Since the pre-blogging days I’ve always envied girls that had a style. The ones whose wardrobes scream French chic with little satin neck scarves, the ones whose skirts are meticulously ironed into the perfect As, the ones whose underwear is made from the most beautiful delicate lace. And blogs didn’t make it any easier on me – the crisp white bedsheets covered in real suede Chloe handbags, the bedside tables adorned with studded Valentino heels. But I’m not made of money, I don’t have rich parents or a brilliant business idea backed by Dragon Den’s capital. I’m just your average girl who grew up in one T-shirt and a pair of jeans.
AND THAT’S JUST FINE.
It’s fine to grow at your own pace.
I don’t grow half as fast as others – in terms of work experience, relationships, possessions – or my wardrobe & style. I’ve tried being the girl that lives in one T-shirt & a pair of jeans. I’ve tried being the girl that loves princess dresses. I’ve tried being the girl that wears a ton of make-up. And the one that wears no make-up. And it’s this trying & failing that will make you who you are.
? I haven’t worn an underwire bra or one with padding for years. Because I don’t have time for that. No one’s got time for that. At least no one with an A cup. They are usually about a million times more beautiful than the extra thin ones but who am I gonna fool with some extra jelly padding and an overflowing balconette cleavage. It confuses even me when I see it in my peripheral vision!