Waterloo Wednesday.

We met under the clock in Waterloo Station.

Whom do we mean?

Technically, I've met people there twice now. Today, it was for my British Cultural Studies class, where my teacher began the lesson by pointing out that meeting in Waterloo Station was one of the most popular places to meet for blind dates.

Ironically, I met someone there for a blind date, just the other week! My teacher was surprised, as no one in his classes had ever said that before, and I assured him that it went well, that the guy was very sweet and nice.

Which could've made for a very bittersweet lesson, as we walked past all the spots me and this guy had gone; however, it proved to be just the opposite. In fact, it proved to be one of the best British Cultural Studies classes I've had thus far.

Perhaps it's the mid-semester buzz, or perhaps it was the magical elevator that sang to us in the Southbank Center, but either way, the class began and ended and left me in a state of euphoria for the remainder of the day.

Whatever the case may be, let me share with you a few treats and sweets that brightened my Wednesday afternoon...

We start with the famous Graffiti Tunnels. Located in a quite hidden location just outside of Waterloo Station, these tunnels once began as an area where aspiring and practicing graffiti artists exercised their work. Apparently, it remains to be a practicing network of graffiti laden tunnels and I hear that every time you visit, the space will look completely different. And so I bring you today's unique and one-of-a-kind collages from the Graffiti Tunnels...

You think you've seen it all, but the second you turn around, something new will catch your eye. Or in this case, eyes.

I found fancy under the Lego man, dancing and allowing myself to really lego.

Stayin' alive, stayin' alive.

And what a complete quote to really fit into my life right now.

Just on the other side of the tunnels, we came out to this rather famous structure, standing proudly and up h(eye) in the sky...

After wandering in and out of the wind into various welcome centers and hidden rest spots, my friends and I boomeranged back to this famous Italian café, known for their coffee, and known more importantly for their excellent cups of hot chocolate.

With a few pounds in our purse, we ordered the cioccolata 1678 con panna, not anticipating the chocolatey explosion that was about to enter our systems.

You know what they say: when fashion students drink hot chocolate, they drink it like Cocoa Chanel...

'Twas the perfect warmup for my cold hands and my hungry tummy.

Have you ever seen something so decadent, so chocolatey, so divine?

Indeed, we ended the afternoon on a very sweet note.

Sunny With a Chance of Reign.

When you think of London, do you imagine rainy days, Hunter wellies, Burberry trench coats, and a plethora of umbrellas walking down the streets of London?

I know I do!

But ever since being here, we haven't really been exposed to that traditional London weather. I know that as soon as I say this, it'll pour (and when I least expect it, probably when I'm donned in silks and leathers), but the anticipation for a rainy day has really taken over!

It rains, that's for sure, but it just so coincidentally stops the moment we step outside.

However, yesterday also happened to be the first day of October, and on schedule, the air turned chilled, the leaves began to sprinkle the ground, and an autumn blanket settled over us, bringing the faint chance of rainfall.

Anyhow, my roommates and I woke at a truly atrocious late hour (last night was spent at the club Koko's in Camden) and the one cure for the morning after?

Brunch. They were suffering minor hangovers (I was simply suffering exhaustion, as I was the "sober Mom" last night) and it just a weird kind of morning.

But there's this tradition that seems to be blossoming with Siobhan and I. When we find ourselves emotionally confused, perhaps in a strange state, we somehow wind up walking through Hyde Park and going to Harrods. Today was no exception and not only did we treat ourselves to a little somethin' somethin', but it rained.

Man did that reign make us feel like queens.

Daisy Green, you heavenly downstairs breakfast haven.

Laughing because this girl did not have a brewtiful night...

Moooooove over. Oh, and this is Nick, Siobhan's boyfriend.

Table piled high with flat whites, eggs, avocados, and bacon, we were very quickly cured (cured bacon, get it?). 

Truly a splendid afternoon for a walk through Hyde Park. The rain scared most away, but we wasted no time in taking advantage of the autumn beauty.

Look at me all tatTED out! Any occasion to wear Ted..

Someone needs to be put in her place!

What goes best with first of October days? Why coffee, of course!

Look just over yonder!

You know me, a sucker for trees.

Harrods is like our Tiffanys. We always find ourselves wandering there when we're in a down mood and we always end up leaving just a little bit happier.

I even brought out my inner naughty girl and snuck in my latte, for they apparently don't like drinks in there...

Stand Your Ground.

Studying abroad, to me, is more about the main dish living experience with a side salad of education. I've been here nearly a month now, and already, I feel like my mind has expanded and my experiences have taught me a lot about other people, particularly a lot about me.

One comparison in particular between my living experience and my educational experience is about standing your ground. Wavering on the precipice of the unknown, I've learned that time and time again, you will be questioned. Not only that, but you'll be pressured, swayed, doubted, and pushed so far into other concepts and ideas that maybe are a little foreign to you.

Well, it's good and it's bad. At the one end, the feeling of stepping into the unknown is tantalizing. I'm not talking about experimenting with drugs (answer will always be no), but about maybe going out to clubs, rather than spending a night in. Trying something different and experiencing something you've only had preconceived notions about, but safely, always.

However, I have also learned that there is a time and a place to stand your ground and say no. There's a difference between stepping out of your comfort zone and trying something new, and being pushed into something you know you do not want to do. And it's tough, because sometimes, the lines are blurred and I find myself perseverating over the two, wondering if I'm making the right decision.

It's like this in school too. I have some tutors who claim that the only way to win and be successful in the fashion industry is to play their game. Abide by the rules, for it's a dog eat dog world, and you'll eventually make it. Then I have other tutors who preach to us the importance of standing your ground and doing what you know in your heart to be the right thing.

It's a mixed bag. What I have left feeling though is that no matter what, you cannot lose sight of who you are. There is nothing wrong with stretching and growing in ways that are maybe not the most cozy to you, but you have to stick true to yourself. Like a tree stretching it's branches in all directions! Still growing, yet always grounded.

Through this all, I've also learned that I don't need to go out and find out what makes me unhappy. I know, in my heart, that I thrive best doing the things that are aligned with my values and as much as I may be dubbed "the mom" of the group, I will never lose myself for the desires and wants of someone else, no matter how persistent and pressuring they may be.

A recent successful example is a little photo-shoot I did with one of my peers. He needed a model and I happily obliged, only learning later that it would be topless. Convinced that it would be done in an artsy and alternative manner, I nonetheless proceeded to go through with it, knowing it would be an experience for me. And boy was it!

Definitely my favorite pictures. Getting a little handsy is part of his job!

Throwin' it Back.

I really want to delve into my London Fashion Week experience, for it was an enthralling one. Forgive the lengthiness, I have a tendency to write verbosely (I am learning to cut back in my Fashion Journalism course though!), but it was hard for me to just focus on one aspect of the show. Plus, it is my blog, and the rules to follow are simply my own.

I’ve dreamed about it since being a little girl. Glamor, snapping and popping of cameras, long runways graced by the eloquently laden models, beautiful and ethereal women wearing only the highest end couture. Reporters, fashion designers, and celebrities crowding the aisles, eager for a glimpse into the magical world of the designer’s show.

Of course, I always thought I would be a participant in the show, one of those lucky women confidently strutting down the runway, eyed at by audience aptly watching on. Instead, I sit here today, a fashion journalist intrigued not in walking the runway (being told to “eat donuts or lose thirty pounds” wasn’t worth it), but in observing, analyzing, and reporting.

I attended my very first fashion show this afternoon, one of the many included in the iconic bi-annual London Fashion Week. The abnormal hot weather finally dissipated and the clouds rolled in, leaving us a brief reprieve from the rain. Dressed in a bright silk Kate Spade dress purchased at a used clothing store just a few days before, and accessorized with some Ted Baker, I was dropped off at the entrance. Joining the hundreds of other stylishly dressed patrons, I had time to look at the plethora of styles around me.

I’ve never had the pleasure of standing in the middle of bona fide “street style” section. I grew up in Alaska where style was Carharrt jackets and Extra Tuff rain boots. Here, in London, one of the most eclectic and diversely cultural cities in the world, was a whole other dimension. First, there were your typically stylish women. Dressed in the latest fashion and seamlessly putting together the smoothest of ensembles, I saw that these were the girls I often pinned on my Pinterest board for inspiration. On the other end of the spectrum, however, were the Spectacles. These were the camera hoggers. Dressed in the most ridiculous of outfits, they were the ones often stared at, dressed in costume so ridiculous and out there that the cameras couldn’t help but snap their direction.

Just in front of me, there was a woman dressed in this gawdy outfit, but it wasn’t what she was wearing that caught everyone’s eye, it was her hair. Purple dreads knotted together, she had done up her hair in a two foot pile at the top of her head, something similar to that of Marge Simpson from The Simpsons. And inside, when I finally passed through the marble corridors and many security personnel, a man with a full deck of makeup on his face and a white Chanel blazer slung across his shoulders.

Enter, London Fashion Week.

When I was finally able to sit down inside of the showroom, I was immersed in this fashion world at an even closer angle. Peering about me, it was hard to look at just one thing, as my eyes were constantly enticed by something new. Over there, a blonde pixie cut girl with thigh high knotted white boots, or the row of attractively dressed young men across from me, but then behind me, air kisses and recalls of past shows as old acquaintances reunited. It was like a dream.

Being the new girl on the block, I simply let the show roll out before me, the prequel to the actual fashion show. Cameras snapping at the Spectacles, like the man with his entire face tatted and gold teeth peeking out when he smiled, or the woman with the puffiest blue fur coat I had ever seen, I was immersed in this show before the show, intrigued and quite a bit amused.

When the lights finally dimmed and the first designer’s name popped up on the screen, I pulled out my Kate Spade journal and proceeded to write away. It was then that I noticed that the cameramen were finally taking notice of me, pointing their lens at me when there was a break between designers. Probably assuming that I was some high-end fashion journalist, I acted the part, looking perplexed at the models walking my way, scribbling chicken scratch in my journal about the designer’s aesthetic, what it reminded me of, what was the music like, and of course the poor condition of the models. Of course I thought about pulling out my camera (an actual camera and not some silly iPhone), but I didn’t want to follow the pattern of the entire audience, experiencing the show through that of a screen. This was my first show, and I wanted to take everything in with fresh eyes only.

Sitting in the second row, I had a pretty good look at what was about me, from the very skinny models on the runway, to the audience of camera phones, to the expressions on people’s faces whenever someone new turned the corner onto the runway in some fashionable or exotic item.

I noticed the first collection (by Ana) to be a combination of pastels, soda pop, pinup, sea anemone billowed shaped ensembles. For the second designer, Anissa, I got the vibes of farmer, straw, classic boxy cuts, Chinese influence, chopsticks, half painted face, and hues of denim and white. When Ester’s collection came out, it was all paper shredded, old theatre, piano style tuxes with a seventies influence with long haired vibes and masculine linens. And lastly, for Billie, a sparkle show of pink sequins, fur, exotic jewelry, punk ‘80’s unicorn, and light up sneaks. All new designers, all very dissimilar aesthetics.

And just like that, all that hard work, all that time spent backstage prepping with models, makeup artists, and publicity, it was over. Fifteen minutes to capitalize on hours and hours of hard work and dedication.

Surprised at the abrupt ending, I quietly packed away my journal into my back and carefully walked through the fashionable crowd back to the real world on the street, carefully coming down from the cloud of this show, more wise and knowledgeable with my thoughts on this mysterious industry.

Although there’s beauty and mystique about the fashion industry, also admitting that it’s an illustrious and formidable industry, it doesn’t exactly align with what I had imagined it to be. Secluded, entitled, and all based on looks and fading identities, it’s an industry that thrives on the concept of one day being in, and the next day being out.  

As much as I enjoyed being thrust into this world, glimpsing at only a peek of what it feels like to be the queen of the crop in the fashion scene, it wasn’t the right vibe for me. As a woman of modest and empowering traits, I couldn’t help but feel replaceable and insignificant, like last year’s Prada handbag.

I must say, what I’ve read about has all proved to be true. I guess it just took a leap into the pit to discover that for myself.

What I wore: vintage rhinestone choker, olive green Christian Dior draped top (designer resale store), soft floral Ted Baker high-waisted skirt (I loved my job!), and Nordstrom flats (Nordstrom Rack).

What a Weekend.

I had the most intriguing of weekends. Participating in some new adventures, meeting some unexpected Londoners, and overall having an eventful and entertaining weekend.

It started on Friday evening. London Fashion Week was this weekend and one of my tutors, who happens to be a fashion journalist, kindly gave out some extra tickets to some of the underground shows for new artists, none of that popular stuff, like H&M and Topshop. Thrilled at the prospect of attending my very first fashion show, I received a ticket for the "Ones to Watch" show taking place at the lovely Freemasons' Hall in Covent Garden.

That was an experience in itself, one which I'll definitely be delving into at a later time, and one that I'll look back on. Let's just say... it got me to thinking a little deeper about my thoughts on the fashion industry. Plus, I got my very own look at some bona fide street style and that was pretty amazing!

Then came last night. I had been alone for most of the day, as the night before was spent with my ill roommate, and I wasn't really in the mood for going out. So there I was, sitting in my bed with my dear journal, casual clothes cozily wrapped around me watching The Vikings and one of the girls from upstairs comes down, all dressed to the nines. We get to chatting and before I know what's happening, this girl had somehow peer pressured me into going out and two minutes later, I'm dressed and in the cab headed to the club.

The club, some place called "Drama" was quite the hopping location for a Saturday night. Filled mostly with girls, it was very colorful and eclectic, with a generous free tableside drink service (thanks to my friend who modeled in one of the LFW shows).

As the night wore on, the place became more crowded and at some point, I thought I caught a glimpse of one of the YouTubers I used to watch, Ollie White. He was in the company of some other guys and when they ended up near our section of the room, we got to talking and I soon recognized the others: Joshua Pieters, Joe Sugg, Caspar Lee, and one other fellow with pink hair. Casual, super casual. They were all so friendly and I just couldn't believe that the one night I got dragged to go out, that happened! See, you just never know.

And then there was this morning: Tower Bridge. I saw that their new exhibition just opened up which included a glass floor to walk over the Thames with and knew we just had to go and experience it. After seeing the 1D boys up there in their Midnight Memories video, it was too good to pass up!

So we ventured over there and had ourselves a towering walk over the Thames.

Interesting weekend? I daresay it was.

London Fashion Week coincidentally matched my ensemble...

What a towering bridge there!

And as always, I can't get over the neatness of London's mixture of the old and the new!