Month: Apr 2016

Hey Gold Digger & A Link-Up | Sheela Writes

Hey Gold Digger & A Link-Up

Gold Digger? Or is it Goal Digger?   When a woman goes after her dreams, and achieves them, isn’t it odd annoying how often pundits claim it’s due to her Northward-bound hemlines or whom she slept with?  Or because her dad is so and so?  And why not her mum, for that matter?  Anything save for, oh I don’t know, the fact that she might actually have earned those accolades?  Because she’s intelligent?  Determined?  Deserving? Instead of a gold digger, shouldn’t she be called a goal digger instead? #WHYOHWHY Dress (Urbanog) | Gold Sequin Blazer,  Gold Polka Dot Socks & Gold Sunnies (Poshmark) | Helios Cuff (Cabi) | Wooden Rings (H&M) | Black & Gold Bucket Bag (Zara) In as much as things have changed, things haven’t really changed all that much.  Society still tends to favour the other gender (hint: it’s not us females) when it comes to peer recognition.  And frankly, I find that to be such a contradiction to the vast advancements we’ve made, as a race, in all other aspects of …

The Mainstream Predicament | Sheela Writes

The Mainstream Predicament

Go commercial? Or stay unapologetically me?   Remember when I talked about chronic self-exposure and that sea of clones which appears to be sweeping over every social media platform in sight?  Washing clear away, for the most part, what was once treasured and precious.  That crazy little thing called individuality? A RARE COMMODITY THESE DAYS At this point, I’ll just come clean and say confess something which most of us are more than likely already thinking.  ‘Fess up, now. That in as much as I profess a healthy dislike for how many are looking (ever so similar) on social media, I crave the numbers they’re pulling in.  I really, really do.  I envy them.  I want what they have in terms of their partnerships with brands.  The collaborations.  The fame.  Does that make me sound like a whiny bitch? Well, yes, but hey, I’m honest 🙂 Within that same post, I also wrote about bloggers and their styles.  How I’m seeing the same palette.  Identical outfits even sometimes.  I can fully appreciate why brands prefer …

The Fab 40s In Pleats

Blush. And Pleats. Words you wouldn’t associate with me.   That being said, I’ve had many a sartorial cherry popped on the blog in recent months.  There was the affair with florals (a recurring affair, mind you).  And a sporadic dalliance with denim, headlining a post or three.  Shift dresses, they too have been making the odd appearance on my dance card. So it ought not come as all that much of a shock to (1) witness the debut of a new motif here; (2) be privy to Sheela attempting something completely out of her comfort zone, yet again; and (3) listen to me write in the third person for the umpteenth time GRIN What can I say? I’m nothing if not (somewhat) predictable. In the spirit of predictability, I’ve embraced pleats with heart and soul. Mind you, I have genuflected upon the tabernacle of Issey Miyake since I was, hmmm, 7 years old, completely enamoured of his deft hand with fabric.  Implicitly infatuated with his seemingly magical way of fashioning silhouettes that defied logic, …

It’s Not Personal

Revelations. Filter-free thoughts.   In this day and age, we exist within an endless circus of self-exposure.  We exhibit our meals and our cute pets on social media for all the world to see.  We flaunt square insights into our private lives on Instagram with nary a second thought.  Has the need to be nakedly exposed for nothing but a mere modicum of fleeting fame turned into an implicit obsession?  Or, has the desire to wield the word “I” become such a zeitgeist that no longer does the spotlight focus on writing about oneself but rather, for oneself. CHRONIC SELF-EXPOSURE It would appear we spare no sepia filters for what we share. Which has me wary about something I’ve dissected at length in the past – oversharing.  When does sharing morph into, I’m loath to use this word, confessing? It’s all too easy for shared experiences to waver from being an intellectual reconstruction of past, personal encounters, to being, well, confessions (read: nakedly exposed).  No one enjoys feeling vulnerable.  And no one likes the inference …

My Bubble & A Link-Up

Ignorance is bliss. Or am I living under a rock?   Just yesterday, I was talking to a friend about living the blogger life.  What that (purportedly) entailed and what it (realistically) didn’t.  We were throwing out names of high profiled people we both admired worshipped when I realised she’d mentioned two names, consecutively no less, completely foreign to me, and these ladies were supposedly in the upper echelons of the blogosphere.  So how was it that I had no idea of whom she spoke? CLUELESS, I WAS Which set me thinking.  I do that a lot.  Is ignorance truly bliss?  Or are we supposed to keep up with everything?  Be in the know.  Would it really  benefit us to stay in the loop?  Or are we truly better off shielded from an information overload?  The reason I’m bringing this up is evident when you sneak a peek at any social media platform.  Take Instagram.  A quick once over reveals a sea of clones.  From cups of artsy coffee, pretty ice cream cones, cute pets, …

Formally Speaking

Suits. Blazers. Jackets. Formal Wear. Formally Dressed.   For those who know me, I’d be the last person you’d associate with the stereotypical concept of formal dressing.  And I don’t blame you.  Think Sheela, think unconventional.  Unapologetic.  Flamboyant.  Formal attire (otherwise known in certain quarters as conservative wear) is the furthest thing to come to mind.  However, those who’ve known me since, say, the late 1990s, would beg to disagree.  The Sheela then worked at Ernst & Young.  As a Management Consultant who undertook feasibility studies for government departments and MNCs in, yes, 3-piece suits, pointy toe pumps, and spare pair of pantyhose in the bag. Always. #NOJUDGING Let’s press the forward button on our remotes, shall we, leaping towards the year 2000.  At a time when gimmicky titles reigned (head honcho, anyone?); refurbished shophouses were de rigueur; and, thanks to the dot com boom, when formal meant a collared tee and non ripped jeans.  Not a button-down.  Nor dress pants. CLEAN HAIR OPTIONAL Imagine how liberating that period was.  Which probably accounts for why …

Silence & A Link-Up

Silence & A Link-Up

Not a creature was stirring, No, not even a mouse.   It’s been awfully quiet in Sheela land of late.  In fact, I’ve not written a single blog post since last Friday, and no, it’s not a delayed April Fool’s day gag.  The statute of limitations on that one ran out a clear week ago.  I’ve had the oddest three weeks.  First, a stubborn bout of bronchitis which ran its course until last weekend.  Then on Sunday night, the funniest (read: weird) thing happened.  My skin started to hurt.  Like burnt skin.  Raw.  Torturous to the touch. I DID SAY IT WAS WEIRD Imagine needing to heed the call of nature.  You laugh but trust me, it was excruciating.  I started drinking less in the hopes that I wouldn’t have to go to the bathroom all too often but that only worked up to a point.  I had to walk around the house in my birthday suit (when no one else was around, of course) because each time fabric touched my skin, I wanted to …

The Race & A Link-Up | Sheela Writes

The Race & A Link-Up

Life is no longer just a game, It’s a frenzied race to the finish line.   A neverending paper chase, if you will.  Humans on a perpetual hamster wheel.  In search of greener pastures.  Better horizons.  Light at the end of that tunnel.  Take your pick.  How much is enough?  When does the cup start to look half full?  Where do we draw the line between ambition and greed? Do you know? I CERTAINLY DON’T We hustle and we strive, and we put our noses close to the grindstone.  So close we forget to look up and around ever so often.  And I often wonder to what end.  Life has become such a rat race, a form of profound competition wherein we’re prone to (over)compensating our emotional losses with material achievements. We’ve become the modern definition of slaves.  A slave to our deadlines.  A slave to our goals.  To societal expectations.  Money.  To a certain lifestyle. And now, let me put it to you that the harsh reality of things means it requires far more …