Fashion War: London vs. Liverpool

It's time we talked about fashion, yes?

I've now been to all four of the fashion capitals of the world: London, Paris, Milan and Liverpool. Wait. No. Liverpool is not New York. Darn. I thought I had "arrived."  Oh well. I guess New York will continue floating around in my dreams for now. Wait for me please, Manhattan. I'm coming.

I mention Liverpool because it plays a significant role in the UK fashion scene. Having visited London only a couple of short weeks after Liverpool, I couldn't help but notice some stark differences.

One city bragged impossibly high heels, tight skirts, red lips and hot-rolled hair. The other touted both a classy and mod vibe, even when casual. They've got it going on.
Can you guess which was which?
Sorry Liverpool. No disrespect, but London wins this one.

I'm not gonna lie. It took me a full day to pack for one night to London. I felt it necessary to try on half my wardrobe to get it just right. And I am a girl who likes options. Like, three per day. Unfortunately, Don was carrying all of our belongings in a back pack so I had to be smart about this. Once my clothes were chosen, there was no going back.

I am pleased to report that I was not embarrassed by my choices. I did, however, regret my footwear. Opting for fashion over comfort, I paid the price dearly with raw blisters and bruised toe bones by the middle of the first day.

What I learned about fashion from London was this: You can be comfortable and stylish at the same time. And I base this observation just on Londoners. Picking out the locals was easy due to hairstyle and clothing choices alone. Southern Brits are well put together.

As I hobbled around looking okay but in foot hell, envy turned my blood green as I watched women in high top runners (aka baseball boots) walk by comfortably and confidently having paired them with blouses tucked into fitted, just below the knee skirts. Add a high bun, French nails with subtle makeup and it was a heavenly recipe for casual fashion success.

The men knew their stuff too. With clean-shaven faces, short groomed hair and tailored trousers topped with shirts buttoned to the top, Armani himself would be proud.

Sure, denim made appearances on both men and women, but even then it spoke of chic rather than shabby. You know. When you see a pair of jeans and think: expensive. They were probably purchased at Harrods.

Yes, I also saw women in Manolo Blahniks, but they boasted exquisite elegance rather than tacky tart. Think Vogue vs. Sun girl.

Moral of the story? Don't try too hard, or at least don't look like you are trying too hard.
I'm not saying don't put effort into your look. A friend's daughter has been said to just open the dryer door and put on whatever sticks to her. Picture plaid skirts, floral shirts, striped scarves, and wool mismatched cartoon character socks all hanging on by static cling. While that may work for her, I don't recommend this approach for the average person. Being fashionable takes some thought. I'm just suggesting that what you wear advertises your personality and goals and if overdone, can achieve the opposite of your intentions. Success, seduction or slop - What are you aiming for?

Liverpool, I loved you. I really did. And I love the diversity of style in this country.
But if you ask me...
I'd look to London for inspiration and rock those high tops and shapely skirts with graceful style. Especially when shopping and touring the Tower of London.
Your feet will thank you.
Trust me on this. :)

Nice Pants. Oops! Nope...I Mean Trousers!

This particular post is about diabetes, fashion and fun stuff!! But mostly fun stuff.
It's been a long time, my friends. Life got away on me for a bit. And now, how to even begin to catch up? So I will just say it.

We moved.

That's right, I am a temporary British citizen. A UK-er of sorts. A not-so-proper Englishwoman.

Mr. Man was offered a two year minimum position here in the English Midlands and we jumped at the chance. The short story of it all is that Don had a conversation with a manager at work about possible opportunity for movement within the company, meaning, in the same building. Next thing you know...Don texts me to ask if I wanted to move to England. I said sure. And here we are, a few months later.

My head is whirling with all that I could say. Should I talk about all the millions of details it takes to ship oneself to another country to reside? Or the silly notion I had that it would be no big deal and would all work itself out? Or the mental and emotional exhaustion that ensues whilst planning a move of this magnitude even whilst believing that silly notion? Within a two month period?

Or should I talk about the gorgeous countryside with sheep roaming the luscious green rolling hills and the winding roads with peaks and valleys and the ancient architecture found all around?

Or, how about our near death experiences driving opposites on 100 mile an hour motorways or two-way, one lane (1 car width, no shoulder, stone hedged) paved cart paths that we drive on quite regularly to get anywhere and everywhere? How sometimes, when meeting oncoming traffic, one of you must back up until opportunity presents itself to move over in order to squeak by?

Or maybe I could tell you how even though we all speak the same language (which you'd think was obvious, but one person actually asked me if they speak English here when finding out about our move), there are many nuances and fascinating lingo that either a) make it tricky to understand or b) get me into trouble.  Compliment someone on their trousers, but not their pants (underwear). And don't even bother with the word fanny unless you are speaking with your gynecologist.

How about how fashion differs from North America? How people dress less casually here and always look good. (Unless it is Saturday in the supermarket and they are planning to go out in the evening. Then, then, the hair rollers come out to play.) Now that would be an interesting topic.

I could tell you about so many fascinating experiences we've had in only two short months, and I will. But for today I will just say this:

The people here are fantastic. From my awesome neighbours who lent us their wifi password or 50 inch TV or even their car, to the doctors at the "surgery" (Doctor's office) who have already proven themselves worthy to look after my best interests when it comes to my health and diabetes (which has been a bit of a roller coaster over this transition time, but is settling down now), to our new circle of friends who have showered us with hospitality and genuine love (always hugging goodbye - take THAT you stupid "British are stuffy or standoffish" stereotype!). I don't think I have ever encountered such a giving and helpful group of people as I have here in England.

I promise to tell you more about culture, food, people, style, spiders and Richard - the workman with no shirt, in the future.

 But now I have to go finish packing. For I am headed back home.
Yes. Already. Going to see my family, friends and P!nk in concert!
I will miss you England, but for even just a few short weeks.

Canada...here I come!

A Day in the Life...

Wanna hear about my day? Yes. Yes you do.

So in preparation for moving to England, I decided to practice driving on the wrong side of the road on my way to the city. No. Not really. That would be dumb. But I thought about it.

Whilst driving down Portage Avenue (a multi-laned street in Winnipeg), I encountered a young man darting through moving traffic to cross the street, back and forth, seemingly for fun. I think he was high. I could use some of that magic to boost my energy levels. But then again, I'd probably do something dumb like drive on the wrong side of the road.

Did you know that it is possible to hit 24 out of 26 red lights on the same street? I now know it is.

I had a lovely lunch eating vegetable sushi with a good friend (who also happens to be my cousin) and said my first goodbye. :( That was not cool.

But then I went to Costco and witnessed a 30ish year old woman wearing a short flowy dress, unloading her cart. Her dress length was not adequate for this situation. As she bent over, over and over, (she had a lot of stuff), nothing was left to the imagination. I suppose I could have helped her out by telling her she might want to bend at the knees, but I was feeling shy (entertained?) by this circumstance and instead, openly stared. It wasn't pretty. (Some situations grab your attention whether you want them to or not...)

So, after an uneventful drive home with Florence and the Machines and The Lumineers, I arrived at my house only to find Mr. Man on top of the barn roof, stripping! Of course not his clothes. That would be silly. And weird. Why climb a ladder when you can drop your pants on flat ground?.?)
No, he was stripping the shingles in order to put new ones on. Did I mention he was HOME ALONE ON TOP OF OUR RED HIP-ROOF VERY TALL BARN?!?!?

Boredom was apparently afraid of me today.

That is all.