Lessons learnt and what I wore learning them.

This week, I learnt I like sober raves at 6.30am.  I learnt I’m great at making a chocolate cake, but not so much a carrot cake. I learnt I like networking evenings.  I learnt I get more tired the older I get and you just have to suck it up and box on. I learnt that eventually I have an off-switch that I need to hit sometimes and I learnt that no matter what, seeing anyone taking heroin or glue-sniffing makes me cry.  What’s this got to do with style? Not much, but I figured you may not mind.  If you do, then I’m sorry, I’ll tell you what I wore while I learnt these things, if that helps?

Let’s go back to Sunday.  It was to be a good day, pottering at home after a busy social weekend.  I always love the idea of being busy with friends and family, but the reality is, Sundays need to be restful in order for me to recharge for the week. Despite this, last Sunday, I tried to still pack in a little something something and it backfired.  I learnt (what I’ve always known, but have never fully acknowledged), that our kids like ‘activities’ and a day at home can drive them b-nanas.  Even after we paid a freaking fortune for a strip of grass to be laid (it was a bit more than that, but that’s not the point) and they can play football to their hearts content, they still say “there’s nothing to do”.

So off we went on an epic family walk to the local dog park – they went mountain biking, I kept my steps up.  The picture in my mind was Sound of Music, Swiss Family Robinson but the reality was more the Twilight Zone.  We got abuse for having no water or snacks, for walking too fast, for walking too slow, for walking at all, for taking the dog park route and not straight to the trails, for it starting to rain (it spat for 10 seconds), for it being too hot, too cold, for their helmets being itchy, too tight, too loose, too anything.  So by the time we got home, I was mainlining coffee to get through the rest of the day.  I then attempted a cake for a family party.  I should have stopped right there. I decided on carrot cake, cause I love cream cheese icing.  I had never made a carrot cake (without my mums help) before, so it wasn’t the smartest idea.  It took 20 minutes longer to cook than instructed, so I should have known by then that it was a goner.  I may have decided on putting my husband in charge for the final 10 minutes so I could take a power-nap.  That wasn’t my best idea.

Waking up from said power-nap, I found out that the carrot cake had burnt – really, in that final 10 minutes it decided to burst into flame?  The husband decided to help by taking the top of it off, which kind of worked if you had no cares in the world, but not for a birthday boy Grandad!  Anyhoo, I quickly made another cake, my go to chocolate cake I should have done in the first place.  It turned out great.  Except it was too hot to ice before we left for said family party.  On this day I wore double stripes from Zara and felt great.  Until I sat on my haunches to slice a piece of cheese at the party and the seam ripped a little on my calf.  Fark. So that day I learnt I should NOT leave the house on Sundays and that Zara pants have no give.

Right, onto Monday.  It was a good day, I think.  I can’t remember much, cause it’s already Thursday as I write this and I can’t remember that far back.  But I know what I wore – head to toe Zara again.  Bloody hell, is there a pattern brewing? There were stripes involved and a lace skirt.  I felt great. The day ended in a movie date night with the carrot cake killer, so that was nice. We saw Trainspotting 2, one of our favourites from the 90’s and I wanted to see how Renton, Sick Boy and Begby had fared in the last twenty years.  It was good, but I got sad, oh so sad at the heroin taking reminders.  I learnt, or was reminded of, how much needles and glue sniffing make me very sad and I feel quite depressed seeing it.  Plus, on Sunday, we’d seen a glue sniffer in a field by a gas station, walking around like a Zombie with a plastic bag stuck to his face and that had mad me even sadder.  It left me cold.

Onto Tuesday and still more Zara.  Really this is getting ridiculous.  I had on my new jeans and I learnt that I really really loved them. You want to know why?  Because they have a skort over the top – a strip of material pretending to be denim shorts and they cover all the bad bits and the camel toe threatening.  I fell in love at first sight. I wore them casually for the day and switched it up at night for another lesson learnt.  I like networking evenings. I attended a really cool one on Tuesday night and really really enjoyed it.  I once wrote a blog about networking and I followed my own advice, which you can check out here. I fancied up my jeans with leopard print and felt confident.  Thanks leopard print and skort jeans.

Then suddenly is was 6am on Wednesday. It was raining.  But I got out of bed at the 6am alarm and poured myself into some lycra (it was leopard print again).  I was about to experience my very first sober rave. I had very little expectations, other than a lingering question – would I feel like a dick dancing at 6.30am? Turns out no, I did not.  It was thoroughly enjoyable with just a coconut water on board and the feeling that by 8am I had nearly reached 10,000 steps.  So to celebrate I took the day off exercise the following day, which is probably defeating the success of the rave.  So I learnt I like sober raving in the morning.  Yesterday I wore Zara again – a gingham dress and the same green jacket from Monday night’s movie date.  Happy once again with the outfit.  It made me feel good and that’s great.

Today was my final day in the office for the week and come Friday I am all over the Sisterhood of Style like a spider monkey. Guess what I wore?  Zara.  Again. There was some Shine On, Glassons and Country Road thrown in but the gauzy, floaty dress, the best part of the outfit, was Zara.  Oh boy, this is getting interesting.  I hadn’t realised until I sat down to write, just how much Zara features in my wardrobe.  I’m really tired now, it’s 7.30pm and I’m threatening kids with all sorts to try and get them into bed to read.  It’s not working. But I think fondly of my outfit. It made me feel empowered and confident. Thanks outfit.

As I reflect on this week and all that is left of it, I am thrilled at it’s outcome, I am exhausted by it’s depth and I love that I tired to do something new everyday.  Don’t get me wrong, not everyday or every week is like that.  No, not at all.  Some days I am so overcome with tiredness and have no motivation and I flop on the couch and go to bed by 8.30pm.  But this week, it was full for the right reasons – reasons I chose to be busy with. I had no obligations, except ones that I had asked for and wanted and it feels like a good solid week just passed.  So I learnt I like being busy, I am best being busy, I do more, get more shit done when busy.  But I like my Sundays quiet, calm and hovering around home and I like wearing Zara.  A lot.

What does a good week look like for you?

Mmmmmwah, EJ, the mother of the Sisterhood. xo

If you would like to book a styling session, or want to chat about any style related queries, then drop EJ an email emma@sisterhoodofstyle.com she’d love to chat. 

 

That time I got a third boob and what I did about it.

I’m sitting here with the perkiest boobs (I hate the word tits) that I’ve ever had and with the cutest little peekaboo straps sitting above my T-shirt neckline.  I have my arms close to my body and I CAN’T FEEL MY BOOBS.  They sit close by, ensconced in lace and some magical fabric that has me not only contained, but perky, minimised but not flat, what is this black magic you ask? It’s called a well fitting bra sisterhood. My boobs are where they should be and nowhere they shouldn’t and I feel bloody amazing, just in my baggy T-shirt and PJ’s.  Perky=power. And best of all, I never left the house to get this perky. Read on to find out how.

I can only speak on behalf of those who are generously endowed in the boob department. No matter what I weigh, nor how many children have sucked the life out of them, mine remain steadfastly large.  My husband loves that, he loves them, always has, he’s a boob man, so that’s lucky. I love my boobs, I check my boobs for lumps, I get mammograms as I have a family history of breast cancer, I appreciate their form and they are part of my body – in all it’s good and bad glory. But there’s a slight downer, when they get in the way as I whack a tennis ball, or attempt a run and they may flip out without warning when frolicking in the surf, but they can also make me super happy when I fill out a dress, or  I need a defined waist area. So bras are important.  I don’t really get that meme that says something like “Hometime, bra off, trackies on, wine in glass”.  I can’t not wear a bra, because…let’s just say defined isn’t what you’d see.

So, as I was saying, bras are a thing for me, they need to fit well and that ground to a halt over recent months as I slowly accepted / discovered my third boob.  You know that sneaky little bitch, that climbs over the top of the bra cup?  The one that squidges out and can be seen from the front, the back, the side.  A little like back fat (more on that later).

But then an angel came to my rescue.  Sveltana Griffen from Intimo called me and offered to give me a personalised bra fitting and if I liked it (and only if), then would I share my story with the Sisterhood.  Hell bloody yes I would, I said, but be warned, I’m pretty honest.  She told me she liked my honesty so I said, let’s do this.  Svetlana and I had met at a networking evening back in August 2016 and she and I connected right away.  She has two boys like me and is a working mum, kicking ass and taking names.

Fast forward a few weeks to a gorgeous sunny Saturday morning, 10am.  The house is quiet and all my boys are out of the house, including the 12 year old dog.  Heaven. I’ve got Spotify playing Adele and the coffee machine just poured me the best cup of coffee I ever tasted. The mood was set, I was ready to be measured.  I realised then, that the tables had been turned and I possibly felt like my clients do when we do a wardrobe edit – they get their clothes off in front of me and I hope I put them at ease, just as I hoped Svetlana would do.  I felt so nervous but so excited to get properly fitted.  Svetlana turns up in her gracious gorgeous way, immediately putting me at ease (in my own home) and explaining the process to me.  She didn’t want to overwhelm me, so she then proceeded to bring in her giant suitcase – a Samsonite purple wonder – filled to the brim with bras and Intimo clothing.  I swooned.

We spent some time talking about Intimo and what she offers (personalised fitting appointments and group fitting appointments, plus Intimo have gorgeous Merino and outer wear that is dreamy – Svetlana was wearing an awesome dress that day, with a bralette over the top – check out my #womanofstylewednesday post I took of her). Anyhoo, I’m digressing.  Once she had introduced me to the range and what I should expect, she took my measurement.  She does this, with you current bra on, it’s very discreet and no hands involved, just a tape measure touching you, I felt super comfortable. It turns out I am lopsided, like may women and one is much larger than the other! Then, it came to fitting me in the right bra.  Now I am no stranger to bra fittings but I often find that shops don’t carry my size or understand my needs.  The beauty of Intimo and them coming to your house is that you have already told them your current size and the consultants will bring a selection of that size and others thereabouts, so that you do have a range to try on.

Suddenly I was trying on (Svetlana stood behind me for modesty as I slipped each bra on) different cups, fabrics, looks, Tshirt bras, lace bras and all that was in between.  There wasn’t a HUGE range in my size, yes girls, my cup runneth over, but I was so superbly happy with what I tried on, I realised my most important dream – to feel sexy and with only two boobs, not three.  I thought I wanted a TShirt bra the most, but when I spied the bra with the cute straps that sit above the cup, I was a goner.  I thought only skinny women, with a small cup would suit that.  Turns out, that’s not the case. Cue next swoon.

The whole time I was made to feel informed, comfortable and safe with someone helping me to try on one of the most important pieces of clothing I own – a perfectly fitted bra. I didn’t even care that I had gone up a size (Svetlana may have called my back fat, angel wings, bless – nothing that a few lateral pull ups/pull downs and some serious stopping on the drinking of the vino tinto every night won’t sort out).  We may have chatted so much about being girl bosses and mammas and how we deal with the juggle that we went well over the time she had anticipated, but I loved that we got on and could talk like friends. Thats a sure fire way to ensure I trust someone.  Svetlana – my boobs look fabulous, thanks to you :-).

Post visit, I waited a few days for my Intimo package to arrive and when I did – get this – Svetlana – who had tracked the courier – checked in on me to see if the sizing was right.  I couldn’t meet her in person for a few days so we did some exchanging of texts and messenger and we devised that one of the bras wasn’t the right size and one was absolutely bloody perfect.  So, like a true boss babe who puts her customer first, she exchanges the one that hadn’t fitted perfectly, for one that did, overnight.  BOOM.  I mean, who doesn’t love customer service that still meant – not once – did I had to leave the comfort of my own home and can do some of the negotiations and discussions, outside of normal working hours.  Now that is special to a time poor mamma.

So there you go girls, my perky boobs are sitting high and proud tonight and filling out a top so much better than the bra that aids my third boob to spring to life.  I feel slimmer (I am definately not) because I am wearing the right size for me right now and I can see a clear waist underneath me – well I can when I look in the mirror, cause I can’t see much below those puppies when I look down.  Awkward. I have a Tshirt bra that doesn’t show up under thin fabrics and a gorgeous lacy bra that holds me in, but provides a beautiful shape and a bit of sexiness.

If you’d like to know more about Intimo and how you can make magic happen with your boobs or you want to see Svetlana’s magical suitcase, then please do give her a call (details below).  Having my bras fitted personally was one of the best style decisions I’ve ever made.  Svetlana tells me that they have some bras that may be suitable for those who have had surgery for breast cancer too.  And for those of you who wear a slip or cami underneath your Tshirts to hold your boobs in – you won’t have to do that anymore.  Now how cool is that.

Lots of love EJ, the mother of the Sisterhood 😍

Contact details:  Svetlana Griffen / 021 783 845 / svetlana.griffen@intimo.com.au / Facebook.com/svetlana.griffen