Let them eat cake.

Ahh, I shimmy with excitement when I think about fantastical themed parties. The latest and greatest idea is spawned from the audacity of Marie Antoinette.



She is the queen who lived like a rock star. Her involvement with rumours, scandals, fame and revolution make all the boys blush and all the girls fantasize. I mean, she put up with marrying a guy who didn't want to touch her. And as sweet as he was about it and how bizarre their relationship became, it would be enough to drive the least hormonal person absolutely insane. And this is why we love her. Her insanity shone through in her outrageous clothes and 'fabulous' appearance. But the most important thing. Her parties looked incredible.



The party that starts a revolution. This is what we must achieve.

We want the pearls, lace, feathers, blushed lips, hair-ups, corsets, all to the extreme. We want the food: white goodness coated cherries dangling from cherry blossom trees, savouries smothered in chocolate, stacks of berries in glass parafums, mohitos, pina coladas, champagne, all the glorious feminine class with a touch of the restless scruffnuts that we all really are inside. The plan is to also adorn an abode with fine linens and candlelight. The perfect setting for such Antoinette styled games and frivolity.

This is obviously an exclusive gathering to date. So if you are reading this, don't assume you're in. We will post details to the worthy in due time.

Love X

Dear Mr Claus

Dear Santa,
I am pretty annoyed.
Actually quite pissed off.
I'm not even sure I can believe in you anymore.

As you know...I have REPEATEDLY asked for a pony
and every year I am repeatedly disappointed.
Surely it's a simple request for you? But there has been nothing! No reply, no hohoho, no communication that you have even received my lists.

Well i think that it is just plain...mean! and..and..you're fat too.
There i said it. Munch on that with your milk Santa.

M

P.S. I suppose this means no presents this year??

English Engagements

Everyone has an English crush right? and I don't mean a pale skinned,slightly awkward, in-line-to-the-throne holiday fling. I'm referring to late night/early morning dictionary reads, punctuation passion and romantic feelings for correct grammar.
I'm not sure right now if this particular brand of nerdiness should even be admitted on a blog as cool as this but here goes...i adore alliteration. I am head over heels, butt crazy about alliteration. Actually, I have an amorous affection and am an ardent admirer of alliteration.
V from 'V for Vendetta' is my muse. I'll never forget that scene when he reeled off so many v words it left my heart racing and my spine tingling. I'm actually pretty sure that the writers are equally as obsessed with alliteration and used that plot as a vehicle to surreptitiously showcase their alliterative genius.
Take note...You have been warned...In future, PDAs (Public Displays of Alliteration) will occur so to avoid feeling like a third wheel - I encourage you to search your heart and find what part of the English language makes you feel lightheaded and gets your palms a-sweating. And share it with the world. Now is the time.

Fixie Me Up

I want to get a bike, fixie it all up and bling it right out. Forget gears, forget free-wheel mechanisms - keep it real.
Club Emblem is all about bikes. We've been e-bayddicted trying to beat university art students to the rustiest, sweetest deals around.

And since we love the humble bike, here is a deeper understanding of how the members of emblem would choose to make their way through life:
L is a picture of Parisien perfection framed by a 70's love child. She is all baskets and baguettes, ballet flats and berets but with a trailing tie dyed headscarf.

B's heart still lies with the radical 80's bike rage. She is a BMX bandit. Imagine if you will Drew Barrymore ripping it up on a dirt bike in Charlie's Angels and there you have it - sexy, fearless and smoking hot.

M lives for a retro fixie bike and attends gnarly skid comps to the pumping sounds of...eva cassidy. She wears chic bike wear with inbuilt reflectors. All looks cool until you hear the spokey dokeys rattling on her wheels. Safety, beauty,...dorky.

Our bicycle doctrine:
Lycra is unacceptable.
Safety first.
Fit not fat.

Just bought a wee pair of gray canvas Zu’s for 65% off. THRIFTY AS.

So amidst an epic battle with a poorly written exam (or poorly human attempting to sit it) and a disgustingly deadly virus (yes, deadly) I went for a little shop. A little shoe shop in fact.

Shoes.

I used to pride myself on being way too un-girlie to dig shoes. Mmmm. I’ve always loved a gnarly pair of kicks. oh yes. But that is not necessarily an overly feminine fetish. So no reputation worries. My head would always get pulled back around a nice 90 degree angle to check the latest delectable high tops of any variety. I would claw at the window like a fat dog outside a sausage shop.  Similar amounts of slobber too.

I’ve recently completed my first year of high top purchasing with the big 3: Nike, Adidas and Puma. High five me or something. My second year will hopefully bring many more and the branching out to Reebok and New Balance; I hear good things. I’m willing to try the both- “expanding horizons” is always a noble challenge. The lowest point of my High Top career was a realisation at the Rose Market Hip Hop Swap Meet that extremely awesome, rare kicks come in women’s Size 7 99% of the time. Curse you Size 8 lower limb extremities.  I recovered after finding out that I get 35% off all Nike shoes with my new job. Excellent.

Unfortunately though, I am not here to merely tell of the splendour of a sneaker. I am here to tell you that I’ve recently become aware that my heart is softening. Shoes are rad. All of them. Heels are the shiz.  NO! I cannot like them! It feels so wrong... but oh so right. Am I, Am I.... a Lady?  Thanks to watching the Sex in the City Movie- which I recommend you ONLY watch on a plane- unless you want any naive nature you owned to leave you.., I’ve learned that a female shoe is a marvellous thing. Sandals, flats, boots, gladiators, heels, brogues.  As I wander slowly past Giallo, Zomp, Shag and now the rock & roll of London Rebel, I now know I am truly coming of age. I want to GO IN. I want to BUY. I think about which colour needs to next invade the bottom of my wardrobe. I think about EBAY and wonder if it’s scummy to get vintage suede peep toe heels online. (As I write that sentence I realise-NO IT’S NOT and I’ll just quickly pull up another window and enter EBAY NOW) I think about how lucky I am not to be 6ft and can therefore wear gigantor heels without looking totally naff.

This new little bud is slowly emerging. Shy and timid it wills to be nurtured and grow stronger. I don’t think I can tell all my friends yet. Please respect my wishes. In due time the world will know. Til then I’ll stick with ghetto rubber-soled kid by day. Bedroom heel strutter at night.

COME GET A PIECE OF THIS HOMESLICE

who are we? we are three.
an em, an elle, and also a bea.
you wish you could pull off the things that we wear,
to conservative onlookers we bid you beware..
we’re sweet on things gold; like lions, like santo
there’s much radness in here; we epitomise mojo
Shoulder pads will come back, as will the leather
You’ll be astounded with what we can slam together.
We’ll talk of grand projects, of ruffian dreams,
and we’ll dress as we please along excellent themes
Yes, we dance quite alot and pose quite a bit
So tell all your friends, “like dang, they are fit” *
We get excited at markets and hot cups of tea,
Secret laneways, BADIDAS and alas, GG
our BLOG is for those who enjoy the above,
now kiss your screen, we are wanting your love

club emblem. Show your respect.

*rich, cockney accent required