How To Survive Instagram

A survival guide? To Instagram? Am I on coke? (Nope, not even the diet variety, sadly). Have I lost my marbles? (Not much debate needed there). Does the world really require a guide to surviving an app? (Especially one that is supposed to be fun). Well, I've concluded that yes- a little chat is needed about what to do when it's all going Pete T on there and you have that overriding impluse to throw in the towel.* (*This actually happens to me most days). So, let's chat. (Christ I sound like Alan Partridge).
Too Legit To Quit
A few weeks ago I somehow managed to accrue 4000 followers on Instagram. For me, this was a big achievement. (Woo! Partay! Thank you for 4k!- NB* I didn't actually do that 'thank you for 4k' thing- I just said it in my head). I realise for most fashion bloggers this is an embarrassingly meagre tally- although to most civilians (if I may borrow from La Hurley for a moment)- it's a jolly big numero and I should shut the fuck up if I'm gonna start whining about it. For a New York minute I was buzzing. I said to myself once (if I ever got to the dizzying heights of 4k) I wouldn't stress about IG so much. I wouldn't knock myself out posting two pics a day. (How can it be exhausting sharing two teeny tiny photos on line? Ugggh, it just is). In short, I would just chill- and try to enjoy it. Sure enough, none of those things happened. Why? Coz life ain't like that.
Good Better Best
At my prep school (what ho!) we had a motto (which we had to repeat on the regz)-  'Good, better, best, never let it rest, 'til the good is better and the better best'. I priddy much remember sod all from when I was younger, but that has stuck. Which is odd given that I have the very definition of a 'quitter's mentality'. I mean, of course I wanna do better in life generally, and in blogging (and gramming) specifically; but I suspect that if it were easy (although God only knows some girls make it look like that) I may be even less inclined to keep going. (There's logic there somewhere). In short, enbracing the 'difficulties' may actually pay dividends*.
*Who am I kidding? I wanna sit on my arse all day while someone cooks me Deliciously Ella's entire oeuvre whilst watching my IG grow by hundreds of followers daily for no apparent reason.
Take A Breather
Every time one of my friends wants to quit IG I do my darndest to talk them down from the ledge. (And they me). We all tend to conclude that a teeny break from the place can do some good. Even if it's just to see if you miss it. I always keep this in mind coz I once saw a girl delete her account and start another one afresh. This may seem very appealing when you look at your feed and think it's balls. I suspect the better route is to delete your pics (all of them if you must) and keep those hard-won followers with you. 
Get Some Perspective
Modern life troubles me. Particularly phone zombies. I don't go out drinking and partying (can't, unfortunately) but I hear that boys and girls don't even bother looking at each other any more, they just sit there scrolling through Tinder when they could be flirting with actual human beings IRL. And well, fuck only knows it's tough to put IG down (too). But if you try and shove it into a little mental box merely marked 'app on my phone' you may start to realise that's all it is. Yes, you don't even have to look at it! (Christ I need to take my own advice here).
So, there's my survival tips. (Shit, weren't they?) Bear Grylls I ain't. You ever feel the urge to quit IG? What stops you, if so? Tell all peeps x
Denim Mini- Topshop//Slides- Dune//Print- Sealoe



Le Skinny

So, I bought this skinny black neck-tie scarf thingy about a month ago. I thought it would greatly enhance  my entire floordrobe. I was wrong. It deffo doesn't go with everything, and as per, my ginger rats tails clash with it too. No matter. It'll probably look three thousand times better on you and totally Chloefy your life. Oh, and soz for the singular frame too. There were no good snaps from this shoot. Literally none. Zero. Zilch. Nada. (Including this one). And my computer's broken. Lucky I am not. Catch you soon (hopefully- once I've done that wrap-my-lappie-in-a-pashmina-and-take-it-to-the-mender-Carrie-style) xx
Top- Zara//Skinny Scarf- Zara//Denim Mini- Topshop



Diary Of A Fashion Blogger

Woke up to find I've lost 8 followers overnight on Instagram. Try not to be pissed off. But I am. Why does everybody else's freakin' account grow except mine? Throw on this morning's pic and hope that it doesn't go down like a lead balloon. Shiiitttt. It picks up likes super-slowly and by lunchtime I've lost another 5 followers. WTF. Check the account of a girl who not two weeks ago had less followers than me. She's now got 400 more! Four hundred! She doesn't even tag either. (How does that work?) I feel like if I put on a shit, dark snap of fuck all with zero tags I stand a better chance of doing 'well'. I'm struggling to do that (what I consider) 'fake thing' of commenting on everyone's piccies to get my name 'out there'. I only comment sincerely. I only do anything sincerely. Maybe that's where I'm going wrong. I'm feeling so emosh today. A celebrity has died and for some reason I lose it and start crying as I'm reading about her life. I'm not good at being tough. I'm literally the weakest person I know, but I fight the urge to cry more (it only makes my eyes hurt) and also with my plan to quit IG. (How long will that last?) On the plus side, my blog post has got two comments within an hour of being published. Woop-De-Doo.

Exercise this morning. Dear God in heaven I hate it more than my noisy neighbours. (And that's saying something). I think Kayla Itsines would laugh if she saw me. I think most people would laugh if they saw me. Buy New and Grazia during lunch. I love weekly magazines and devour them like a 5-2er on one of their 5 days. Then comes the obligatory lunchtime scroll through IG. I get The Fear (as usual) when I have to face up to seeing how many followers I've lost. (Gained 2, Lost 2, so it's as you were). I then realise that a girl I follow hasn't come up on my feed recently so I do a quick search for her name. This reaps no rewards so I figure she must've deleted her account. But just out of interest I decide to google too....and whaddya know....her account is alive, well and very much kicking. The penny drops very slowly (I'm thick, bear with)-  she's only fucking blocked me. Now this throws me into another tailspin. Why would she do that? What have I done to her? I try and recall if I've said anything remotely offensive, but can find no evidence. I posted one comment under one of her pictures about six months ago and she followed me (back). I diligently liked all her pics, but I never said owt further. I now miserably recall the half-jokey exchange I had with Josie t'other week about blocking on The Gram. Well, that's come back to bite me, hasn't it? I thought blocking was only used when people are being mean or abusive. Silly naive me. (I can google her feed any old time though so she hasn't really achieved much has she? Other than to be spiteful and speed her passage to hell. Plus, I'm a touch bored of her endless culottes and white shirts. Oh, and ever thought of learning to spell, love? Your blog is literally, literary jokes).

I've got a work deadline so I have to prioritise. If I get everything done I need to I'll reward myself with a little Topshop visit. Shopping is my reward, for, well, just about everything. I don't even have to buy. Just being in a shop makes me buzz my face off. That's why I don't really like shopping on-line. Plus, I loathe waiting in for packages, and returning things to the post office is literally my idea of purgatory. Hit my deadline, so it's Toppers here I come. Try on some sale clogs (size too big), look at a very cute dungaree dress (longingly) and end up buying two Celine-dupe hairslides and one of those fluffly pom-pom things you hang off your bag. I'm deffo not a fluffy pom-pom kinda person but it's too cute to resist.
Thank the freakin' lord I don't have to shoot any looks this week. (I mean, maybe I should've instead of writing all this shit down), but I despise the whole process so much I'm keen to avoid it where poss. I do however, have to get a couple of FWISs in the bag. So, I put on some temporary fake tan (layered on top of my actual fake tan- yes, I really am that pale), grab some sunnies and head out. Fuck only knows what people think. In lots of ways I'm immune to all the stares and comments now, and at the same time I'm not. Men seem to take the sight of a girl, alone, taking pictures of her feet, as some sort of green light to chat. Which reminds me, I was busy walking along minding my own beeswax last week when some random bloke came up to me and asked me if I had the time. *Warning Siren* I never normally stop or speak when I get asked that question, because invariably it's a complete oddball doing the asking. But for some reason I stopped and said 'No, sorry I haven't'. (All true by the way, I wasn't wearing a watch, and fumbling in my bag for hours for my phone was deffo not an option I wanted to pursue). Guess what he said? Fuck off. Straight up, no messing, he just said fuck off.

I'm going backwards on IG. Again. I've posted 10 pics so far this week and I have piss all to show for them. An interesting American girl I follow, who up until recently was about 1000 followers behind me now has 600 more. She doesn't tag either. (Literally, how does anyone ever see your picture? Please someone enlighten me). She very sweetly likes all my pics, but I'm baffled why as she's very cool and I'm very not. I see A today. He's looking tanned and hot. H isn't with him. H is the one I really wanna see. I mean A is pure eye candy, and has deffo got a lot about him, but H makes me die. Whenever I update my FB (which is once a week if I remember) I sneak a look at A's account. There's a video on there of A skateboarding, clearly shot by H. Why didn't H just turn the camera on himself for a microsecond? H's face is the stuff of legend. I don't even know how it's physically possible for someone to be as beautiful as him. Last time I saw him was a year ago. A fucking year! I was wearing make-up then. I can't believe how much has changed for me in that time. I wouldn't actually want him to see me now. My eyes are a horror show. I have tried to wear make-up as a 'treat' once a week, but my eyes burn with pain after a couple of hours and I can't wait to take it all off. Still, I rehearse the conversation I am gonna have him when I do eventually see him. It's got an excellent Olivier Giroud reference and a flat-out refusal to pick up where we left off (trust me, he would try, he's a chancer). Anyway, I'm excited to stay at my mum and dad's for the whole weekend, sleep in and dream of handbags, normal functioning eyes and happier times with cute boys.
Watch- ASOS//Notebook- Ikea//Cup- Ikea
Scissors- Bonsai Direct//Hair Slides- Topshop//Cacti- Ikea



Still Summer

Shoots are like buses, aren't they? You wait forever for one, and then two turn up at once. So, not only do I have the planning skillz of a flea, but I've also managed to replicate the exact colour palette of that aforementioned shoot/bus. You'd think I could remember that I put together a black, white and red look not a couple of weeks since? Nope, not this sieve-head. Actually, laziness is mostly the culprit. I just happened to be wearing these shorts for a day of low-key errand-running (with a skanky auld tee and Birks). I then (stupidly) thought I'd half disrobe and just throw everything else on and trot out with the Nikon. And it shows. These shorts are deffo not blog-worthy and I can only apologise. They will not be rearing their utilitarianism/unflatteringness/mum-at-a-bar-b-queness again. So onto prettier things- like this top. I'm forever in love with a floaty white, hippy dippy tops (especially in this all pervasive Chloe-heavy S/S), and this cutie has stopped me from buying similar ones in Zara (for a lot more dollar). Big yay for that. And whilst me and the Mango glads did not see eye-to-eye (nor ankle-to-tie), these Gap ones (actually love the place, ain't gonna lie) stay up marginally better (although Fig 2 proves that gravity always wins). Oh, and while we're chit-chatting about tie-up sandals, these are dope too. You still clinging to Summer? You digging on ethereal white tops? You ever accidentally worn your shittiest shorts for blogging? Tell all my chicas, catch you soon xx
Top- SheInside*//Shorts- Gap
Gladiators- Gap//Bandana- ASOS//Sunnies- And Other Stories



The Trend That Won't Die

Did I need these lace-up flats? (No). Am I greedy? (Yes). Do I feel immense love every time I look at my feet? (Abso-freakin-lutely). So. Here we have Zara's take on the ghillie flats trend that is seemingly going nowhere. It all began with Aquazurra and Isabel Marant, then just about everyone else jumped on the hype. Oddly, I can't find these on Zara's website, but the nude are also calling my name. And these Massimo D's are also very beaut. How many pairs of lace-ups flats do you own? Tell me loads and make me feel better :) Catch you soon x
Flats- Zara//Jeans- Zara

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