PRODUCT TALK BY NUFFNANG

I like to think of myself as a bit of an expert in the dry skin area. I could rub shoulders with dermatologists in white coats and though I might not have a swanky piece of paper saying I spent 6 years at University, I reckon I could take them on. I know what I am talking about.

I suffer from eczema, though luckily not the itchy scaly rash type of eczema that you are probably thinking about. I’m talking about extreme dry skin. The kind of dry skin that cracks when it gets really cold and makes you look like you’re prematurely aging. I will never be a hand model.

I remember wearing a netball skirt in the middle of winter at Primary School, and escaping to the girls bathroom to splash cold (freezing) water on my legs to cover up the scaly white nature of my pins. It was about then that I started my extensive research on moisturisers.

I’ve tried a lot. Aloe Vera, cocoa butter, vitamins. You name it. I have gone there. And my staple moisturiser, 20 years later, is still Redwin Sorbolene cream, a “barrier” cream that creates a layer between your skin and the world while it slowly sinks in over the following few hours.

And then I was asked to try Vaseline Intensive Care Dry Skin lotion. Being a big fan of the original Vaseline (that stuff is BRILLIANT on your elbows and heels while you are sleeping!) I was more than happy to give it a go.

The product packaging doesn’t lie, it is non greasy and it is quickly absorbed. The product is enriched with vitamins A, E and B5 and while I don’t individually know what those things do, I figure the more vitamins the merrier.

Handy pump pack, pleasant smell and colour and a bit of info on the back about our skin being made up of 90% water and overall the product is good.

But ultimately, not for me. Great as a hand cream  that you reapply throughout the day but for my super dry skin, I felt like I needed another coat just after lunch (after applying straight out of the shower in morning).

For the majority of you, normal to dry skin folk, this product is great. The whole Vaseline range is. Easy to find at your local supermarket or Priceline and a reasonable price for the average Jo.

Vaseline. Keeps skin AMAZING! (Don’t forget it’s winter and you need to moisturise LOTS!)

Over the weekend, I finally had the time to watch Paper Giants, the ABC mini series about the birth of Cleo Magazine.

I thought it was brilliant and wanted to watch it again right away. Everything about the film made me swoon – the story, the fact that it is based on actual events, the politics, the drama – AND THE CLOTHES!

70s styling is on trend this year and its easy to see why when Asher Keddie rocked every single outfit she wore in this film.

I want prints. I want a trench. I need that umbrella (and I know I can get one at Little Salon in Fitzroy for the bargain price of $25).

After hunting the web for more information on the fab fashions of the film, I happened across a post on one of my favourite blogs, BusiChic, detailing just how amazing all the outfits in the film are.

Author Cheryl talks about how appropropriate Ita’s outfits are for the modern working woman. Classics, prints, statement accessories and even maternity! All brilliant.

The ABC has also set up a website with more information on Paper Giants. I highly recommend a look (and a viewing of the film if you have not already seen it!)

Image thanks to BusiChic.

My local neighbourhood loungeroom (where everybody knows my name), aka, The Honey Bar, is barely two years old but in the spirit of celebrity makeovers, reality renovation shows and dressing up our toddlers, the team at Honey are lifting our Winter blues with a few changes at the bar.

You may have already popped in and seen the new layout with booths and a slick rearrange of the furniture. But the fun doesn’t stop there. A new chef is in command of the kitchen and he is wielding his wooden spoons and pots and pans to bring us some tasty new treats, as well as the regular faves.

The famous parma, burger and fish n chips remain but how about branching out and trying some Morrocan style vegetable tagine? Maybe lamb cutlets on whipped feta mash with pomegranate molasses? Or chicken stuffed with red capsicum and haloumi?

My whole mouth just filled with saliva.

And these are just the mains! The small plates/starters menu has been expanded too, now including potatas bravas with chorizo, saganaki with honey soaked wild figs, chickpea battered cauliflower, king prawns, cured ocean trout tartare and chermoula chicken strips.

Just what a girl needs in the middle of our Melbourne Winter. Warming goodness and a friendly atmosphere. Throw in a fashion mag or two and I may not go home.

Honey is open late seven days a week.

Images thanks to The Age and the www.

Dominic Knight recently penned this piece for The Age’s Sunday Life column and I found it more than just amusing – it was particularly relateable! Just goes to show I am not the only one engaging in some of this silly single solo living behaviour.

I hope you enjoy this as much as I did!

~

Want to eat takeaway naked while watching day-long TV marathons? Then living alone is for you. But Dominic Knight has a few pointers. (From Sunday Life)

So, you’re living alone, like more Australians than ever before. Perhaps you’ve had a breakup, or moved to a new town? Perhaps, like Richard Roxburgh’s character in Rake, you’ve systematically alienated everyone who ever cared about you and have ended up alone in a dingy bedsit? Or perhaps you’re just weird.I’ve been living by myself for 18 months, because when you’re in your mid-30s, life without flatmates is easier and simpler for everything except playing SingStar. But it can be tough adjusting to a solo existence, which is why I’ve prepared this invaluable guide.

Do whatever you want, when you want. The greatest thing about living alone is that it excuses you from the conventional rules of human interaction. Finally, you can do the things you used to avoid so the people you lived with wouldn’t doubt your mental stability, like recreating the Battle of Osgiliath from The Lord of the Rings using hand-painted orcs. Or you might spend an entire weekend watching The Wire with only brief meal and bathroom breaks, like I did. Living alone means that nobody cares what you do day to day. Those who find this prospect depressing rather than liberating shouldn’t try it.

Be vigilant about not seeming weird. The caveat to your new-found domestic freedom is being careful not to reveal the bizarre things you do with all your free time. This is especially challenging because when you live alone, you inevitably start to forget social norms. Be prepared to lie about spending an entire weekend reorganising your CD library or your colleagues may begin to suspect you’re some kind of freaky serial killer. Of course, if you are a freaky serial killer, it’s all the more important to lie about your weekend.

Live in the inner city. I know some people live by themselves in the suburbs or even in the country, but, frankly, the prospect of that level of isolation scares me. In the city, there’s an abundance of pleasant solo activities such as shopping, browsing in galleries and watching movies. And there are people everywhere, which is reassuring. Some say the city can be unfriendly, but sometimes even yelling at the junkie who has passed out on your doorstep is welcome human contact.

Budget carefully. Living costs are always going to be higher when you can’t split bills. Electricity, gas and water cost me about $1200 a year. Then again, no one will notice if you do eccentric things to save money, like drinking hot water instead of tea.

Get cable. And a lot of books. And a PlayStation. And the internet. And anything else that kills time. When you start living alone, you’ll be amazed by how many hours there are in the day.Sometimes I forget to schedule any social activities for a weekend day – a trap for young players – and end up having to fill 16 straight leisure hours with random mucking around. It’s harder than it sounds. Note, though, that it simply isn’t worth trying to explain this difficulty to friends with newborn babies. They’ll still hate you for your apparently idyllic life of liberty.

Live near good, cheap takeaway food outlets. Some people who live by themselves manage to cook every meal, but I can’t be bothered when the end point is setting a table only to sit at it by myself. Plus, it’s very hard to cook dinner for one for less than the 10 bucks you’ll pay at your local food court or Asian takeaway. Besides, getting takeaway or eating out encourages you not only to leave the house, but to talk to somebody, albeit briefly.

Use Twitter. You know how it’s nice to watch interesting TV shows, sporting events or breaking news with other people? Well, now you can’t. But Twitter allows loners to come together to hurl 140-character abuse at Q&A participants, biased footy referees and Ben Elton. Sometimes it feels almost like watching with genuine friends.

Have people over. Entertaining is all the more lovely when you have your own place. Not only will all the credit for the meal be yours, but it creates a reason to tidy up your hovel so your visitors don’t think you’re “not coping”. Sure, you’ll have a few pangs when they leave, but at least you will have proved you can still function socially.

Walk around naked. You’ve never felt so free! Because who cares, right? Pro tip: consider whether, given the layout of your house, the answer to this question might be “the neighbours”, “random passers-by” or “the police across the street”.

Avoid being morbid. Questions such as “If I slip in the shower and crack my skull, who will call an ambulance?” or “If I die in my sleep, how long before the neighbours notice the smell?” are not your friends.Don’t talk to yourself. Because talking to yourself is bad; it makes you seem crazy. Only that’s not really a problem when there’s no one else to hear you, is it, Dom? Oh, good point, Dom.

Stay positive. I hope I haven’t given you the wrong impression about living alone – honestly, it can be wonderful. In fact, it’s so great that if I succeed with my constant pleas for somebody, anybody, to move in, I’ll probably miss it occasionally.

Follow Life&Style on Twitter @Life_Style_News

Dedicated to Miss J. Happy Bastille Day!

Paris, by Friendly Fires (remixed by Aeroplane)

One day we’re gonna live in Paris
I promise
I’m on it
When I’m bringing in the money
I promise
I’m on it
I’m gonna take you out to club showcase
We’re gonna live it up
I promise
Just hold on a little more

And every night we’ll watch the stars
They’ll be out for us
They’ll be out for us
And every night, the city lights
They’ll be out for us
They’ll be out for us

One day we’re gonna live in Paris
I promise
I’m on it
I’ll find you that French boy,
You’ll find me that French girl
I promise
I’m on it

So go and pack your bags
For the long haul
We’re gonna lose ourselves
I promise
This time next year will be forevermore

Sticks and Stones may break my bones but names can never hurt me.

This is a mantra pretty much every kid grows up hearing. The fact that we shouldn’t let bullies at school (or the workplace) let us feel any less than fabulous, that we are all important and special and that we should never, ever, let anyone tell us different.

But inevitably, someone will always say something and the hurt that you are not supposed to let in, comes.

I don’t remember much about my primary school days. I don’t recall ever hating it or feeling like there was someone there out to get me. At high school I experienced my fair share of bullying (never physical but sometimes I think the physiological is worse) because I was smart – generally a trait considered to be a good thing but for the few years when it’s seen to be cool to fail an assignment or be caught smoking behind the sheds.

My abilities that should have been seen as a gift came to be a hindrance; getting A’s was my own personal failure. Friendship groups change a lot as people grow up but I will never forget how I felt in the early years of high school, and how different things might have been. I’ve said it before – bones mend but names stay with you forever.

I guess this is why, as I have grown as well, it has taken so long for me to get my confidence back. I regularly doubt myself, see my failure in everything and put everyone before me out of fear I’ll lose them if I don’t. It has taken 10 years to start to see these behavioural patterns and try to turn them around – and I still have a long way to go – but it’s a start.

As you all well know, my blog and all the successes that have come with it are a big tick on my board of personal achievements and one day it would be nice to be able to say, ‘Wow, I did that’, and be really proud of all I have managed to accomplish. My recent win in the Westfield Blogger competition was also evidence of the support I have from family, friends and readers, another reason I should be able to smile and take credit where credit is due.

But less than 24 hours after my guest post was published on the Westfield insider blog, I felt 13 again, banished back to a place and time best left forgotten and buried at the back of my mind. It’s hard for me to hide the hurt and while I try to hold back tears, in reality, they come easily.

I love shopping, I really do. And I love fashion. But I am no stylist. I am not a hairdresser, make-up artist or art director. I just like writing – that’s all. So when I was sent, on my own, to find outfits to wear for the blog post (ironically, to my high school reunion) I was a little nervous. And it was, quite honestly, a rather unpleasant experience.

I had my list of stores to try – not stores I would usually shop in myself, and my 8megapixel digital camera. A messy up do and my usual minimal make-up. Not exactly Vogue.

The first store was great. The staff were helpful, fun and encouraging. By the time I had tried on half of Westfield three hours later and had to deal with change rooms full of people watching me, ill- fitting clothing and bad photos, I was ready to give it all up. I was flushed from all the changing, my hair had gone from chic messy to just plain messy and my energy levels (and enthusiasm) were severely depleted. This was no longer fun.

Writing the blog was the easy part. Words come easily and I like talking about fashion. Anyone can learn textbook style and generally I know what works and what doesn’t, but when forced to put together whole outfits from stores I know don’t work for me, things get a little harder. I hated the photos. I hated the outfits. But, there was a deadline and that was all I had. What was done, was done. I submitted the three ‘best’ pictures, and my words, and that was it.

Over the following week I was asked to submit a few additional images – ones I wasn’t thrilled about, but I sent them as instructed. When the blog went live I discovered one of the images I had really disliked had been used but by that stage there really wasn’t anything I could do about it. I’m no model, and the blog is supposed to depict ‘the everyday’.

And then the comments started. I had been warned by the Westfield Insider herself to be prepared for some negativity, after all she cops it nearly every day, but after the tirade of vicious insults started streaming through, I was taken aback.

I was at the dinner table with my family when I heard the blog was live. My excitement that my guest blog would be seen by 60,000 plus people quickly turned to trying to hide my disappointment as I read the comments people had left. It’s difficult to stifle that kind of sadness.

Few who had left negative comments left their names; others who provided constructive criticism and feedback are supportive of my efforts – because that’s what they were: efforts. I tried, with my limited resources, to cater to the audience of the blog – much wider in range than my own little piece of the web.

Of course the balance of negative vs positive comments has evened out somewhat since the blog was posted, but this doesn’t counteract the damage that’s already been done. I can argue my side all day – that I didn’t want particular pictures used, that my ‘good’ bras were in the wash, that my camera was below par, that I was on my own. It doesn’t take away from the fact that there are people out there with nothing better to do than criticize others.

I was told if you don’t have something nice to say, don’t say it al all – a concept that seems to fly out the window when it comes to social media. The bullying may be faceless but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

I’ve taken a deep breath, had my moment of feeling sorry for myself and I’m moving on. What doesn’t kill me makes me stronger and it’s probably time I had to deal with something like this in what I think is a pretty charmed life. Life wasn’t meant to be easy and its things like this that give me the strength to take the next step in my life journey.

I’ll make an effort to include more pictures of my own, not quite perfect, style for this site if I know I can deal with the negative and maybe in the long term that will help me be a better blogger.

And as for my high school reunion – it’s not til October – and I won’t be wearing any of the outfits I blogged about for Westfield.

If you need help, visit http://www.beyondblue.org.au

Glamour Girl of the swinging sixties – Miss Jean Shrimpton.
These are my two favourite Vogue covers – and there were LOT’S to choose from.

The blogging community is a tight knit one and we all run into each other regularly at various events and chat on a mostly daily basis on the interwebs. Fellow bloggers and social media addicts have become more than just people I know in the industry, but friends who I catch up with more often than my ‘regular’ friends.

One such fellow blogger and Melbourne local is Miss Green, a fashion and beauty savvy sister with a passion for the environment.

Miss Green, aka Rebecca George, recently interviewed me for her website, Miss Green’s Wardrobe, about a few of my favourite things when it comes to eco-friendly products and a little bit of luxury. 

You can read about the best thing in my bathroom cupboard, my favourite eco brands, what I do when indulging in a little me time and more at Miss Green’s Wardrobe.

Don’t forget to come back and tell me what your favourite eco tips and tricks are!

It’s raining in Melbourne.

I would rather be in Paris.

Even raining, I would still rather be in Paris.

All images from Google Images. Search ‘rainy paris photographs’

I popped into Dotti over the weekend after a rather long hiatus (really thought I had outgrown them) but I discovered some new seasons treasures I am lusting after.

I’m really more of a skirt girl but these pants (and the COLOUR!) make me want to change my tune.

Rust Carrot Leg Pant $79.95

I have been dying for all things camel/caramel over the past months (Chloe eat your heart out) and this skirt is all that.

Ladylike Mid Skirt $59.95

Nothing like our Melbourne winter days to send you to the shops (or the fridge). This one hides all manner of sins. And its that colour again! (Ginger Spice in case you wondered)

Asymetric Rib Jumper $49.95

Want to take this one out on the town.

Two Tone Satchel $39.95

Need to win Tattslotto.

Loving Dotti this week.