I Don’t Want A Cat

Now don’t misunderstand me, I like cats, I follow instakitten, I’m all over the fluffy cuteness. But what I’m not loving is the worrying trend among Irish women. Single=Sad. No. I’m single and I’m not sad, being single is empowering.There is a frightening epidemic curling itself around my friends, this pressure to have a serious relationship, to have a man in their lives. I’m sorry bugs, but I’m not buying it. This is our time, dance, sing, order another shot. Life is for living and creating yourself, not for waiting for a boy to do it for you. We are getting opportunities our mothers didn’t, and things are grandmothers never would have dreamed of are suddenly tangible.


I’m not a bad-ass, I’m not hard or bitter, I’m a marshmallow. I love being in love. I love cutesiness and cuddles. But I love me more. If I settle now in my early twenties then what else will I settle on? My career? My dreams? Umm how about no? How about I argue with every one of my single girlfriends when they say ‘I need a boyfriend’? We don’t need boyfriends we need progression. Travel, education, things that bring you happiness.

This decade is ours, don’t focus on fellas, focus on yourself. I think we all need a little kick in the arse ladies. Stop wondering if the boy from Coppers is going to text you and start googling internships. Don’t put yourself on standstill in the hopes of having a regular shift, choose paths for you, choose places for you, choose for yourself. I’m not willing to lose myself to gain a guy, and this is what’s bothering me when I hear cat lady jokes. We all know the girl who’s cut herself off from her friends to focus solely on her boyfriend, the girl who doesn’t seem happy but is fighting, fighting, fighting for that boy to be in her life. At some stage we’ve been that girl. This isn’t ok.

Don’t be scared of being alone, be scared of being with someone who makes you feel alone. Go see things, go be things. I want to see elephants, not cats. Who’s with me?



My Big Bum & Other Commuting Problems

Living in a city can be glorious, the buzz, the culture, the food, the anonymity… It all spirals round you in a fantastical burst of colour and noise. Until, you try to move from one stunning example of  cosmopolitan living to another, going across town can, in itself, cause major trauma for all involved.

Firstly, you must have a ticket-tickets are the bane of my existence. I begin my monthly commute as a commit phobe(ironic really as this is how I began my adult life), I dodge the carefully worded signs claiming 00.02% savings on every fare and purchase a lowly single fare, twice a day, from a machine that shouts at me when I forget to take my change. This tactic usually works for about two weeks, at which point the interior of my handbag has been taken over by rejects of the rainforest, tickets my dear, they have ebbed into every possible nook and cranny. Enough! I begin to think I can handle the complex commuter card, topping things up online is almost a bodily function for me, how hard can it be… The answer: bloody difficult. I’m never quite sure how much I’ve got left on the little card, so I often end up staring wide-eyed at bus drivers, willing them to let me on despite my apparent lack of bus card credit. Tickets-paper, plastic, imaginary are like the freckles dotted on the nose of every city slicker.

Anyone out there with junk in the trunk? Welcome, to today’s session of ‘Big Bum Related Issues’, I hope you’re sitting comfortably-what?-oh yes, of course you are… As a human with a bit of a bum I find it both incredibly helpful on my suburb-to-city commute and also a hindrance, slipping in softly beside someone on the bus is a rather risky endeavour-there could be overspill, or worse, an accidental bum graze initiated by myself… I would love to see Nicki Minaj neatly sit herself down beside a fellow commuter on the number fourteen bus, I can only assume some sort of asphyxiation may occur. This leads me to wonder… What size human are bus seats made for? I see tall people, small people, little people and large people all struggling to find a centre of gravity on the carpeted demons.

Perhaps my least and most favourite part of the daily city commute is other commuters. On the one hand, they provide excellent distraction, people watching is an activity that will never expire. Unfortunately, their are some individuals who make it their sole mission in life to ruin everyone else’s peaceful people watching expedition. These monsters can be whittled down into four categories, 1-The Noisy One: feels it necessary to have morning conference call at rush hour and doesn’t care who knows it. See sub section; gum chewer, headphone illiterate & text tone terror. 2- The Smelly One: It could be the morning after the night before, or perhaps just a lack of self worth, but smelly commuters ruin an otherwise odourless journey. Unless, maybe this is a ploy to clear away other passengers to secure elbow room for turning the pages of their paper… If this is the case I semi respect their level of commitment, but also, please shower. 3-The Sick One: Sneezing, coughing, wiping it all over the hand rails… Ebola is rampant, can we not. 4-The Chatter: Do not make eye contact, you will have to invest your pre-coffee self in meaningless blabber until escaping at your stop, morning people should get a separate tram.

Transportation can bring out the best and worst in me, sometimes I good-deedie it up and offer my seat to older people and hold the train door for someone running up the platform, other times I break essential commuter rules, I squish into the carriage when their really isn’t room, I read people’s messages over their shoulders, I send obvious snapchats of funny characters(note:turn flash off before doing this, no really, turn it off). Communitng is one of life’s inescapable experiences, my best strategy; pull in your bum, plug in your earphones and look at everyone else doing the same. Godspeed city chicas!

University Can Be Scary… Even If No One Else Is Admitting It

I moved away from home at 18 years old, technically I had just turned 18 the week before so I like to paint this as a child bride thrown to the wolves scenario… My loving parents tend to disagree so I digress. Moving away from home was nothing like I thought it would be, firstly Irish university’s don’t have Frat Houses and ‘mixers’ to envelop new freshers into a sense of belonging, they have scary little rooms, a weirdly overly-mature mature student living in your apartment and vodka. Lots and lots of vodka. This rather diabolical mix, twisted with a lecture schedule that involves a thirty minute commute from building to building, can leave a little country bumpkin feeling a little sad. I had an amazing college experience, I threw myself into activities I never would have thought I would have the confidence to conquer. But I just wish that maybe someone warned me about the transition, I got a little spooked at times… So here’s a few words of wisdom(note: I am extremely unwise and fully LMAO that I have just written wisdom, ahem…) to guide you through any rough patches at the beginning of your college days.

Never fear! Remember, the first weeks of college will be a blur to everyone, you do not need to remain friends with the slightly abrasive girl who lives downstairs, you can however pursue a friendship with the girl who lent you a pen in your first tutorial. Think quality over quantity at first glance, your college friends will become like your family, you have limited time to cast them as ‘close sister, share a room’ or ‘distant uncle, unsure of motives’.  Be wise, but chat to every joe soap that crosses your path, being snooty is a big no-no.

Classes; going to class may seem like a no brainer, but that is your broken secondary school soul talking, in college you will develop a new lighter approach to academics… Be wary of your inner hippy in this scenario, you are actually in college to attend classes, sometimes actually doing this does help. I most definitely wished I had made more of a continuous effort along the way instead of cramming and stressing in final year. Take it from a bum like me, you should attend that nine o’clock lecture at least every third lecture, ignoring it will not make it disappear… It comes back to haunt you late August and this time it’s not called Medieval History, it’s called a Repeat.

Home sweet home, you know how they say the grass is always greener on the other side? It is, the nicely mowed and maintained grass at your parents house will suddenly seem all the more appealing after a few month’s living next to the student bar. Don’t be scared to admit this, getting a little bit of stage fright is natural. It’s your first time having to really do everything yourself, and no matter how well others may handle it it’s still extremely hard. Don’t be afraid to mention to your fabulous new friends or your parents that you’re feeling a little homesick. It’s an intimidating time, but once you get settled in you’ll never even think of home. You’ll be gallivanting and doing all the bold things your mother told you not to! Be gentle with yourself those first few weeks, life changes take a bit of getting used to.

With every great new chapter comes great new opportunity, you will make the most amazing connections in college, there will be people smarter, funnier, prettier and taller than you, they will all inspire you to carve out who you want to be. Don’t be afraid to experiment, dye your hair, join the club no one else is joining and most importantly define your own happiness. College is a mega journey and the only person behind the wheel is you. Throw yourself into new experiences, dance until dawn, kiss the boy and allow yourself to make mistakes.

I wish I could go back to my undergrad days and just be, in a Ghandi type way, just kind of sit there peacefully and absorb all the action going on around me. It’s a happy happy time, with plenty of challenges that will sneak up on you in the most unexpected ways. It’s ok to admit that not every single second is overpoweringly fun and project X like, so bring your favourite teddy bear, pillow case and pyjamas, these are key tools to help get you through any nervy moments.

A little bird once said…. You won’t remember the nights you got plenty of sleep, go on some adventures but remember, you can always go home Toto.


10 Things That Scare Me

Your twenties can be a terrifying time, there’s the career dragon breathing down your neck, an expanding student loan and a minefield of a personal life to deal with. And that’s just your average Tuesday. The Fear has recently begun to sneak in, uninvited and unprovoked. Here’s ten things that terrify me in my current lack of having of my sh*t together.

1. Banks

Not being financially savvy is cute and endearing in your twenties, right? I got this wrong, I personally blame Jennifer Aniston in ‘Along Came Polly’ but my mother says I should begin to take more financial responsibility so I’ve had to stop saying that recently. Bloody Polly, being a bohemian with a ferret is far more challenging that she makes out in that film.

Banks scare the bejesus out of me, the chains(on the pens), the bullet proof glass(perhaps just normal glass) and the separate cells for scolding and probing why you spent your loan repayment on shoes… It’s all just rather unpleasant. As soon as I hit the little green enter button the anxiety begins, they’re going to know I bought McDonalds 4 times on contactless this month, they knooooww. If the Bank was a boyfriend they’d be the clingy, controlling kind, asking why you thought it was necessary to shop the ASOS sale with your overdraft. Maybe this relationship can be saved, maybe we’ll buy a house together someday, but for now, its a nerve racking but mostly unavoidable place of woeship(see what I did).

2. The Future in General

Will I have a successful career? Will I be a mother? Will I need Botox?

All frightening concepts, all very much in the hands of fate. Although I am fully aware I can’t control these scenarios I will continue my irrational worrying about them nonetheless.

3. Unemployment

Yes, a biggie. But unemployment is a pretty scary thing facing us in our twenties, its not like we can bounce back on our savings or depend on our fabulous husbands(although this would be nice, applications for rich husband can be filed ASAP). Unemployment means moving home to Mum, Dad and our Leaving Cert notes. It makes me feel like my tummy might fall out my butt and I feel for anyone who’s going through it.


Fear Of Missing Out haunts me, every Friday night and beyond. I don’t want to suddenly wake up one day and realise everyone was getting their sh*t together while I stayed home and watched New Girl. I MUST be informed of everyone’s life status and weekend plans to  soften any FOMO that sneaks up on me.

5. Hangovers

When I was seventeen Hangovers seemed like something Adults had made up to discourage underage princesses like me from over indulging. This, and perhaps my choice to wear an ‘on trend’ poncho Xmas 06′ is the biggest lie I ever told myself. It’s like Karma heard me think that, LOL’d, and punished me. Hangovers are now a 24 hour event, with small glimmers of hope being dashed by the smell of vodka in my hair.

6. Disappointing My Parents

It’s like clubbing baby seals. Don’t do it. Ever. Hide all evidence pointing to lack of maturity, general lack of calorie control and most definitely hide the back statements.

7. Death

Anyone else a bit nervy about this? Because I am freaking out, we’re talking sleepless nights, bookmarking the ‘Death’ page on Wikipedia and countless visits to graveyards. Death spooks me, with every passing minute it’s coming closer… That’s morbid I know, but it’s been a serious fear that I didn’t have in my pre-twenties ‘I’m Gonna Live Forever’ Avril Lavine eye liner phase. I’d like to return this gift of ageing. Thank you.

8. Spiders, Snakes and Bugs in General

This needs no explanation, I’m judging you for even expecting one.

9. My Total Lack Of Culture

I’d like to add my total lack of desire to even want to be cultured to this topic too. It’s quite unsettling to realise I’ll never love Opera, be able to understand Art or want a Life Time Membership to anything other than Disney Land. I tried to improve this fear by introducing red wine to my life, I made sangria and danced to Taylor Swift. Case closed.

10. Having To Make Lists Of Things That Scare Me

Surely an adult human can just condense this into a healthy conversation; with her friends over coffee, at a hip NYC hangout, wearing Manolos… You know what, never mind. I’ll stick with the lists.

I Heard Tinder Died

Millions of avid little thumbs, trillions of tactical swipes-Tinder, the cough medicine of cat ladies, is dead.

Ok, I lied, Tinder is fine, but what if Tinder was dead? Journey with me now, don’t get sassy because I lied about Tinder dying. We’ve become accustomed to our modern space age dating habits, meeting people online is no longer an eye brow raising ordeal. In fact, its less likely to have an organic romance these days, no Irish ‘It’ couple have met on the D.A.R.T. But is this good? Is this a positive opportunity to broadcast those cute selfies you took and get some admiration for it? Actually that’s quite a good point… But back to the rationale, is this Tinder yoke helping or hindering Irish romance?

First the pros; Tinder is like a test drive before a date, you get to make funny little innuendos and openly laugh at your own hilarity without feeling judged, you can ask crucial questions to determine whether or not your match is a sociopath/stage 5 clinger/crime lord, you can check if you actually have anything in common with this person and just generally suss them out. All from the comfort of your own home, while wearing your Winnie The Pooh pyjamas. Sounds quite dreamy doesn’t it… To activate love life simply swipe right.

However, there are some sinister cons to be considered folks… Firstly, as with all social media please do remind yourself of the ‘smoke and mirrors’ technique, I’m talking filters here people. There is a filters on Tinder ethical debate to be had some day, today is not this day, tomorrow doesn’t look good either. Next on the cons list, creeps/clingers/predators/accidental rights, Tinder presents in quantity not quality, therefore while innocently looking for love you may encounter any of the above categories. It’s important to look for warning signs, a creep will always ask something overly personal, usually location themed so they can stage an ‘accidental’ meeting, do not fall into this trap. Creeps may also be potential serial killers(another, rather large con). Clingers, ahhh the clingers, instant message after matching, quick replies, lots of compliments, lots of smoochie faced emojis… Abort mission. Predators, while I do almost admire the confidence it takes to be a predator I also resent it, do not message someone an erotic fantasy without at least saying hello first. Manners, please. Then the most cringe inducing category of all, the accidental rights. You’re standing at Stephens Green and see your friend walking towards you, you start to wave(you’re personable like that), but then the person in front of them waves at you, and for a second you’re like hey, then you realise you don’t know them and they don’t know you but your hand is still waving… It happens. Anyways, that awkward social interaction is also newly available to download, via Tinder. If a leftie who slipped through the net messages you, do the kind thing, ignore them, do not keep waving to spare their feelings. Now is not the time to assert your inner good samaritan.

I realise my cons list is slightly longer than the pros… Luckily though, decision making and basic arithmetic are not my strong points, so lets call it even. We can conclude that Tinder, like an old school friend, has begun to distance itself from our everyday lives. Not because it’s dying, again I do apologise for the amateur dramatics. Tinder didn’t die but our ability to swipe began to dwindle. Tinder dates are main stream now, no longer an unheard of phenomenon. Our thumbs are tired and its time to regroup and get ready for the next big romantic thing(I hear its cupcakes and will be accepting these in the name of research).

Did Tinder help the love lives of Irish singletons? Random one nighters aside, probably not… Did Tinder boost everyones self esteem and provide a forum for racy selfies? Yes, yes it did. And really that’s the best gift any app can give us.

Diminishing but not yet dead, Tinder, we salute you.

Stop Poking, Start Forking

Not to get emotional about this but where’s the romance? Where’s Mr Darcy striding through the meadow to ravish me…He’s hiding behind modern social media tools to protect himself from potential commitment/judgement/rejection/STD’s. It’s a little weird, let’s be honest, when a guy you had a brief ‘thing’ with out of the blue pokes you. What does this mean? Has he been fraped? What’s an appropriate time to reply? Do I poke back or write back? The poke, ladies and gents, is not your friend.


There are two types of poke, Poke A: The Stranger, expect this poke after uploading a particularly successful selfie sesh. This poke can be dispatched by varying degrees of stranger; Stage yellow; the guy you met in your first year stats tutorial who you haven’t spoken to since, best to just pretend this never happened and continue avoiding eye contact in the library. Stage Amber; a male you share mutual friends with but have never had the displeasure of meeting, he’s a stage five creeper; ignore the poke, and any following friend requests. Stage Red; A full on Facebook lurker, no mutual friends, a previous private mail in which he compliments your ‘beautiful ocean eyes’, be liberal with the block button for this kiddo. The stranger poke has become somewhat of a modern cat call; best policy is to keep on walking, ain’t no one got time for potential paedophile pokes. Abort mission and review your privacy settings.

Poke B is a different beast altogether, oh Poke B, it reads like an awkward mash-up of previous conquests. Mental note, if he slept with you six months ago, then blanked you, and then poked you, he’s probably bad news. Not in a leather jacket and stubble bad boy way, in a he-has-issues and is just generally socially inept way. Don’t reply. If he wants to talk to you he’ll talk to you, with words. Then there’s the ‘accidental’ poke, boys think we aren’t wise to this clever little move. I’m gonna crack the code- he thinks you’re a wetser, but he’s too scared to initiate any actual conversation, online or in person, so the poke acts as a tester. If you poke back a poke war, eventual conversation and perhaps more may ensue. If you don’t he knows you aren’t interested and moves on with his wallflower lil’ life. There’s also the we-scored-last-night poke, this is wildly positive and follows the same reasoning as shy guy above, and if you poke this lad back you’re confirming your interest. Then of course, of course, the what-the-f**k poke, usually your former squeeze, he’s too scared to talk to you but he misses you… Don’t poke back; it’s a virtual index finger in the wrong direction.

In an age of tinder intangible romance I’m standing up to say; I’m bored with virtual flirtations, questionable likes and ambiguous pokes. If you want to talk to a girl then go talk to her, if it doesn’t work out move on, life is too short to spend questioning someone’s emoji reply.


Girls Like Sex Too

‘She brings someone home every weekend’, what a slut, ‘He brings someone home every weekend’ what a legend. I’m sorry, did society have a brain fart or what? I’m over this ‘she’s a slut’ versus ‘he’s the man’ when we’re looking at the exact same scenario.

Why is it that Irish women who bop on with casual sex are considered loose and tainted, but when our male counterparts do the same they’re welcomed back as heroes? It could be our Catholic guilt? White wedding syndrome? Or we could just be seriously, seriously backward… Irish guys are having a grand ole time, but us girls are ruining our own fun.

How about the next time your bestie reveals she went home with the library hottie after Krystle you high-five that hunzo. High-five her and leave your shocked gasps where they belong, the back of mass. Now I’m not encouraging disrespecting yourself, no appearances on ‘Best Nightclub Photos’ please… But get rid of the guilt. If you want to have sex then go do it. Be smart, be safe. But stop guilt tripping, this isn’t a bad thing. We’ve been having sex since the caves ladies, its nothing new. And last time I checked sex was supposed to be fun! For girls and guys, advice has come a long long way from ‘lie back and think of England’.

Faking headaches is surely the creation of a man, we like sex. Women in their twenties actually want to have sex.  So if we could all just stop judging each other and let nature take its course then we’d all be a lot happier, and certainly a lot more satisfied. Channel your inner Samantha Jones, revolutionize your sex life, revolutionize your approach to men. Stop being a shy wee wallflower, if you want him go get him. No really, stop hiding behind Snapchat and actually be productive about it.


A lot of my girlfriends are fearful of the phrase ‘she’s so easy’- ummm you’re so lucky that she decided to entertain you. You have to set your own level of respect, I’m not saying don’t make them boyos work for it, but don’t feel like you have to stick to a ‘3rd Date’ rule. Make your own rules. Its your body, its your sex life, don’t try to squish it into fitting into a made-up structure.

What are we scared of? STDS-use a condom. Your reputation- don’t kiss and tell. Other girls- probably just jealous. What we’re scared of is running into ourselves somewhere out there in the abyss of sexual exploration. We’re in our twenties and we’re scared of who we are, we’re scared of our identity, in the bedroom and beyond. Honey boo boo, stop being scared, you’ll never find yourself if you don’t live a little. Not every girl feels exploring this avenue is important to reaffirming her identity, more power to you girlo, if its not your adventure that’s cool. But don’t judge the girls that do.

Get the ride- not the guilt.


The Quarter Life Crises

‘So no one told you life was gonna be this way. Your jobs a joke, you’re broke, your love life’s D.O.A.’ Sound familiar? This little gem doesn’t just spark the memory of Ross and Rachel but in recent months has become more and more relevant. A comparison I was able to make while indulging in far too much day-time TV. Instead of trying to deal with what was going on around me. Fact is folks, if you’re in final year or recently graduated you’re absolutely bricking it. Being a grownup is now a tangible reality and it isn’t nice. Introducing ‘The Quarter Life Crises’, we’re all going through one, so hears a few hints and tips on how to not self-combust.

The day after graduation I sat in my childhood room, on my Barbie sheets, and full on bawled. This is okay. I promise. The ugly crying is stage one, recognition, also known as ‘Holy shit, is this my life?’. It is. Get living. We all began this college adventure with the very best intentions of completing our three or four years and then settling into grownup-hood. The rules have changed. I don’t want to be a grownup anymore, I don’t want to work in the area I studied for three years, I don’t want to do my masters. The logical response to this rant is usually, ‘Oh and what is it that you do want?’ which leads to further daytime television distraction and if pushed the answer ‘Fuck knows’.

get lost

I don’t want to be a grownup, but being Peter Pan isn’t actually a valid option. Look around you, everyone, guys, girls, parents, are all watching you slide into the quarter life crises fold. My best, very best advice is to just embrace it. Embrace not knowing, embrace being scared and see what happens. School and college have been educating us not only in choice subjects but in life. We’ve all had the teacher who claimed our rampant giggling would get us nowhere in life. And now we’re about to figure it out for real.

It’s time, little lost one, to take your head out of sand, yes its scary, but it has to be done. Ignore the incessant whispers around the library ‘2:1, 2:1, 2:1’, acknowledge that a masters is an option but not compulsory one, chillax. This time is yours to make mistakes, to carve experiences and to figure out what you want. Don’t force it and don’t let others force it upon you. You are the one who has to live this life, not your mum, dad, brother, best friend, lecturer, significant other, you’re the one who is responsible for making life choices that are going to make you happy.

Six months ago I was curled up in the library, jacked up on caffeine and my screensaver was a shakily drawn ‘2:1’. I didn’t expect to defer a masters, I didn’t expect a three month American adventure, I didn’t plan expect to begin a blog. And you know what; the unexpected has brought me the greatest happiness.

Freak out about it, everyone else is.


Boyfriends Aren’t Real

We’ve all heard the lengthy sigh of our female friend, followed by ‘I just, like, need to be spooned. I want a boyfriend’. I’m gonna strip things down a few layers(raunchy), right down to the word boyfriend. Imagine this, you have just woken up from a magical sleep, its 2013, you are 21, single and the world is laid out in front of you. Now I’m not saying its the first thing you’ll be confused by, but its gotta be up there, you’re going to wonder what this mystical ‘boyfriend’ figure is. The one every single girl whimsically whispers about. I think we all need to take a deep breath and maybe, just maybe, recognise that this ‘boyfriend’ does not exist. The image you have conjured up, of a champion spooner, always-texts-you-backer with an unreal bod, simply isn’t real. ‘Prince Charming’ and ‘Boyfriend’ are fictional characters that us hunzos in our twenties are holding up as beacons of hope. Umm… Can we do something else please?

This doesn’t just apply to Irish girls, it has its own effect on the lads. They’re scared of the ‘boyfriend’. The ‘boyfriend’ lifts more than them, the ‘boyfriend’ is romantic, the ‘boyfriend’ doesn’t fart in bed. He’s making them all look bad, they’re pale in comparison to the imaginary relationship we’re in in our heads. Actual boyfriends, real life ones, aren’t perfect, they fuck up all the time. Imaginary boyfriends, don’t. And herein lies the issue, no real life boy is ever, ever going to live up to the expectations we have created. Because real life boys, have real life weaknesses, they forget things, they get drunk, they make mistakes but maybe they’ll be ok at spooning? This is very very disappointing to the average young lady, so we’ve just kind of, ignored it… Girls don’t want real boyfriends, girls want their imaginary one to suddenly morph into reality, and they’re willing to moan about it for years and years, until they eventually just settle on a real life boy who is semi ok. What a waste of time…

perf bf doesn't exist

This whole ‘I need a boyfriend’ seems like stage one of how to completely self-destruct and ruin your own life. How about, we stop imagining boyfriends and start imagining what it would feel to own your own business. How about, we stop pretending we’re lonely, you aren’t lonely, you’re bored. Stop being bored. If you’re lonely go and change things, move places, do things you wouldn’t normally do. Skydive, scuba dive, ski, find whatever it is that’s going to remind you that you’re alive. We get one life, one. Repeat. One life. I’m not wasting mine sitting around the arts block moaning about my relationship status. Get up, move, go to the gym, book a flight, create yourself. We’re putting more effort into creating our image of an ideal man than creating ourselves.

be young, be dope, be proud

I’m rebelling against relationships.Don’t be in a relationship with an figment of your imagination, don’t be in a relationship with a real life disappointment, calm down and stop rushing yourself. Dance your pants off, drink shots, never forget your girls and just let yourself have FUN.

Young, Fun, and Single. Live it, breathe it, be it.


Autumn’s Top Five: Topshop

FASHION MEANS PLAYING DRESS-UP! I don’t know about you, but growing up we had a dress-up box. A huge formerly loved picnic basket, crammed in the bottom of my brother’s wardrobe. Within this basket were some crazy concoctions, dresses, sparkles, sheets of velvet, hats, feather boas, that box had it all! On my most recent trip to Topshop I felt a reigniting of my childhood excitement at the prospect of dressing up! Fashion is so unbelievably fun at the moment! There is nothing not allowed(except kitten heels let’s be honest here), there’s a huge youth aesthetic and playfulness about fashion. I may have let out a few excited squeals as I ran round Topshop.. Dressing up is back! Carve yourself into something new! Here are my TOP FIVE picks from Topshop.

topshop hat

Topshop €32.00 

Channel your inner Matilda with this little hat! A great buy for all hairstyles, long, medium, pixie, this hat will flatter all lengths and styles. It’s also a crucial buy to cover up bad hair days. Keep this hat cute and innocent by teaming it with a floral dress and brogues, or edge it up with ripped boyfriend jeans and a graphic tee. Such a lovely piece that you can carry through to Spring.

topshop boot

Topshop- €180.00 

Over the knee boots were a noticeable feature as I flicked through the pages of September Vogue. As a convert to this shape boot last winter I strongly recommend investing in a pair, they instantly amp up an otherwise drab outfit and can be worn with dresses or trousers. Topshop’s offering includes contrasting textures, which is a major theme this A/W. On a practical note the buckle behind the knee is a much easier option than other pull on versions of this boot I’ve seen. It’s also a little medieval bohemian esque, little features like that make me want to go on adventures! These boots are made for walking, so get on it!

topshop pnk coat


This coat. Drool. Topshop’s design team deserve immeasurable congrats for this baby! Nineties chic- check, Pink(colour supreme of the shows)-check, ‘boyfriend’ androgynous shape-check.  Check check check!! I can’t find one feature I dislike. This piece will shine no matter what you team it with, they’ve styled it above dressed down, but I can also imagine wearing this with a full length dress to a formal occasion. This will be my winter coat. There is no more to say.

topshop sheep

Topshop- €60.00 

This is such a beauty! Who doesn’t need this jumper in their life? I’m going to team it with my chambray boyfriend shirt, black denim skinnies and a parka. Fashion is fun, dress like it!

topshop redtopshop red back

Topshop- €59.00

This slinky little number is really hitting the luxe button, it’s a grownup dress. To be worn with red lips, mega diamonds and a seductive air. This dress really summarised my ‘dressing-up’ state of mind, as soon as I tried it on I felt totally different. When a little red dress has the power to do that I think that’s something special! The silhouette is lovely, very suggestive of femininity and body shape without giving too much away. Another gold star and place in my TOP FIVE.