I’ve been writing this blog for two years now. To be honest, I’m actually kind of surprised I’ve managed to keep it up – I was pretty sure no-one was ever going to read it, and thought I’d lose interest after a few months or so – but no, here I am, still boring you on a fairly regular basis with my bus rants and poorly lit outfit shots! I’m not quite sure how I originally envisioned it turning out – my life is basically unrecognisable now compared to where I was when I started, and what my exact vision was back then I honestly can’t remember. But one thing is for sure. This standard is pretty much as good as it gets from me, friends. If you had hopes this might morph one day into one of those beautiful, glossy fashion blogs full of Instagram fodder, unfortunately you’ll be disappointed. I’m just never going to be one of those girls you wish you could be, and honestly, I’m ok with that. Just to be clear, this post is in now way intended to be a dig at those glamourous, stylish, goddesses. Far from it – they are, after all, what inspired me to start blogging in the first place. There are plenty of impossibly stunning blogs I stop by weekly to pore over their gorgeous photos and drool over their latest handbag purchase. I love them! And power to them – they are 100% the kind of girls I wish I could be. Fact is though, I’m not, I never will be, and here is why…
Scratch that. I’m not poor. To suggest I’m somehow living below the poverty line would be both ludicrous and offensive to those who really are – I do ok. I have an above average salary, I have a roof over my head and a healthy savings account. That said, in order to be one of those ‘aspirational’ bloggers, I’d need to be spending a helluva lot of time and money shopping, and making sure I had brand new, relevant things to post about on a regular basis. ‘But wait!’ I hear you say, ‘You DO spend a helluva lot of time and money shopping!’ Well yeah, true on one count, shopping is indeed a favourite pastime of mine. Truth is though, I’m a real skinflint, and I get worse with every passing birthday. Saving for a house, maybe a future wedding and future children, means as much of my disposable income as possible is earmarked for other things, and while I’m by no means scraping pennies together, the things I buy tend to be sale or eBay bargains. I genuinely can’t remember the last time I bought a frock full price (that wasn’t from Primark, anyway!) and while that is good for my bank balance, it doesn’t make for the most exciting outfit posts. I will be wearing 4 year old H&M dresses, I will be wearing the same things over and over again, and on the off chance you happen to fall in love with something I’m wearing, chances are you can’t buy it any more. Sorry ’bout that. You know what though? That’s real life. And as nice as it would be to be parading a never ending supply of new shoes for you to gawp at, I just don’t see that changing, even if I find myself considerably richer. It’s just not the way I’m wired – I’m always looking for value and I can’t help feeling guilty whenever I do have a bit of a splurge.
I’m really bad at outfit photos
I’m going to let you in on a little secret. Probably around 70% of my outfit photos are staged (I know, you’re wondering how come they aren’t better then, aren’t you?) I don’t, like, spend all weekend dressing up or anything, creating new outfits just for the fun of it – I really have worn all of those outfits. I’m just really bad at catching them in action, and often have to put them on again later just to make sure I have photographic evidence. To be fair, it’s not all my fault. I have a full time job, meaning opportunities to capture photos of myself are limited as it is, and of course, I live in England, where we spend 60% of the year living in complete darkness. Or it feels that way, anyway. So I’m onto a losing start. On top of that, I bought myself a fancy camera, yet haven’t got around to learning how to use it properly, I leave it at home pretty much all of the time, and I currently live in my parents spare room, so I don’t have a multitude of aesthetically pleasing backdrops or willing volunteers to carry out my photoshoots. That’s only the half of it – remember how I said I was going to start documenting things better so I can write those thrilling monthly round ups? Well, as you can’t have failed to notice, I’m not very good at that either, and I have no excuse for that. I have every intention of doing it, and then I just, well, forget!
I feel stupid, most of the time
I’ve never felt particularly comfortable in my own skin. It’s gotten better with age, but I’ve always felt slightly apologetic about my presence. I’m not a painfully shy little wallflower or anything, and I’m not one of those people who believes they are hideously ugly, but I’ve just always been a little self conscious. I’m the kind of person who feels the need to fill a silence and then instantly regrets hearing their own voice. When planning a Wedding, I was seriously trying to think of a way of entering the room without having to walk down an aisle, because I was convinced I wouldn’t be able to stop myself awkwardly waving at people, grinning like a maniac as I passed – or worse, trip over my own clumsy feet and fall on my face, taking out the artfully placed candles as I go and burning down the building or something. I’m a bit of a goof, basically, and not in any way graceful of effortless. Thing is, I’m fully aware that I’m not an impossibly pretty 22 year old with perfect hair or an enviously toned bod, I’m not in any way, shape or form ‘cool’, and my life isn’t all that interesting. I’m just, well, average, and I’m totally fine with that, but I live in fear that someone might think that by posting on the Internet I might actually class myself as one of those things. As a result, I constantly question my posts before publishing. I critique my photos so much that most of them never make it online. I feel cripplingly shy when taking those photos, which is another reason they aren’t all that great – there aren’t exactly a plethora of private outdoor spaces in suburban Birmingham, and I get really embarrassed if anyone is witness to me posing in front of a camera. I still haven’t quite found the confidence to do anything other than awkwardly stand there with one hand on my hip and grimace slightly! One day I hope I can get over this and be one of those girls who can nonchalantly pretend to frolic in a field, enjoying the breeze in her hair and casually stopping to admire the scent of wildflowers as if no-one was watching, but for now you’re stuck with the few amateur, candid snaps where I didn’t look like I was in pain!
Finally, I just can’t bring myself to care enough…
I love my blog, and I love all you guys for reading it. I really do. Because I don’t exactly make a huge amount of effort for you. I know for a fact it could be better if I spent more time on it – a bit like how I could probably have gotten a higher degree if I’d bothered to go to my seminars in my second year of University! But life is just so darn busy as it is. So I’m a bit of a walking conflict, because I want to be better, but not enough, it seems, to make it happen. It’s a recurring theme in my life – I want to get rid of my gut, but not enough to go out for a run as frequently as I should. I want to be healthier, but not enough not to go to the pub on a Friday or eat cheese. I want to take advantage of Black Friday sales, but not enough to get up at 3am and have my eyes scratched out by crazed shoppers. I want to take beautiful flatlays, but not enough to stand on the table while photographing brunch in a busy restaurant. You get my drift. My social media feed, which I’m fully aware should be a vital tool in promoting my blog, is just too, well, social. I would love it to be beautifully presented and ‘themed’, but my feeds, just like my life, are frequently interspersed with drunk nights out and pictures of my dog. I could set up separate ones, of course, but then I’d just have a whole other place to be inadequate. It feels far more comfortable to just accept that I’m not perfect, and go with it. I didn’t wake up this morning with a full face of makeup, in designer pyjamas under top notch bedding that inexplicably matches the crockery on which my breakfast in bed was served. I don’t often find myself accidentally on purpose standing in front of scenery that is perfectly toned to match my shoes (although, I did accidentally dress exactly the same as the table decorations in a curry house last week, which was totally by accident and a little bit unfortunate, to be honest) and I don’t lay my clothes out beautifully every morning before I get dressed. I’m just me. Boring, average, slightly shoe and dress obsessed me, and I’m not likely to get any more exciting any time soon.
Hope you still love me!