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18 Apr

This blog, along with all it’s new content has moved to Wolf in the City


OOTD: Exam

31 Jan

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAThere’s definitely something about exams that make people chill their outfits right the hell out. It’s like some sort of disease that even infects those people who haven’t sat contemplating their own intelligence in the exam hall in ten years. There was a woman in the train station yesterday who was actually wearing a onesie as if it were just that normal. I think she thought that because it was Superdry, it was okay. That is of course like saying that it’s acceptable to drown puppies if you’re wearing Maison Martin Margiela while you’re doing it. That she was committing this crime in the middle of our university’s exam period is, I feel, not a coincidence. (As Sherlock Holmes would say, the universe is rarely so lazy.)

Thankfully, no one was wearing a onesie in the exam hall yesterday, though general grunge slouchiness was ubiquitous.


I think that people take to exam dressing as they do to airport dressing. That is, those who dress well usually carry on annoying everyone in their amazing leathers and boots, and those who don’t, dress for comfort. Though I was trying to enter into the former category today, I fear that I actually entered the latter with my exquisitely comfortable trousers and layers of sweater. Out of the people I surveyed before we began to write about George Herbert’s Bible-bashing until our hands cramped, one hundred percent of them were wearing their boyfriends’ sweaters. Now even though I only surveyed two people (one of them being me), I think you get my point.

I feel that too many years sat uncomfortably shifting around on plastic chairs because of burning tights itch and being unable to cry properly over your exam due to the top button slave collar has rendered us all comfort whores in the exam hall.


Foundation – Dior Skin Forever in 020

Sweater – Gap, via my boyfriend

Leather-look pants – Zara

Faux Fur Coat – Zara

Boots – River Island

Watch – Vintage, via my Granddad

Necklace – Tiffany & Co. (a gift from mummy)

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Valentine’s Day: Know Your Lingerie

24 Jan
la perla
 La Perla is a princess and her bed is piled high with pillows that smell of roses. She doesn’t want to know if silk or lace are not involved, and she will sure as hell not show herself to you unless you’re goddamn Prince William.
Price: £££
Modelled by: Cara Delevingne

Kinkiness: ✴ ✴

La Perla

La Perla stretch bra

La Perla intimate
the ap
 An Agent Provocateur is “a person employed to induce others to break the law so that they can be convicted.” Be careful because this could quite easily be applied literally. She’s stockings beneath a trench coat and not much else.

Price: £££

Modelled by: Irina Shayk and Rosie Huntington-Whitely.

Kinkiness: ✴ ✴ ✴ ✴ ✴

Agent Provocateur

Agent Provocateur panty


 H&M lingerie is the high school wallflower that no one recognised at prom because she’d gotten hot in approximately one month. She knows that style is all about taste and less about bank account.

Price: £

Modelled by: Constance Jablonski

Kinkiness: ✴


H&M Lace corset
$17 –

H M hipster panty
$9.92 –


 Victoria has a Secret and it has been round the office five times and back. She’s on transfer from America and you just know that she’s keeping spare stockings and emergency chocolate in her desk drawer.

Price: ££

Modelled by: The world’s most beautiful women (read: Candice Swanepoel)

Kinkiness: ✴ ✴


Victoria s Secret intimate


 If she owns underwear designed by a woman known as The Body, you’d better strap yourself in. She’s a gym bunny and yogi, and probably far superior to you in every way. Kudos for punching above your weight.

Price: ££

Modelled By: Elle Macpherson, of course

Kinkiness: ✴

Elle MacPherson Intimates

Elle Macpherson Intimates bikini swimwear
$41 –

$81 –
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The Interesting Biker Jacket

22 Jan
It’s about as obvious as Cara Delevingne’s eyebrows that the leather jacket is perhaps the  irreplaceable wardrobe item. For me, it’s a necessity as  important as the curious Little Black Dress hype. While I’ve always found the LBD  actually pretty boring and unlikely to make you stand out in a crowd (unless it’s from Stella McCartney and has sheer polka dot arms), if you get the right biker jacket, it’s just magic. I’m head over heels for the standard black offering, which is coquettish sweetheart and vampy man eater in equal parts; it is the studded beating heart of any casual wardrobe and it goes with everything including your hatred of Jack Wills gilets.
The interesting biker jacket is all of this and more. It is the black leather jacket’s punky younger sister. When I saw this pink River Island one I was surprised to find that I wasn’t flooded with thoughts of Grease’s Rizzo smacking gum, I was actually thinking potentially financially dangerous thoughts. Damn it guys, let’s all get one. Just make sure you have a black original first.

the interesting biker jacket

River Island biker jacket
$90 –

Mango suede leather jacket
$195 –

Gray moto jacket
$320 –

Erdem quilted moto jacket

Why I’m Against Page Three (Sign The Damn Petition)

17 Jan

Some things are so obviously bad for society that little argument is needed in order to persuade people to think so. Even if their actions speak otherwise. Heroin, for example, or cat-calling Margaret Thatcher’s coffin.

Others are disturbingly accepted by the smartest of people who have become pretty much desensitized to what I think remains one of the most archaic traditions in British culture. It pains me to say it, but that tradition is still Page Three of The Sun.

ImageUnfortunately, the internet has a nasty habit of twisting words and distorting arguments, so I’d like to point out that I am not against glamour models themselves, who I actually think are pretty damn cool (if they are doing their job as a manner of choice.) Nor, for that matter, am I against strip clubs, strippers, or bare breasts in general.

Page Three in the Sun though, is different. It has become the grossest of national institutions and a loathsome joke of a feature to anyone who has matured beyond the stage of Thirteen-Year-Old-Boy.

This is a ‘family’ newspaper that is available on the bottom shelf of any newsagent (though thankfully absent from our Student Union), which presents to you at the first turn, a topless female glamour model. There is so much wrong with this that I don’t quite know where to start. Feminism seems like a good place. It is frankly abhorrent to me that the female sex should be represented as some sort of sexualised ornament when it is in the midst of so much male-centric news.

 Young boys all around the country are daily faced across the breakfast table by this vile idea of what his sex means next to that of a female. He is policy maker and sport champion. She is silent and for the pleasure of men.

ImageCan you imagine a world in which there was a daily paper that was filled with female accomplishments and meetings, while on page three lurked a muscled man in a thong (or even, completely naked)? Because this would be exactly the same.

Other than the gross misplacement of such an image in a paper that will inevitably be seen by thousands of children every day, I am in no doubt whatsoever that this would create insecurities for many men. A male in his youth and in supreme physical condition who is lorded on one of the first pages as an item of perverted admiration is a clear area for impossible and crude comparison that would inevitably lead to feelings of insufficiency and self-hatred. Why is the real Page Three any different?

Girls everywhere are also being presented with a warped ideal.  He could be a policy maker or sport champion. She must have FF breasts.

Thousands are presented every day with a very thin, very busty young woman who not only represents perhaps one percent of the female population, but whose breasts are frequently (but not always) surgically enlarged. Very few look this way, and yet very many think that they perhaps should to please their partners. Despite popular opinion, this look is furthermore not the sole site of male arousal – many do not even like this cup size (yes, really.) [This is the point in my argument where I refuse to accept any insults regarding my ‘shit tits’. I am now too comfortable with myself to either believe it or care.]

Sometimes, the voyeuristic perversion of The Sun goes even further. When Oscar Pistorius allegedly shot and killed his girlfriend Reeva on Valentine’s Day 2013, the paper ran the story with a picture of the so recently dead woman in a bikini as the primary image. When people began dying in the wake of Winter 2013’s Glasgow helicopter crash, a tiny banner at the foot of the front cover was devoted to it (‘8 Dead in Copter Tomb’) while the lead story ran as ‘I’m A Celesbian’, outing Annabel Giles. When the paper decided to run stories on Fred West’s sex slaves, the features were sandwiched between a front cover lingerie-clad woman, and Page Three’s topless offering. I hope that these examples need no explanation to highlight their astonishing tastelessness.

ImageThe fact is that this kind of misogynist, disgracefully inappropriate and frankly creepy practice needs to stop.

I have spent too many hours worrying about my own perfectly normal breasts – and even having previously apologised for their size to past boyfriends – for the same insecurities to plague my own daughter, should I have one. It exasperates me to the point where I am actually ashamed to think that this feature still exists. Please sign the damn petition at


Current Inspiration

29 Nov
Sincerely Jules

Sincerely Jules


I watched The Seven Year Itch this week. It blew my mind.

Cecily Brown

Cecily Brown


Work Experience Day One – Drunk on the Job

18 Mar


For the next three weeks I’m working for VIVA lifestyle magazine ( in Manchester’s Northern Quarter. An actual and substantial internship at a glossy magazine – let’s go!

There was frost and sun glistening outside when I decided on my Zara pencil skirt and plain white top for my first day – with my vintage Louis Vuitton briefcase, I felt older than nineteen.

Within an hour, I’d been set to work on an article for the online magazine on Hope&Glory coffee machines (which are actually really cute) as well as a radio phenomenon with Russell Brand and Noel Gallagher tonight.

I’ve also been signed up for a few events this week that I’ll be letting you know about and see in pictures!

A fitness class in Deansgate and a gin-based bar crawl in Knutsford are to be expected.

Today however, I got very very drunk on the job and it was allowed. I’m drunk now in fact.

I was drafted along to a cocktail making competition at The Whiskey Jar in Manchester which is a marellous place with oak floorboards, Irish music, incredible ambience and lots of whiskey. Lots.

In the process of social networking while my boss judged the exciting Jameson whiskey-based cocktails, I drank.

I may feel numb and dizzy, but I can safely say that whiskey and ginger and whiskey and apple juice cocktails are divine, but Pickle Back Beer is to be steered clear of. Oh, and I love magazine work already.