturday 24th started miserably with a most unfair hangover, resulting in a morbid fear that my head would fall off if I moved. Hence no photo, I did not emerge from my bedroom until 5pm at which point I setttled myself on the sofa in a horrifically ugly jumper and endeavoured not to cry in self pity.

Sunday was much improved and I caught up with friends in the pub in a pair of loved yet underused abercrombie maura shorts, jackwills top and my total fave piece of Kate Moss for Topshop. Chats centred around the wonderful backstreet shops of Brighton where Lucy my lovely friend has been seconded. She has discovered a wondrous shop in which you can choose your fabric and have a dress made for the price of the highstreet. Imagine if you will my abject sadness at such a wonderful, tantalising concept, so out of reach for those on HangerStrike. Sob. Again I found myself pondering why it is that immediately I find out about places such as these I want something from them, entirely reardless of whether or not I need an item. This unbalanced interplay between need and want is something I feel will rear it's ugly little head time and time again over the course of the year.

Monday saw me coming to terms with the fact that my blog followers continue to believe that buying presents for my friends should follow the rules of my blog. As a devoted blogger I have decided to take this on board and will now follow the rules of HangerStrike not only for myself but also for my friends. So if you are reading this, you are getting no wardrobe colateral from me this year (sorry).

In response to this new hurdle I was forced to consider what I would buy for Laura, our nautically obsessed, prawn sized birthday girl. Pondering led me to the amazing and fabulously kitsch Keep Calm Gallery for a limited edition screen print.

This got me thinking (as well as buying one for myself). With our constant focus on clothing and our externally presented image that we forget to embrace the full world of art and design. So obsessed are we with the clothing portion of the artistic pie, we have entirely neglected the rest of the artistic world. I feel like this mere month of retail detox has reopened my eyes to the world of art.  How extraordinarily exciting

Tuesday is the day the week really began for me. From this point I fear I had no thought except for the incredible length of my to do list. I failed even to tweet! I know this is shocking in 2010, yet it is the honest truth.

As the week progressed I found myself at work at 10pm on Wednesday (Day 28) with not a soul to take my daily snap! In abject determination I worked out all on my own how to turn the flash off my camera and used a full length mirror to take my photo in the loo. Yes, this is now the definition of commitment. A new sphere of dedication to the HangerStrike cause.

The week gets increasingly scrufftastic as I struggle through. Busy is such an understatement and my alignment with current style slips further and further down the priority list. It's an absolute boon that I am not famous as I cannot fathom the distress I would find myself in if I were papped in such a state of general disarray! Praise the lord for this and for the country location of our workplace.

Friday is the final straw, such disgraceful attire would have placed me in style Siberia for decades. I refused to have identifiable photographic evidence of me in this state and took an opportunity to have a five minute snooze on the office sofa.

So, a pile of photos of the week so far and a new topic to ponder. That of the relationship between stress levels and the effort one puts into individual appearence. As I got increasingly tired I found my interest in my clothing immeasurably reduced. A fact that seems at odds with earlier observations that stress or a lack of control drives an increased desire to buy new stuff. As it stands I am not sure I understand why on earth that this should be. In fact as I got more and more scruffy I still felt the undeniable urge to boost my waning mood with a pretty online purchase. Is it that as life pressures eat the time normally dedicated to personal appearence that we subconsciously counterbalance a lack of time with an increased spend? Do we try to mitigate the negative effects of a lack of sleep and a distinctly pallid appearence with a little bit of credit card bashing? Another thing to ponder as the weekend draws to a close.......