The Alice

I am hungover. In the last 48 hours I have had a pounding headache, felt like something has died in my mouth and have thrown up more times than I care to remember (muslin cloths work for grown-up ills, too).

Our friends got married on Saturday afternoon and had the most fantastic wedding. They wed in a small ceremony at the town hall then a party followed at a private member’s club. As they’re both rockers there was a skull and crossbones theme and, crucially for my heaving head, an all-day free bar. Dangerous. The bride fantastically wore black Jenny Packham and some of my very favourite friends were in attendance.

Previously to this, the last night out I had was Halloween 2009. I was a two-week pregnant spooky Amy Winehouse and I celebrated with a big group of friends in a Shoreditch bar (sidenote: I’m not sure why, but dressing up seems to cease being fun at around 15, but as soon as you hit your mid 20’s it becomes fun again… weird). I hired a beehive wig, bought a Winehouse tattoo set online and even wore ballet shoes… read the rest of this post at my mumplusone blog.

My journey to work in the morning isn’t very exciting. My train goes directly into Moorgate (I get off for my office at Old Street) and carts hundreds of Lawyers, Accountants and Bankers in to their day jobs. What strikes me every morning is how miserable they all look. Black suits, black faces. I just want to shake them and tell them to CHEER UP!

I wonder what they think of me; I like to dress to express myself and would consider myself pretty feminine. I like dresses, colours, heels. I like trends, fashion magazines and style blogs. What I wear can make (or break) my confidence as it’s such an integral part of who I am – working for a magazine myself means we are all fairly style-concious and there is an non-spoken but implied work dress code (I can’t describe it, but if I had to I would probably just say ‘trendy’. It’s weird).

I notice people that stand out on the train in their appearance – as I imagine I do against the sea of corporate black and grey. Yesterday there was a woman opposite me, I would guess in her 40s, with a big bouffant hairdo and a full-length sequin trenchcoat. My first reaction was to pick my jaw up off the floor, but then I got to thinking about personal style, and how it reflects who we are and makes an impression on others. This woman had tight shiny leggings on that I initially thought were perhaps not quite right for a woman of her age, and her sequinned coat was definitely ‘out there’ – but then I realised that I am no-one to judge.

The woman looked confident. She looked happy. And isn’t that the most important thing? I’ve already said how what I wear really reflects my attitude and state of mind – as I’m sure is the case with millions of other women out there. If I think I look good, I feel a million dollars, and this woman looked like she felt a million dollars. In that instant of realisation my mindset switched from disliking what the woman was wearing – judging her, even – to having a massive respect for her.

Coincidentally, one of my favourite fashion bloggers Mademoiselle Robot wrote a post yesterday (“What is age appropriate?”) after receiving some comments about the way she dresses in relation to her age, and I was pleased to see the consensus is: as long as you’re happy, fuck em. I’ve been having some struggles with this lately as I want to keep my own style during pregnancy and into motherhood, but I don’t want people to look at me and my style differently now I’m pregnant. I like my miniskirts, I like my tight clothes; as long as I can hang on to my size 10 labels why can’t I wear them? Pleasingly Laetitia agrees. As a mum of a 2 year old herself she wore her miniskirts right to the bitter end, and as I said to her, by then I will be used to people looking at my crotch.

(Nothing like a bit of crotch smut on a Monday Morning, huh?)

Fashion week is coming up, and although I won’t be at as many shows as I can fit into one day this time – it’s amazing the stamina a champagne and cupcake breakfast can give you – I have some meetings to attend and will sneak along to the press area for the free Toni & Guy haircut and MAC goody bag. And you know what I will be wearing? My heels, miniskirt and million dollar confidence.

(Top photo snapped by me at last season’s Fashion Week. Man in skirt, heels and beard? Why not. Bottom photo is me and 2 crazy Canadian models/dancers at a party from the same Fashion Week.)

One thing I have struggled hard with over the last week is the fear of losing my identity. I have always wanted to be a mum, and a young one at that, so the concept is not unexpected nor new to me. But how do I become ‘mum’ and still remain ‘Alice’?

I do a lot of fun things that I often take for granted. I work for an amazing magazine, a job that has introduced me to many things I otherwise wouldn’t have been aware of. I haven’t paid to see live music (including festivals) for the last 7 years because of Will’s job. I enjoy eating out regularly at michelin-starred restaurants and drink in private members clubs. I get to spend my weekends in bed if I want, or at London markets eating cheese and drinking cider with my friends. I know I won’t be able to do all these things when the baby comes, so does that mean I will be less ‘me’?

The ‘mummy blogger’ scene is a strange one; in my job I have worked with fashion, music and even food bloggers, but not the mums. I have read many of them over the last couple of days as I find their material compelling, and how wonderful it must be to have somewhere to record and feedback on the ins and outs of parenting.

But, dare I say it, some of them seem a little dry. For years I have enjoyed blogs such as Dooce, Everyday Stranger, DasBecca, Mademoiselle Robot, Girls Gone Child and LLG because they not only talk about their main subject matter but diversify into others – interiors, fashions, mental health, photography, food, wine… I find myself hooked on these people’s lives, feeling their agonies and triumphs as much as I do my friends’. These blogs aside, I can’t help but feel some ‘Mummy Bloggers’ have left their previous lives and successes behind to simply become mothers. I look forward to being the best mum I can possibly be, but I know to do that I need to keep aspects of my current life, too.

Saying that, I came across one blog today that I had to sit and read through in its entirety. Metropolitan Mum is brilliant – a London mum recording life with her husband and six month old baby. She makes it so easy to relate, perhaps it helps that we live in the same neighborhood and she too conceived quickly after being told she was challenged fertility-wise. Whatever the reason, I will enjoy being along for the ride, safe in the knowledge that Met Mum not only loves talking about being a mum, she also goes to Brora sample sales and enjoys spending Saturdays in Liberty’s. Sounds like my kind of woman.