♡ LOTUS MENDES eat your heart out ♡

✌Gold on Gold on Gold✌

Eye lo' that Gold. 

Recently I was lucky enough to get some Killer Lotus Mendes jewellery up in hurr. I do remember initially seeing it, thinking 'This is quite bold, maybe I should tone my outfit down'. That thought lasted for 2 minutes, then I got all my Gold attire and piled it all on. GET SOME. 

Got me the King Tut Necklace, Gold Curb chain and One Luv Ring. 

Hey ho, Ex oh. 

♡

WHAT I WOULD HAVE WORN IF I WENT OUT LAST NIGHT: 6TH JULY

My post is on time, but don't get use to it. I didn't post for two weeks because I went the hell out, and by that I mean, I suffered in the cold and rainy weather and I woke up the next day completely regretting it. I didn't go out this weekend because I found myself in bed, drinking Baileys out of a mug, with my impossibly fluffy dog aside me, watching Ab Fab with a sweater on. I had no plans which sounded more comfortable or warm, so I stayed in.

A cut out white Leo, Leather heather Alice in the Eve pleated skirt, Shiny Sportsgirl bomber, Tip-top Topshop socks and Creepy CreeperZ. That is a mouthful. 

What I would have worn if I went out last night: 15th June

Late in posting again, its like Betty Rizzo in Grease. I don't know if that was a bad joke, but I pulled it anyway.

So, pretend its Sunday again and Saturday night was last night. I didn't post last week because I actually went out, I also had a shift the next day at work, so naturally I regretted it.

ANYWAY, I didn't go out this weekend because I had dem dang unay exams, and I didn't want to have to study the next day damn-hung-over. So I decided it was better to stay in and eat my feelings just like the chicks in Mean Girls. It came to a point of utter desperation, started rubbing the text book against my head in an effort to somehow absorb errythang. I will admit I had a moment of weakness, almost reaching for a bottle of vodka to dilute with some nasty energy drank, but it was cold, I was in a sweater and I was clutching a piece of cake with a crazed look in my eye. It might have made a good look, I could have passed for the '90s grunge bitch who don't give' but it was more of a 'Patsy from Ab Fab after a night of wine tasting' gettup. 

Bit of a nod to the massive sports wear trend. Got mah humongous football jersey from Topshop on, seriously, its massive, mostly because I could legally be classified a midget. Anyway, paired that with an Alice in the Eve pleated leather skirt and a huge stone washed denim vest. Of course I had to put some fine a$$ Adidas racers on, and I felt like it was a white patent leather hat sort of night. 

Hey ho, ex oh. 

Renee ♡

Boyfriend jeans, but no Boyfriend

So, what should I call them, hey?

I have an abundance of these bay-bees and I love them to death. In my opinion, you can't really go wrong in them. They're effortlessly stylish and they'll look good on pretty much any body type. I haven't found a pair that I've tried on and been unhappy with. We all know that unhappy state, trying to blame the store lighting, or the store mirror. No, these beauties always feel and look good. That's why I have so many pairs. This isn't even all of them, I have a bright red pair from Country Road and classic denim pair from Zara too.

From left to right, we have some River Island ones, Ruehl No.925 Denim ones, and even some Prada ones. The Prada ones I found very happily in a thrift store. I was a great day.

I use to have to search high and low for these, infiltrating thrift shops and buying mens jeans to fold and make my own boyf jeans, but now they're everywhere. So they're supa easy to find, yo'

Get summa dez studs, you'll be very happy with the purchase. 

What the ART are you doing ?

Apart from finding anything inappropriate in, and laughing at, even the most classical artworks, I feel a tad more cultured having visited the. It was a forgiving 25 degrees, so I was free to celebrate the absence of pants.

Wore the dress I made in the White light post, threw the love of my lyf -my leather jacket- from Oxford, over my shoulders to brave the still cold breeze and finished it off with some boots from Topshop. I bought those boots 3 years ago, and hated how they looked on me, until now. 

Anyway, the Art Gallery of NSW was stunning, dreadlocks and Doc Martens were abound, and I had a good laugh at a few wieners on those perfectly sculpted statues.

Since I left it too late a decision to grab some friends, I took my trusted brother along and let him shoot some of these photos. He came along partly because he had never been there before and mostly because he had nothing better to do, oh and he also joined me with his Tom Ford sunglasses and Polo Ralph Lauren jumper.
Check out the Photography Gallery if you're there in the next month, the exhibit is beautiful.


Look at this drank chick, nip slip and all. 
See? I told you I found something to laugh at in even the most classically hand-crafted pieces. 

Shhh, its a secret, with three h's.

You know what popped like fucking crazy ?

Me.

I am having a bita trouble remembering my night, but I'll give you my best shot at describing every scrumptious, drunken & cray cray moment.
So we began the night at a friends warehouse. Drank our troubles away, along with our dignity, sensible judgement and a little bit of our ability to string a sentence.
I was three Elevates deep when we made our way to the supra secret location. supra secret.
BYO. Minimal security. No police. I quickly found I had everything I needed there to create a lovely little night for myself. The only downside was there was one bathroom for 200 people, male and female, and while I had the sensibility to close and lock the door, a lot of patrons, mostly male, forgot to lock it at least, which did lead to several awkward encounters.
People were openly carrying their goon sacks, throwing them over their shoulders, and politely being asked to leave them at the door when they stepped outside for a smoke. Like a lovely coat service for your alcohol. At this point, I had smashed through the 4 Elevates and was mooching off any goon sack I could find, and maybe even some cider. I do remember having cider.
When the First lady of techno granted us with her presence, I remember lurching my head as high as I could to catch a glimpse. And then, that's it.
Seriously guys, that's it.
I know she dropped one bomb, because I woke up, fully dressed, make-up stinging my eyes, hugging my sequinned bag, with the words 'some magic, some raw nerve, surrender' ringing and ringing.
To put it simply, that night was so delicious, I want to spread it on a crumpet.
It was great. And I will definitely be at the next one, and the next one, and ERRY ONE.


The theme was black, so I didn't have much freedom. Black wet-looks, a fringed over-shirt and a high neck top. And, as always, my embroidered sequinned bag, found at the back of my childhood closet.

Overpriced t-$hirt: I'm my own Creeper

I'll leave you weeping when I tell you this shirt was $60. To be fair, I bought it in an impossibly cool thrift store in Denmark, one which you had to climb down stairs to get to, and also fight your way through disco pants, and fur collars to get to.

It was a shirt, a tight collared, long and oversized shirt, so naturally I took to it with scissors, like a true crop-top lovin' soul. I paid for it with Kroners, thinking it would be the equivalent to the average thrifted tee, but found later on it was a whole $60. But I thought nothing of it, because I loved the perfectly worn, torn, and faded feel and look of it. Someone before me, whether they were a retired rocker with a long head of hair and a balding crown, or a slim, twiggy young woman who couldn't get enough of her 'BØ rne Radio', wore this shirt to absolute death, and I'm fully thankful for that. Because no one loves those first few awkward months of a piece of clothing, its a little stiff, scuff-free and just too new. Like new white shoes. You know exactly what I'm talking about.

I'm my own Creeper.