The way you looked at me in those tight Grease like jeans.

Creative thought piece plus lookbook feature black Jamie jeans from Topshop

Before I get to my Story lookbook I thought I say “hi it’s been awhile” since my last blog post which can read here. It’s been three weeks and all I have been doing is working and it was stressful so I stepped away from blogging.  I even deleted my Instagram for a few days and reloaded it just in time for one of my all time fav moments in blogging. I’ll keep that to myself 🖤 Every day I worked I felt overwhelmed, stresses and exhausted.  I also still felt the same with blogging as I last shared.  As I slowly returned to my blogging routine with a styling post to my Facebook page, that not going well and seeing my following numbers going down the fucks kind of went out the window (it took a bit). I like being creative wether its creating visual context, working on my Ipad, taking pictures, writing, putting words and pictures together, etc. That is something I like to do and its nice to have a place to put all the stuff I created rather then it to sit on my computer like nothing. I need a place to put my creative abilities to work while I’m figuring out life at 25!  So I’m coming back to blogging with a story lookbook, its nice to have a place to share it. 

Story lookbook  TopShop Jamie Jeans.jpg

The boy bit his bottom lip, saying damn to her in those black jeans, skin tight. Giving her that look. The way a girl wanted to be look at. Kind makes you nervous, a little terrified but a whole lot of happy. A look to her like she was worth something to him. The one that reminded him how lucky he was to have her. The look he gave her in those jeans was all for her. She new he wouldn’t be able to resist.

Story lookbook a city girl story jamie jeans topshopNo one would. She put them on like a superhero cape, like Marilyn Moore put on lipstick, embracing herself. The confidence. Everything about her felt good in those jeans. She walk and see other boys giving her a look but it was never the right one. She roll her eyes because they gave her that look like she needed it. But she didn’t need it, she already had it. Somewhere out there were  hazel eyes that looked at her in those tight Grease like jeans.

That looked let her know that no matter what there was a boy out there who wanted her,broken or together she had it. Reminding her what who she was. Because the truth was she new what she could do in those jeans and thats all she needed.

More of the pictures from this photoshoot over on the FB page go a head and like the page while your at it!

If you liked this post like it! After 30 days of working, getting back feeling better-I felt better after my friend remind me again to do what I love, post what I want when I want, but also for strangers giving me that look I fear of ‘so this is what your doing with your life.’ kind of look. Which gave me a great idea for next post! To be countined. 


They only care when you’re doing something wrong // but she was doing it all right ||  

Try putting everything I’ve seen, I’ve felt myself , what others have told me in this. 

They have something to say about how you dress, the colour of your hair. The tattoo on your body, that nose ring in your nose. Fact you speak up but your only really doing it for the likes. Or they call you a bitch for being honest. They leave you comments saying you’re too thick because you aren’t a size two.  Like what they say about you means something, it defines who you are–but that is bullshit.

Here she is being herself and they think what they have a say. That they can just belittle, bully her down, say mean things for what?! For their own stratification, because they don’t like what they see in the reflection. Because it doesn’t agree with them and their own style. Because all she is doing is being herself, but they don’t like it. They will only care when she is doing something wrong. But here’s the thing, she is doing everything right.

IT would be so easy to be like everyone else, to do what everyone else is doing, to conform, to stay silent, to follow the rules of the road, but that is no fun. And worst of all to fear backlash, comments, dislike, or opinions by strangers or people she knows only hurting herself. To lower herself, to be what they want to be is the worst.


Care  but don’t care about peoples opinions. 

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Also today is #internationalgirlsday the blog post is on FB page. 

A Night Out.

A story inspired by my own castle ❤


A Night Out

By: Kole.


The night sky seemed clear but it was pissing rain. The street lights reflected on the ground as the ‘don’t’ walk blinked red on the zebra crossing. The girls sprinted across the street, covering themselves with their jackets so their hair that took ages to get right and the tan that took effort to put on wouldn’t be ruined.

Eleanor and Neve just laughed as they made it to the other side, barely.

It was a Saturday night and Washington street was brighter than ever. It could have been mistaken for New York, if you didn’t know any better, for the girls were just in Cork, Ireland. To Eleanor it was her city of lights. Eleanor was young, about 22 years old, she was raised in England but recently moved to Ireland. She left her family, that was splitting into two, for Dublin, but she hated it there. She was a forgotten girl in such a big city, which just wasn’t Eleanor. So, she headed to Cork, where she met Neve.

The girls headed over to Reardens, no better place to be on a night out.  You could hear the music playing and the people from the street. To Eleanor Reardens was her castle and she was the queen. It was the place she and Neve met; they had a mutual friend and hit they it off right away, which was new to Eleanor; she wasn’t use to having a lot of girl friends or friends for that matter. Eleanor was pretty, but she quickly learned the cost of beauty. She started modeling at the age of 12. With the uniqueness of her bright blue eyes and deep red hair she got a lot of attention. But, she had never wanted that attention.   

“ID’s” the bouncer said.

Neve dug for her’s while Eleanor swiftly handed her ID to him. The man looked at the ID then at her, eyeing her up and down; not in a creepy way but in a confused way. A girl like Eleanor should be sweet talking her way in, she didn’t need an ID.

“There you go,” he said nodding them in.

Eleanor reached out for Neve’s hand as she was known to get a little lost sometime. Eleanor walked past everyone like she was squishing a bug, eyes glared at her, looking her up and down. Eleanor took no notice; she was used to eyes looking at her that way. It was her job that made her this way.

“What you want to drink?” Neve asked, yelling over the music.

“I’ll get it,” Eleanor said, pushing her way to the bar for the people had their drinks and needed to move, “Four Vodkas.”

“Four?!” Neve questioned, “who else is drinking?”

“We are going to double fist them so we don’t have to come up here again!”

“Good idea.” Neve said, pulling out her phone.

Neve was real, she was down for anything. She wasn’t afraid to do things, she had no worries. Her fucks were at the door.

Eleanor got the drinks, handed two to Neve, and  her eyes wandered around the bar. That’s where she saw him passing her. Black jacket, brown hair boy with a look about him that showed he was trying to be tough; yet, he wasn’t tough at all. “Him,” Eleanor said to Neve.

“Him?” she question.

He walked right by taking no notice of them, which was fine with Eleanor; she liked a challenge.

“Yes him, let’s have some fun.” Eleanor said. Eleanor had confidence; it’s something she always had, even before modeling.

Eleanor grew up with her father always taking pictures of her and her siblings, he was a photographer, one of the best in the business. He did everything from print, to high fashion, to travel. He met the queen once to give her a picture he took while on a shoot on a Safari in South Africa.  And after doing so many low key shoots at age 15 she got her first real break in Cosmo. She walked in and they destroyed her; telling her she wasn’t thin enough, her hair was all wrong, her face was uneven, and the criticized the way she stood. And what did she do, she looked right at them and said; “There is nothing I can’t do.” and walked away. That walk got her that job. After that no one seemed to find anything wrong.

Eleanor was a wanted girl by everyone that by 20 years old she was lost in a world she never wanted to be in. Her mother was the big push behind everything she did. And soon that was what broke her family. However, before it broke Eleanor loved modeling. She loved the clothes, the places she got to go, the people she met and worked with, she loved the opportunity she got. But it wasn’t all glamorous. She, unfortunately, got caught up in it, just like her mother had.

 No one knew she left London. Her mom thought she was working somewhere in Germany or the Netherlands. Her father wasn’t even in London; he left to his family village with her siblings after she told him about her mother. He was upset with Eleanor for telling him.


The girls walked over to a free spot near a mirror; they stood there for a while talking  until they heard the song and the girls looked wide eyed at each other and with no words they headed straight to the dance floor, placing their now empty drinks on the table, as they moved their way through.

Eleanor turned her head, the rebel without a cause boy was right behind her. He was with a group of lads; he wasn’t out for the shift or a score, which intriqued Eleanor. Eleanor turned around grabbing Neve from behind, pulled herself through the lads saying, “Sorry boys,” looking at the boy. He had dark mixed coloured eyes. He moved to the side, staring at her. She smirked back, moving Neve and her right next to the lads to dance and waited; it was his turn.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Eleanor,” she said smiling, putting out her hand to shake his, still dancing with Neve who was not paying any attention, she had a boyfriend.

“I’m Ronon,” he said.

“Hi,” she smiled. The boy looked down and then right at her, he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t seem awkward at all, he seemed confident, sure of himself, but there he was not looking Eleanor in the eye. “Are you out for the night Ronon?” Eleanor asked.

“Yeah, nothing special just the lads out.”  He took her hand and pulled her away from the dance floor to sit on the back seats of the dance floor. When Eleanor saw something she liked she went for it. And the boy couldn’t say no. She looked back to see if Neve was alright she put her thumb up. She was dancin’ away with those lads now.


People would always tell Eleanor how lucky she was; they’d tell her she was so pretty over and over again. It felt like a blessing at the same time a curse. While growing up her family was pretty close. She and her siblings never wanted to leave the house without each other. They went on family road trips to the countryside after they moved to London. Weekend trips away as a family were the best part. Laughing and smiling, her parents looking at each other like lovers do in movies. Having her family, her parents, that love made all the hardships of her life worth it. However, things began to break. First it was her relationship with her siblings, because she hardly ever saw them. She didn’t go to school with them, she had no clue what was going on in their lives–she couldn’t bother either if they asked. For Eleanor had her pictures on billboards across the world. Then the weekend get aways stopped, her father even talked about selling the house in the countryside. And then her parent’s relationship began to ruffle. Her father would kiss her mother on the cheek while she didn’t even look at him. And Eleanor didn’t even notice because, like her mother, she was lost in her own world to see what really was happening.


Ronon sat down on the coaches on the side of the dance floor, holding Eleanor’s fingers.

“I don’t dance,” he said pulling Eleanor in between his legs.

“That’s a shame,” she said, smirking at him. He, of course, didn’t look like a guy that did dance; he had two left feet Eleanor guessed. That was fine with Eleanor because she would rather dance on her own.   And she did. She just danced with Neve and his friends as he watched.

One night, four years into her modeling career, she was out at a dinner party, celebrating her probably biggest break ever, walking in both London and Paris fashion shows.  Eleanor was sitting at a table next to a boy, they’ve been flirting a lot, sending text messages back and forth. It all was harmless fun, but they never got to actually be in the same room with each other until now. His hand was on her bare leg moving up and down getting closer and closer under her dress each time.

He leaned in whispering some sweet words into her ears, kissing her neck. Eleanor laughed looking over to her mom. Her mother was getting felt up by her manager across the table. Her ring still on her finger, right in front of everyone Eleanor called friends, people she worked with. She thought about her father, and the look her parents once had for each other. She thought about when she was younger and how happy she had been. She thought about the words people used to describe her. Then her thoughts went to the guy, who wasn’t even her boyfriend, as he slipped his hand up her dress. Eleanor pulled away from the guy; he looked confused, as she got up.

“Where you going, babe?” he asked. She looked down at the boy with his perfect jawline and silver blue eyes and knew, she was nothing to him. He desired her; he did not want her.  

She said, “Don’t call me babe.” And the next morning she was on a flight to Dublin.


“I have to go to the bathroom,” Eleanor said to Neve grabbing her hand, pushing herself through people to the bathroom.

“This guy is 50 shades Greg,” Eleanor said closing the stole door behind her

“Greg? You mean Grey?” Neve said.

“Yeah that, did you see him?”

“Yeah, and when you pulled me away he turned to the girl next to him.” Eleanor rolled her eyes, “He’s drunk Ele, and so are you. Are you expecting to find your prince charming here?”

“Nooo,” she said thinking back to her model, not boy friend. “But he is cute and I don’t know, there’s something.”

“That he’s cute!”

“Yes and I kind of just want him, like not only for the night. And if that’s what he wants well, he can have it with someone else.”

They both laughed.


Eleanor walked out of the bathroom and sure enough Ronon was talking to the girl next to him. But, as she walked over to the group of lads Neve was talking to she felt someone hit her legs. She turned her head slightly; it was Ronon trying to get her attention. “Yes?” she asked him.

“Where were you?” he asked.

“The bathroom.”

“Sit,” he said, drunk. He couldn’t keep his squinting drunk eyes off her.

“What you want Ronon, you’re friend is getting jealous.”

“What friend?”

“The girl,” she said leaning over the girl, “is he your friend?” she asked.

The girl didn’t say anything. Eleanor felt like a bitch, but the drunk mind was taking her own.

“She’s not my friend.” he said.

“You can’t just pull me in after talking to her like that’s not nice.”

“I want you,” he said.

“Oh really?” How?” she asked.

“You’re interesting girl Eleanor,” he said.

“You haven’t even heard my story.”

He didn’t say anything he just pulled at her and kissed her. She kissed him back, even though his hand slide up and down her leg, even though they were drunk and he was just talking to another girl. Eleanor didn’t care he wanted her for not because she was some thing on a billboard, or labeled as this beautiful thing. He wanted her for he was  interested in her.

All night they were chatting and shifting in the corner. It wasn’t love; it was far from it, but it was the first time in a long time Eleanor was finally happy and she finally felt like she was wanted for herself.

“This is nice, you should hold onto this,” referring to her necklace. It was a little leaf feather gold chain she had gotten at TopShop one day.

“WHAT?” she said, not understanding what he was on about.

“I…I like this, it’s cool.”

“Yeah, I like feathers,” she said.

“You should hold on to this it could be–”

“You’re not good at this are you?” she interrupted him.

He rolled his head back knowing that she called him out on it, but instead of answering he kissed her and it was a good kiss at that. She wanted to keep kissing him and he wanted to keep kissing her.

“You’re interesting, Eleanor,” he said pulling away.

“Am I so?” she asked right back, looking into his ocean blue eyes.

There was a smile on Eleanor’s face. It was getting later in the night and Eleanor wasn’t going to let herself fall, not this way. She pulled Ronan away and looked down at her phone it was ten minutes to midnight. “Do you have somewhere to be?”

“Yeah,” she said looking at him.

“Okay fine,” he said, looking somewhere else as he digged in his pocket, “before you run off, give me your number okay?”

She typed in the numbers and handed it back, kissing him one last time before letting herself go. Because at the end of the night she was going to be the girl that was going to leave, and if they wanted her they would have to come find her.  

“See you girls,” the bouncer said as they left.

“Bye captain,” Eleanor said.

“Next time lads,” Neve said.

Eleanor walked besides Neve down Washington street, drunk, laughing about the night.  She looked down at her phone; there were five missed calls from her mother, one even from her father. There was a text, too. Her dad apologizing hoping she was alright. And one from her mother asking where she was and why she wasn’t at the shoot two weeks ago.

Eleanor sent a mass message back, “I left London. I’m not coming back. I’m finally me.”  She had finally found who she really was. She discovered what was real through Neve. And, here on Washington Street was her place, this was her night, this is where she belonged.

Thank you for reading x 

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For the girl who need the reminder of the importance of confidence in herself.

You are feeling discourage in yourself and wanting it all to stop but you don’t know how. So you spend the day in bed questioning everything instead of taking action because every time you take action you are reminded by so much.  You look in the mirror and you see it all; you see your flaws, you see what they might see, you can’t unseen it. And it gets to you. You began to feel unhappy but you’re not sad, your something else. You do not feel that confidence you once felt.

Happiness doesn’t come for things you have. You can go on a shopping spree and it can make you happy but only for a second.  Happiness is how you feel about yourself & if you don’t feel that than what happens? You’re good, you’re breathing it’s just that life has become a little  frustration. Things are getting to you and you began to go down and you get discourage.

You are feeling that fear of failure in yourself and start to see it more and more, that your losing the important parts of life.


You’re going to get a little lost, your going to question not only things but yourself, you’re going to get a lot of no’s, your going to get those looks and you just want to get there. You wish people stop talking and telling you things and start handing you the directions you need. You need those words to tell you exactly what you need to hear. So here they are. If we stop questioning ourselves, letting these things frustrating us and making us feel discourage (easier said then done) that we will soon be feeling like ourselves again, we will laugh spontaneous, we will look in the mirror and there you will be. 

hm top grunge pruple lip creative thought lookbookNot loving yourself won’t get you anywhere, it will be hard especially when you’re questioning yourself after a something that effects you so hard, you’re feeling out of place, your feeling the weight of the world, you see your future and your scared, you feel stuck.  And each time you come back to yourself and feeling like your not enough. You need to know you are worth it despite not meeting the demands of others, not having the enough experience. You’re will and confidence in yourself will shine through the heartbreak or hurt. And you will find yourself where you need to be.

Put that effort in yourself again. Where the discourage you felt will turn into confidence. You will feel worth of who you are when you look at yourself, when you walk in a room, you will know despite not looking or acting like everyone else you belong here. That person you’ve been missing will be in front of you again.

And you will soon find yourself without realising in the place you’ve been struggling to get to.




P.S I’m not going to tell you that it will all work out in the end, or when you get to the point you will have the closet full of shoes, maybe you will. Who knows!?

To my friends

National Friendship day & I thought I write to my friends.


To my friends I never thought I have, I am so lucky to have you.

I always new friends were what makes life great, but I seemed to never find the right ones. Until I met you. The moment we met, that one thing that bonded us together weather it was a night out, a scarf, me saying “hi” to you, a topic of conversation or fact we were roommates; it is was the start of our friendship. Those random moments were you let us sit down and we were friends by the end of the night. The friends that made me feel wanted like the time I was in my room and I got a message from you to come on over to watch Iron Man. To the girls I could talk to about anything, texting you none stop about the random things and the OMG moments. When I mention “the bus guy” you know which guy I am talking about. You know everything. The time I needed you the most, to just be distracted, to not talk about anything, to let me sit in silence, giving me a floor to sleep on when I was too drunk to go home. The spins around dancing and sining, welcoming me in your already formed group, creating life time of memories. Teaching me how to put on tan, doing my make up before I was going to have to talk to a boy. Me running to you after I talk to a boy. Giving me advise and vis versa.  To the road trips we had and the long talks in the car, you were the one that listen. And even if we weren’t that close of friends, we were still friends. Saying hi to me in passing, calling me Yank because that was our thing. If I was sitting by myself you wouldn’t ignore you would say hi. That despite the sexual tension or the history of who kissed who we were still could hang out, meet at the coffee shop, text every once in awhile, sit in my bedroom watching a movie chit chatting about our winter holidays. Commenting on pictures, have a little conversation that even though we only met once and weren’t definition of friendship we were friends. On a night out, you didn’t allow me to join, it just happen because we were friends and that’s what friends do. They see each other and end up having the bants and a great night out together. They tease each other, they have inside jokes.  The friends you never thought would happen, on Twitter, on social media, turns out you can be friends.  You are the ones can get on with, the ones were it is so easy to just be me around you with not hesitation, no worry, no problem. A friend you can hang out with, even the opposite sex. A friend whom might not even know it but means the world to you, because of that one night.

There is not explanation, even if I could, there are only those moments that explain it. Sitting in a beer garden with a couple of beers, chit chatting as you say “we be lucky to have you” to when all my friends I went out with went home and I felt find staying with you guys because we were friends and I never had that before, to the ones you can share a bathroom stall with. There are some bad times that is for sure but we don’t hold them agents each other, we ride them out, we talk them out, we get it because we know each other. We can get mad because we are human and we can’t always be nice. And that’s what makes a friendship. The tears down our faces shows what we really mean to each other. The distance never changed anything, the time apart never broke us, we were still wanting the best for each other, we were still there wandering about each other. We are still friends.

I never needed a group of friends, I only needed friends. And I have many, from high school lifers, to east coaster’s, to the house 44, to the village, to the boy down the road (it rhymed), to the lads who make me laugh, to the instant friends , to the guys, to my gang of friends, to pooh bear, to my college buds, to my “she doesn’t know but we are friends”, to my Food buddies, to my BFF, to my love. To the people I call friends–once your friend with me, we are friends for life.

Your Friend,13329358_10154052280143463_5138318605233107289_o





Flash Fiction: Loving a wild and complicated woman

If you don’t follow me on Facebook or instagram you might not know I’m working on a project and you should then follow me so then you will get to see all the happens of my so called life and this project that the other day I wanted to delete and never write again. Because of that feeling I’m sharing a flash fiction piece I wrote that will be in the book. I’m really trying to keep creative writing more on social media other then the blog and write more creative thoughtful pieces instead–which this can be both really. 

Loving a wild and complicated woman


We are wild and complicated women. We are the women who can not be easily defined for we have so many interests and passion in our eyes. We are everywhere but we can’t be seen. We are only recognizes by our walk into a room. Letting you know we are the women of nature who will not only cause chaos but calm the waves of the ocean. You can not reset us.

You’ll love us and it will be difficult. Because our minds are filled with thoughts and imagination. We’re never losing our sense of wonder.  We find home and love in the places and people we cross paths with.  But we lose ourselves in the details of the world; in the sounds of the ocean, on a crispy fall day when the leaves change, watching the snow fall onto the car window and in the moonlight.

We believe we do not belong in cages we have our wings on our backs that need to soar. We thrive and live by chaos and the unconventional ways. We want to feel safe with you but we don’t want you to hold our hands. We want to kiss you when and wherever we want but we don’t want you to hold us back. We want to go dancing on the dance floor and you to watch us from the side, wishing for us to love you back. We want you to want us and you will because we are the wild and complicated women you can not resist.   

Told that women like us are too much of everything, but you love us cause of that. We can’t be handled nor do we want to be. However, if you can handle us then you will have us, for the rest of your life. We want to love and affection, we want to support, we want respect. The world wants to define us but we define ourselves. We are wild and complicated women who have never been so vibrant in a world that badly wants structure and order. We are wild and complicated women who won’t be tamed. And you love us anyways.


Flash Fiction: Spinning Around

First Published in the Quarryman 2016, Volume 2

UntitledWe sit in the middle of the village, Ballyclare, a place so small everyone is related. We were in Fiona’s car, she in the driver’s seat talking about the day’s gossip. Julia in the front seat with her head out the window smoking a fag because if she got any smoke in the car Fiona will kill her; but I felt still getting into my lungs.

I’m in the back seat twiddling my thumbs, thinking how I could go home and read my brother’s paper. I also need  a shower. And by the time one of us decide to head home it would be ten o’clock, too late to take a shower, which meant I have to wake up early.

“What is the plan girls?” Fiona ask.

“Why don’t we go to the chipper and get some shakes?” I suggest.

“No, I have no money,” Julia said puffing away.

There really is no winning, it is always the same thing. We sit in the middle of town doing what we’ve been doing and and then when we grew sick of sitting, we do a quick spin around the loop.

My life had not always been like this. I went to college, I had a boyfriend from Germany, who before leaving to go back home wanted me to go with him to Germany for the summer. I had been nearly at the airport when my brother rang me about our mother once again. We still talk, after all these years apart, he still tempts me with a ticket. And I always say no.

Now, I wait tables every day. I come home to a mother who spends her days in bed, not sleeping, but gazing at the window, wishing for him to walk in the door. Plus, my younger brother couldn’t handle he needed someone there. I’ve been doing in for last two years.

Fiona stop the car by the pier, turning on the brights so we could see the waves; there were none.

“Let’s go skinny dipping?” I jokingly suggested.

“Too cold like,” Fiona said.

Julia lit up another one.

The girls did not know about my German boyfriend. No one knew. I always thought about telling them but I knew what they say: What about my brother? What about my mum? She isn’t getting any better.

Everyone who leaves always comes back. I came back because my brother needed me. B he’s seventeen. He’s not the little fourteen year-old who need’s his sister. He was going to leave. He’s always saying” “Once I turn eighteen. I’ll be gone.”

 That was 4 months away and then I have no priorities left. I pull out my phone and risk a text.  I know I’ll miss them, my girls, our spins around the village.

Fiona drop me off at my house. I saw my brother’s finish paper on the table. He did not need me to read it, but I took it anyway for one last look through. As I got into my bed  ready to read my brother’s paper, my phone went off. I looked at it;I got you a ticket.