The Princess Project

I don't know about you, but a new year always gives me the sense of wanting to start afresh, de-clutter, and inject my life with some soul-lifting inspiration. Often, I start the process of down-sizing my wardrobe in hopes of creating a welcoming space (goodbye last year's style, hellloooooo brand new gorgeous high heels!) but tend to be left at a loss when it comes to throwing out my old party dresses. They were more than just clothes, after all, they were really special.

I would love to say that they were with me during some of the happiest moments of my life, but that would be a lie. The truth of the matter, and all women can attest to this I am sure, is that sometimes life sucks. Just because you have your best friends 21st summer cruise boat-party to go to doesn't mean that your life sucks any less. Or just because you are the bridesmaid at your favorite cousins wedding, her happiest day, doesn't automatically make it your happiest day too.

But if there is anything that can help a girl feel a little bit better, ever so slightly, it is putting on a gorgeous dress and suddenly filled with the feeling of being a beautiful princess, even if only for a moment. All my princess-moment-dresses are still lining the back of my closet and I didn't ever want to part with them, even though I know I will never wear them again, because they were so special once upon a time. I don't want to just give them away. And so January has come and gone - my wardrobe is only a 'little' lighter, and I am still sitting with the problem of owning clothes I can never wear again.

Until now that is. A friend of mine told me about The Princess Project - a charity organization that helps 'donate your ex-matric farewell/bridesmaids/party dresses to the less fortunate, so that they too can feel like a princess for a night.' Isn't that amazing?! I contacted the organization to find out more about their charity and found that they do such a great thing for these girls. I desperately wanted to be involved.

And so I hosted a Princess Project Party, just a little cocktail gathering, for all friends, to come and bring their old matric ball gowns, or sparkly New Years party dresses, or even that bridesmaids dress from their favorite cousins wedding, that, lets face it, they will NEVER wear again, so we could donate them all to the future princesses out there. 

Even though it was just a small private event at my house, I was blown away at the response. All my luscious ladies were not only delighted to help out, but donated with both hands! All together we collected 22 gorgeous dresses to donate!



Dresses weren't the only thing we were told that was needed, and so we gathered 15 pairs of shoes, 6 evening handbags, loads of jewellery, and a bag full of sparkly make up to add to the pile.

Some of the items gathered had quite amazing stories attached, and we had a wonderful time doing a little 'show and tell' of the journeys they had been on. There was a necklace that had been to the Emmys in LA, the wearer being nominated for her part in the set design of a movie. One dress had met Nelson Mandela in 2004. Hilarious regales of bridesmaid's stories kept us giggling over our spoils as we prepared to part with them. I am so proud of all my friends for being such lovely giving ladies.

And what better way to spend an evening than drink champagne with your besties in your own (current) pretty cocktail dresses, having a fun and fabulous time while gathering, mixing, matching and putting together Princess packages so that those young woman will get to have their moment in the moonlight someday soon too.

Love, lust and fairy-star-dust

Cherry Blossom

A Cinderella Moment

Could the glass slipper have been flat?

As any well-seasoned high-heel enthusiast will know, there comes a time when a girl needs to step down from her perch and set her feet on solid ground to take a breather. It does wonders for the soul, not to mention gives you a break from all that fabulousness. But just as veg’ing out on the couch does not necessarily mean you have to wear grease-stained sweats and Crocs (eww!), the more discerning of fashionista’s need not come down to earth in anything less than utterly gorgeous foot attire.

Up until now, my usual uniform of trusty south-of-the-ankles non-heel wear has been a combination of sandals and ballet flats. But by chance, something far more fabulous came to me in the form of Coast and Koi, much like fate leading the princess to the ball where her sole-mate awaits.

And my fairy-god-mother? The elegant and stylish Caryn Wilensky.

When I met Caryn, she whisked me off to her chandelier-lit treasure trove of a showroom with roof-to-floor, wall-to-wall racks of hand-stitched shoes. I tried on everything in my size. And I mean everything. I couldn’t not – each one was more alluring than the last!

Once on your feet, the look and feel of these gems are a testament to Caryn’s background in the fashion, and footwear, industries. Starting out as a buyer for Holtrenfrew overseas where her days revolved around top international fashion brands, her eye for design is evident in every pair of proudly South African shoes she now showcases. But the perfect fit and comfort comes from her time as the CEO of a ballet-shoe factory. Once she saw the need for well-designed flat foot wear in South Africa, her mission was clear, and Coast and Koi was born.

Each shoe is hand made locally and stitched together with the utmost care. They are unique, all designs being a once off and only in a few sizes, and there is something for everyone. They range from pointy to stripy, Mary-Jane to moccasin, sling-back to slip on, Henry the 8^th to the girl next door. From the sensible ballet pumps to the knee-high leopard print boots, to the cute cat-faced slippers, this range kept me occupied, entertained and trying on for ages.

I have never been so excited by flat-soled shoes before! Caryn invited me to the Cape Town Design Indaba where all her best was on display. One pair could only be described as ‘The Dorothy’, bringing visions of the Wizard of Oz skipping to the fore of my mind. Just down that yellow brick road, a pair of capped ankle booties that would go beautifully with a little floral-print dress revealed themselves. It was hard not to get distracted by the baroque inspired lace-ups or the baby-pink boots with satin bows, but my heart settled on the ones that, for me, were the belle of the ball: a pair of coral slipper-style beauties, as unique as they are comfortable.

As much as I am trying not to over-indulge in my materialistic nature right now, I am pretty sure a pair or two of Coast and Koi’s will find their way into my wardrobe over the next few months. After all, why wear plain black synthetic flats for a night out dancing when you could wear classically styled, genuine leather two-toned delights inspired by Coco Chanel? Am I right? Right.

Love, lust and fairy-star-dust

Cherry Blossom

(go check it out at www.coastandkoi.com)

Valentines Day Lament

Can I please just get a little bit of love? Commercialised  disgrace to the human art of trueness, media hyped, shameless marketing ploy love?!

It's Valentines Day and I'm sitting in a bistro, working on my iPad and having a bite while I wait for schools to finish so I can fetch my niece. I am not single, but that doesn't mean that giant bunches of red roses, secret love notes and romantic treasure hunts on the beach are in my immediate future. My husband, like many men out there, doesn't believe in V-Day. He thinks it's all a ploy. A great big conspiracy to seperate him from his hard earned cash. He thinks V-Day'ers would have his true loving nature extracted from the widely expected acts of romance, and find him wanting. Basically, he's the hostage in this drama and doesn't enjoy the demands for Proof Of Love.

Don't get me wrong. I don't feel ill done by at all by his refusal to adhere to the social-herding of heart shaped chocolates and synthetic stuffed animals. I don't feel cheated out of romance, because he is a very sweet man and really does show his feelings for me all the time. He loves me very much, as much as I love him, and I have no reason to doubt it. I don't need anything more, I have him. Two peas in a pod.

So in the days leading up to this auspicious 14th day of February, we the peas sat around chuckling to ourselves when other couples faught over what they will do. We smiled knowingly at those poor fools booking fancy, overpriced resturants to eat fancy, overpriced dinners while they gaze nervously into eachothers eyes, hoping that 'this' gesture was enough. We felt sorry for those who's wallets will be ransacked by old cupid, brandishing his arrow aimed right at their hearts.

Our Valentines day dinner will be prepared together in our kitchen, and eaten outside in our own garden over a bottle of something chilled and perfect. I might throw in a candle or two and a cute little checkered picnic blanket to give it a tiny bit of flair, but at the end of the day, we do this kind of thing quite often. So Valentines Schmalentines.

But as they say, pride comes before a fall. And as I sit here, waiting in the bistro, having a bite to eat...I can't help feeling a little let down by my servers for not including a tiny heart-shaped chocolate on my plate, or a heart shaped milky-pattern in my coffee. I feel that an opportunity was missed. And damnit, like those silly little reindeer earrings at Christmas time and the baby gold lindt bunnies that make me happy at Easter, I want a tiny little bit of that V-Day love too!

Maybe next year...

Love, lust and fairy-star-dust

Cherry Blossom

The Closet Conundrum – Digital Hoarding and the lack of mental clarity in our modern lives.

“I’ve got nothing to wear!”

I have long since suspected that we have too much choice available in our modern lives. While individual needs are met, personalized tastes are catered for and not only does the shoe fit, but it comes in every colour under the sun, the dark side to all this freedom of choice is confusion causing clutter. You see, when I stand in front of my closet and say that I have nothing to wear, it couldn’t be further from the truth. Surely? I have so much in there I could clothe a small army of Amazonian-sized women. And don’t even get me started on the shoes.

The problem isn’t the lack of clothing – it’s that there are too many choices. When pressed for time and in a harried state, it’s almost impossible to settle on just one. My brain goes into information overload and shuts down.

But let’s face it – I’m not going to just throw it all out. I am a hoarder. Something I have been in a three-year rehabilitation program (otherwise know as ‘Marriage’) to try and combat. But even though I struggle to part with my possessions, never did I realize how deep the problem ran in not only me but many of my peers too, when I lost my laptop last week to a catastrophically placed glass of water.

It was one of those little old-school MacBooks in white, a gorgeous piece of vintage hardware that I fell instantly in love with the day I spied her (probably thanx to SATC) and never stopped loving. Except for the fact that she didn’t cater to my excessive storage needs: not enough megabytes for my music, movies and photo’s. I ended up clogging up my poor little computer and she had been dragging her heavy self around, taking ages to start, taking forever to shut down, taking naps in between downloading new pictures for my blog posts. Husband scolded that I had to clear out a little to make things work faster, and I knew he was right, but I never got round to it.

The most obvious answer would have been to back everything up on a hard drive or Cloud. It is what most normal people do, right? Of course! So I don’t have a problem after all. I don’t need to delete anything, and when I get a new laptop I will eventually get around to saving things in iCloud. Problem solved, and the giddy hoarder in me is restored to her former glory.

So maybe that isn’t the answer. Maybe, the answer is in keeping less, not more. Stop hoarding

Then again, is digital storing just another form of hoarding? As flash drives get bigger and Cloud accounts get larger, what’s the problem? Is there even an issue here? You have the space at the click-and-drag of your fingertips, so why even worry about it? It’s not like it’s taking up any actual space, physically.

I watched an inspiring documentary about people who live in tiny houses which, though it had nothing to do with shoes or cyber-hoarding, answered some of my questions about all of this. The people portrayed in this documentary speak about how they choose to live in a tiny home, sometimes as small as a renovated chicken coup, or a 7 square meter apartment. Their lives are simplified by these tiny spaces in that they have to really think about what to keep, what is necessary to live, and what they want around them to make them happy. 

Some comments that resonated with me were:

“I like having everything for a purpose. Not just a matter of bringing things in because I can have it – I get overwhelmed by too much.”

“The smaller space you have the more critical it is to be efficient with how you use it and especially how you furnish it.”

“I believe that the skill of this century is editing. Cutting back on space, cutting back on possessions, on media, on friends. I think you’ve got to refine because it gives you a lot of mental clarity, a lot of space, a lot more flexibility.”

That last quote was by Graham Hill (you have GOT to watch his Transformer Apartment video on YouTube), and I think he hit the nail on the head. Perhaps the beauty of minimizing and simplifying our possessions (including digital possessions) is that we create space in our minds to be free. The cage often built up in our own heads is indicative of a cluttered lifestyle that leaves no breathing room for our brain.

I have seen many people struggle with this lack of mental clarity. They have so much choice at their disposal, they are often confused and simply do not know what to do. From not knowing what to do with their lives to not knowing where to take their annual holiday to not knowing which restaurant to go to, to not being able to choose which friend to spend an afternoon with. And often, the choice they end up making comes at a cost, as they don’t enjoy themselves fully, wondering if they made the right decision, worried they might have missed out on something else. Why? Because they know they could have had it. They had the choice. And so choosing what they do leaves the rest of their choices cut off with raw, unhappy edges, flailing in the ‘what if?’

Funny, that a documentary on extremely small spaces could lead me to realize the need for less in order to have more. Perhaps the answer for many of us is to have less. To look for less, gather less, hoard less, want less. While I am not about to toss out every pair of shoes I own, perhaps four pairs of black knee-high boots is a bit excessive? As Graham suggested, I need to edit my life, and then maybe I will have something to wear next time I stand in front of my open closet.

Love, lust and fairy-star-dust

Cherry Blossom

Confessions of a Lady Angler

"I got you an early birthday gift," he said, standing in the kitchen with the look of a small-time gambler who has just bet his house, car and kids on a hunch. I knew Husband had been to the fishing shop that afternoon, and so as he went to fetch said gift, I rolled my eyes at my sister, "He can't give me fishing stuff for my birthday? Surely not!"

My husband taught me to fly fish when I first met him. I joke that it was a pre-requisite to being proposed to, but none was more surprised than I to find that not only did I enjoy this new sport, but I wasn't too bad at it either. Call it my Scottish heritage, call it beginners luck - whatever forces were at play those 5 years ago, I picked up that fly rod and something magical happened in me. I became a fly fisher. Only I did not realize it till now.

A little slow on the uptake, perhaps, as I have found myself un-able to pass any body of water without looking into its blue, reflective depths wondering what fish swim beneath that surface: The first sign of a fisherman, they say. My father's many jokes about me having become a 'fishwife' have somehow floated over me, not quite the right twitch, the right colour, the right bug for me to have a go. Ha, ha, yes Dad. A fishwife. The significance gone undetected. After all, I have just been playing at fly fishing, haven’t I? I have happily gone along with Husband on many a fishing expedition, armed with my girly distractions: Pink fishing jacket, pink fishing hat. Even went scouting shoe stores for the perfect pink Hunter fishing wellingtons. 

I have followed Husband, fumbling with my line, learning to choose and tie on my own flies, slowly but surely getting more and more decked out so as not to need as much of his help - fly jacket, zinger, clippers, fly release tool for easy handling. (I always catch-and-relelase - letting them go, un-hurt, a little fitter for the next fight next season. I call it 'gym for fish'.)

I have been river fishing, still water fishing, even tried a day at estuary salt-water fishing with him and the other fishermen. I have fished in Dulstroom, in Gouritz, on Eilandspad, Holsloot, up in the Wittedrift mountains, on the chalk streams in England and in the Highlands of Scotland. I have fished enough to be able to say, with my own personal ichthyology, that fresh water salmonids (specifically trout and grayling) and South African Yellows are my favorite. I have frequented many a fishing shop and bought many a fishing thing, and can hold my own when chatting to enthusiasts about float tubes, spey casting, 2 weights and wooly buggers. But that didn’t make me a fisherman, I thought. Merely the wife of one. The journey has always been one I have attested to Husband, his passion, me just tagging along for the ride - albeit an incredibly enjoyable ride - in my pink gear. I never really thought of myself as an actual fisher women, just one who fishes with her partner.

"Here it is," he said, hopefully, pulling the mystery gift out from under his jacket. Pink. Tube. SAGE! I could not contain my excitement! I had to swallow my words to my sister as the rush for what was in that tube forced me forward, all fumbling and disbelieving and a smile so big it hurt my face. The rod inside was even more gorgeous that I could have imagined! A beautiful pearly pink Sage 5 weight called the 'Grace'. 

I pulled her out of her sheath and knew in that moment: Not only was this the absolute perfect gift for me, not only was I the luckiest woman in the world...but...

It hit me like a beaded fly, bulleted into the back of my head on a gusty day. I am a fly fisherwoman. I am an angler!

Love, lust and fairy-star-dust

Cherry Blossom