As you may or may not be aware, I am the owner of a pair of considerably dimensioned assets. Coupled with my petite frame, it all starts to look a bit Pamela Anderson at times. Ironically I have met Pamela Anderson. And have her poster on the inside of my wardrobe. But let's save that story for another time.
Now, for the larger boobed ladies of the world, underwear shopping poses quite a challenge. For the slender of back and large of breast this challenge is compounded further. In this age of boob jobs, you would imagine finding a 32E or, God forbid, a 32F wouldn't be a massive (excuse the pun) problem, what with all the Jordanesque girls around. Apparently companies just refuse to make this size. So for several years, La Senza was the only refuge I had - unless I wanted to go down the Freya route - giant gauze cups, God-awful patterns and 3 inch wide straps. Could you imagine one of those sexy numbers poking out of the side of a tank top? The horror. Even in the saving grace that was La Senza, it was difficult enough to find something was:
a) black, red or pink - the only underwear colours I deem acceptable. Don't even go near me with a nude. It makes me want to vomit.
b) didn't have massive shoulder straps to keep everything adequately "supported".
c) attractive but didn't have appliqued flowers/hearts/polka dots or most alarmingly, pinstripes. Just in case you wanted to channel your inner business woman through your underwear choices. I like lace. That is all.
So for years I battled onwards, in the hope of eventually finding where all the silicone enhanced ladies of the land buy their lingerie. Today, I was nearing my wits end. I had searched ever faithful M&S (same strap problem, or worse, anything above a D consisted of a mesh cup. I have a nipple phobia. So much so that a former flatmate used to deliberately not wear a bra and see how long I could stand her for. The thought of a visible nipple through a mesh cup actually makes me gag), La Senza and Selfridges. My last hope was Debenhams. And behold, I struck lucky. Usually I cannot abide Debenhams, as they separate the bras into sections based on size, which always proves terribly embarrassing, especially when there is stray lost male in the vicinity and you happen to be perusing bras with cups bigger than his head. But they had a plethora of colours and sizes and skinny straps and lace and nice matching french knickers and it just so happened to be a half price sale. Phew. It was great. So, just some words of wisdom for those who share my plight. There is a light at the end of the tunnel.
Thursday 17 June 2010
Wednesday 9 June 2010
Review: Make Believe Self Tan Lotion with Bronzer
As you are all aware, I am quite the fake tan aficionado. Being Irish and all that jazz, the girls I grew up with were obsessed with colouring their skin as deep an orange as possible. So much so that I believe my old Bebo account (God, now that really was a long time ago) from back in the day cites "waking up to a biscuity smell and a satsuma-hued glow" as one of my favourite things.
It kind of still is.
Which is what upset me about Make Believe, or more specifically, as I don't like to paint all products under the same brand name with the same brush, Self Tan Lotion with Bronzer. Now, first things first. My tanning preferences require a good, dark colour. I'm not saying it HAS to be orange, but I would like to look pretty damn sunkissed if I'm going to the hassle of messing up my bedsheets and enduring the smell of DHA penetrating layers of my skin for a night. This is difficult to achieve on skin which naturally has a transparent white to bluish tone. Seriously, you can't get any paler than this. Which is why, dear friends, I wear fake tan EVERY SINGLE DAY OF MY LIFE. No exceptions. - plus it makes you look skinnier. Which is all important.
So on Monday night I applied a layer of the above lotion. The stuff itself does smell lovely, like some sort of delicious summer dessert. As all tanning fans will know, that's pretty damn hard to achieve. St Tropez tried it with their promising "Aromaguard" technology, but sadly all they managed was to make the cream smell more like a bottle of Veet Hair Removal than a tanning lotion. Unfortunate. The colour of the bronzer in the Make Believe stuff is very nice it has to be said, and creates a good colour straight away. The problem occurs the next morning. So I wake up, admire my glow with the bronzer and hop in the shower. I get out, pat myself dry and take a glance at my gorgeous tanned self. Not a bit of it. There is literally no change. My skin is still no darker than my (white) bathroom tiles. You can imagine how upsetting this was for me. In fact, the effect was so negligible, I was forced to wear a long sleeved top, as I couldn't bear my pale arms to the glare of the general public.
Not to be deterred by a minor setback (I'd also heard good reviews on other blogs about the same product, AND it did come with a fairly hefty price tag - albeit with a third off in Boots!) I decided that perhaps due to the unnaturally pale colour of my limbs, it needed another application. And so I went through the same process last night. I awoke this morning full of hopes and dreams of brown arms. These were dashed when the same problem occurred. There is perhaps a mild colour difference between an un-fake-tanned bit and a Make Believe-ed bit. But not much. Certainly not enough when you consider that the tan was working on what can only be described as the blankest of canvases. Disappointment indeed.
As I'm going out tonight I'm going to have to resort to desperate measures and rub on a bit of the old faithful Sally Hansen. It has never let me down. And in the meantime, it'll be back to Fake Bake. Although my beauty PR friend has handed me a bottle of Rodial's Brazilian Tan Dark - the very darkest fake tan on the market.
Do I dare?
It kind of still is.
Which is what upset me about Make Believe, or more specifically, as I don't like to paint all products under the same brand name with the same brush, Self Tan Lotion with Bronzer. Now, first things first. My tanning preferences require a good, dark colour. I'm not saying it HAS to be orange, but I would like to look pretty damn sunkissed if I'm going to the hassle of messing up my bedsheets and enduring the smell of DHA penetrating layers of my skin for a night. This is difficult to achieve on skin which naturally has a transparent white to bluish tone. Seriously, you can't get any paler than this. Which is why, dear friends, I wear fake tan EVERY SINGLE DAY OF MY LIFE. No exceptions. - plus it makes you look skinnier. Which is all important.
So on Monday night I applied a layer of the above lotion. The stuff itself does smell lovely, like some sort of delicious summer dessert. As all tanning fans will know, that's pretty damn hard to achieve. St Tropez tried it with their promising "Aromaguard" technology, but sadly all they managed was to make the cream smell more like a bottle of Veet Hair Removal than a tanning lotion. Unfortunate. The colour of the bronzer in the Make Believe stuff is very nice it has to be said, and creates a good colour straight away. The problem occurs the next morning. So I wake up, admire my glow with the bronzer and hop in the shower. I get out, pat myself dry and take a glance at my gorgeous tanned self. Not a bit of it. There is literally no change. My skin is still no darker than my (white) bathroom tiles. You can imagine how upsetting this was for me. In fact, the effect was so negligible, I was forced to wear a long sleeved top, as I couldn't bear my pale arms to the glare of the general public.
Not to be deterred by a minor setback (I'd also heard good reviews on other blogs about the same product, AND it did come with a fairly hefty price tag - albeit with a third off in Boots!) I decided that perhaps due to the unnaturally pale colour of my limbs, it needed another application. And so I went through the same process last night. I awoke this morning full of hopes and dreams of brown arms. These were dashed when the same problem occurred. There is perhaps a mild colour difference between an un-fake-tanned bit and a Make Believe-ed bit. But not much. Certainly not enough when you consider that the tan was working on what can only be described as the blankest of canvases. Disappointment indeed.
As I'm going out tonight I'm going to have to resort to desperate measures and rub on a bit of the old faithful Sally Hansen. It has never let me down. And in the meantime, it'll be back to Fake Bake. Although my beauty PR friend has handed me a bottle of Rodial's Brazilian Tan Dark - the very darkest fake tan on the market.
Do I dare?
Sunday 6 June 2010
The No Carb & Alcohol Test: The First Hurdle
Last week I decided to take extreme measures and cut out the carbs and alcohol. I am holidaying in exactly one month and things need to change in time for the beach. A lifestyle revolving around the hearty consumption of alcohol and cheese on toast has served me well for many years but as I have a morbid fear of fat I feel it must change sooner or later.
Now, let me clarify the phrase "cut out carbs and alcohol". By cut out, I mean I will drink less than usual. "Usual" has recently grown to several glasses of wine four nights a week. "Several" means lots. You catch my drift.
As for the carbs, I'll stretch to a few spoonfuls of granola or two crackerbread in the morning if I'm feeling cheeky. Believe me, I'm dying inside. I LOVE carbs. Potato and white bread and pasta and pizza and chips. But I'm hoping to train my body into not needing these things. It's tough, and lunchtime is a minefield of taunting sandwiches and baguettes but no, I refuse to be broken.
Friday evening was a perfect opportunity for some silly alcohol induced fun, what with the beautiful weather and the outdoor drinking and whatnot. But in the company of old friends I decided to have one drink and that was it. They couldn't believe it. Lo and behold, the world didn't end and I enjoyed myself just as much as ever. Although during our dinner at Pizza Express I definitely would have rathered jump on the American Hot train rather than the Pollo Verdure salad. Oh well.
Last night was a house party with canapes a plenty and hosts willing to top up glasses willy-nilly. Some rice crackers were consumed, as well as a homemade brownie. I'm not going to lie. But, in my defence, I managed to stick to two glasses of wine for the duration of the whole night. This was very possibly the proudest achievement of my life. To fully understand why this was the case you must understand the background. I was once dubbed Party Girl Extraordinaire - a label only ever bestowed on those with dubious drinking/staying out late/dancing on table habits. This combined with my family's nickname for me of "The Common Denominator" - I have a penchant for being the one person who attends EVERY social event, regardless of bodily wellbeing, hungoverness, flying to foreign parts the next day - you may see why I feel the world should be proud of my two glasses of wine.
And with those thoughts, I will keep you posted. Just don't expect a miracle.
Now, let me clarify the phrase "cut out carbs and alcohol". By cut out, I mean I will drink less than usual. "Usual" has recently grown to several glasses of wine four nights a week. "Several" means lots. You catch my drift.
As for the carbs, I'll stretch to a few spoonfuls of granola or two crackerbread in the morning if I'm feeling cheeky. Believe me, I'm dying inside. I LOVE carbs. Potato and white bread and pasta and pizza and chips. But I'm hoping to train my body into not needing these things. It's tough, and lunchtime is a minefield of taunting sandwiches and baguettes but no, I refuse to be broken.
Friday evening was a perfect opportunity for some silly alcohol induced fun, what with the beautiful weather and the outdoor drinking and whatnot. But in the company of old friends I decided to have one drink and that was it. They couldn't believe it. Lo and behold, the world didn't end and I enjoyed myself just as much as ever. Although during our dinner at Pizza Express I definitely would have rathered jump on the American Hot train rather than the Pollo Verdure salad. Oh well.
Last night was a house party with canapes a plenty and hosts willing to top up glasses willy-nilly. Some rice crackers were consumed, as well as a homemade brownie. I'm not going to lie. But, in my defence, I managed to stick to two glasses of wine for the duration of the whole night. This was very possibly the proudest achievement of my life. To fully understand why this was the case you must understand the background. I was once dubbed Party Girl Extraordinaire - a label only ever bestowed on those with dubious drinking/staying out late/dancing on table habits. This combined with my family's nickname for me of "The Common Denominator" - I have a penchant for being the one person who attends EVERY social event, regardless of bodily wellbeing, hungoverness, flying to foreign parts the next day - you may see why I feel the world should be proud of my two glasses of wine.
And with those thoughts, I will keep you posted. Just don't expect a miracle.
Thursday 3 June 2010
Summer Clothing Dilemmas
Hi there boys and girls!
So the sun is finally managing to pierce through those heavy English clouds and shine down on us, praise the Lord. This fact, however, makes a certain daily decision even more difficult:
What to wear?
Are bare legs acceptable in the office? Are flip flops? Or a more subtle and robust flat sandal - one that manages to avoid tassels, beading and jewels - so we don't all look like we're on our way to the beach? A flat pump - with the risk of highly sweaty toes? A chaffing heel? A highly-dangerous-to-walk-in wedge? Are shorts work-wear enough? How short do I dare? Is a vest too clingy on the breast area? Is it OK to flash a summer-bright bra strap? Is a maxi-dress OK on anyone under 5ft 7?
So very many questions. And yet no answers. I have seen so many fashion crimes on the tube this week I actually dread the daily commute. My eyes are offended by a multitude of summer-induced sins. Namely:
The nude tight. Too hot for an opaque tight? Then why the hell are you wearing the same garment in a highly unflattering matte "American Tan"? Note: When accompanied by an open-toed sandal this is possibly the most upsetting thing of my entire day. Or even better - the nude tight OVER, and I repeat OVER, an anklet. For the love of God. The sort of person choosing to wear skin-coloured hosiery is definitely not in the same personality category as a free-spirited hippy anklet-wearer. So just stop it.
Sports shorts. So it's a beautiful summer day outside and you are scrambling around in your wardrobe looking for something weather-appropriate. Whereupon you happen upon a plain tank. And a pair of polyester sports shorts. The ones manufactured by Kappa, Adidas and the like back in 1998. A short is a short, right? NO NO NO NO NO. Team this ensemble with a pair of white sports socks and you may as well be dead.
Skirts with back slits. Now come on. Those derriere brushing slits are pushing the levels of decency at the best of times. But paired with pasty bare legs, they are all sorts of wrong.
"Nautical inspired" (read anything involving red, white and blue) outfits. Just because you are wearing a white stripey top with a navy blue skirt, it does not entitle you to don any red shoe you can find it to really work that anchor and sailboat look. This was never fashionable (well, maybe once according to Dolce & Gabbana, but Lord knows you can't trust them to lead you in a classy direction). In fact, red shoes are mainly the work of the Devil. Nothing sets off sunburn/pink knees/shaving nicks better than red footwear. Just a warning.
Ladies, the above is why God made white loose cotton shirts, sand roll-up chinos, t-shirts, cropped leggings, tunics and summer day dresses. For those of us with taste.
So the sun is finally managing to pierce through those heavy English clouds and shine down on us, praise the Lord. This fact, however, makes a certain daily decision even more difficult:
What to wear?
Are bare legs acceptable in the office? Are flip flops? Or a more subtle and robust flat sandal - one that manages to avoid tassels, beading and jewels - so we don't all look like we're on our way to the beach? A flat pump - with the risk of highly sweaty toes? A chaffing heel? A highly-dangerous-to-walk-in wedge? Are shorts work-wear enough? How short do I dare? Is a vest too clingy on the breast area? Is it OK to flash a summer-bright bra strap? Is a maxi-dress OK on anyone under 5ft 7?
So very many questions. And yet no answers. I have seen so many fashion crimes on the tube this week I actually dread the daily commute. My eyes are offended by a multitude of summer-induced sins. Namely:
The nude tight. Too hot for an opaque tight? Then why the hell are you wearing the same garment in a highly unflattering matte "American Tan"? Note: When accompanied by an open-toed sandal this is possibly the most upsetting thing of my entire day. Or even better - the nude tight OVER, and I repeat OVER, an anklet. For the love of God. The sort of person choosing to wear skin-coloured hosiery is definitely not in the same personality category as a free-spirited hippy anklet-wearer. So just stop it.
Sports shorts. So it's a beautiful summer day outside and you are scrambling around in your wardrobe looking for something weather-appropriate. Whereupon you happen upon a plain tank. And a pair of polyester sports shorts. The ones manufactured by Kappa, Adidas and the like back in 1998. A short is a short, right? NO NO NO NO NO. Team this ensemble with a pair of white sports socks and you may as well be dead.
Skirts with back slits. Now come on. Those derriere brushing slits are pushing the levels of decency at the best of times. But paired with pasty bare legs, they are all sorts of wrong.
"Nautical inspired" (read anything involving red, white and blue) outfits. Just because you are wearing a white stripey top with a navy blue skirt, it does not entitle you to don any red shoe you can find it to really work that anchor and sailboat look. This was never fashionable (well, maybe once according to Dolce & Gabbana, but Lord knows you can't trust them to lead you in a classy direction). In fact, red shoes are mainly the work of the Devil. Nothing sets off sunburn/pink knees/shaving nicks better than red footwear. Just a warning.
Ladies, the above is why God made white loose cotton shirts, sand roll-up chinos, t-shirts, cropped leggings, tunics and summer day dresses. For those of us with taste.
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