Why I'm Giving Up Tinder...

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Tinder, Bumble, Happn, Plenty Of Fish....

you name any dating app and the chances are, I've probably tried it. And yes I am aware of how embarrassingly tragic that sounds, but the shitty reality is that when you are a single 23 year old woman (*girl?) living in London in 2017 where the probability of a man actually standing infront of you and eating his own shit is significantly higher than a man actually approaching you in a bar to chat you up, you are left with little option but to throw away what little ounce of dignity and self-respect you have left, spit on it, and then resort to downloading that ever so lovely dating app we call Tinder.

Oh Tinder, I remember when it was first released in 2012, 2 years into my University degree. The online dating world was strictly a taboo subject then, with the mere mention of match.com enough to provoke hysterics amongst those in their twenties. A tragic dating world strictly reserved for 50 year old divorcees desperately searching for their last shot at love...or so we thought. A dating app we asked? The word "app" had instantly cooler connotations than "website" and something about this minor difference triggered a staggering difference in perspectives from those under 30. Fast forward just 5 short years since the app's release date and I believe you'd struggle to name any single (or not) male or female under the age of 40 who doesn't have the Tinder app installed on their iPhone. Tinder  is now so casually dropped into conversations with friends, family members and hell, even work colleagues! That sense of shame and secrecy about belonging to an online dating site has thankfully been destroyed so much so that that once taboo Voldemort word (Tinder) which would never be mentioned out loud in public as little as 4 years ago, is now shamelessly dropped into many a conversation. People openly swipe in cafes, on the tube, on crowded trains, in bars, and heck we're not impartial to a cheeky swipe during our lunch break at work either. Online dating has come a long, long way. 

After all, why go to all the painful and humiliating effort of actually having to approach a girl, spend £5 £10 on a drink for her (we live in London remember), practice your best small talk, hell maybe even buy a round for her mates as well because girls love a generous guy right, and after ALL that effort not even be guaranteed her number, or even worse, to be told "sorry you're a lovely guy but I have a boyfriend, but thanks for the drinks, have a good night" whilst you're typing your pin into the card machine...So why then, wouldn't guys prefer to sit at home or in the pub, or even on the toilet midway through a shit and with a few swipes to the right, a few cheesy chat-up lines and a few GIF's later, have a guaranteed date secured and all without having to step foot outside, spend a penny, or risk being humiliated infront of your mates. Sounds like the dream right? 

Us millenials are meant to be all about instant gratification after all aren't we? According to every person over the age of 30 who so loves to critique our generation and harp on about how we don't understand the true meaning of a connection anymore, we are apparently obsessed with immediacy, are spoilt beyond belief with options and have access to anything and everything on our smart phones, including the search for love. Well I will tell you something, yours truly is a millenial, but I couldn't be further from this escapade. I may be one of few left who don't hold all those values of a typical "millenial". Because you know what? I actually don't want to find my future boyfriend, life partner or fiancee on Tinder. I just don't. I have been there, done that and got the ghosted T-shirt. I've been on fun Tinder dates and I've been on god-awful Tinder dates. I've been on and off Tinder throughout the 5 years it's been around and I've seen it evolve from an originally predominantly innocent dating app to a seedy and degrading one.

I've been hurled abuse at when I've refused to tell a seedy stranger what my favourite sex position is. I've been told to "lighten up" and been called "a stuck up bitch" when I haven't reciprocated a guy's (pathetic) attempt at a dirty message and I've lost count of the amount of times I've been greeted with a welcoming message of "sit on my face". I've felt degraded and used and as much as I'm not a fan of throwing the "sexist" word around, I have experienced a disgustingly shameful number of sexist encounters on the app, which have left me feeling really bloody shit about myself to be totally honest with you. It's so easy for men (and women) to hide behind an app and to talk derogatively and disrespectfully to women in a tone that I'd like to think they'd never dare to use if they were approaching you for the first time in person. Tinder gives people the platform to explore other parts of their personality they'd never dare to explore in person. They can be dominating and they can be powerful. They can explore fetishes and they can be dam right bloody rude without having to face the consequences of doing so, because oh look, there's an 'unmatch' button. There's a dangerously fine line between admiration and objectification on Tinder and sadly, many people challenge that line and thrive off it on a daily basis.

But the part which I've found the most disgusting of all throughout my years on Tinder...can I get a drumroll please...is that I've come across at least a dozen people I know to have a girlfriend on Tinder...girlfriends who I went to school with and know very well and the same girlfriends I see posting pictures of their partner on Facebook seconds after I've swiped left to their other halves...the same other half that I've been coming across on Bumble and Tinder for the last year now *insert Kermit the frog meme here*. I've just this week discovered a guy I've been speaking to on Tinder for the last two weeks actually has not only a serious girlfriend...but a 5 month-old baby with said girlfriend too. Yup a baby. I hope you feel as sick as I do, because discovering that honestly made my skin crawl to the point where it left me somewhere in-between wanting to vomit, wanting to cry my eyes out for this poor woman and wanting to hurl my iPhone out the window simultaneously. It didn't exactly take much investigating to discover the scumbag's identity. He'd flaunted his Snapchat name containing his surname in his Tinder bio, meaning no MI5 stalking skills were needed (this time). A quick Facebook stalk (thanks to our 20 mutual friends he was very easy to find) and bam, within 2 minutes I was on said girlfriend's Facebook page and scrolling through their family pictures of the 3 of them. But maybe they've split up do I hear you ask? Oh no, that's not possible. Why? Because he updated his profile picture of the 2 of them captioned "My World ❤️"just 3 days ago. 3 days ago. On the exact day he triple messaged me and asked for my mobile number.

The thing that shocked me the most about this situation, was not that 1. this guy had a girlfriend, or 2. this guy had a 5 month-old baby with said girlfriend, but it was the fact that he appeared to have absolutely no shame and carried a disgusting amount of arrogance in what he was doing. He'd made zero attempt to disguise his surname, so not to make himself trackable on Facebook and he'd made zero attempt to disguise his appearance in his photos, so not to make himself recognisable. Either he was a complete and utter fucking idiot who doesn't know how us girls have stalking capabilities to rival those of MI5 agents, or he was just such an utter scumbag that he didn't care if he got caught. And I really, really hope it is the former. I felt horrific for days after discovering his other life and although I had absolutely no reason to feel guilty as I had thankfully not yet met up with him, I was riddled with guilt that I had been a part of his cheating. And yes I know he may not have kissed or slept with me, but he had approached me, complimented me, flirted with me, got to know me and asked for my number, all whilst being under the same roof as his partner and 5 month-old baby, and that to me is disgusting. Absolutely disgusting. 

So I think it's fair to say that was the absolute final straw for me. I felt sick, I felt used and I felt riddled with guilt that I'd been unintentionally involved in a father's cheating. So now do you get why I've had enough of Tinder? I've had enough of discovering boyfriends of friends of mine doing the dirt on them. I've had enough of talking to a guy for 2 weeks, getting to know them, organising a date and then them disappearing off the face of the earth a few days before the date with no explanation. I'm fed up of going on a date, having a ball, them feeding me all the "I can't wait to see you again/I've had the best night" bollocks and then bam never hearing from them again. I'm fed up of each date destroying my confidence that little bit more. I'm fed up of absolutely sick of being ghosted and being left in tears questioning myself and my appearance. I don't want to have to use my iPhone and swipe left 12910831 times and swipe right 873 times before I find "the one". If you have to search and search for "the one", then the chances are that they are probably not "the one". The biggest deal-breaker for me is that I do not want to be disposable. I do not want to be another "match" in the list of 1231 other matches on somebody's iPhone. I don't want to be number 873, I want to be number one. I don't want to have to tell everybody that I met my fiancee on Tinder because he thought I looked hot and swiped right. I want to tell everybody that we met because of fate. We met because we were meant to meet, not because we forcibly swiped through thousands of other possible matches and held hundreds of shitty "how was your weekend? where you from?" conversations with people we will never see nor speak to again. I don't want to be ghosted again, because hell that last ounce of self-confidence is hanging on for dear life. I don't want to be bailed on, or played. I don't want to be told to "sit on my face". I want to be respected and if that's too much for a "millenial" (God I hate that word) to ask for in 2017, then looks like I better get making myself a time machine then, because Tinder, you are not for me...

How To Spend A Sunday In Shoreditch

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Now you can't start a day without a heavenly brunch now can you? Sunday is my favourite day of the week and the one day of the week where I actually have time to enjoy my breakfast without having to wolf it down in 3 minutes before starting work like I do the rest of the week, so I like to use my Sunday wisely and having been recommended brunch at Hoxton Grill by several people, it was finally time to test it out and I can tell you now, it certainly did not disappoint. I opted for the embarrassingly middle class option of smashed avocado and poached eggs on toast (yup, I'm cringing at myself RN) with a side of bacon, and as you can see from the salivating inducing pictures above, it was pretty god damn good. Although a little pricier than other brunch joints in East London, Hoxton Grill is well worth the extra few pounds, as the restaurant is set in the Hoxton Hotel (part of the Soho House group) so as you can imagine, it's interior is ridiculously Instagramable and there's always something a little more special about dining in a hotel. Located just a few minutes walk away from Old Street Station, Hoxton Grill is also ridiculously easy to find. 

Location: The Hoxton, 81 Great Eastern Street, Shoreditch, EC2A 3HU. 


What I love about Sundays, is it is literally the only day of the week where you can wander aimlessly with no real rush to get anywhere. Whether you wake up at 8 or 11, nobody gives a shit because hey, guess what? it's Sunday! Although we all know that London is a city that never stops and the pace may seem overbearingly fast at times, I definitely think the pace slows down a little on Sunday's and the city as a whole becomes just  a little more lazy. Shops open later, breakfast and lunch merge into brunch and without a commuter in sight, there's actually time (and pavement space) to just wander around and actually look up and take in what's around you. So on our walk from The Hoxton - Columbia Road, we stumbled across House of Hackney, and my god, what a find! If the palm plant in the window wasn't enough to send my feet running for the entrance, then the pineapple lamp certainly did the trick. I love nothing more than wandering around unique interior shops (I love you Ikea, but no) and House of Hackney is literally what interior dreams are made of. With a palm print obsession ever since my Beverly Hills Hotel visit a few summers ago, House of Hackney has all things palm and leaf print, with some eclectic colours and prints thrown in to mix it up a bit. Need a pineapple lamp with a floral lampshade? Yep, they got it. Or a leaf print crushed velvet purple sofa do I hear you ask? Yep, they got that too. So do yourselves a favour and pop in to the shop of dreams...

Location: House of Hackney, 131-132 Shoreditch High Street, London, E1 6JE. 


On the walk from House of Hackney - Columbia Road, the street was lined with antique shops, so it would have been rude not to pop in. Although I am currently about 4839735083 lifetimes away from owning a house in London, a girl can still dream, so on Sunday's I like to play the game of let's pretend I have a house to decorate and pick out all my furniture. Like I said, a girl can dream...

Location: 45, Hackney Road, London, E2 7NX. 


And finally, after a few pit-stops along the way, we made it to our destination...the infamous (and probably most Instagramable road in the whole of East London...the Columbia Road flower market. Despite working just a 15 minute walk away from Columbia Road, I'd embarrassingly never been as I'm a North London girl at heart and rarely venture into the East on weekends, but there's few things in the world I love more than flowers, so I was itching to go and spoil myself with an obscene amount of lilies and tulips. Columbia Road flower market is just one street lined on both sides with stall after stall, all offering a beautiful selection of flowers and plants at ridiculously reasonable prices. They have everything from lilies, to tulips, to cotton plants, to cacti and even palm plants (yes I know I'm obsessed ok) and although it certainly lived up to expectations flower-wise, the busyness of it kinda spoiled it for me. There were hundreds and hundreds of people all attempting to walk down this one narrow street, which made it physically impossible to move at your own pace and stop at the stalls you wanted to, which kind of defeats the whole object of the market. In all fairness, I had been recommended to get there early to avoid the crowds, but because I got sidetracked by my poached eggs and antique shops, I arrived at quite possibly the worst time (12.30), as we were literally barricaded in, so once we'd finally bought our flowers, we then faced the challenge of attempting to a) keep them in our arms without people shoving them out of our hands and b) attempting not to crush those beautiful tulip heads. 
So moral of the story guys...don't spend hours tucking into your eggs and browsing the shops like I did and head to the market first thing (it's open from 8am-2pm) and do all your lazy Sunday browsing and brunching afterwards! Because despite the busyness, the market is oh so worth it! 

Location: Columbia Road Flower Market, London, E2 7RG. 

Hello Gingham Trend

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If I'd have told my 7 year old self I'd be rocking a gingham dress again 16 years down the line, (this time without the matching white and blue frilly socks though), I'd have probably spat my fruit shoot out all down myself. Just a few years ago, that 90's print meant nothing but a nostalgic memory of spending my primary school years running around the playground playing kiss-chase (oh yeah, remember that) donning my blue and white gingham summer dress that I'd waited all Winter to whack out. But fast-forward a few years, with no playground in sight and gingham has made a serious comeback, setting itself up to be quite possibly the biggest spring/summer trend this year, if those SS17 catwalk shows were anything to go by. And unless you've been living under a rock for the last few weeks, then you'll have noticed the massive influx of that classic print that never truly went away all over the high street and splashed all over your Instagram feeds.

Thanks to Pinterest, street style shots from LFW have been giving me all the gingham inspo and have inspired me to inject a bit of this classic print into my wardrobe. Not that I needed much persuading to be honest, as anything which is black and white is A-ok with me, as you know I do love my monochrome. So I went away and did what I do best and have scoured the high street to find the best gingham pieces in the shops right now. So if you're feeling brave and feel like you need some gingham trousers in your life then I've got you covered, or if you want to test the waters first with a gingham style top, then yup you guessed it, I've got you covered too. Or, if you're too intimated to do the whole 2-piece gingham shabang, then the perfect way to play it a little safer and to incorporate some gingham print into your outfit little-by-little, is in the form of accessories. So get routing around in that loft and you might even find a gingham scrunchie or two, or better yet,  a pair of those frilly socks from your school days!

P.S I wonder how many times I'm gonna say the word gingham in this post...



Topshop Asymetric Top - £29.00 | Topshop Ruffle Top - £29.00 



Topshop Shirt Dress - £42.00 | River Island Smock Dress - £32.00 

Zara Oversized Dress - £29.99 | Zara Check Dress - £29.99 



Topshop Frill Trousers - £45.00 | Topshop Mensy - £39.00 

New Look Trousers - £24.99 | River Island Trousers - £30.00 



River Island Midi Skirt - £32.00 | Topshop Ruffle Midi - £39.00 

Topshop Ruffle Mini - £26.00 | Stradivarius Ruffle Mini - £19.99



New Look Wrap Shirt - £27.99 | Topshop Dress - £38.00



River Island Choker - £8.00 | River Island Scarf - £15.00



The Thoughts Of A 23 Year Old

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I'll tell you one thing, it ain't easy being 23. You're kind of bobbing about doing the doggy paddle in a swimming pool...but the wave machine's on full power...and you can't swim. One minute you're fine and got everything under control, and the next you're taken out by a gigantic wave and are left paddling about choking on a mouthful of chlorine and piss infested water. It's got to be said, out of all my 23 years of existence, this one is my least favourite.

One minute you're 21, living in some grotty student house with all your best pals, with your Friday nights still consisting of you getting stuck to the Jagermeister ridden dancefloor in a shitty Lloyd's bar with your biggest commitment in life being that £68 library fine you've been ignoring for the past 6 months and the next, you're suddenly 23, your student status is robbed from you before you've even thrown your mortarboard in the air, you have a real-life adult job now and all of a sudden your best friends who you've been glued to for the past 3 years are scattered around the UK in what feels like a million miles away from you and you're back living at home in your childhood bedroom feeling like your life has just taken 5 massive steps backwards. How in hell did this happen? The day you graduate you're suddenly thrown out into the big scary working world with no guidebook and certainly no sat nav to save your ass. Everybody (especially your Nan) is suddenly obsessed with your career path and that ongoing quest for a boyfriend and all sympathy for that dwindling bank balance thanks to years of student debt is long-gone.

So you get yourself a big-girl adult job after months of selling your soul to Reed and you buy yourself a new adult handbag because that Primark one you used for your lectures just isn't gonna cut it no more and you pay your £216 a month for the privilege that is the London underground, to become one of them. The miserable commuter who spends their day tweeting angrily to TFL (they really don't give a shit btw) and eating their shitty, overpriced £7.50 quinoa and chicken lunch when they'd much rather be tucking into that £3 Tesco meal deal without judgement from Annabelle the designated office health freak who has taken it upon herself to offer you nutritional advice everytime you're in the staff kitchen...piss off Annabelle, aren't you late for your Bikram Yoga class?

You suddenly find yourself budgeting (I mean, what even is that?) and planning your cocktail nights around that ever-growing list of direct debits. Hanging out with your friends requires at least a 2 week notice period in the group chat and spontaneity is suddenly a thing of the past, with things having to be run past that dam Filo-Fax before you can even begin to think about RSVP'ing. And honey, don't even think about splurging all your money in Topshop in one go like you used to just a few years ago,  because this isn't University and your Mum ain't gonna bail you out when you can't afford food for the rest of the month because dam Phillip Green is parading round the Bahamas on his super yacht with all your pennies you've fed into his pockets over the years. Can I go back to the days of the student grant and 2 lectures a week now please? I'm not enjoying this one bit.

So is this really what being 23 is about? Shouldn't I be parading around in a crochet bikini in the Phi Phi Islands with all my fellow free spirits? Shouldn't I be spending my evenings sleeping in a bunkbed in a hostel in Melbourne like the other 72% of people on my Facebook are doing right now, rather than laying awake in my single bed in my Mum's house anxiously checking my work phone? Should I be living with a boyfriend and spending my evenings cooking an obnoxious risotto I don't even like before a night of binge watching Breaking Bad in bed together? Or should I be preparing for my solo round-the-world trip right now because hell, I need to "find myself" pronto before turning the big 25? Or should I be slaving away doing internship after internship and selling my soul to the taxman to set myself up with some kind of career? What exactly should I be doing? Please could somebody tell me, because I'm seriously struggling to figure it out right now.

At 23, you're sort of stuck in this awkward my-adult-life-hasn't-quite-begun-yet-but-I'm-no-longer-a-student-so-have-no-excuse-to-faff-around-anymore-limbo. You're too young to own a house (well by London standards anyway, that's for bloody sure.) You're too young to be married, yet not quite young enough to be wasting time dating people you don't see some kind of future with. You're too young to even think about having children, but at the same time are suddenly wildly conscious of the fact that you've only got a few years to go until you hit the age your Mum had you. You're craving independence again, yet really, really dislike the idea of sharing a damp London pad with a bunch of randomers which you most definitely will despise by the time you reach the end of your contract, yet definitely don't feel adult enough to live completely alone yet. Month after month fly by with not a penny saved and you're just plodding along living each day at a time, desperately wishing the week away to get to Friday, so you can spend the weekend doing shit that makes you feel a little more like yourself with people who make you feel a little more like yourself than your 9-5 Monday-Friday alter-ego you have been dumped with. You live each day without a serious thought for your future, because what the hell is your future? Although you're half a decade older than your 18 year-old self, you in some ways feel absolutely no different to that same young girl with her whole life ahead of her, just naively plodding along and figuring it out one step at a time. Yes, this older version has a wage now. She pays rent, budgets and even owns a credit card. She is rapidly approaching the end of that 18-25 category on forms and is way too old for it to be socially acceptable to rock up to a doctors appointment with her Mum by her side, but is she really any different to her 18 year-old self? She still lives at home, still lives in her home town, still hangs out with the friends she went to secondary school with and is still so far away from engagement, marriage, starting a family and becoming a home-owner, it is almost comical.

At 18 years old, if somebody had sat me down and asked me where I'd like my life to be at age 23 I probably would have answered something like this...
I'd like to be excited for the future. I'd like to be living in a flat with my friends somewhere in North London. I'd like to be in a stable job; something which channels both my love for fashion and writing. And I'd like to be in a comfortable and happy relationship with a partner. 
The reality: I'm living in a flat with my Mum. My job channels neither my love for fashion or writing and I actually have zero idea what job I'd like to feel 'stable' in. I'm completely and utterly single. Like Bridget Jones single...Tinder is no longer even installed on my iPhone and instead of excitement for my 'future', I feel fear. I have no idea where my life is heading and that kinda scares me a little...well a lot to be entirely honest with you. I really did (perhaps a little naively) think that my life would be pretty stable by the time I was 25, and as I turn 24 in less than 5 months, I'm rapidly begging to realise that that really isn't so. But perhaps that's okay? I mean, does anybody really ever have their life truly figured out? It's so easy for me to sit on Instagram day after day and compare to myself to other 23 year old women out there who are hugely successful in so many different aspects of their lives and to feel overwhelming feelings of dissatisfaction, anxiety and jealousy. There are people my age that I went to University with that now own a home. There are people my age that are engaged to their childhood sweetheart. There are people my age that are pregnant and there people my age that already have a family. There are people my age that own a Range Rover and there are people my age that own a salary 3 x what I earn. But, there are also people my age who are still living at home. There are people my age that are going through heartbreak and there are people my age that are single parents. There are people my age battling depression and there are people my age battling anxiety. It's so easy to feel unsuccessful and dissatisfied with your own life and own progress when someone else's life highlights are thrust in your face day after day, thanks to social media. People my age may even look at my social media and envy my life and believe that I'm more successful than them. Who knows? But all I know is, that it's unhealthy to compare your life so dangerously to others. Everybody's life has a different timing and everybody is riding their own wave. You can admire and respect those your age who are succeeding and (appear to) have their shit together, but the minute you start to compare their success to your own, is where it all goes wrong.

So no, maybe I don't know where my life is heading and I'm freaking out a little bit about it, but that's okay. 23 is an awkward age and although it's a year where I truly feel I'm struggling to find my feet in this world, in the midst of figuring it all out, it's important to focus on what you do have in life, rather than focusing on what your life doesn't have. Trust the timing in your life and it'll all figure itself out...hopefully...


The Designer Sunglasses Dupes You Need In Your Life

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I don't know about you guys, but for me, nothing completes an outfit like a bloody big statement pair of sunglasses. People that annoy me most in life are those that say "why are you wearing sunglasses? It's not Summer". Oh please, honey I will wear sunglasses whether it's -4 or 40 degrees outside. The slightest glimpse of the sun and the shades are on my face faster than you can say the word sun. But after selling a couple of pairs of my old Ray Bans and my beloved sunglasses I bought in LA deciding to snap on me (I'm still not over it) my sunglasses collection is looking rather pathetic, bar the odd few Primark pairs thrown in there for good measure, so I thought it was about time I sort out my collection once and for all and to invest in some new shades just incase England decides to throw some sun at me anytime soon.

Now, upgrading my collection wasn't as easy as it sounded when I have a BIG love for designer sunglasses and a dwindling bank balance. So after wasting hours perusing some Prada beauties which I definitely cannot afford and all the Tom Ford goodness on David Clulow which I most definitely cannot afford, I decided to do what I do best and to peruse the high street to find myself some cheaper alternatives until I can afford the real thing.

So without further a do, here's the best designer sunglasses dupes you need in your life and I've even broken them down into categories for you babes...and trust me, your credit cards are gonna thank ya BIG time...



£215.00  VS.     £14.00


£85.00  VS.   £6.99


£102.00  VS.  £6.99



£160.00   VS.     £12.00


£207.00   VS.   £17.50



£287.00  VS.  £20.00



£188.00 VS.   £16.00


£120.00   VS.  £6.50


£140.00  VS.  £4.99


£96.00   VS.  £18.00

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