Open Letter to Generation-come-at-me-bro

Disclosure: Jersey Shore fans, I apologise for any deliberate mocking of the show and its characters. 

Dear Generation-come-at-me-bro, 

We need to have a chat. Yes, I’m talking to you, my dear.

Put that glass of scotch down and take a seat. Your ‘angry young man’ trait needs to be analysed, discussed and perhaps even disdained.

Is the glass down? Promise me, you won’t get fired up and punch a hole in the wall.

For those who are raising their eyebrows at this post, let me tell you a little secret. If you thought the Generation-X and Generation-Y war was too much to handle and pointless, to an extent, I have some bad news for you. There’s a wildcard entry of this new breed called Generation-come-at-me-bro, and it’s taken the aforementioned war to a whole new level of ridiculousness. Good news is that it entails everyone who’s already part of Gen-X and Gen-Y, but by the means of this new tag, they’ve found a new voice. A new identity. A new spot in the nightclub where all the brawls happen.

Okay, back to you, Gen-come-at-me-bro.

I asked you to… keep.that.scotch.down.

Firstly, don’t you dare camouflage the birth of this infamous catchphrase; we are all aware of the gutter it has risen from. Which begs me to question – how dare you watch Jersey Shore? Rather, how can you watch Jersey Shore?

You’re not part of the Kardashian clan, neither are you a pathetic Hollywood reporter. So what exactly is your reason for watching solarium-pooped boys and girls on TV? Now that we’ve mentioned fake tan, in all honesty, everyone on that reality show looks as if the Sun decided to fart and then throw up on their faces.

Back in 2010, an uneducated idiot used the phrase in front of cameras (video evidence below), and now a year later, the phrase has become an anthem for all ‘angry young men’ around town. You’re so confident with the ‘come-at-me-bro‘ act in public, that it almost seems like you’ve rehearsed in front of the mirror at home.

Oh God! Please say you didn’t?!

I’m imagining a badly postured man, wearing sunken-jeans, yelling with his arms stretched out, “come at me, bro”.

Oh, the horror!

Make it look natural, to say the least.

My dear, on paper you’re part of an exceptionally talented, self-motivated, tenacious and passionate generation. Why create this divide? Why so much self-deprecation and public loathe? Why do you feel the urge to yell out grammatically-atrocious words to strangers in public?

Why, for the love of Snooki, WHY?

This alcohol-induced behaviour is either pumping your drunken ego or is leaving a visible scar on your face. Post this swagger, your options are either to get slapped by your sober friends, or spend a cozy night in jail.

Your call, buddy.

If anything, I know for a fact that you’re not bad people. I’ve met a lot of members from your tribe. In fact, you’re incredibly beautiful, hilarious, ingenious and zealous human beings. Your personalities are crackin’. I’m even impressed with the hidden intellectuals in a whole lot of you, but Jesus, this come-at-me-bro crap fails me.

It fails you.

THIS is how silly you look

With the power entrusted in me, I genuinely request you to:

a) STOP watching Jersey Shore. Just.Stop.

b) Break the authenticity of these horrendous four words and unsubscribe yourself from EVERY ‘come-at-me-bro’ page on ALL social media platforms – unfollow on Twitter, unlike on Facebook, remove from your circles on Google+, remove yourself from Google+, even.

c) Be an adult and turn the situation around. It’s easy – on your next drunken shenanigan, if a stranger yells out, “come-at-me-bro”, look at him in the eye. Give him a warm smile and blurt out a completely inappropriate sexual innuendo. C’mon, we all know how many sexual innuendos can come out of, ‘come-at-me-bro’. See what I did there?

Consider this a humble request from the ladies of Gen-Y, or a warning to maintain the dignity of your buddies swimming in your southern parts – terminate your membership from Generation-come-at-me-bro, and watch the Snookis and Ronnies of the world die in their fake-tanned misery.

Alright, you can finish that scotch now.

Feelin’ Myself

Last week, I touched myself. For reasons barring the obvious.

Don’t cringe or drop your jaw just yet. It was for a cause. For a concern. For my health.

Find out why I’m scandalising you with such personal information in my latest column over at MWSG.

And a special mention to every woman reading this post – click on the link above and read the post. You’ll thank yourself for it. 

Cosmopolitan mag: Part-Time Wife

I have an article published in latest issue of Cosmopolitan Australia. After sleeping with the magazine under my pillow for a week, I’ve managed to acquire a PDF copy of the article for your pretty face. Oh, you’re welcome.

It’s a relationship piece that looks at a trend of married women who party without their wedding rings. This one was rather fascinating to research and write, especially since I’m unmarried (duh!). It’s amazing to learn what really happens in a marriage… whether call it a seven-year itch or an innocent flirt.

Click on the image below and it’ll take you to the PDF.

Also, I’d love to hear your thoughts on the article/trend.

Do you think married women are allowed to depart from their wedding rings? Do you do it or would you ever?

I do want to know what you think.

Until then, enjoy my loves.

An Ode to Breakfast at Tiffany’s

50 years since the cinematic brilliance sparked the silver screen, it only seems logical to pay a tribute to the movie that affected me in ways more than one.

My love for pearls escalated. I fell shamelessly in love with Audrey Hepburn’s elegance and charm. My bedside table became home to gazillion sleep eye covers.

On an impersonal level, I penned a piece on how Breakfast at Tiffany’s and Holly Golightly influenced women around the world.

Click here to read the entire post on Fashionising.com

 

 

 

Pass the spinach, baby!

Before you roll your eyes at this post, I have a few confessions to make.

1. I love fitness.
2. Healthy food is delicious, a million times better than any fried crap.
3. My pantry has more super food than real food (don’t even ask me what that means).
4. I spend way too much time in a grocery store because I read the labels.
5. I haven’t spent a cent at McDonald’s/Hungry Jacks/Oporto in almost eight years.

There I said it. While some may choose to judge me on my alleged pretentiousness (have been accused of this before), others can smile at my brand new column on The Modern Woman’s Survival Guide.

Hurrah!

It’s called ‘The Leafy Corner’ – a place where food gossip starts.

Head over to this page to read what the buzz is about.

Every month, I uncover a new way to love and appreciate my mind, body and soul.

Join me on this journey, let’s do this. Got your trainers handy?

Tumbling down Tumblr

Warning: Shameless Plug… continue to read and I’ll bake you a cookie.

Okay, so it took me about a 150 years to jump on the bandwagon, but hey, at least I did it.

I am on Tumblr now. Mainly because I find way too many funny animal videos, stunning photos and resonating quotes while I’m working. It’ll only be selfish to keep them to myself, or spam my Facebook friends with it.

Here’s why I’ll be sharing the visual goodness with you, twice a day, via my new Tumblr. And you’ll find that HERE.

Follow me if you like, but be sure to keep checking in.

You might find some inspiration there, or maybe a reason to giggle. I love to make people giggle… so let’s join hands and giggle together.

This is what it looks like....

See you there…

Kiss Me, Colour Me

First Published on Fashionising.com

Call it an injection of happiness in the wardrobe or just a blow of optimism in the retail conundrum, but bold colours are certainly the talk of the town. No matter which part of world you’re in, it’s almost impossible to miss the splashes of high-voltage colours on the streets, on mannequins, in runway collections… basically everywhere.

Just as nothing is off limits in the clothing department, the beauty shelves are also getting their share of appreciation for embracing the colour trend. The traditional summer beauty of sun-kissed skin with neutral shades has had a makeover, and has dived into a rainbow.

From the entire range, the most infallible make-up item for spring 2011 is a bright lipstick. Be it joyous sunshine or overcast skies, a tinted lip is an instant mood uplifter, for yourself and onlookers.

So ladies, pucker up. The awash of vivid colours is about to raid your lips and it’s time to celebrate the cheer with Fashionising.com. Even if you’re about to board a winter wonderland flight, then we urge you to reading our full guide – the colours will only make the snowfall outside a pallid blur.

Follow the link to read about preparation tips, how-to steps, product suggestions and HOT lip hues for 2011.

Click HERE to read the entire feature.

Image Credit: Kelly Defina for Fashionising.com

Single and the City

Warning: This is not a pity post. Neither is it a smart-arse piece inspired by ‘Sex and the City’. Don’t trust me, well read away then.

If we’re friends, you’d know that I am a serious coffeeholic (I’m getting treated for it, don’t worry). If you’re casually visiting my blog baby (shame on you for not being regular), then you need to know three things about me – I wear really bright shoes, I laugh a lot and drink way too much coffee. When the three collide, it’s rather amusing. You might even pay to be around me on those special days. Grab a seat and watch me do the buzzing dance, why don’t you?

But getting back to important things, a few months ago, an international publication published an opinion piece written by me about coffee and baristas. Haven’t read it yet? It’s okay, everyone makes silly life decisions - click HERE to read the piece. You’ll smile, I promise.

When the article went live on CNNGo.com, I was sitting in a cafe (obviously). I had my frozen fingers wrapped around my bowl of cappuccino, I opened the webpage and my reaction to the “edited” piece was a BIG, loud laugh.

I laughed. I got teary. I laughed again in ridicule. I swelled up in disgust.

This reaction was not a follow-up to my article, but to the chosen sub-heading and title of the article. On an universal level (CNNGo is read is in over 10 countries), I was given the title of a “lonely girl”. It didn’t just limit itself to the webpage, but spread across social media too. Tweets, Facebook status updates – it was everywhere with my name attached to it.

Journalistically, I was very happy with my article but I didn’t know what was a socially acceptable reaction to the heading – laugh or cry? That’s all I could see – it was staring at me. I thought it was pretty funny that my editor thought I was ‘lonely’ for considering being friends with the man who makes my coffee. But does that make me a loner? Too many questions and too much contemplation.

I moved to Sydney only a few months ago and even though I wouldn’t tag myself as ‘lonely’, I do spend my weekends drinking wine and watching ‘Under the Tuscan Sun’ on repeat.
This is also because there isn’t a guy in the horizon. There – I said it.
But that gives me the ‘single’ and ‘making new friends’ status – not lonely. Which is why, I decided to shortlist things I’ve learnt in the past six months of moving to a new city while enjoying singleton. Surely not everyone in the city is hooked.
This IS Sydney, after all. Stereotype says men get bored of their ladies really quick and the ladies are too career-driven to commit to a man.

So here are 11 things I’ve learnt, cherished and embraced as a single girl in this spanking city.

1. Having a bathroom and toilet to yourself is the most rewarding aspect of living. Seat always remains down and you’re the Queen of the toilet.
2. Untoasted muesli + Chia seeds + flaxseed oil + almonds = you never have to cook again. It can be eaten for breakfast, lunch, dinner, midnight snack, hangover hog, a drunken meal or even when you’re dying.
3. The process of removing bed sheets for a wash and then putting them back on is a hardcore cardio activity. Guaranteed 500+ calories burn.
4. Your gym trainer knows your sleeping pattern but doesn’t know your name.
5. A ferry ride becomes the perfect getaway on a lazy Saturday afternoon. And eavesdropping tourists’ conversation has never been more entertaining.
6. You start buying flowers for yourself and eventually get them for free because the florist knows the reason. He also might be a creepy Italian, but that’s not the point.
7. Dreaming about a fluffy puppy and a hot man on the same night is never sinful. Never ever.
8. You start mastering the art of ‘Table for One’. You have more confidence, exuberance and get more respect from waiters.
9. Finishing an entire bottle of Shiraz on a Friday night is as easy as putting on underwear.
10. The fortnightly waxing ritual now becomes a monthly session. Sometimes even after six weeks. But shhh, don’t tell the ‘downstairs’ fairy or even Santa, for that matter.
11. You exercise your creative mind by complaining about your hypothetical boyfriend’s infidelity dramas to strangers on the train. They take you seriously and abuse your boyfriend. You take them seriously and start crying. Fun… all fun!

You tell me – can you relate with any of these? Is your pantry full of wine and cheese? How do you celebrate being ‘single’?

Attention! Attention!

You’re on a train; fidgeting with your scarf, fixing your hair, readjusting your handbag. You look up and a gorgeous, handsome man is staring at you. What do you do?

You look away and still feel his eyes peeled on you (or your inability to multitask).
You freak out, get a little uncomfortable with the gaze.
You secretly smile at the idea of being looked at. You think that someone is (visually) appreciating the effort you put into getting dressed this morning.

He might just be the biggest jerk born on planet Earth, but in your head, you’re getting the attention which isn’t just self-assuring, but it’s nice. It’s different and nothing else really matters. There’s something about male gaze that speaks for itself. It makes you feel sexy, confident and special. And especially when you get it from someone other than your boyfriend/husband. While some women crave it, others modestly embrace it. And then there are those who go all out to get the attention using their boobs, curly hair, red lips – whatever works really.

I see it as a confidence booster. A medium to make you feel more attractive. Or let’s go extreme here, a reason to live and dress up. However, in some ways, the gaze is also classified as objectifying the body and seeing it as a ‘thing’. When someone stares at you, it makes you feel vulnerable and not particularly in a good way.

It makes me wonder, what is it about male attention that makes the heart flip? It makes you want to step out of your apartment with the widest smile.
And what about it do you resent? Has it ever made you cover yourself up?
If you’re a man and a beautiful girl gives you ‘the look’, how does that affect you?

Tell me what do you do when you get a ‘look’ from a man/woman…

House For One

I’ve played the game of going to a fancy restaurant and asking for a ‘table for one’. I still remember getting strange and sympathy-laden look from staff. Imagine announcing to the world how miserably lonely you are. You actually aren’t, but that’s what the rest of the ‘hooked-in-a-committed-relationship’ world thinks. That’s what it felt like. As my social life continued to be the subject of judgement, I saw a sudden burst of confidence and power in me. The power to be my own person. And to find that person.

This ‘table for one’ deal got me flirting with the idea of living alone. It didn’t seem all that bad. Having an apartment to myself and nobody else, seemed fascinating and tempting. No longer would I have to worry about who ate my cereal or who had to do the washing first. I could walk around in my towel all day and even practice naked yoga in the living room (i’ve heard it’s got its own unique benefits).

In the last ten years or so women have increasingly cherished the idea of living alone, not because they are single, divorced, widowed, or crazy, but because they want to. Television shows and movies are to be blamed as well. Carrie Bradshaw made it look stylish and Phoebe Buffay made it look playful. The girls didn’t have a man to cook for and definitely didn’t need any help in fixing false fire alarms. They glamourised the vision of living alone. The idea of ‘Friday nights in’ was no longer for weirdos, but considered as a legitimate option. A bottle of wine, Thai takeout and a sloppy rom-com sealed the deal. It still manages to calm plenty of women out there. Believe you me!

Movies like Bridget Jones’s Diary have convinced the society that single women who live alone are depressed. Period. They make them believe that single women have no life and they watch Saturday night television in their granny panties.

But this got me wondering, why are single women compelled to associate themselves with a man to be entitled for a ‘happily ever after’ ending? Why aren’t single women with successful careers tagged as ‘settled’ or ‘happy’? What did Jerry Maguire mean when he blurted out the infamous line, “you complete me”?

Today, being in a relationship is almost as important as getting a university degree. The idea of being with a significant other or a soulmate is almost a life requirement now. It’s a compulsion because those are societies’ expectations. Yes, women can have a career and rule the corporate world in the most jazzy shoes, but if they’re enjoying an expensive glass of wine all by themselves, they are instantly flagged with the sympathy card. Or even a judgemental one.

This scared me when I got the opportunity to live alone for 10 days.

Last week, my housemates were away so I had the house to myself. My 18-year old self would have thrown a party every night, drank goon from the sack and possibly wrecked the house. But four years later, the 22-year old in me just wanted another being in the house. I wanted to hear a voice in the vicinity bar my loud typing. It was a weird, hollow feeling in my chest that just wouldn’t go away. I felt alone. Really alone. Perhaps, living the life of a ‘freelance journalist’ didn’t help either. I didn’t get out bed till 2pm, endured painful bum cramps (from sitting on my bum all day – duh!) and only left the house to buy milk and newspaper.

That was the moment when I thought, maybe the living alone thing isn’t for me? Maybe I’m not ready to take life by its horns and go crazy with my single life. Even though I dared myself to stay away from cringeworthy rom-coms and greasy take-outs, my inner voice kept telling me something. It said, “this is a very risky road. Don’t go there”.

But there’s something in me that still wants to take the plunge. Dive into the carefree world and not worry about how many ‘committed’ couples surround me. I moved countries, then moved states… perhaps now it’s time to make the next crazy decision and rent an apartment. Just for me.

A house for one!

Perhaps.