Smaggle Style

Yesterday was not the greatest day. Not for any particular reason I was just hideously tired and busy and emotionally drained after a really hectic weekend. I dragged myself home at midnight after spending the evening with one of my gorgeous (but incredibly exhausting) friends and I came home to find this…

On the end of my bed. I immediately thought that some freak had figured out where I live and had hand-delivered a package of dirty underwear and fingernail clippings. So I very gingerly opened it and inside I found copy of Vice magazine and a hand written note requesting the pleasure of my company for a vanilla tea at Cafe Essen one afternoon this week from my mate Az. SOOOO much better than skid-marked undies. He is visiting from Melbourne so the package was a mega surprise.

I also received a package from my friend Tae who made these gorgeous earrings for me a while ago that I absolutely adore. These earrings are so special that I keep them in my special jewellery box with all my super special stuff. It turns out that my ’special’ jewellery box is actually a jewellery death trap. I managed to close the lid on one of the earrings and it crunched and stopped spinning. I finally owned up to Tae on the weekend and told her how devastated I was and yesterday I received a new earring in the post!

God damn it my friends are FREAKING AWESOME!!!

So here are a few friendship inspired Smaggle tips of the day…

* Send your friend something in the post. Seriously. You have NO IDEA how lovely it will make them feel.

* Write your lover a note asking them out on a special date and slip it into their pocket or handbag before they leave for work. They’ll find it by accident during the day and I promise they will be thrilled.

* Bake a slice every time you go to a party. I’ve been doing this recently and it’s such a lovely old-fashioned thing to do. Plus it makes me feel tops when I leave with an empty plate!

* Share your snacks with a work colleague. Browny and I share everything - oranges, apples, biscuits - and it’s really lovely to be sitting at your desk and have someone hand you half an orange or a few dates.

* Kiss and hug your friends every time you see them.

* Tell a friend that you really appreciate them. It sounds really soppy and it’s sometimes awkward but it’s really good to hear that your friends appreciate you.

So thanks Tae and Az! I love you both long time!

Love Lady Smaggle

xxx

In the past few weeks I have had Mr Smaggle on a strict regime of watching strategic episodes of Sex and the City to prepare him for our movie date next week. Strategic because we don’t have time to watch the full series so we are watching 2 episodes per disk so he gets a general idea of the history. He quite likes HBO programs and is enjoying the show. He even understands most of what they are talking about. So high is his tolerance for the girly chat that he has endured talk of vibrators, anal sex and funky tasting spunk without so much as a blush forming on his pretty little cheeks. However he was totally horrified by one particular scene that we watched the other day. It’s the episode where Samantha and Carrie try to get into an exclusive restaurant and the door bitch is being a total cow and won’t let them in. Finally towards the end of the episode the door bitch has to ask Carrie if she can borrow a tampon. Carrie is delighted to help, they bond in the ladies bathroom and Carrie and Samantha are escorted to the best table in the restaurant mere seconds later as pay back for the miracle tampon. The scene that had Mr Smaggle freaking out was when Carrie hands over the tampon. I believe the exact phrase was ‘What the f*ck is that?’. This is what he saw…

The poor sheltered boy had never seen an applicator tampon before and was clearly traumatised by teeny tiny Carrie dishing out tyrannosaurus-sized tampons. He obviously knows what a tampon is and knows what they are used for. ‘They’re like a plug right?’ he asked when we first started dating. He wasn’t raised around adolescent girls so the details were never fully explained to him. I replied that yes tampons were like a plug only more absorbent.  I also explained (quite unnecessarily) that once the ‘plug’ is removed it’s not like a sink - there’s no gurgling or gushing. Um… apparently that was assumed knowledge. Anyway after I explained to him that the super thick, paper covered, straw-like object was actually a tampon he asked ‘A tampon for giants??? Why is it so big?’ I replied that it’s because American tampons are weird. I’m sorry ladies I know you love them over there in the old U.S of A but seriously, I fail to see why they are so popular.

Australian Dolly magazine went through this phase of pimping applicator tampons in the mid-90’s. All you had to do was write to them and they would send you a sample pack of applicator tampons in a purple flowered make up case. Hell, I love free shit so I thought I would give them a go. Big mistake. For a start I couldn’t get the bloody thing in the right spot. It’s like getting someone else to put your glasses on for you. It’s uncomfortable and bizarre and you always have to re-adjust them yourself. But that wasn’t the worst of it. The fateful day I decided to road test my new tampons was a school day in year 8 while I was wearing the St Clares’ junior uniform of a pale blue and white striped ‘nurses’ dress. I was too inexperienced to have learned the act of the ‘flick and sit’ where if a girl has her period she flicks up the back of her skirt so she isn’t sitting on it, thereby avoiding any accidents. Without prior knowledge of this little trick and using the most ineffective tampons in the worId I proceeded to have a rather massacre like ‘leak’ during computer class. I then had to get a note from the principal saying that I was allowed to have my jumper tied around my waist for the rest of the day. Which everyone knew was a major breach of the school rules and the general assumption was that I had either leaked my period, wet my pants or had diarrhoea and none of these options helped the floundering popularity of a slightly geeky 14 year old Lady Smaggle. Little Lady Smaggle then had to catch the bus home. With boys. So after that humiliating experience I have a serious vendetta against the applicator tampon. The unnecessary packaging annoys me. They take up too much room in tiny clutch bags. And they bend in the bottom of my handbag and get all out of shape. And they may have caused some serious psychological development problems that I am sure will surface in a future therapy session. 

I understand why they exist. For those religious ladies who believe that touching their privates with anything less than a 10 foot pole will send them blind. I totally get that. For those ladies who have serious hygiene issues. Fine. Use your applicator tampons and live in discomfort but for those of us non-OCD ridden heathens what’s the point?

Can my American readers shed some light on this mystery? What’s so great about the applicator tampon? And do most American women use them? Or are they just over represented in the media?

Does anyone have a hideous tampon story to share? Applicator tampon hate mail would certainly be favoured. 

Come on… I’m sick at home and watching Sex and the City… I need a good old gossip!

Love Lady Smaggle

xxx

The lovely disneyrollergirl found this witty little slide show over at Style.com called Style.com’s Summer Intern Guide. This is a must read for anyone who is interested in a career in fashion photography, styling or publishing. I especially love this quote -

‘Eccentric and flamboyant is amusing, as long as it’s balanced with efficiency’

My sentiments exactly…

Love Lady Smaggle

xxx

Last night I was playing around with some permanent markers and a plain bag I thrifted and I decided to use some stencils in my designs. I found a swallow stencil and inked one on the bag and I was trying to be clever and think of a witty pun to write beside the swallow. Something along the lines of ‘Swallow this…’

Then the super filthy Mama Smaggle came out with this…

God I love that woman…

Love Lady Smaggle

xxx

‘Fashion is what you adopt when you don’t know who you are.’

- Quentin Crisp, 1908

Well ain’t that the truth. That’s my life motto right there. I experiment with my clothing because I’m not exactly sure what I want to say to the world. I don’t have a huge problem with that, as I am still a relatively Spring-like chicken and I assume I’ll get more answers as I get older. Quentin McPessimism up there has me feeling like a deluded and shallow teenager though. ’Hmmm…. I’m a little confused about this whole “life” thing.’ Pause. ‘Lets go shoe shopping!’. It makes me question whether or not I am hiding behind my clothing… or worse, am I hiding behind my blog?

I read up to one hundred blogs a day. Every single one of them makes me envy (in a lovely and supportive way!) the life of the blogger. I want to frolic in daisy strewn meadows with The Cherry Blossom Girl. I want to drink tea and wear little lace dresses with The Snail and Cyclops. I want to wear killer heels and party till dawn with Queen Michelle at Kingdom of Style. I want to go shopping at sample sales and eat dumplings in London with Susie Bubble.

I am not deluded enough to think that their lives are super perfect all the time and that their days consist of swanning about in vintage dresses in a general state of pleasant-ness but blogs really do give off that image of perfection. It’s hard to imagine any of my favourite bloggers picking their noses, wearing tracksuit pants or cleaning the bathroom. I assume my readers can’t imagine me doing these things either. Well, I never clean the bathroom. But I certainly wear tracksuit pants and pick my nose. Often at the same time. We as bloggers have our own little fame game going on. Many of us get recognised and some even end up in main stream media. Unlike ‘real’ celebrities there is no paparazzi following us around and taking pictures of us drunk and puking on a Saturday night. And none of our readers will ever find out about our less-than-perfect behaviour unless we tell them about it. Our readers will only ever know what we tell them… and that’s quite a powerful position to be in. 

I got recognised at work today by a charming lady who smiled and simply said ‘Hello Lady Smaggle!’ and walked away. It’s always lovely to be recognised, especially when people are so happy to see you. I walked off feeling like I was the queen of my own little universe when I was suddenly slapped with a big cold dose of reality. I got recognised by someone who works at the same place as me who (I suspect) earns way more than me as I saw her coming out of an executive office. I had just bought a Diet Coke and some gum and I was heading to the chemist to buy tampons. I then planned on paying for my car insurance. I couldn’t be more unspectacular if I tried. The only difference between myself and my fan is that I am self involved enough to write about myself in a blog everyday.

Having realised how incredibly unspectacular I am, I asked myself - Am I hiding behind my blog? I obviously don’t share everything with my readers because no one is interested in the boring stuff I did today. Having said that I never lie. I see glamorous bloggers who seem so perfect compared to me and it never occurs to me that they aren’t perfect. I’m gross and I tell people that all the time. It’s all well and good for me to post my photo looking like the lady who invented lace but I make sure that every one knows that I fell down the stairs this morning or that I picked a delightful scab at lunch time. I feel that my online persona is the real me. Bloggers whose sites I read quite regularly start to feel like friends but who is it that you are friends with? The author of the blog? Or the person that the author of blog wishes they could be?

 I have a question for my fellow bloggers and also for their friends. Is your online persona different to who you are in real life? Or is your blog persona the real you? Have you ever met a reader? What was their response to you? And for my friends who read my blog am I a different Lady Smaggle here than I am when we hang out?

Just a little something for us all to think about…

Love Lady Smaggle

xxx

 P.S I have been reading a book about common traits of serial killers and a HUGE percentage of them are obsessive internet users… do do do do do do! That’s supposed to be scary music but it came out really lame. Dun dun DUN! Is that better?  

* Get out  your wellies and your umbrella and go for a big stompy walk. Jump in all the puddles you see and make sure you get really wet and muddy. And then go home and have a hot bubble bath.

* Have a shower and put on some super clean and snuggly flannelette pyjamas. Grab a blanket and snuggle on the couch watching DVDs of your favourite TV show.

* Put on a pretty frock, some heels and a frilly apron and spend the afternoon baking treats.

* Sit by the window and read with rain trickling down the glass outside.

* Make pumpkin soup and eat it with crusty white bread and butter. Oh and just to let you know, carbs don’t count when it’s raining.

* Drink some red wine and play a game of Scrabble instead of watching TV.

* Cuddle a cutie. Find a dog/cat/baby/lover and have a big delicious cuddle session.

* Drink milky tea all day.

Love Lady Smaggle

xxx

There is a fine art to thrifting. One must have nerves of steel, no shame and a slightly manic obsession with snagging a bargain. There is no room for morals or modesty and it’s every woman for herself. If you are new to thrifting here are a few tips to help you decide if you have it in you…

* Don’t bother holding your breath. That stale fart smell lives in thrift stores and won’t pass. If you wait for it to stop lingering it’s likely you’ll faint. Just deal with it. Or sniff your underarms occasionally to give yourself a break.

* If you are ready to try on your clothes - WAIT DIRECTLY OUTSIDE THE CHANGE ROOM. Even if it takes the change room hog who got in there before you 45 minutes to finish. If you are wandering around the store YOU ARE NOT IN THE LINE. If you are perusing the counter a metre from the change room YOU ARE NOT IN THE LINE. If you are one step out of the line YOU ARE NOT IN THE LINE. I learnt this rule from a sneaky little Italian lady who jumped the queue in front of me a few years ago. DO NOT TAKE YOUR EYES AWAY FROM THE YELLOWING CRUSTY CHANGE ROOM CURTAIN OR YOU ARE NOT IN THE LINE.

* It’s perfectly acceptable to pick up an item nanoseconds after someone has put it back. In the thrifting world, you snooze you loose. DO NOT take items directly from the arms of other shoppers. I set my little Italian friend straight about that one.

* Speaking of little old ladies DO NOT let them win. They will ‘innocently’ wander into the change room ahead of you, they will grab stuff straight out of your hands and they will say ‘excuse me’ so you move backwards and they will park their tiny arses in front of you and start unabashedly flicking through the rack that you had dibs on. Obviously don’t be mean to them but let them know who is boss. Oh don’t believe that they can’t speak English. I picked up a bag once and tucked it under my arm and this little raisin-faced lady started firing angry sounding words at me in German and snatched the bag off me. I assumed it was her personal hand bag and that I had picked it up by mistake so I apologised and walked away. She then marched straight to the counter, paid for it and quipped to the counter assistant in perfect English that it was a lovely bag and she was so glad she found it. Bitch. I was too shocked to knee cap her at the time but now I’m prepared. God help the next Grandma who tries this one on me… 

* This one is a little controversial but I don’t haggle. Unless something is above $10 it’s not worth it. I’ve seen well dressed vintage loving girls wearing Nine West shoes and designer dresses trying to bully the volunteer counter assistant into giving them a $5 top for $3. Keep your dignity and remember that the money goes to charity. It’s easy to lose to your head when thrifting and your whole value system can go berserk. Remember this rule - if you have bought something at retail prices in the past month don’t bargain in a thrift store. The extra $2 you’re trying to save could be the difference between lunch and starvation for a homeless person. Of course feel free to have a whinge if it really is unreasonable. Like $50 Nine West shoes. That’s just daylight robbery.

* If a guy wearing dirty jeans and eating his own face tries to talk to you just smile and nod. And don’t let him tell you a secret. I got my face licked last time I fell for that.

* Be lovely to the sales assistants. In Australia most of them are volunteers so be kind. If you regularly smile at them and occasionally buy them a coffee they will treat you like ROYALTY. And they will also put aside goodies for you. They truly are the most delightful people and if you acknowledge them it just makes their day. Which will make your day. Love and sunshine and rainbows for all!

* If you can, thrift in the morning. The early bird catches the worm.

* Put your clothes back on the hanger and then back on the shelf where you got it. It’s good thrifting Karma and earns some serious brownie points with the volunteers.

If you’re a precious little princess don’t bother thrifting. It’s not for the faint hearted…

Love Lady Smaggle

xxx

Today I found an Etsy store that was UG-LY! The words ‘free form’ were bandied about as if that made up for the complete lack of colour and design principles in the product. I was about to post a picture of the Etsy monstrosity when I stopped and thought ‘Hang on a minute. This is some one’s work. Some one’s artistic integrity. Some poor student working their way through school or some grandma trying to earn a buck to buy her grand-kids a Christmas present. So what if she is trying to sell lumps of unidentifiable crap slapped together with craft glue. Good on her! ’ and then I punched my fist in the air and cheered for goodwill through out the universe. And then I thought ‘Hell that shit’s just gross - someone better put this poor person out of their misery’. And so began my moral dilemma.

We are constantly criticizing the outfits and behaviours of celebrities, musicians, royalty, politicians, our bosses, our mothers, our friends, our boyfriends… the list goes on. Not to mention the seasonal collections of the world’s top designers. We usually do this quietly and behind the other person’s back, generally because we are scared of being hated or being branded a bitch. I’m getting quite a hefty little readership here at Smaggle and I’m noticing that the things I say are reaching bigger audiences than they ever have before. Which means I have to start being more careful when Smaggle McBitchface comes to play because she can be a nasty little wench. I have never hesitated to verbally bash the celebrities that irritate me - Anne Hathaway, Kiera Knightly, Kirsten Dunst and (shudder…) Bindi Irwin. Why? Because I am NOBODY to them. They couldn’t care less because not one of them will ever read my blog or meet me in person. And if they do ever find my blog then they are stupid because they have clearly been googling themselves and that’s lame. Also they are celebrities so they put themselves in a vulnerable position. But doesn’t the owner of the Shop of Crap do the same thing? Doesn’t anyone putting their product out there invite criticism?

The point is this - Do we have the right to tell people that they suck? And should their social status dictate whether or not we fire the bullet? The only thing stopping me from outing the hideous Etsy store is that I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. I have no problems having a dig at Bindi and she’s eight years old. That makes me a horrible bully and I’m literally picking on a little girl. So why am I so concerned with the feelings of Fugly Nanna over at Etsy trying to sell what looks like mouldy muffins? She has commited a far worse crime than little Bindi - Bindi is just annoying. Fugly Nanna is actually creating ugliness and polluting the world with it. She really should be put behind bars.

So what do you think? Should we care about everyone? Or care about no-one? And when it comes to (constructive) criticism are the lines really blurred depending on who it is that you are dissing?

Love Lady Smaggle

xxx

Disclaimer - I don’t actually think it’s okay to put other people down. After all who the hell am I to talk? I just think that the most admirable trait in people is the quest for self-improvement. And how are we ever to improve ourselves if others are too scared to (gently) point out our weaknesses?

Oh and Bindi my love, if you are reading this, don’t take it personally. It’s just that no-one likes a precocious child star. Lucky for you, you won’t be one forever.

Photo from My Ugly Sweater

Oh my. The delightful LC of Fops and Dandies wrote a post about her jewellery collection and very kindly included photos. She also asked for a peek at her readers’ collections. I decided to take her up on her challenge and take a snap of my jewels. I now realize what a big, big freak I am. The shame is palpable. I obviously had a vision of me with a room-sized, Scrooge like vault full of beads and diamantes and I would dive from a springboard into the pool of bling and swim laps in it for my morning exercise, getting high from sniffing faux pearls and rubbing necklaces all over my face. With out further self deprecation I present to you the Smaggle jewellery collection… Don’t judge me.

This is how I store my rings. I have a small set of drawers and I keep rings in the top drawers.

And brooches in the middle one. And the last one I keep broken stuff and random things that I don’t know what to do with but I won’t show you that because it’s boring. 

This is my earring collection. I used to keep them hung around a beer stein but the stein got too small so I moved to my pin board. I also keep my bracelets pinned here. 

Here is my bangle collection. I used to keep my bangles in an old fish tank but the tank got too small so they live in a dog’s basket now.

Okay it get’s a little scary now. These are my necklaces.

Mama Smaggle bought me the iron lady a few years ago and she looks gorgeous draped in all my finery. The only issue is that I am really impatient and instead of calmly lifting the top layer of necklaces to get to the bottom I just rip them off and break them all the time. Lucky I can fix them most of the time but I recently broke one that I can’t fix (which is really special) so I am starting to re-think this system.

All of my super special jewellery I keep in a real jewellery box that used to belong to Mama Smaggle. I’d been trying to get my hands on it for years and she finally relented and gave it to me last year. Super special jewellery includes a glass ring from Matt & Ged, handmade propeller earrings from my friend Tae, A bangle and a ring from Mr Smaggle, a graduation gift from Mama Smaggle, stupidly expensive but mega gorgeous earrings from Bijoux and a wooden dinosaur necklace from my friends. Apparently I hold safety pins, beading needles and thumbtacks up there with my most prized possessions as well.

Do visit LC and send her a snap of your jewels. There is something so deliciously voyeuristic about seeing what resides on other people’s dressing tables. 

I plan to do the rest of my accessories later. That’s right - scarves, bags, hair pieces etc. 

I feel like I need to donate money to charity now.

Love Lady Smaggle

xxx

I did a naughty on the weekend. I paid $180 for one pair of shoes. I know it’s evil. I could feed a small African nation for months on that amount of money but I can assure you I had no choice in the matter.

These are the shoes. Disappointed? Yeah so was I. I LOATHE spending money on shoes that I can’t dance in. They don’t even sparkle. If I’m spending above $30 (yes, I am actually that tight) I want the most spectacular shoes on the planet - gorgeous, comfortable, make me drop a dress size in seconds and they should come with a free overseas holiday and a packet of Jelly Tots. As you can see I’m having difficulty coming to terms with the fact that I just spent about a years worth of thrifting money on ugly shoes. Ugly shoes that GAVE ME BLISTERS!!! Blisters in my rolling high arches. I have HIGH ARCHES that ROLL. Does that sound like a contradiction to anyone else? In case you haven’t caught on to my bitter tone I started my fitness course this morning. My trainer is a sadistic prick. I can’t remember exactly what it was that we had to do in the obstacle course (my brain tends to block out pain) but it went something like this - Run a kilometre, stab yourself in the thighs with a fork, run a kilometre, get your legs run over with a lawnmower, run a kilometre, break some bricks with your butt cheeks, run a kilometre, have a whole football team stamp on your arms, run a kilometre and then finish it all with a lovely session of being punched in the guts. I had to run through this obstacle course 10 times in one hour with no breaks wearing the Fugly Blister-maker shoes and the jerky trainer refused to administer morphine for my pain. I have a plan though. If I manage to make it though my Monday, Wednesday and Friday sessions every week for the full 6 week period I will allow myself to buy the beautiful shoes…

It’s a happy coincidence that they are released just as the course is finishing and I don’t even mind that they don’t come with a free overseas holiday… or a packet of Jelly Tots.

Love Lady Smaggle

xxx