All posts filed under: ootd

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Third Wheel & A Link-Up

Odd (wo)man out. An extra person or element.   This entire week, my lady friends Jodie, Nancy, Charlotte, and baby girl Eve, have been showcasing our interpretations of combining red with gold, plus a little somethin’, somethin’.  For instance, on Monday, we kicked things off to a glam start with, well, a touch of opulence to our red with gold garments.  This was promptly followed up with introducing print to the pairing.  Yes, red with gold and a touch of pattern on Wednesday.  And today?  Well, this day, the fifth day of the week (can I get a YAY??), we’re showcasing red and gold with a certain odd fella.  You know.  The odd man (or woman) out.  That third wheel, otherwise also known as the third colour into the mix. THIS IS GOING TO BE A SUCCINCT POST IT’S BEEN VERY HECTIC IN NEW YORK Whilst I won’t be attending shows until Friday (wait, that’s today), since I arrived on Wednesday night, I’ve spent 3 hours with the Zotos team (working on a very special …

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Love Thyself

Self care, self love. You seriously owe it to yourself.   Valentine’s Day happens next Tuesday.  A day for couples and singles alike.  For best friends.  Or just good friends.  A day to celebrate that crazy little thing called love and the act of loving.  Why is it then that we always forget one very vital thing? To love ourselves? Self care, self love. It’s a divine responsibility. It’s what you owe yourself, regardless of whether you’re a child of God.  Global citizen.  Wife of John.  Husband to Lily.  Mother of Samuel.  Brother to Kate.  You have a divine responsibility to take care of yourself.  I’d even go so far as to say that you’re honour bound to love yourself. WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN? Granted, those weekly massages or monthly manicure are wonderful treats but that’s not the sort of self-indulging I’m talking about here. It’s about knowing when to say “no“.  And not feeling guilty as sin for uttering that word.  Taking the time to recover, recharge, reboot.  Allowing yourself that moment to …

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The Radness Of Red Continues

Red is the colour of my heart. And the shirt I’ve got on my back.   I promise.  I really was trying to come up with something fancy for the header but that’s all I could manage, forgive me.  It’s been a long week.  Planning for Fashion Week in New York.  Getting things together.  Packing at the 11th hour, but of course (I mean, were you really expecting anything different?).  Desperately trying to juggle work and home and blog commitments.  And failing quite dramatically, to be honest GRIN.  If you’ve seen my recent Instastories, organisational skills aren’t really my superpowers. In support of this claim, I offer up as proof the fact that I’m currently typing this at Gate 19, Terminal E.  Yes, the airport.  Yes, I realise this post was meant to have been completed way before now and gone live this morning.  But as I stated, being organised and staying ahead of the game are simply not quite prevalent in my life skills vocabulary. END OF CONFESSION Wait. Another bit to confess.  I’m …

Rooster Red Glam | Sheela Writes

Rooster Red Glam

Popping of firecrackers. And the giving out of red packets.   For the vast majority of Asian Chinese, those two preceding lines immediately tell of celebrating Chinese New Year (Guo Nian which means, loosely translated, welcoming a brand new year and ridding oneself of yesteryear evil spirits).  I know, it’s quite mouthful contained within two seemingly succinct, monosyllabic words.  And the phrase “Asian Chinese” was intentional, friend, by way of explaining that all who hail from the continent are indeed Asian but not all are Chinese in ethnicity. For instance, in Singapore, you have Singaporean Chinese and Singaporean Malay as well as Singaporean Indian.  As is the same in Malaysia (where I ‘m from) wherein we have Malaysian Malay, Malaysian Chinese, Malaysian Indian and Malaysian Native (indigenous tribes such as Iban, Bidayuh, Penan, Kelabit, Murut, and loads more).  Out of all the different races, only the Chinese community celebrates Chinese New Year, whilst every other ethnicity celebrates its own interpretation of a new year. BRIEF CULTURAL LESSON OVER To soak up some fun trivia surrounding …

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Is It Black, White Or Grey?

A simple question. How do you set your standards?   How do you define your ethics?  Determine whether something is black or white?  And when does grey come into play?  Let me briefly explain. SOMEONE TRIED TO SCREW ME OVER Yeah.  It had to do with that unholy triad. You know, trademark, money, and, well, blatant stupidity. Anyway, that unpleasant incident led to a series of conversations between me, myself and I, as we extensively dissected ways and means in which we would could handle the protagonist whom I shall call PITA (pain in the ass). The following thoughts were raised:- >  PITA started out as a groupie.  A major fan.  So that means she must have a good heart underneath all that, well, nasty back-stabbing bitchiness.  Right? >  Maybe she truly doesn’t know what she’s doing is illegal? >  Yes, PITA acted in very poor taste.  She was unethical, to say the least, but perhaps, just perhaps it was unintentional? >  Or, dare I say, imitation is the most sincere form of flattery? On …

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A Week In My Life 3 & A Link-Up

Peekaboo. I see you, world.   So, after a brief hiatus (ish, my last life post was dated 18th November), I’m back again with a wee peak into the happenings going on in my tiny, not so eventful world.  That said, quite a few things have occurred since my update of 6 weeks ago, friend. First of all, remember Elliot?  My massage therapist? Well, he resigned from the practice a few weeks ago.  Apparently, he had been paying off his ex-wife’s IRS debt (I don’t understand it either), and concluded he simply wasn’t earning enough with his current employer to be able to do that as well as afford a new sports car (huh?).  So he decided to leave and find work with The Joint (a chain of “fast food style” chiropractic outlets).  I don’t know about you but this guy has me shaking my head in bewilderment quite a few times. Then on Christmas Eve, we had our traditional family dinner at the nearby McCormick & Schmick’s Seafood and Steaks Restaurant (pictures here).  On …

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Self Love Is Effed Up

I’m not joking. It can be seriously effed up.   Here’s a very important note to remember.  Loving yourself doesn’t guarantee that you will be loved right back.  How’s that for a curveball? Indeed.  Self love? IT’S A TRICKY TERRAIN, MY FRIEND We can shout it out from the mountain tops.  I Love my curves!  I Love my crazy!  I Love my attitude!  I love everything unique and different about me that makes me, me!!  All the while, we’re looking out of the corner of our eye to see if everyone else is loving us for our curves, crazy, and attitude. It’s as though if I love me, then maybe YOU will love me too, right? Not necessarily. And why? Because humans are really screwed up when it comes to love.  BEAUTIFULLY, irresistibly, and understandably so utterly messed up about it. You can attempt to love yourself in spite of not being loved the way you want (note use of the word “spite”, not precisely the most empowering, positive phrase, right, and we’re already off …

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I Resolve To

Not make resolutions. It’s a recipe for immediate disaster.   I’m fully aware that this is all psychological. And that calling a rose by any other name doesn’t make it any less than what it actually is, a rose.  That said, over countless years of drawing up list upon list of resolutions (and failing dismally to fulfill any), this MO seems to work better for me.  This renaming of resolutions as intentions.  Or desires.  Or to dos.  When I peg them as resolutions, my mind instantly conjures up the first day of a new year.  And that’s precisely how long those resolutions are remembered.  24 hours (if I’m lucky).  It’s as though if they’re called resolutions (or goals), they become more like, well, wishes.  And hopes.  Not focused, determined commitments to achieve or acquire (or rid oneself of) things that are of immense value, tangible as well as non tangible. AM I MAKING ANY SENSE? Is it the very same with you?  Or am I essentially writing a truckload of poppycock? At times, I wonder, …

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Shine On

Twinkle, sparkle, and shine. Shine like the brightest of diamonds.   As I was writing back to Ada, confirming my participation in this special collaboration (thank you for even thinking of me), I began mentally assembling my outfit, as I tend to do whenever embarking upon a shared project. A little bling here, a little shine there.  Perhaps velvet.  Or some sequins.  You know, how the concept of being festive and dressed up for new year’s eve seems to always be tied-in with those elements.  And that’s when the thought came into my mind.  That a woman shouldn’t sparkle only once a year. That a woman should always sparkle.  And shine.  As bright as she could ever possibly be. Every single day. In everything she does. Big or small.  Be it on her own, or with her fellow sister pioneers (Famous Footwear, you really knocked it out of the park). Shine so bright that she illuminates every soul met along the way. Dispel the shadows. Cast them aside. Propel others into the beautiful clarity of …

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Christmas Memories Part 1

There’s more to this time of year, Then sleigh bells and holly, mistletoe and snow, Those things, they come and go.   My earliest Christmas memory is of when I was about 5.  We were somewhat nomadic at the time, moving frequently (for reasons which I cannot now recall, I must ask my Mum), and that particular year, home was a tiny spot atop this low-cost apartment complex built for government employees (my dad was part of the Marine Fisheries Department then).  We were on the very top floor (apparently my acrophobia hadn’t yet made its appearance known), the four of us crammed into the teeniest two bedroom apartment. I remember sleeping on mattresses on the living room floor most nights because it was very warm.  The air often so thick and muggy you could slice through it with a knife.  And my ears tuned in to the soft rustling of the ceiling fan as it oscillated in a steady, hypnotic rhythm which would eventually lull me into the arms of Morpheus. WITH “APACHE” FROM …