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.