The Best Wedding Guest Dress Review

After being a slave to the Google search engine for a solid 3 months, in the hope of finding the perfect wedding guest dress, looking back at the photos, I made a good call.

I have expressed before in previous blog posts about how I have a weirdly proportioned body, which many big names in fashion don’t cater for (I will clarify that I do understand that mass produced brands have such a hard job at catering for everyone’s figures that I won’t scold them too much for not thinking about mine).

I have the figure of a condensed, tall adult, which is politely saying I’m small and a bit round in areas, with a waist that doesn’t match my proportions. Trying to find a dress to cater for that, left me with a mammoth task because finding a dress online that would fit me, after trying dresses on in shops that didn’t, doesn’t usually bode well. However, online there are a 100x more brands which left me with a glimmer of hope, as someone out there must be prepared for a figure like mine.

To cut a very long, repetitive story short, I settled for a lace number from a brand called Chi Chi London. I am sure a lot of teenagers and parents reading this, who have gone through prom season, would have heard of them. But, if you haven’t, this is a brand that create feminine, sparkly-goodness for a competitive price, in cuts that cater for many shapes of woman.

The winning dress for me, was a midi lace, in pastel yellow with a plunge neckline. Not only did it cater for my waist, complimenting my hips (which I have an aversion with), it offered so much support that I didn’t need a bra. Any excuse to let the girls free, is a good one and as a big-busted woman I felt completely safe that there would be no great escapes or appearances from them during the reception.

The B&W version of this picture looked far more cosmopolitan.

Sometimes lace can be a little limp, losing its shape, which was a worry when I purchased this dress, but after giving it a good steam it survived: a heavy downpour, sitting down for speeches and dancing my life away, remaining beautiful and full of shape.

I received many compliments in this dress and for once, I felt radiant. At the end of the night I didn’t want to take it off, I loved how it made me feel and I wanted to feel like that for a couple more days (I’m not greedy).

I will now forever suggest Chi Chi London.

Have fun out there!

Pipedream xx

P.S. I wasn’t paid to say this by Chi Chi London… Although I wish I was! Aha!

 

 

Zebadee

As soon as I set eyes on him, I knew he was the one…

I had spent weeks leading up to that moment comparing cars for sale online (when I say weeks, I mean months, because as soon as I booked my driving test, car shopping was the new shoe shopping). *Eager Beaver Alert* Of course, I was an absolute beginner in knowing what to look for in a first car and a metal bin on wheels would have impressed me. But, I had decided to try and get my noodle (brain) around “car talk” and it made me feel as macho as someone repping knitted cardigans and shoes made of straw, can.

The intentions of my first car was to escort me on my day-to-day commute to work and adventures visiting friends at University, so it 100% needed to be reliable. To begin with I had overlooked the importance of mileage, previous owners, age and other things in favour of price which is a no-no if you want you or the car to survive, but my budget was modest.

Disclaimer: I am in no way saying that an old car isn’t the perfect first car, I am merely saying an old car wouldn’t suit what I wanted out of having a car; if it wasn’t going to be reliable.

After using those over-advertised insurance comparing companies, I had discovered that insurance is an absolute killer on older cars (information relative to my research not actual facts). However, the quotes were a little softer on newer cars from garages which is when my car hunting took a turn.

I had decided that maybe buying a newer car was the way forward… but I never ever thought that that would be something I’d even consider. I of course didn’t have the budget to buy one out-right and I am not too proud to say that finance was my only option, but after number crunching against my salary, I could afford too. I was offered money from relatives but I am one of those people that would rather do it myself; consequences considered.

*Enter Zebadee*


I am a lover of all things vintage and my heart had pined over the original Classic Fiat 500s years prior to passing and looking on all the forums for first cars, their descendants (which you see plaguing the streets today in all their vibrant finery) were up there on the list for being the best first cars.
I had compared and compared again all of the Fiat 500s in the area and the front runner was definitely the little silver number parked in a garage, 2 miles from my home.  I had a little specification and Zebadee fit them all, so I would have been stupid not to pick him (I am aware people have this unspoken agreement that cars are “girls” but Zebadee isn’t, sorry). I have never felt so adult in my life, driving away in my very own first car, which makes me feel a little silly admitting out loud. But, I am in love with my new-found freedom and I am excited for the future and all the adventuring possibilities that I now have.

Have fun out there!

Love,
Pipedream xx

Driving Success

This time last year I had uploaded my first ever Vlog on to YouTube which was a result of a list of goals I had set myself before my birthday. I like to use my birthday as a deadline because I am one of those people that has a Life-Plan (I am aware that life is incredibly unpredictable and cannot be structured through a plan) to assess if I am on track, personally.

I really enjoyed making videos for YouTube and people seemed to receive them well, however I found it really difficult to find the time to keep it up and I was a bit of a rambler. No one has time for that. But alas, this year’s goal was to finally pass my driving test. I am going to stress the word finally, not because of the amount of tests it took but because it was something I never thought was going to happen.

I had paid a lot of money for a block of lessons which my previous instructor didn’t seem too enthused about fitting in, he made me feel anxious and a bit stupid but it was his misogyny that didn’t bode well for the amount of time we had to spend together to be “test ready”. Long story short, I got a new instructor. What a pickle. I had taken 5 months out which reverted me basically back to beginners level, leaving me a little more nervous and hesitant the second time around because my confidence had been quashed. Part of me was very determined to pass but the thought of taking a test made my stomach turn.


Surprisingly, the tests themselves aren’t actually as horrific as you think, even if you stall (guilty), have a scary examiner and repeatedly ask if you’re going the right way or not. The thing which was the cause of all my angst, other than accidently killing the examiner, was the verdict. Pass was not the word I ever imagined to come out of the examiners mouth. It was an achievement that secured the idea that I was maybe becoming an independent adult, and the child in me stamped my foot. The last test I took, I felt ready, like it was the perfect time.

The odds were stacked against me to pass before my birthday (the cynic in me felt like it would never happen) as the waiting period for a test was 3 months away (October, ewww) BUT a cancellation did come up and I feel it was all meant to be. I did it YAY! Finally.

Have fun out there.

Love,

Pipedream xx

The Perspective from a Humble Retail Work

Today I have decided to write this post whilst I am at the shop. Not because it is particularly quiet but because I am in utter disbelief that certain characters of humans exist and I am surrounded by them. Retail and I have been friends for a solid 4 years and I have worked in environments from Fragrance & Beauty to joyous brides but never have I experienced such pernickety, menopausal, rudeness from a calibre of people in my existence.

It is always assumed when I mention my previous careers that “they must have been really tricky customers to deal with” insinuating that people that buy beauty products and desire to find the perfect dress are somewhat “high-maintenance”. Well my friend they are angels in comparison.

I have the pleasure of working with some of the most beautiful furniture in the UK, and for anyone that knows me understands my love for interiors and all things comfort. However, I have just been under the scrutiny of a gentleman that wished to inspect a glass, looking to find a fault to quibble the price. I am being whole-heartedly serious when I say this, but I genuinely thought he was going to get out the Hubble Telescope from his rucksack; that was filled to the brim, no doubt with articles on customers rights and how he could discount the product further.

I have endured finger-clicking, summoning me like a dog, tutting like an errant child when a product is out of stock and I think I have mastered my pack-horse impression because it is hilarious how people lose the use of their arms when it comes to retail. Now, yes I am paid to deliver a service, but I am not paid to tolerate disrespect or gentleman’s bottom cracks; revealing what that person ate for breakfast. I understand that some of the furniture we offer is made in the U.K. which is relative to the price, but I am not forcing anyone to buy it… and no, we cannot offer a best price THAT IS THE PRICE and if I was Prime Minister I would ban hagglers. As a good friend of mine says, “here is an acorn, you grow the tree, pay for it to be cut down, manufactured and regulated for safety to sell and then see what price you can do it for”. It is a mouthful but it gets the point across.


The point I am trying to make is that the products are just material things. There are situations going on in the world that are far more severe that completely diminish the need for such behaviour towards a cushion that has a fray, a delay in the production of a sofa or any other scenario that requires a stamp of one’s foot for not getting their own way.


If you are a customer today, maybe re-think how you would approach your humble retail worker.

Have fun out there!

With love,

Pipedream xx

I don’t like who I am drunk

Last night concluded the local marvel that is the Hastings Beer and Music Festival. An occasion held every year over a period of 3 days, showcasing an array of good music and beer. I cannot deny that I am not usually a beer drinker by choice, but I think I was partly converted last night or maybe I was just merry and too hot to care.


The Cavaliers closed their set with confetti and joy, and I was in a desperate need for another drink after thrusting my body around in an attempt to dance, consumed by the vast heat of perspiring bodies in a tent.


The night did not end when the music stopped. Continuing until the early hours of this morning; I had drunk far more than I intended, ending up on the curb outside my house trying to gain composure to not wake the sleeping.

I don’t like who I am when I am drunk. I am quickly converted into this demanding, grizzling-mess with a potty mouth and no inhibitions. The dire nature of modern society is, it was all recorded and posted on social media outlets, which makes me want to crawl into a hole and bury myself. There is no gruesome story of me having my stomach pumped or choking on my own vomit, or a tale that is so cringe-worthy that your toenails will curl up into little quavers. I just become the person I don’t want to be… outrageous and repenting in the morning.

I am well aware that when people are united in drunkenness, civility no longer exists. But as I sashay through Sunday with a hangover at work I think in future I’ll leave the wine in the fridge and my wine glass in the cabinet. I intend to give my liver a break along with my social media appearances, intoxicated.

Have fun out there,

Pipedream xx

 

I smell Wedding Season.

I am now beginning to regret my decision in not attending the gym when I really should have. It is wedding season and my irrational dislike towards my arms; and other wobbly areas that make up the composition of my body, is making it incredible hard to find a dress.

Many brands attempts, at the perfect wedding guest outfit would consume my 5’2 self in lace and tulle which is something only suitable to be seen on 3-year-old flower girls, and not my adult self. I absolutely love eating marshmallows, but I don’t want to look like one; especially if there is photographic evidence.


Working in the wedding industry highlighted how many brides dislike their guests wearing the same colour gowns as themselves, which is perfectly reasonable as it is the biggest day of their lives to date and they want to look like the Queens they are.  But as my luck would have it, the only dresses that have ignited a passion in my soul have been Ivory (maybe because I know the colour is out of bounds it makes it more desirable?). However, the idea of making a bride unhappy on the biggest day of their life is not something I aspire to do… and I value my life.

There are so many factors that need to be accounted for when picking the perfect dress… it cannot be backless as I don’t want the torture device that secures my girls into place on show. A plunge neckline is a no-go because fleshy spillages are only popular on Page 3 of The Sun and this is a family occasion after all. Anything too tight around my hips will result in something resembling Hulk when he gets mad and the list continues leaving me with only a sack as a valid alternative.


I of course am being a little dramatic BUT I am starting to lose hope… As I scroll through the wedding guest edits on all of the top brands, its either take one for the team and spend the next 50+ years at family occasions looking like a potato or sinning and wearing something casual, which is the girl I am at heart.

Have fun out there!

Love,

Pipedream x

The Qualms of Conversation

When someone new slides into my DMs (I absolutely love using this phrase) my replies are usually like an excitable puppy running along a keyboard as I love getting to know new people. However, as social media is now a platform for job offers, romantic prospects and budding friendships, I’m finding it hard to know how to conduct myself, as appearing too eager is becoming a recognised sin online.

In this modern world, there are SO many rules about how to successfully talk to someone online, that I’m getting a hang up.


Pre-2017 me: double texting was merely a way for me to splurge out how my brain was responding to the conversation without having to spend half-a -lifetime writing out an eloquent response in the fear of looking unprofessional, too eager or too clingy. I honestly don’t get why society latched on to the notions that double texting is a bad thing? Personally, when I receive a series of messages I feel like the person I’m talking too is really engaged with what we are talking about and in my own experience when I double text, it’s just because I’m super enthusiastic about the situation. However, 2017 me: I’m now finding myself deliberating (for what seems like an eternity) over how to respond without sinning, which usually results in a blunt response as I can’t convey what I’m thinking into a concise reply. WHICH IS A MOOD KILLER. *sigh*

The thing which I find really tough is that social media is the foundation for many new relationships and I am very aware that my new-found bluntness is an issue. I find it hard to reach the middle ground between being too enthusiastic to being enchantingly sassy with a sprinkle of enthusiasm to keep things spicy…

I can’t be the only one thinking that it is hard to juggle these norms? All I want to do is enthuse my conversations with bursting technicolor of randomness and double texting. But alas, it’s probably time to get out the rule book and swat up on how to talk online!

Have fun out there!

Love,

Pipedream xx

The sunshine in Failing.

Failure, I’ve found, is something rarely mentioned on social media; unless someone is reminiscing on their climb towards their present success. I’m not ashamed of failure and I personally feel it is an important ally towards a positive future. Now of course, I am not too proud to suggest that failing causes me great distress but I am a big believer that things happen for a reason and I am reassured that “everything is happening as it needs to, using not a minute more than perfection requires”.


Today I failed my driving test… for the second time. I have discovered to date, that people only reveal they have failed, when they have passed (of course this isn’t rule of thumb). But here I am trying to reassure the percentage of people in the same position as myself, that failing is OK. The first time I failed, I carried misery around with me like it was a designer handbag.

In day to day life, I strive to be the best at all things I put my mind too, and failing really put me on the back foot. I didn’t have a shiny new car waiting for me (which is an example regularly received as an act of reassurance), but I did have a bubble-wrapped ego that hurt to damage.


I don’t like failing any more than the next person, but today I have realised it just wasn’t my time. There is no point dwelling that the bus appeared when it did or that I messed up on a gear change but what I do know is, it takes a lot of courage to drive someone unknown, around town, in test conditions and only receive 3 minors (obviously excluding the elephant in the room the MAJOR).

The test itself is not the problem, I work well under-pressure (but I just have a poor judgement when it comes to buses) but if you are someone that lets nerves overcome you… YOU CAN DO THIS. I know sure as hell, that I won’t let this defeat me and I WILL drive a test that ends with a pass. Failure isn’t the end; it’s the beginning of being better than before.

Alas, I have embarked on my rejection routine of eating away my feelings and whinging to my nearest and dearest (I am only human), but sometimes life throws you these curveballs for a reason and I want to take the positive from it.

Have fun out there.

Love,

Pipedream xx

 

Gear Change

For anyone that knows me understands that Art is a little backpack I’ve been carrying around with me since the age I could pick up a pencil. I’ve always been pin-pointed as a “quirky” (dare I say it) individual that paints in fields and drinks fennel tea but I have now opened a new can of worms. 

Like most decisions within my life, they happen last minute. I was forever indecisive about my future, but since starting this blog I have reignited my love of literature and the magic of stringing words together to make feelings. I had started my UCAS application with the intention of unpacking the Art that I carried around as an identity, and pursuing it into further education HOWEVER (here comes the gear change) I decided to apply for something that made me feel giddy with excitement and self-doubt. I thought that little-old-me with no A-Levels, was “too stupid” to study a subject my lack of qualifications “prevented” me from doing.

 
My New Year’s resolution was a cracker… be more spontaneous. Lists and scrupulous over-thinking was encoded in my DNA and secretly, I had little faith in the resolution set by myself. 
However, when I attached Journalism onto my UCAS application I never expected it to be taken seriously. I’ve always had this scandalous dream of presenting on Countryfile and adding Journalism to my list made it feel less of a dream and more of a reality. 


An Unconditional offer and crying with joy on the toilet later, being spontaneous was working in my favour. I’ve never had the confidence in myself to jump. Well, now I’m jumping. 
Sorry for the lack of blog posts recently, I just haven’t found the words to explain how I’ve felt, until now. 

Have fun out there. 

Love,
Pipedream xx 

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