There are 2 things I have always had a love/hate relationship with: Jewellery and Vintage.

Against all the odds of my genetical pre-disposition to worship Jewellery (the very expensive kind obviously, being Moroccan and all), I have never been into it. I blame it on my (a tiny bit) rebellious  spirit. Hubby exhales and high-fives himself.

As for Vintage, despite all the wonderful fashion promises it holds, I never managed to really buy into it. I blame it on the sizes. I am not a vintage size.

But (there is always a but) when Jewellery and Vintage mix up together, they simply take my breath (and often money) away.

I remember very clearly when this all started.

Some twenty years ago, I really got into my native Moroccan history, and became fascinated by its richness  and empowered by some of its inspiring female figures.

Sensing this interest and I guess on fostering it, my father very kindly and insightfully bought me 2 unique pieces of ancient moroccan jewellery: a multi-hundred years old silver pendant engraved with ancient language and the most dazzling silver and gem bracelet.

My always over-active imagination built a whole story if not history behind them, a story of powerful strong inspiring moroccan women. Legendary role models I would aspire to emulate. I know how delusional this sounds …but to give my 12 year old self some credit,  I do think it  beats worshipping a real pop singer!

Anyway, that marked the beginning of the only collection I ever gathered – vintage moroccan jewellery.

They didn’t have a real monetary value but had a huge emotional one.

I loved them and wore them a lot. I never left the house without them (and yes style and so on wasn’t on my radar then).

They loved me back and often gave me in those fragile teenage years the extra boost of confidence I needed to face my challenge and believe I can be the strong woman I aspired to be.

Then, as everything in life, in my early twenties, I outgrew them, as you would do with all those beloved childhood items that you suddenly don’t need anymore.

But I am also very very loyal.

So I kept them. Always very close by. In a box that has stayed with me for the last 10 years, travelling form Meknes to Paris and currently in London.

Recently as I was walking past a vintage shop down my road, I caught a glimpse of a fabulous necklace, which I thought would look perfect with some understated white tops I recently purchased.

So I went in to check it out.

Shop Assistant: Can I help you?

Me (not big on assistance in shops): No thank you. I am just having a look at this necklace.

Shop Assistant (the voice of temptation): Of course, no problem. We have a wider selection at the back.

Me ( disappointedly weak): Ok then. I will have a look. But I am only looking for  statement necklaces….OMG What are these?

She handed me the mega earrings I was feverishly pointing at. Necklace, what necklace?

I tried them on, looked at myself in the mirror and litterally shouted.

Me: ” I look amazing*!!!!!”

Shop Assistant (not commenting on my amazing-ness): “Those are vintage 80s earrings from XYZ…favoured by Catherine Deneuve….”

But honnestly I wasn’t listening anymore.

I tend to operate on instinct. My instinct told I HAD TO HAVE THEM.

MEGA crush.

Without them on, I was make up free, messy hair bun with casual white sweater.

With them on, I was….amazing*.

Skin as if lit from within (by a Disco ball), with the glow and personality of an 80s era power girl (otherwise I wouldnt have ever dared using the word amazing to describe myself!)

They were gorgeous. They had a history. I had to have them. One last detail to check.

Me (suddenly nervous): “How much would these be?”

They were affordable.

They were mine.

Once home, I showcased them to Hubby. And He said 2 things.

Hubby: “I thought you wanted needed a necklace?”…..”Where are you going to wear them?”

Whateverrrrrrrr.

If you are disappointed he didn’t comment on my alledged amazing-ness, you wouldn’t be the only one. They call this marriage, I guess.

What do you guys think? Too blingy? Too 80s? Too old? Too much time on my hands?

Bisous bisous!

* Amazing: my son’s favourite word of late. So I find myself using it these days. A lot.

----- What Hind Likes

I have been 1) thrown at the deep end of weekly Football/Rugby practises ( statistical evidence shows those are definitely boy dominated sports!), 2) at the receiving end of many “mock” wrestling sessions (you try and resist getting off the floor once an energetic 16 kilos toddler knocks you down for one of his beloved wrestling gigs),  3) actively re-immersing myself into some science to explain how a TV/Rocket/Car/iPhone works  and why we shouldn’t really be opening them up to figure it out (thanking any reminiscent knowledge  from my engineering days) and 4) learning to live with endless mini-cars, pirates outfits and other Bob the Builder tools. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.

I obviously fully embraced this “energetic” way of life and kind of forgot how boy-ish my world has become really.

Until I got to spend some fabulous quality time with one of my favourite girls in the world. And yes, she is only 2 years old!

Now I am not a “girly” girl at all but this “girl bonding” time allowed me to pause and think about the top 5 traits that differentiate girls and boys.

But be warned all below only reflects top 5 things as they came up to me spontaneously today and are not backed up by any scientific/trustwrothy study. 

1. Girls like pretty. Pretty includes but not limited to pink, frills, bows, sparkles and everything remotely princessy/whatever we put in the “girly” box.

When I had to entertain my young friend, I simply opened my bag and picked up some make up/ jewellery/hair pines (all safe of course for kids handling…I need my friend let me hang out with her lovely daughter again!), which kept her contented for hours on end (aka 30minutes), just enjoying, well, their prettiness!

Had it been my Little Man, I would have had less ammunitions especially if I had the low-sight of not packing some mini-cars. I would desperately try to dig up something like car keys (shameless ersatz of a car which would buy me 30seconds tops) or try and distract him by sports car spotting (hey this is London after all!).

2. We like compliments. Now not sure if it is a genetical flaw that condemns us to craving (consciously or sub-consciously) an external approval.

But we loooove compliments.

And if we are honest, we tend to do like a little bit too much for comfort compliments that relate to our appearance.

At 2 years old, when people call us “pretty” we coo and reward them with a smile.

At 30 years old, we wave it off …. and high five ourselves “on the inside” (as by that age society had thought us that it is not ok to put so much emphasis on our appearance!).

When I once mistakenly told my son “how pretty he looked”, he shot back” I am not pretty. Pretty is for girls”. My fault.

3. We like handbags*. The nature of the multi-tasking life we girls seem to be “designed” for requires nothing less than amazing organizational skills. Those skills probably singlehandedly led to the birth and explosion of the huge handbag industry.

In our 20s, we carry our life  books, scratched iPhones (or in my case huge mobile phones iPhones didn’t exist then!), make up bag, hair brush, wallet and sometimes a change of clothes in our handbag.

In our 30s, we carry our life iPhone (in leather protection pocket), our Blackberry (we have serious jobs now), our iPad (all in 1 miracle saver), our much bigger wallet holding all our precious loyalty cards (kids and middle age does that to you), a much bigger make up bag (to tackle bigger “needs”), and all that motherhood brings along like baby wipes  , an antibac sanitizer, a toddler change of clothes, his mid afternoon snack, his bottle of water, our bottle of water, some toys, a comforter. And sometimes the toddler himself (!)

You want to know what my young friend never leaves her house without? Her handbag. She’s tow years old and she’s already got the brief!

Have I ever managed to convince my son to wear his “back-pack”? Never. He just stuffs everything he can in his pockets. And puts the rest in my bag. Like his dad. I guess I should see that as the ultimate recognition of my organisational skill.

Glass half full always!

4. We like multi-tasking. Closely linked to point 3 above. But again this is probably a genetic gift to enable coping with all that life throws at us these days and the expectation we all can be GPP i.e. Gwyneth Paltrow Perfect. Perfect mum, perfect wife, perfect friend, perfect daughter, perfect woman, perfect business woman, perfect all around human being, and the list goes on. The key word here being “perfect” if you missed it.

I personally think sometimes the more plates I am spinning, the better I am spinning them.

Same trend with my young friend here: carrying her bag, whilst opening the pencil box, holding a notebook and beautifully posing for pictures.

My Little Man beautifully spelled out for me the non-multiasking rule boys seem to be born with by stating “Do not brush my hair whilst I am trying to put my PJs one. ok? One thing at a time mama!”.

Yes he is bossy. Not sure what he got that from. Cue point 5.

 5. We are bossy know what we want. As Beyonce once said, girls really rule the world (despite our swinging hormones**, self confidence issues … and very heavy handbags).

And if we don’t, we definitely should. I mean who better to lead humanity than someone who knows what they want. I think nobody can really argue with this universal fact.

In my Little Man’s words, when I asked him if I needed to get some time out after messing up his dinner (you know, as a parents trying to be consistent and all that); he said: “Girls send boys to time out. But Boys never send Girls to time out”. He is 3 and he’s already figured it out.

Any builds?

bisous bisous.

* We love shoes too!

** Nature’s Monthly gift

----- What Hind Likes

In fact, I think it’s probably the most misleading headline I have ever written (and I apologise to all of you who actually came to this page to read something really serious about running).

It just rolled perfected off my keyboard and I decided to keep it.

It is kind of about running. Read on!

So. Summer is looming.

You wouldn’t think so, still tightly swaddled in your warmest winter coat, desperately craving some comfy (read: warm and highly calorific) food and wishing nothing more than crawling on your sofa, under your blanket to watch some highly entertaining day time TV (which is what I am doing right now!).

But this is April. April, as in we should already be over the spring excitment and looking foward to the summer.

And if summer doesnt show up fast enough in London, I will have to take action and go find it somewhere else.

So like I said, summer is looming.

And with it, wait for it, the infamous “get your body back into some kind of shape before the summer” frenzy.

Given that I have lived more than 30 years of that frenzy, I am much more relaxed about it, now.

But still, it weighs ( ha ha) on my mind.

So logically, I decide to go back to the gym with a fabulous personal trainer, the only proven way as far as I am concerned.

So I subscribe. I book my first appointment.

Then realise, that although I have the right gym wear, courtesy of all the previous attempts at getting myself on the wagon, I realise I am missing one crucial accessory item.

Sport shoes (not sure what the technical name is…but you see what I mean).

Interesting. The last sport shoes I owned were bought by my dad in 1997 (needless to say the same model for both my brother and I).

I rarely used them. So they remained in pristine state. Until 2009. When they got lost, I am guessing, during my last house move.

I did exercise since then but carefully avoided anything involving shoes – hello Bikram Yoga and Powerplate!

Now I need to buy a new pair of shoes to kind of fit in my new gym (that typical new kid at school feeling).

So I went to my local Sweaty Betty and had to decide what criteria I needed to go by tp pick these shoes. I went with:

1. Style: They need to be black and as understated as possible. I am sorry but I don’t like sport shoes. They never look good. They make your feet look bigger. So I just want them to be as un-noticeable as possible. And as they say, when in doubt, wear black, right?

2. Type: Running shoes. I didn’t really think about that but I guess at some subconscious level I have always wanted to be a runner. But never got my courage/will/energy/time to even try. So when asked by the shop assistant what kind of black understated shoes, I blurted :running shoes”. Apparently doing so in such a confident manner that she asked me how often I ran. I blurted it in such a confident way, the shop assistant asked me how often I ran (!)
Shameful moment. Followed by an even more shameful one when I replied ” I haven’t done a lot of running recently”. Technically not a lie. If recently goes back to 1994.

So here I am with my brand new black running shoes!

I try them on and show them off to Hubby and The Little Man – who both recoil at the fact they are not “pink”. What-Ever, boys!

I walk a bit in them and step into a whole new level of shoe comfiness!

I start wearing them to drop my son at nursery before hitting the gym ( otherwise no excuse for wearing the comfy shoes just to go to the nursery!).

And then one morning a miracle happened.

On my way to the gym, I was pondering if I should walk there, take the bus (I know I am hopeless) or…run!?!”?!

I think my laziness effectiveness took over and I figured:

Option1: walking to the gym+ gym session + walking back = 60 to 80minutes, most of it walking of course!

Option2: running in the park next to my house = 30minutes, most of it walking of course.

Obvious, right.

I went for Option 2. There are some day time TV shows that need some watching, you know.

And by doing do I had 2 positive surprises:

1. I found that my all Sweaty Betty gym gear (mostly black with a touch of colour) looked kind of effortlessly stylish … vs. some runners’ I ran past (although these guys seem to be running much faster than I did so maybe there is a thing or two to learn from them).

2. I did the whole 30minutes running. I initially told myself – run 2 min and rest for 30sec as all the real running websites advise you to do as a beginner. But I found myself cruising through 2, then 5, then 10, then 15minutes. And I actually only stopped because I came around to my initial starting point. Oh Miracle!

So that day might be the first day of the rest of my (healthier) life !

To the runners out there – any tips? on gear or else?

Because I suspect eating a cookie after my deed was probably not the best idea to fuel that new healthy leaving, was it?

Bisous bisous.

PS- Illustration courtesy of lovely Sweaty Betty as I am nowhere near confident enough to put a picture of me in any kind of gym gear. Yet.

----- What Hind Likes

Recently I have been missing 2 things – the sun and my sister Sara.

Thankfully, the sun has finally agreed to grace us with its presence for the week-end and for that, I, with my fellow Londoners who overtook the city’s gorgeous parks this week-ends, are grateful. And hopeful it might mark the beginning of a much awaited Spring season. I know… gotta love optimism…but what’s the alternative?

As for my sister Sara, getting her to come and hang out with her older sister (I say older but age is just a number right… as I do think we look like twins don’t we? ) is proving to be a much more challenging task.

Hard to believe given she is only 3hours and a £300 flight away.

But true. Sadly.

I have tried every “incentive” known to woman get her to come and visit but still….no Sara!

See for yourself:

1. “Come and get a curated selection of my best designer outfits worth…a small flat somewhere I am sure”.
10 years ago, I confess, I was an over-shopper stuffing my wardrobe full of various designer clothes (ah the joys of having an income and the guilt free freedom to burn it all on your shopping addictions). The problem is I haven’t worn the majority (gasp) of these clothes since 2007 if ever as they are either i) too small/short for me with no-chance-of-ever fitting-in-them-again (a girl can hope to lose all the pregnancy weight, but she can’t saw those hips back to their original size, can she?) or ii) too different from my current style.

My sister used to absolutely LOVE those items.

Eureka! I went through ALL those pieces, photographed every single one of them that I found suitable for baby sis and sent her the pics.

From Hind TO Sara: Hey Sara! Look what I put aside for you. They are ready for you to pick up anytime

And I waited for the expected “I am on the next plane to London to pick these goodies up. And of course I am forever grateful. You are the best sister il the world”. And those kind of things.

What did I get instead?

From Sara TO Hind: They are a bit wrinkled, aren’t they? I like them all, though. Do you happen to have extra shoes as well?

WTF. It didn’t work. But I should have guessed that a girl who can now afford her own Balanciaga bag, wouldn’t be so enthused by a bench of “vintage” stuff.

2. “Come and get the (fun) time of your life in London Town”. If there is one thing that baby sis loves more than clothes (and me but I am starting to doubt I am still in her top list), it is what “young people” call “having fun”.

Now I love having fun as much as the next person but my definition of fun is slightly different from my sister’s. I blame it on the 10 years age gap.

MY fun = chilled out evening with friends, over a (very) nice meal, relatively intimate surroundings. And back to bed by 1 latest…given that I am always up by 6.

HER fun = living it up in an over-crowded, see-me/see-you over the top trendy venues, in sophisticated blingy outfits, meeting new people. (I am already tired just writting this).

BUT regardeless of our differences, I decided to swallow it and offer her “her kind” of fun, in the capital of all things fun – London.

From Hind TO Sara: “Hey Sara! Given that I am pretty free over the next couple of weeks, I was thinking we could plan one crazy week of fun in London….I need to plan it more…but I am thinking flashy celeb spotting restaurants, dancing until dawn in some of the swankiest nightclubs….What think?”

From Sara TO Hind: ” Hind, I think somebody hacked your email address”.

She is probably right. My desperate self did.

3. “Come and eat some yummy homemade treats”. The most dramatic and ever lasting passion we share with baby sis is our love of food (which unfortunately comes hand in hand with a slow metabolism). So over the last years, we had a LOT of bonding over food and then later on, diets.

So when I found myself VERY desperate, I decided to go for a cheap shot – the chocolate chip cookie shot.

So I looked for the perfect cookie recipe (to be done in 10 minutes of course as there is SO much more to life than cooking/baking as far as I am concerned!).

And I filmed my adorable Little Man, bitting the most delicious looking cookie whilst saying ” tatie Sara, come and eat those yummy cookies with me!” (testimony if any to my 10 years of experience in marketing and advertising right?)

Double cheap shot I know.

But like I said, I am desperate.

Anymore ideas? Or shall I just adopt a new sister or something?

Bisous bisous.

----- What Hind Likes

This love is driven less by a need to “flaunt it” (not that I believe there is an “it” to flaunt in the first place) and more by a sartorial preference: I do prefer my dresses loose, non-figure hugging which can make them a bit of shapeless mess unless you wear them short.

Short makes them look more structured. In my point of view.

I have never had any concern about what this choice could project to others: firstly, because I dress for myself and only myself and secondly and very importantly, I believe that attitude and personality make the clothes and not vice versa.  A girl could be wearing the shortest hemline on the planet and still carry it with chic and grace whilst another could be covered head to toe and still just project, hum, trashy. All is in the attitude.

Hubby occasionally teases me about some suspiciously short hemlines but I just remind him of the aforementioned principle. To which he happens to agree. He does I swear!

Now today I had quite an embarassing experience that made me wonder really “how short IS too short”?

Where did this happen? At my dry cleaner.

Yes, my dry cleaner.

The brilliantly competent housewife that I am couldn’t do without a dry cleaner, which I happen to see use so often we almost became friends. Friends with (cleaning) benefits.

I entrust him with all my favourite dresses and quite a chunky bit of my monthly budget (cue: Hubby smirking).

We have our proven and tested process.

I drop by with my bag full of clothes.

He goes through them labelling them: dress, skirt, jumper, top , shirt.

He hands me back my ticket.

I pick up my previous delivery.

I come back 1 month later when I have no more clothes left, always panicked he might have disposed of my stuff because I am too late in picking them. I confess I do use his shop as my secondary storage area. But shuuuuttt!

Today was different though. Today, I was met by another guy.

No problem.

We go through the same labelling process. Until a small hitch as he was picking at one of my dresses…

Him (confident): Top.

Me(surprised): No, dress.

Him:….

Him (looking concerned and slightly judgmental): Top…?

Me(annoyed and defensive): No! Dress. O_B_V_I_O_U_S_L_Y (I said the latter in my head as I don’t want to compromise my cleaning relationship for a divergence of, hum, opinion).

Him (surrendering):……How many….. items?

Me: 7 dresses. 1 Top. 1 Jumper.

He looks at me bizzarelly, hands me my ticket. Ask me to come back in 3 days. (We all know it is more like 4 weeks)

I feel judged. I feel bad. I am furious.

I call Hubby to “share”.

Hubby: You know tops are cheaper than dresses, right?”

Me: Why would this be the case? How sexist! (I do realise now that it DOES make sense for tops to be cheaper than dresses but I am not gonna own up to this, am I?)

Hubby: Anyway. You could have said tops and saved yourself some cash. For your next dry cleaning order.

Me:…. but but but…do YOU think my short dresses are too short? (pleading look/tome given we are on the phone)

Hubby:…sigh…no they are fine.

Ok so the honour is safe!

Have you ever found yourselves in one of “those” awkward situations?

Bisous bisous.

Illustration: a lovely GAP Baby Dress that I would TOTALLY buy and wear should they manufacture them my size. Sadly they only stop at 5years…which is definitely too short. right? 

----- What Hind Likes

Over the last 10 days, I have been on what you can call a “stay-cation” – basically hanging out at home in London.

This unusual occupation (or lack of there of) resulted unexpectedly in some sartorial challenges, namely pushing the limits of my casual wardrobe combinations.

I mean, at first, I welcomed hanging out in my comfy biker boots, enjoying the forgiveness of my relaxed knit dresses and the cosyness of my trusted black leggings and oversized cashmere jumpers.

That was until a couple of days ago, when I found myself one pair of running shoes away from adopting the school-run-mummy-uniform  (you know, black yoga trousers, furry parka and…running shoes).

I basically caught myself throwing on my yoga bottoms….with no yoga appointment in sight. Alarm bells!

Action needed to be taken to pull me back from this overly laid back outfit repertoire I was increasingly falling into.

And what better than red hot super high shoes to counterbalance the creeping over-mummsiness?

So just like that – I fell for those YSL red beauties (!)

Hot Colour? Check. Nothing can be as hot as this shade of colour. Especially in those freezing temperatures, I am desperate for any way to warm things up!

Chic & sleek? Check. The boot-shoe design ensures the red hotness factor is tamed to more  ”manageable” levels vs. its “I-am-desperately-looking-for-love” pump sister. 

Super High Heels? Check. The highest the heel, the biggest the challenge, the mots fulfilling is the reward (and potentially the pain, but that’s not very relevant is it?).

Result? Ah. Sad to say so but one online shoe purchasing later, I do feel like myself again and can’t wait for the opportunity to wear them.

Scratch that – I can’t wait to make up the opportunity to wear them.

As they say…give a girl the right pair of shoes and she can conquer the world…

What’s your antidote to an unexpected laissez-aller* ? Red lipstick? New hair cut? Gym?

Bisous bisous.

 * french for letting yourself go – it just sounds less offensive in french

----- What Hind Likes

I think I haven’t been a date since, hum, 1999. Or worse.

But again I didn’t really need to get on one, says Hubby, who happens to be my last date, well done him!

Sure, we still do “date nights” but they often involve a movie night in and I should blame it on my “homebody” self, says Hubby, who by the way seems disproportionately concerned about how this post would affect his “desired” equity of perfect Hubby. 

Anyway, back to dates.

I feel pressured to think that a perfect date, especially at my age and sophistication experience SHOULD involve, I don’t know, something like flying me on a private jet to NYC for the evening. Very mid-1990s SATC inspired stuff. Or wait… maybe I read that in 50 shades*…

But in reality, it isn’t. Hubby exhales in relief.

A perfect date apparently seem to involve my Little Man and some serious Ice Cream Sunday.

My definition of “date”: doing something you enjoy doing, with somebody you enjoy being with.

Something here would refer to three of my most favourite things: chats, books and Ice Creams (no need to fly me to NYC for that).  There is shopping as well, but I kind of like doing it on my own.

Someone can refer to anyone I like who is happy enough to share the super fun activities above with me.

So last Friday, looking for some cheering myself up (especially in this very very annoying weather), I decided to go on a date with my adorable Little Man (who officially asked me to stop referring to him as my “baby” now that he reached the critical milestone of 3 years old).

And no, I didn’t only choose him because he happens to be the only person available and glad to hang out with me on Friday .

He just kind of was the ideal partner in crime as far as Ice Cream eating and book scribbling were concerned.  And, oh, he gives THE best cuddles and has THE most entertaining conversation (no offence to all my friends but this might be the biased mother in me talking).

Anyway, here we are: Friday lunchtime, braving the icy weather, walking towards our local newsagent to buy the right Kids magazine for the Little Man (the ones with the much loved stickers) before we settle at our local Pizza Express.

The Little Man is in his element, completely at ease with the menu, ordering by himself “Pizza with chicken, orange juice and chocolate ice cream”. So in charge, I am so proud.

Me, I am not that hungry and only want to order my much needed ice cream. But the hypocrisy of doing this to The Little Man and settle for a small salad.

We eat.

We chat.

We read/sticker/colour.

We laugh.

We eat our ice cream.

And then we head back to our warm home for some much needed nap time.

Heaven. Or a perfect date.

Thank you, Little Man. And Hubby, for raising such a proper young man.

Reads like quite a sentimental post. And you know what I am feeling pretty sentimental these days, so I guess it catches up with my blog inspiration.

What about you? Any dates? Perfect or not?

Let me know.

Bisous bisous.

* Yes I did succumb to the popular pressure and read it. Not my thing though. A bit too Barbara Cartland romantic…nothing wrong with some romance but I got over this  somewhere early-90s.

----- What Hind Likes

Today, 21st March, I woke up and wondered… Where is Spring?

Now after many many years living in one-continuous-gloomy-weather-London, you’d think I would have stopped asking this question.

No. A girl’s gotta keep hoping, no?

But even to glass half full me, this latest miserable March weather is way worse than any other March I have known so far (and not just because I am feeling kind of under the weather myself as well).

Why?

The lowest temperatures for a month of March in 27 years? No.

The fact that I had to buy a hat AND actually wear it? Double Yes!

Those last 16 years (oops revealing my old age!) living between Paris and London, 2 cities known for their gloriously grey cold and damp weather, I have successfully managed to avoid 2 things: umbrellas and hats.

1. Umbrellas – because they are unpractical, seem to always magically disappear/get lost and most importantly because I am still resisting “in my head” the fact the place I have chosen to live in is doomed to endless cold  (if you think this might also be related to me trying to positive think myself out of this miserable weather, you wouldn’t be wrong!)

2. Hats – because they are ugly, make me look ugly when I have them on and leave my hair in an , hum, ugly mess when I take them off. In short, ugly.

So imagine my shock when a couple of weeks ago, as I was routinely scanning through my beloved COS latest (summer of course!) collection, my eyes fell on this woolly wintery dark blue hat.

Instantly, I could only  remember how cold my head felt ( I have thin hair that doesn’t really protect me against the cold) and how frozen my ears felt.

Before I came back to my senses, I found myself buying and putting on my newly acquired hat.

I caught a glimpse of myself in a shop window. And decided it wasn’t me.

I met hubby near Starbucks. And he didn’t even recognise me (good thing though he doesn’t seem to be checking out strangers!)

But I felt sooooo warm, I couldn’t take it off.

So is this the beginning of the end ? Sacrificing style to comfort ?

Enter miss glass half full again (I wanted to keep my hat on so might as well find  stylish good reasons to keep it):

1. It perfectly matches my favourite dark blue coat. Not that I am a fan for the whole match-matchy look but kind of ok.

2. It nicely frames my eyes, making them look more mysterious. Bursting in laughter as if I could ever believe that.

3. It fights hair frizz. Hang on. We might have a winner. I realised that after taking of this hat, my hair far from looking flat or “electric”, actually looks more “tamed”.

What can I say?

Score!

Still, seriously  - where IS spring?

Bisous bisous.

----- What Hind Likes

Last week, I celebrated my 30-something-th birthday.

Usually I (try to) think of birthdays less as getting older and more like, you know, being grateful to still be around.

I managed to forget about this whole annoying ageing process by fighting it as hard as I could (Wrinkles? Which wrinkles?…What does greying hair even mean?).

A recent event however tipped off the balance of that wishful state.

My birthday present.

Usually Hubby and I start talking about my birthday presents weeks before (when I was younger it was months but I am very busy these days) and play a teasing/guessing game.

Which usually ends up with me getting my birthday present at least a week before it was due.

This year, as I was spending my birthday, on my very own, on the other side of the world on a business trip ( god I love those details that add nothing to the story), I realised I didn’t even think about my present this time.

If you are feeling sorry for me being on my own, please don’t.

I treated myself to the biggest Ice Cream Sunday EVER with super extra Chocolate sauce. Yum. Or I guess you could feel sorry for me but for a completely different reason (sigh).

Like I said, I was happy enough with my caloric bomb treat and my Little Man singing me “Happy Birthday” on FaceTime that I completely missed the lack of engagement on the present front from Hubby.

So when I made it back, I was surprised when Hubby said ” I do have a present for you, you know” (I guess he confused my jet-laggedness with some why-didn’t-I-get-my-present-yet sulking).

“Oh yes? I don’t really fancy a present”, I lied.

“You are getting one nevertheless”, replied my very wise wise man before adding ” I got you something you really REALLY wanted. Want to guess?”

“I hate guessing and there is nothing that I can think of anyway”, I helpfully replied.

“What is the thing you would like the most?”, persisted my very patient Hubby.

“One year of massages”, I blurted out there, acknowledging the dangerous territory I was heading into which could only end up with one of us being disappointed.

“One year of massages indeed”, he said.

At which point I decided to stop sulking. Oh I guess I WAS doing some of that after all.

You would have read on this blog how completely addicted to massages I was and always thought (and I guess said) that if money and time were no barriers, I would have a massage every week.

Hubby gave me the gift of both. Ama-zing.

As I was basking in this wonderfulness, I started over-analysising the implications of that unusual present.

See, I used to like AND get material things: shoes, clothes, hum, shoes and clothes…. basically things serving at the altar of looking good I guess.

Now I wanted to take care of myself and I became more interested in feeling good.

Surely feeling vs. looking good is only a sign of how old I am actually getting, don’t you think?

Or maybe not.

Maybe a girl can have her cake and eat it. And as far as I am concerned, I ALWAYS eat the cake.

Maybe Hubby is sponsoring me to feel better so that I will ultimately look better:
1. By feeling good, my inner relaxed and soothed self will shine through. Ahhhhhh
2. More importantly I have spare cash to spend on material things now that Hubby is funding my biggest money draining addiction. Yesssssss.

What think?

What kind of presents do you favour: look or feel good ? Physical things or experiences ?

Bisous bisous.

Photo credit: courtesy of the uber-yummy site www.bakerella.com 

----- What Hind Likes

Apologies. I have been out of touch for the last 2 weeks.

I have an excuse though, I was on a business trip to the US.

To make up for keeping me away from you guys, this trip offered inspiration for not one but a full series of posts.

From the superficial-but-yet-so-essential “how to look fresh and radiant after a 10h flight” to the hugely critical “how to travel in-style on a long haul flight” to the life changing (exaggeration alert) “how to fly in business” posts, I will be sharing with you my best tips. Yey. Aren’t you excited?

First one will be ”how to look fresh and radiant after a 10h flight”. I am guessing this is not a surprise. Given it is already there in the title.

Flashback. When I first learned I was to embark for a 10 hours flight to the US, I went into intensive preparation mode.

And by that I don’t mean locking up all the needed work prep for my business meeting (which I obviously did but not sure you want to hear about it here) but rather focusing on THE biggest worry we all face as women (yes even you Angela Merkel) – how to look good AFTER that gruelling 10 hours journey.

Inspiration here, people, being Victoria Beckham perfectly groomed straight off a plane  picture perfect for the gazillion paparazzi awaiting her (and her celebs for sure) in LAX airport.

But here, in real life, minus the make-up/stylist/hairdresser/entourage to helpfully carry her stuff LV luggage including 25in sky high  boots. (hope you are noting I am upping the stylistic writing stakes by using, yes, a pleonasm!)

As the digital native that I am (give or take 10 years), the first thing I did was… Google my concerns.

So I did and typed feverishly “How to look fresh and radiant after a 10h flight?”

And there on the screen was THE answer to my beauty prayers – Lisa Aldridge’s  “My beauty regime on long haul flights”.

If you don’t know Lisa Aldridge, she is, like*,  the MOST amazing make-up artist with the coolest video blogs. Check her out!

So here I am watching her video religiously, noting all the routine steps and most importantly the list of products she recommends for gorgeous flawless hair and skin – despite the uber-drying air cabin air.

Next, I assess which parts of her routine/products I am more likely to use and hit the shops to buy them.

A couple of weeks later, here I am on the plane, taking out my lovely Caudalie toiletery bag (which happens to be both super pretty AND transparent so I dont need to empty it at security checks).

It is packed a mix of products Lisa recommends, (Phyto Hair moisturiser, Caudalie Beauty Elixir), products I can’t live without (my faithful moisturiser, mascara and lip balm) and basically any product I happen to have in travel/ airplane-security-friendly-size (Milk Cleanser, Toner, Eye Make Up Remover, Super Hydrating Mask).

The beauty routine can start now.

And because I loved it so much, I top it up every couple of hours – Beauty Elixir pshiit to refresh, Balm and Mask to hydrate.

After the initially curious glances from my fellow passengers, some started actually asking me about my products (10hours is a looong time and there is just that many movies one can watch I guess!).

Now, this is all lovely but how did it actually work in making me wonderfully radiant, fresh and simply gorgeous (ah the expectations we can have sometimes of our beauty products!) ?

Well, what can I say I can’t really comment on the gorgeous bit but when I got a glimpse of myself in the mirror (more like reflection on a glass panel as I was queuing at the customs desk), I thought my hair looked (and felt) smooth and healthy and my skin as hydrated and dewy as I like it to be.

So basically like after a 10hours spa

All this is very good – but what was I WEARING?

Check it next chapter later this week.

Bisous bisous.

*Not sure why, when I get uber-excited I start talking like an american teenager.

Photo credits: the gorgeous Emma Stone in InStyle magazine editorial. Emma – my ultimate girl crush since I watched Crazy Stupid Love…. on the aforementioned flight… so only fair that she features in here, don’t you think?

----- What Hind Likes