For as long as I can remember I’ve always had sooooo many things I want to do with my life. At the age of 14 it was sorting out my bad skin, at the age of 16 it was starting up my blog and writing posts on the reg, at 19 it was getting fit and healthy after my first year of uni was spent drinking mostly vodka and eating cheesy mashed potato.
Hello and welcome to the whitest titled post you’ll (hopefully) ever encounter on this blog. Sound those church bells because I am back.
Turns out Ferris Bueller wasn’t wrong. After my last post in May, life came at me pretty quickly and my plans for blogging at least once a fortnight flew out the window along with my “I’m gonna go to the gym three times a week” plan. I finished uni, travelled Europe for three weeks, started an internship, moved house and then graduated at the beginning of September. Oosh.
A change in season always feels like I need to change up my wardrobe. However, being a student I can’t exactly afford new clothes every single time the sun decides to show itself. Plus – despite the fact it’s the beginning of May already – the sun is noticeably absent, meaning half the clothes I want to start wearing aren’t really appropriate.
So there I was, continuing happily along in my un-woke, body positive feminist sphere. I was retweeting things about Topshop’s disgraceful lack of anything above a size 18 in their high street shops, calling out magazine’s for their continued use of Caucasian-only models; firmly cementing by belief that “larger women/disabled women/transwomen/women of colour are pretty too!” (whilst still checking my white, cis, slim, able-bodied privilege of course).
But then I came across this article and the below poem by my main bae Rupi in quick succession and suddenly I wasn’t identifying with my body positive sphere anymore. The realisation that I can look at a woman who is a mother, wife, traveler, businessperson, gym-goer and general life-doer, yet the first thing that would jump to mind when I thought of her was how she looked, baffled me.
For a long time now I’ve being trying to perfect the art of layering one jumper over the other, but now with the rise of the adorable flute sleeves/jumper combination, I decided that I should probably just go for it and hope for the best.
I wish that I could say that I came up with this outfit idea after looking in my wardrobe and getting a wave of inspiration because I’m just so #stylish, but it actually came about because I was freezing in my poorly-heated student house and just decided to whack one jumper on over another.
I’ve always been a fan of drinking. When I finally reached the age where my dad started letting me take more than one Smirnoff Ice to the “parties” my friends used to throw, I would always take any opportunity I could to get at least tipsy and have a good time with my pals.
When I got to the age of 18, where I could legally drink in clubs and bars, I wanted to be out every weekend with my friends. And then when I got to university, I found myself in the bizarre situation of being able to go out almost every night of the week because, and here comes the most frequently spoken sentence in of anyone at university, “first year doesn’t count”.
PSA: This “review” isn’t going to do this book justice.
The friend who recommended Milk and Honey to me (who’s review of it you can read here) and I sat around one night discussing how we weren’t sure how to talk about Rupi Kaur’s poetry on our blogs. We both knew we wanted to review it – we just didn’t know how, because anything we wrote about it wouldn’t be written the way we wanted it to be.