Gossip Girls and Boys

When you give in to gossip or negativity it can feel like someone has pitched a seven person tent in your mind.

The tent is billowing and sturdy. It's firmly implanted into the ground, the rooms are huge and spacious, the people are rowdy and messy. It's impossible to think about anything else. You know it's just a tent and logic tells you that it's not as strong as a house, yet it feels all powerful.

The same goes with words. When you hear something or read something bad about yourself, it can shake everything that you believe in. The mind can play tricks. Suddenly it's the idea: What if they're right? What if I am this or that?

We thrive off other people's approval. We all want to be liked, stroked, appreciated. We want to be told, "Hey you're brilliant!" even if we'll never, ever believe it. Yet, the moment we start living for other people's approval is when we lose everything. If I changed based on every single person's opinion of me, I would be a different Amanda everyday.

I recently had a bout with insecurity based on the above. I hate that I can't be the girl who lets it all slide off her back, or the girl who walks into a room wearing lime green pants and a bird on her head and doesn't care who's watching. I also hate when I become this rambling, insecure, mess of a person who can't articulate herself because she's so easily persuaded to believe the worst. It took a week, but I decided that if I'm going to be a writer, I have to be prepared for the critics. Moving forward, I need to try and be stronger.

Not A Model's last words: if you're not hurting anyone, trying your hardest and working towards something that you love, there isn't anything that someone else can say that can bring that down.

And with nothing more than a sneeze, the tent collapses.

The Portobello Market - Not A Model Travel Diaries

After leaving lovely Paris, I was hit with the realization that I was on the last leg of my trip.

Naturally, I got a bit down. I mean who wants to say goodbye to Europe and hello again to their cubicle? When we got back to London, Nisha told me that we should check out the famous Portobello market.

The Portobello market stretches for 2 miles right in the heart of Notting Hill. Yes, I went back to Notting Hill. We only intended to spend an hour or so there and continue sightseeing, but we ended up spending 4 hours walking and shopping.

There were stands upon stands of everything you could imagine: hand crafted antiques, old fashioned cameras, vintage fur coats, pearls and baubles and beads, boatloads of scarves and hats and trinkets and treasures. We even saw a stunning bride who was taking photos smack in the middle of the madness.

The best part was no one shouted at you to buy their things. There was no bartering or pushiness that I've experienced at other outdoor markets.  People young and old perused slowly, ate and politely walked through the crowds.

There were frying pans of giant fist sized prawns and tables of stuffed chorizo and pepper sandwiches. The food options were endless. I chose to eat a piece of spanakopita for under £3 while Nisha munched on a mushroom and cheese crepe. The smell of thick Belgian waffles lingered everywhere but we opted for straight from the oven red velvet cupcakes with cream cheese icing for dessert. I swooned over bunches of fresh daffodils and organic vegetables that held the colours of a box of Crayola markers.

I went picture crazy. I took photos of EVERYTHING. Literally, I snapped up every fried fish, every pin box, every ratty scarf, nothing skipped my lens.

My favourite purchases of the trip were from the market. I bought postcards, a new horse printed scarf, a tote bag, pens, a souvenir bear for Little and this beautiful vintage ivory dress that I can't wait to wear.

I want to thank Nisha for putting up with me and being patient. She did not complain when I tried on 17 different dresses or stopped to take my millionth photo of silver spoons. It was near impossible to choose which photos to include in this post as I had so many favourites. I felt like a grandmother who was asked to pick her favourite grandchildren.

Okay, well at least a bad grandmother who finally admits *gasp* that she does have favourites...

Paris Fashion Week - Not A Model Travel Diaries

When booking the Paris part of our trip, I realized that we were going to be in town for Fashion Week! I was beyond excited even though I knew the chances of actually getting into a show were slim.

The interesting thing about Paris Fashion Week is that it is very easy to track down the schedule. They post the designer and venue location online so anyone can show up at the shows. Nisha and I thought it would be fun to check it out, so we headed to the Palais de Tokyo for the Barbara Bui show.

The place was packed with photographers, journalists, editors, models, bodyguards and important clipboard wielding PR people. I stood and watched as probably the most fashionable people I've ever seen walked by with their elusive black card invitations into the show. Editors wearing high heels as thin as a piece of raw linguine stomped past and I felt a tinge of jealousy. I would love to be invited to a show, not only as a guest but as a writer.

While waiting, I spotted Scott Schuman, aka the Sartorialist from afar. It's funny that I wrote in my pre-travel post that I hoped to see him. Anyways, I tried to go up and say hello, but by the time I got through the crowd he vanished. I told Nisha it was probably for the best as I would have been quite embarrassed if I introduced myself and he never asked to take my photo.

I also saw the infamous Grace Coddington. If you've ever watched The September Issue, you'll know she is the brains behind Vogue. Her trademark red hair was impossible to miss. While I hate snapping photos like a terrible paparazzi, I managed to get a decent one but still would rather not post. So we waited with a crowd of stylish people that looked as if they stepped straight off the runway, but they only let a few extra people in.

Even though we didn't make it in, it was still quite the experience. While we had the location of the next show, I told Nisha to forget it. I decided that I'd rather spend the day doing more sightseeing than waiting around. One day, maybe I'll waltz in with my black invitation in 5 inch heels with my bright Smythson notebook, but for now I wanted to soak up some Paris sunshine and buy another buttery baguette.

 

 

Up next: Portobello Market

Not A Model Street Style - Paris

I really wanted to take a street style photo while in Europe, but for some reason I was completely afraid to ask someone. I didn't really understand why I was suddenly so shy to take a little street style photo when I've approached complete strangers on subway platforms before. Yet for some reason I let every single person I wanted to approach pass me by.

It's a split personality thing. I can be the boldest of people when I want to be, but I can also be this shy, scared little person at other times. My other insecure half is like that annoying friend who shows up unexpectedly at your doorstep and you have no choice but to invite her inside.

On our last day in Paris, I spotted a girl who I thought would be a good pick, but once again let her pass by. I casually told Nisha and she insisted that I finally just do it. I gave all the usual excuses, But she already walked by, I'll find someone else, I don't have to do this.. etc. But then the voice in my head said, What are you so afraid of?

When I couldn't think of a good enough answer, I got up. As I walked away Nisha shouted, "Guts!"

I walked and walked and just when I was about to turn around and give up, I saw her at a street light. I marched right up to her and asked if she spoke English. When she said yes, I told her about my blog and that I liked her style and asked if I could take her photo.

Her face completely lit up. I don't know why I thought her reaction would be otherwise. Her friends watched as I took her photo and when she walked back to them they all bombarded her with questions.

I ran back to Nisha feeling completely weightless and giddy. I realized that sometimes the possibility of rejection is not a good enough reason not to do something. I made someone's day and that's a pretty darn good feeling.

So without further delay, below is the beautiful Mia from Norway. I loved her top knot bun, bold red lips and giant cocktail ring. I hope she kept my card and finds this post!

Note: This week I ask you all to make someone else feel good or help them out. Last week, Japan was hit with a tragic natural disaster. It is always the eye of tragedy that shows us that our fears are  microscopic and even foolish in relation to what some people have to go through. Life is short so don't waste one minute stuck inside your own head.

Not A Model says so.

Up Next: the Portobello Market

Not A Model Travel Diaries - Parisian Possibilities

I'm hesitant to admit that I don't melt into a blubbery blob over Paris.

I mean what kind of person does that make me? Paris is the kind of place that can conjure up breathlessly romantic and whimsical images or ideals even for people who have never paid a visit. It's the idea that everyone can fall in love in Paris, everyone is beautiful in Paris, everything is more perfect there etc..

The last time I was in Paris, was about two summers ago after my university graduation. My best friend and I got tragically lost and almost Taken (note: I shouldn't have watched that movie a week before my European departure). While lost, and late for the Moulin Rouge with no contact information to get back, and a few eager men trying to help, I kept waiting for Liam Neeson to turn the corner and save us with his ninja powers.

Anyways, that was then.

Nisha really wanted to visit Paris and I obliged because it's Paris and just like any old flame, you want to give it another go to see if you can make it work. You believe in the beauty, even if you weren't really in love the first time. So we hopped on the train and in about the same time that I could get to my university town in Canada, I was in France. 

And then it happened. My hesitation to swoon slowly softened. There were a number of factors that contributed to my fall:

There were the grand buildings with their iron balconies and lion head brass door handles. How about the bakeries that are consistently and gloriously stocked with fresh pain au chocolat croissants and buttery, crispy baguettes? We indulged in delicious Nutella crepes and cups of thick, steaming hot chocolate. We skipped lightly down the Champs-Elysees and said a prayer at the Notre Dame. The brightest coral roses I've ever seen, in abundance on every street corner entranced me. On the city train a man played his accordion and when the music filled the space, I felt like I was in an old movie.

You know like in those old black and white films where the woman dramatically punches and pounds on the man's chest resisting his declaration of love until she finally gives in? 

Yeah, kind of like that.

Up next: Paris Street Style & Fashion Week!

xo

Not A Model Travel Diaries - Notting Hill

I am obsessed with Notting Hill.

After a long flight (screaming baby, weird co-passenger) from Toronto to London, my journey left me lugging my overpacked suitcase, with a busted wheel at 4 a.m. (Canadian time) to meet my dear friend Nisha. By the time we arrived in Notting Hill where our hotel was located, I was feeling all the emotions of arriving in a new place. I was excited, sleepy, apprehensive and buzzing with energy of being halfway around the world on my own.

As I walked through the neighbourhood, I was overcome with the thought, "Hey, I wanna live here."

Perhaps it was the homes painted in the colours of Lucky Charms or the vintage boutique shops on every corner, but it grabbed my heart and didn't let go. Sure, the area is known to be quite pricey with its white stucco stately Victorian townhouses and famous outdoor market (more about that later) but it's also welcoming and cozy. It doesn't throw its money in your face but instead the glamour just casually hangs there, like a classy aunt who has millions of dollars but still wears the same old knitted sweater at every occasion.

The most I knew about N.Hill before visiting was the 1999 namesake movie starring Julia Roberts and Hugh Grant, where Roberts gives the worst speech in rom-com history. However, just like Grant fell for Roberts, I think I may stand in the street and recite the same speech, but instead changing it up a bit to:

"I'm just a girl standing in front of a house asking it to love her."

Julia Roberts: 0     Not A Model: 1

 

Sorry for the delay in posting, I've been jet lagged and trying to get back into my regular routine. Expect a new post from each of my favourite stops.

Next entry: Let's Be Tourists & Paris Rendezvous

xo