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“One thing an all girls’ school taught me was how to style the hoe way,” I say, standing outside the curtained changing rooms of the Shop At Bluebird. I hike the sequin skirt up to my ribs and fold it over, two or three times. Pulling a jumper to cover the roll of fabric, the hem now sits fashionably at mid-thigh. The way it should be if I were average height but at 5″2 you work with what you’ve got. I look at my reflection and think, who is that girl I see, staring straight back at me?! Existential Disney moments aside, I have often wondered about my internal divide when it comes to style. I’m more often than not in my gym clothes, tapping away at my phone or laptop – or if I’m feeling particularly fancy, a cozy jumper over a t-shirt that’s been downgraded to ‘strictly for home use’. Alternatively, I look like I’ve gone through a makeover carwash of sorts and come out scrubbed, preened and dressed as if everyday was an editorial shoot. And when it’s Fashion Week, that side of me is forced to come out. Some days, it’s as painful as squeezing a stubborn white head (which really can be avoided if you take zinc tablets, by the way). It’s no wonder that a part of me wasn’t so devastated to have truly, accidentally missed two shows and a party, and it had only been the second bloody day of the whole charade.
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