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A story of love, hate and sore armpits; a recent shop Goop order reviewed

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I receive Goop newsletters and follow Goop on Twitter. Their minimal, clean and simple aesthetic speaks to the me I want to be if I wasn't the me that I actually am .  Depending on my mood I can either love or hate Goop. My cynical and easily annoyed side is roused while reading their often ridic' "Do" health and wellness section. You can find me actually LOL-ing and audibly tsk-ing as I devour vaginal steaming, shower head detoxing and I eat only raw, sprouted and liquidized things articles on my commute in a "I can't believe this is real, but here I am reading it, shit" fashion. But then on the flip side (perhaps we can blame the moon, or something, for this?) you'll find my wide-eyed side, my side that falls pray to buy yourself the perfect life subliminal messaging (#Taurus), throwing down her credit card, virtually, in a fully committed, passionate pursuit of the glowing, hydrated, ethical, well rested and detoxified life promised to h

"Woke"

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This went from being a pretty light hearted fashion journal, with occasional eats and vacation reports, to a give no fucks feminist diary. This sentiment has always been inside me, coming out when my back has been most up about a particular political issue or injustice. However, in the past few years, I became undeniably complacent and comfortable because nothing major challenged me. Basically me from 2008 - 2015. And yes, I'm going to illustrate this post with BeyoncĂ© gifs, why the fuck not? Gif credit.   After being a young, pissed off punk in the George W. Bush years, I lived the last 8 with political leadership I actually had respect for. I shook off the awkward, and retrospectively ridic' quarter life crisis years for a content personal & professional existence.  The mouthy dame who had "resistance is bliss" tattooed on her arm in 2005 to remember to always be fuck you first became somewhat settled. And in hindsight that was bloody naive.

Nasty, proud & thankful

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Back on November 9th I was going to donate a few hundred bucks to Planned Parenthood. But then I thought, as the old proverb goes, "what if I speculate to accumulate here? What if, instead of just donating that money, I use it to make something. Something that makes a statement that empathizes with, literally, millions of other women (and some dudes too, of course) that allows us to wear this feeling, this heart on our sleeves (or lapels) and allows me to quadruple, then double that original few hundo and donate even more $ to PP?!"  Well, $375 bucks spent to make 300  lovely little pins , a little hustle from me and a lot of heart & buying power from YOU, I am able to donate almost $3000 to Planned Parenthood and even a little to the  Ghost Ship Relief Fund , for another unforeseen kick in the guts, along the way. For this, I cannot thank you all enough. I couldn't have done this without you. I've been shocked and inspired by the success of

Standing with Planned Parenthood and anyone affected by the 2016 election

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Like a lot of people, I was rocked to my core by the outcome of the recent election. A couple of weeks on, I still don't feel normal. But that is ok, I don't want to let go of that. Because if this ever does feel  normal,  I would've become desensitized to this situation. I would've accepted the madness and stopped caring about what actually makes sense to me in this world. And because of that, I never want to forget that November 9th feeling. However, I did have to come to terms with the reality that the world did not stop turning that night. And despite the exhaustion, the desire to ignore the news, hibernate for a few years and blank out the world, realize that now is the time we actually have to find the energy, from somewhere, and get to  work . Part of my getting to work process entails  a few things . One of which was having these pins made. All sales profits will go to Planned Parenthood, an indispensable, absolutely vital and under threat service i

The Hollywood Hills Hotel, Los Angeles

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Join me for a cup of coffee and a story... I used to hate Los Angeles. The first time I visited LA, 10 or so years ago, I played in a band that opened up for a couple of much bigger bands at the House of Blues on Sunset Strip. We rolled in, hungover from our show the night before without much time to acclimate before having to soundcheck and quickly play. The House of Blues has since shut down but I remember vividly it was at that show that I saw my first pair of IRL fake boobs; large, painful, curious looking and jarring to my early twenty-something self. Joel McHale was also at the show. That I was far less jarred by, and he even bought merch. On the way home from the show, starving and tipsy (again) I needed to eat. I walked down Sunset until I hit a liquor store where I bought some snacks for the room I was sharing with my bandmates, our merch seller (I'm avoiding calling her a "merch girl" purposefully) and a friend of a friend who came to the show. Th

A devastated citizen of planet earth

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I have been up much of the night, sick to my stomach. Part awful pizza that was stress scoffed down for dinner, part the gut wrenching reality that Donald Trump has been elected as POTUS. I am British, months on I have still not really processed Brexit and what that taught me about how my home country has changed in the last 10 years that I've lived in the US. I am shocked and disturbed that I'm experiencing this same, stomach knotting disappointment at society twice within just a few months.  I'm appalled, beyond appalled, that racism, xenophobia, sexism, misogyny, homophobia and a suffocating rejection of inclusion has become the norm for the world in which we live. I am at an impasse that America watched along at the toxic, mentally and emotionally ravaging last 18 months of this presidential campaign and that much of the voting US, the place I now call home, still felt that Trump was the right candidate for this job. It is deeply worrying that those who support

NYFW vs. LFW street style

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New York this past week left me feeling kind of [insert emoji with hand questioningly on chin]. Not the shows, or more so the coverage of the shows that I devour on my commute (I only moonlight as a fashion blogger), but more so the street style on display coming to and from the shows. Being fair, there were some highlights I shouldn't ignore. Jan Michael Quammie killing it in an ensemble best described as tropical (which I have a soft spot  for) Fendi x comfort Adidas x WTH is that Loewe puzzle bag color combo?! Leandra Medine  maintaining eternal DILLIGAF style maven status in a "tiki hut roof dyed pink and purple" tiered skirt that has my heart going boom. And lastly, but not least-ly,  Chriselle Lim  in my favorite, newly discovered designer Sies Marjan. To best describe this, I've coined a new term; 70s pajama clown. And I mean that in the best possible way, this blouse is x-quis'! But these ladies aside, there was a lot of *holds hand up to