All posts tagged: spring

The Fab 40s Go Boho

 Wanderlust. Free-spirited. Authentic.   Isn’t that what lies at the heart of the word bohémien?  I mean, it’s all about being a gypsy.  And certainly not merely in terms of style.  There’s a great deal more to the concept than fringes and tassels and Coachella.  Being bohemian is a state of mind.  Unconventional.  Moving away from the expected be it in life and/or in thought. When applied to fashion, the spirit of bohemian manifests itself in an air of decided nonchalance.  And by that, I revel in the sweet irony of how today, in the 21st century, the fashion elite dons crochet and ruffles galore in the hopes of looking nomadic, and non-bourgeois, when in reality, the real bohemian lasses themselves are sexy and delightful precisely because they simply don’t give a shit. U N A P O L O G E T I C Suffice to say, the word “unapologetic” springs to mind at this juncture, yes? Although we haven’t yet navigated ourselves around the boho sphere, I do recall broaching the topic of  …

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, …

Of Umbrellas & Backseat Wiggling | Sheela Writes

Of Backseat Wiggling

I’m serious. Brollies. Wiggle Wiggle.   No matter how much you’ve prepped, you’re never completely ready for that first location shoot.  I don’t care how the populars make it appear smooth and effortless because it really isn’t.  There’s the issue of changing in the backseat of your car, with non tinted windows and peak hour traffic zooming by.  Forget about the gawking when you’re struggling with stubborn zippers and buttons that refuse to co-operate.  Privacy is non-existent.  Even if your oh so pretty polka dotted Moschino umbrella is opened to supposedly shield you.  And never mind the wolf-whistling when you realise all that sweating was for naught because your top is inside out #thestruggleisreal LOCATION SHOOTS AREN’T FOR THE FAINT OF HEART Nor for the weak of bladder. Of which I am guilty. Thus explains that look of concentration on my face in these photos.  I’m trying to sashay and strut whilst ignoring the people who were driving past and staring (some waved, some hooted, others made clucking sounds, what gives), and praying to any …

The Fab 40s In Florals | Sheela Writes

The Fab 40s In Florals

I used to believe I wasn’t much of a floral person   It’s a smidge hard to sell that line these days when this post represents my third, consecutive no less, featuring me in a cornucopia of flora and bloom and blossom. I’ve been a walking flower garden and taken it down a petal or two. But what’s irrefutable is that I can no longer lay claim to being a non floral person. That card is clearly off the table. In true Sheela form, I’ve migrated from the dark side and leapt over to where the sun never goes to bed; yellow brick roads zig zag here there and everywhere; and flowers actually do talk. In fact, they’re rather sassy, they often give lip, and they’re certainly nowhere near being on a wall. Instead, they’re plastered on clothes and embellishing shoes and adorning lapels and prettying up one’s tresses.  One could surmise that flowers (much like love and money and sliced bread) can move mountains and make the world go round. Perhaps what’s ringing truer …

My Fight Song

Am I religious? No, not particularly.   Do I believe in miracles and the power of prayer?  That I do.  Wait.  A public proclamation of that nature does ring rather like the voice of a false prophet, doesn’t it?  Akin to a 21st century messiah but that’s not what we’re talking about today.  I’m here, neither to preach nor propagate words from any book of old.  I am, however, going to share what I did on Monday (which, incidentally, prevented me from publishing my regular post) and how I think it might change my life. I’ve talked about my weight issues here and here.  Since then, I’ve gained another 17lbs despite a strict, clean diet coupled with exercise.  No matter what I did, the weight just kept rising.  I couldn’t understand what was going on with my body.  I was doing all the right things.  Protein-centric diet.  Minimal to zero carbs.  No wheat.  No sugar.  Loads of greens.  Loads of exercising.  And still the scales showed that my weight was continuously on the up.  In the …

It’s A Blue World

Chambray. That means Denim too.   Can I tell you something?  No, it’s not (yet) another sordid broadcast secret, pinkie swear.  Here’s the thing.  Up until, hmmm, a year or two ago, I never ever EVER wore blue.  I promise I’m telling the truth.  I felt so utterly uncomfortable in that colour.  It made me uneasy, squeamish even, and I was convinced blue made me look as attractive as a dried-up, week-old coconut husk, like the ones you occasionally stumble upon whilst attempting a romantic sunset stroll along the beach. I’M SERIOUS. Blue just wasn’t for me. And don’t even get me started on denim. I’d have frightful flashbacks of lumberjack moments.  Or, worse still, farm hands back in Borneo who went for days with nary a shower nor a toothbrush.  We shan’t even dissect the topics of proper plumbing and sanitary toilet facilities, or the lack thereof.  I realise I’m exaggerating, bordering on hallucinating perhaps, but this fear is as real to me as yours are to you, my friend.  For whatever the reason, blue …