Boyfriends Aren’t Real

We’ve all heard the lengthy sigh of our female friend, followed by ‘I just, like, need to be spooned. I want a boyfriend’. I’m gonna strip things down a few layers(raunchy), right down to the word boyfriend. Imagine this, you have just woken up from a magical sleep, its 2013, you are 21, single and the world is laid out in front of you. Now I’m not saying its the first thing you’ll be confused by, but its gotta be up there, you’re going to wonder what this mystical ‘boyfriend’ figure is. The one every single girl whimsically whispers about. I think we all need to take a deep breath and maybe, just maybe, recognise that this ‘boyfriend’ does not exist. The image you have conjured up, of a champion spooner, always-texts-you-backer with an unreal bod, simply isn’t real. ‘Prince Charming’ and ‘Boyfriend’ are fictional characters that us hunzos in our twenties are holding up as beacons of hope. Umm… Can we do something else please?

This doesn’t just apply to Irish girls, it has its own effect on the lads. They’re scared of the ‘boyfriend’. The ‘boyfriend’ lifts more than them, the ‘boyfriend’ is romantic, the ‘boyfriend’ doesn’t fart in bed. He’s making them all look bad, they’re pale in comparison to the imaginary relationship we’re in in our heads. Actual boyfriends, real life ones, aren’t perfect, they fuck up all the time. Imaginary boyfriends, don’t. And herein lies the issue, no real life boy is ever, ever going to live up to the expectations we have created. Because real life boys, have real life weaknesses, they forget things, they get drunk, they make mistakes but maybe they’ll be ok at spooning? This is very very disappointing to the average young lady, so we’ve just kind of, ignored it… Girls don’t want real boyfriends, girls want their imaginary one to suddenly morph into reality, and they’re willing to moan about it for years and years, until they eventually just settle on a real life boy who is semi ok. What a waste of time…

perf bf doesn't exist

This whole ‘I need a boyfriend’ seems like stage one of how to completely self-destruct and ruin your own life. How about, we stop imagining boyfriends and start imagining what it would feel to own your own business. How about, we stop pretending we’re lonely, you aren’t lonely, you’re bored. Stop being bored. If you’re lonely go and change things, move places, do things you wouldn’t normally do. Skydive, scuba dive, ski, find whatever it is that’s going to remind you that you’re alive. We get one life, one. Repeat. One life. I’m not wasting mine sitting around the arts block moaning about my relationship status. Get up, move, go to the gym, book a flight, create yourself. We’re putting more effort into creating our image of an ideal man than creating ourselves.

be young, be dope, be proud

I’m rebelling against relationships.Don’t be in a relationship with an figment of your imagination, don’t be in a relationship with a real life disappointment, calm down and stop rushing yourself. Dance your pants off, drink shots, never forget your girls and just let yourself have FUN.

Young, Fun, and Single. Live it, breathe it, be it.

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Blog Awards!

Absolutely amazing time at the Irish Blog Awards 2013 last night! I was a  lady and got to escort my gorgeous friend LolaDee to the event! Not only was she nominated but the little legend won Best Blog Post 2013. So unbelievably happy for Lorna, a true blogger who did it all herself! Read her AWARD WINNING POST and much more here: http://www.loladee.com/

lorna and award

So when most people are invited to prestigious events like this they go through a process of planning. They plan their outfit, they plan their journey, they make a conscious effort to plan, so they don’t later face colossal amounts of stress. Lorna and I, did not plan, anything. At 2pm that day I bought my outfit for the cabaret themed extravaganza! God bless Penny’s. We then spent 3 hours running around Dublin like headless chickens attempting to time travel our way to Naas. Four Luas tickets, 2 bus tickets and 2 refunded train tickets, we arrived!!

luas tickets

The Arrival: They say arriving stylishly late is quite the statement. We were not stylish, we were out of breath, sweaty, panicky and I had sparkly hot pants riding up where no sequins need to be. But late as we were we took our seats, and our wine, and got settled for the evening.

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With Lorna’s phone dead I took on the role of tweeter, woman against the machine. Here’s a few of our ramblings:

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After the awards, Lorna was interviewed and photographed, I looked on squealing ‘She’s a celebrity!!’. Then in true classy bird style we made our way to Harcourt Street to dance the night away! I highly recommend wearing an over-sized headpiece to Coppers, the reaction was nothing short of awe. I’m quite glad my bow headpiece got the glory it deserved in Coppers actually, it was playing to the wrong crowd on Abbey Street at 4pm as we began our journey. But never fear, when you feel judged for wearing sparkly hot-pants in central Dublin there is only one solution, hum the Sex and the City them tune to yourself. Do do do do dooo dooo do do do dooo dooo dooo…

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Today I achieved very little except sending ludicrous snap-chats of the penis straws my mum sent me. Hope you had a lovely weekend!

penis straws

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Did Our Parents Settle?

While strolling into town with my housemate last night we shared our current boy dramas, a standard enough conversation, one which actually occurs daily. And as we empathized, laughed and shook our heads a question occurred to me; Did our parents generation simply settle? My own parents are completely happy after nearly twenty five years of marriage, but are they the exception? Did the majority of their generation just get married because they felt they had to?

don't settle

The reality is that we as young strong women have literally no idea what to expect from relationships, when are we expecting too much, when are we expecting too little? These answers can be pieced together by our Irish experiences of relationships and also by the filtration of the media into our everyday lives. As a country Ireland is still tentative about the subject of divorce. Divorce is still a strange idea in Irish public forum, with archaic administration and lengthy legislation dragging the process out. Divorce banishes the idea that people are together forever, and we are the first generation of young Irish women to have divorce be such a tangible reality.

divorce

Growing up during the rise of Celtic Tiger Ireland has left us with some confused ideas, we were the first generation given the gift of endless opportunity, we could be whatever we liked when we grew up, there were no limits, the world was our oyster, until the economy collapsed and it all suddenly went very very dark. This naive hopefulness has spilled over to our personal lives, we expect fireworks, princesses and unicorns when we set our sights on a relationship. What we are faced with is probably best described as jigsaw pieces that simply don’t fit. Should we abandon our hope and simply settle on the best frog we’ve kissed? Is this the recession buster solution to our relationships?

celtic tiger

Its no secret that films, books, magazines, and now even social media are projecting to us what to expect from relationships. The ‘Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus‘ and ‘He’s Just Not That Into You‘ debates pull and push our expectations. We shouldn’t expect a man to understand us… but we should also consider that he’s refusing to listen to us… not because he doesn’t care but because men can’t help us because they don’t understand… but maybe he does understand but he just doesn’t care… because maybe he’s not interested in you in the first place. Confusing? Yes!

men are from mars

he's just not that into you

Maybe there is no such thing as The One or Prince Charming. This is initially disappointing, but then I start to see that maybe this makes life a little easier. Maybe I don’t have to wait for the fanfare, maybe I let go of my Disney expectations of relationships. But I feel a sense of nostalgia, I want to ride off into the sunset, isn’t that what I was promised? By giving up on this am I already settling?

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Every Girl? Perfect wedding, perfect man, fact or fiction? 

This is certainly a big can of worms, pass me a glass of wine and tell me your thoughts on this!

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Graduation

I experimented with a few titles for this post, ‘Graduation: It’s all Over’, ‘Graduation: It’s all beginning’, ‘Graduation: What the f**k now?’ but all that did was increase anxiety! Graduation was certainly bittersweet, I loved college, the classes and seminars paled in comparison to the fun I was having but I’ll never regret a minute of how I spent my time. So when it came to saying goodbye college and hello world I felt quite the array of emotions. Firstly I felt incredibly jet lagged having flown Boston-Dublin and arrived a mere 24 hours before the event, not my best planning! Then as I collected my little piece of paper I felt an overwhelming sense of gratefulness, gratefulness to my parents for encouraging me to choose a course I was interested in, gratefulness to my college for providing so many amazing opportunities, grateful to the friends I made, grateful to the boys I loved, grateful to the whole entire universe. I’m a graduate, I have a degree, I’m unreaaaaaal. Then after a lovely meal with my family a sudden ton of bricks hit me. I am a grownup. I am a grownup. Oh no! What on earth? There’s been some sort of mistake, I still listen to Taylor Swift, I still bite my nails. This is not the image of me as a grownup I imagined! After quite a few unrestful sleeps, a lot of googling of the phrase ‘gap year’ and tears upon tears. I remembered a little something, out there in my sea of confusion, panic and early twenties angst, one phrase reached out to me ‘Pour yourself a drink, put on some lipstick and pull yourself together’ Elizabeth Taylor. So in quite a haze I did just that, I raided my mum’s bacardi, I put on my reddest red and sat on my bed in my fluffy pajamas. I’m not quite sure what’s next here, but with pending alcoholism I feel a return to Dublin is imminent.

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1368808_10200211625728209_500399592_nGrad photo framed and on the mantlepiece less than 24 hours after ceremony, my mother is nothing if not efficient!  

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Big thank you to my gorgeous godmother who lent me this dress for the big day! Went with this simple fitted navy dress, black peeptoes, and some raybans for the sneaky sunshine that we had!

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Fashion-More Than Just a Week

With the shows in New York coming to a close and the invitations for London posted out, fashion weeks are dominating the media headlines. An attraction for celebrities from all disciplines, projections of future style and one hell of a party, fashion weeks are an annual media focus. But with million dollar shows, social media coverage from every angle and the all important designs themselves, just how do we fit into fashion week, and how does fashion fit into our everyday lives?

nyfw

The answers vary from the literal, ‘I live in Galway, New York fashion week traffic is about as relevant to my life as the Tayto-chocolate bar was-not at all’ to the figurative ‘New York fashion week is my guiding light, every year, wherever in the world I am’.  Truth be told the place of fashion week in my own life has become more and more accessible with the leaps in social media. Seeing baby Harper Beckham smile at Anna Wintour is a perfect example of that, no longer are shows simply represented by the lines of models but by the backstage snaps and the front row faces. This insider look into fashion week brings it to life, it makes it real and it makes it human.

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What happens when the week is over? Well in the immediate aftermath we do it all again with the London offerings, but for you and me, the girls who live fashion week through instagram. What happens? We can see emerging trends for spring, we know what’s in and what’s out, we have been introduced, albeit not directly, to Spring 2013 Fashion. Which is a gorgeous sentiment in its luxurious artsy way and it brings me to my next thought, how does fashion fit into our everyday lives?

For a twenty something like me that’s quite easy to answer, and also tangible with shoes and dresses pouring from wardrobe. But what does fashion meeeeean? I’m crying out for answers here. I believe its art and I believe its expression and beauty and happiness all smothered in chiffon and lace and wonderfulness. But what about my Grandad, who is eighty four, what does fashion mean to him? To him clothes are ascended not from heavenly hands of designers, for him the fashion process is a lot more simple. He has a maghongy wardrobe, in the back bedroom, with suits, shirts, trousers, everything he needs, in this wardrobe is his fashion. He still goes to his wardrobe like I do, he still picks his favourite shirt, his comfy trousers, he still makes choices, he still has an opinion. Right there, that’s fashion, that’s choosing to project an image, its choosing to be a certain person or to recreate a certain person you’ve spent decades carving. He has a favourite blazer, when you have a favourite item you have an opinion, you have an identity.

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Fashion isolates no one, fashion week is enveloping people more and more, fashion is for the first time in history, the most accessible art form you can experience. But remember, as many fashionista’s forget, you are never fully dressed without a smile!

I’m loving my #ootd a Zara blazer over a Motel dress!

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What are you wearing today?

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Why Don’t Irish Girls Tan?

Adding to the ‘Hot dogs or Legs’ debate with this photo, taken on a particularly gorgeous day on Nantucket!

hotdogs or legsA certain bruise may give this one away!

I’m all for the beach, the sound of the waves, the glorious sun beating down on you and the smell of sun cream. The Irish love a beach day, wherever we are in the world, the golden beaches of Oz or the pier down the road. Home or Away if the sun sticks its nose out the Irish are unbuttoning and finding sheltered spots to lay out. This all led me to thinking, why don’t Irish girls tan? I feel the real reason must lie somewhere in our Irish beach day formula, so lets look at it step by step.

  1. The Irish girl ‘gathers the troops’: A mass text or Facebook mail must be sent to rally the girls to the beach. We can’t go alone, sure who’ll put the sunscreen on our backs and talk about the other beach goers, ‘Do you see yer wan over there, topless, jaysus’.
  2. The Irish girl forgets the sun-cream’: Despite arriving at the beach with a small army we will always forget the sun-cream. Except that one friend, the one who also hasn’t forgotten her junior cert results, or that you shifted her cousin. She’ll bring some, and she’ll dole out a splodge to each of us.
  3. The Irish girl ‘reapplies-her foundation’: We don’t reapply the sun-cream but are happy for a little extra coverage. Why not? It’s a mix of being in a sun drenched daze and dreading asking yer wan for another splodge.
  4. The Irish girl ‘skips siesta’: Wherever we are in the world, we must lie out at the hottest part of the day, maximum charring. All while muttering, ‘we mightn’t get sun like this again’. Even though its Spain in July so that’s dreadfully untrue.
  5. The Irish girl asks ‘do I look a bit red’: This is the moment. The palest, freckliest, girl pipes up. And all the others turn their heads, and there it is, the imprint of a Pennys bikini, etched onto her. It is worth mentioning that I am usually this girl-fragile, dehydrated and in need of a 99.
  6. The Irish girl ‘Says a Hail Mary and an Aloe Vera’: After packing up the Capri-suns and uploading some instagram shots, we head home. Skin pinked and threatening to peel. The Cure: Aloe Vera and After-sun, with a little Sally Hansen Airbrush Legs.
  7. The Irish girl ‘Wakes White???’: And after a sleepless night of sticking to the sheets the Irish girl awakens, pale as a ghost.

feet

You see I’m not quite sure where we go wrong? I’ve experimented many times with the above formula and all I’ve gotten is sunstroke-twice! I know many Irish ladies are shouting out now about the colour they change to with just a sprinkle of sunshine, but for the majority of us its just not happening. I’ve a thousand freckles to pay tribute to my sun catching summer, but not one bronzed limb.

What are your best tanning tips?!

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