Category Archives: Celebrity Spotting

Jessie Ware

So I went to see Jessie Ware in The Sugar Club in Dublin last Monday and I’m just obsessed. It was the first date of her solo tour so it was really special for her as well as us- she seemed genuinely overwhelmed at the fact we were there to see her and that we actually knew the words to her songs, which made me love her even more. There were even a few technical glitches with sound and microphones etc, but that just added to it.

She looked incredible as well, I absolutely love her style. Known for her trademark up-do and huge earrings combo, she was also wearing these amazing high-waisted, black velvet trousers with a cropped black polar-neck, cropped jacket and chunky black heels. Her look was such a perfect combination of 90’s grunge with a feminine twist, and I loved it so much that when I got home I tore my wardrobe apart looking for a grey, long sleeved polar-neck which I bought last winter but never really wore, and I haven’t had it off me since!

Her voice was so soulful and incredibly powerful, something which I actually don’t think comes across to the same extent on her records- you just have to see her live… She chatted between nearly every song, making the gig so intimate and relaxed; a perfect match to the cabaret-club style venue which had lots of cute tables and candles dotted all over the place. To top it all off she even hung around after to get photos and sign autographs, and this is when I discovered I’d found my hair twin. We could definitely be friends I think!

And for any of you who don’t know her music, watch these videos and you will be converted… She’s going to be huge.

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She Doesn’t Even Go Here

So I’m sitting in a room of boys discussing who is hotter- Rachel Mc Adams or Lindsay Lohan for the purposes of deciding who to use as their computer screensaver. Unsurprisingly, Miss Mc Adams won hands down; however I was intrigued by the fact that Lindsay’s more obvious sex-appeal hadn’t won a few more votes.

Anyway, after this brief discussion and realising how bored and hungover we were, we decided to attend an on-campus event where the British actor Michael Sheen was being interviewed and presented with some accolade or another. I basically had to be dragged along because I wasn’t overly interested in listening to some celebrity harp on about how great their life is, but the prospect of the long walk home in the freezing cold seemed even worse.

About 5 minutes into Michael Sheen addressing a small lecture theatre, which wasn’t even half full, someone whispered that the blonde girl sitting at the back of the hall looked startlingly like Rachel Mc Adams. I laughed at the ridiculousness of it, but turned around anyway.

It was her.

There was no mistaking her tiny frame, blonde hair and amazing bone structure- her beauty as obvious as it was in The Notebook and Mean Girls. I just couldn’t get over the coincidence of us talking about her only hours beforehand, it was just like my Daisy Lowe Experience last summer. And just as I couldn’t let Daisy pass me by, I knew I had to pluck up the courage and go over to her (luckily I kept the star-struck screaming till after she’d left).

She was chatty, humble and more than happy to provide autographs and photos to the few who’d attended the event. Although she’d stolen Michael Sheen’s thunder (who, it turned out, was her boyfriend and thus her reason for being there) she’d done it in the nicest possible way, with not a hint of Regina George about her.

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The VIP room of The VIP Room

It’s our last night in Paris, and we have one aim- to not sleep, to party hard and hopefully miss our flight home…

So after several unsuccessful attempts to talk our way into exclusive underground nightclubs in Paris (such as the notorious Le Baron), our friendly taxi driver recommended to us the same club which our trusty guide book described as the most exclusive club in the city, reserved only for the “rich and beautiful”. Our reckless spontaneity, however, was soon dampened when we pulled up outside the club and realised the guide book wasn’t lying- Ferrari’s and BMV’s lined the Champs Elysee. Suddenly it seemed as though our best Topshop outfits weren’t quite going to cut it. The only thing more suprising than our decision to actually get out of the taxi, was the fact that as soon as we approached, the bouncer immediately lifted the heavy velvet rope without a word spoken! Regulars, obviously… And just as we were about to burst into celebratory cheers, a woman approached asking if we would like to be seated VIP. Being escorted through the crowds and shown a seat in the airy VIP area (which smelled strangely of citrus) was surreal- what do we do now? Scared to put a foot wrong, we decided to order a drink to try and distract from the fact that we couldn’t take our eyes off the impeccably dressed surrounding us, the gold plated Paco Rabanne “One Million” perfume bottles embedded into the walls, the DJ’s spray-painted Louis Vuitton Apple Mac, and the cinema sized screens showing videos of the club’s most recent visitors. Kaiser Karl was there the week before: I had to take a quick gulp of my €25 vodka and orange juice (!) to stop my jaw from hitting the floor.

The interior of the club when the man himself popped in for a visit

Soon enough, our friendly VIP neighbours invited us to drink with them, however it was evident that they came from another world altogether- add two zeros to the price of my drink and that was their bill by the end of the night. At one point my handbag was sitting beside one of theirs on the sofa- mine a £2.99 bargain in Oxfam which I regularly see sported by 70 year old women, nestled beside a huge, patent, gold Louis Vuitton creation which probably cost upwards of 10 grand. The perfect photo opportunity, but since the only camera floating about was that of the hired professional photographer; I thought it best not to whip out our digital!

One of the only pictures we did manage to take- in the toilets!

“So how come you’re in Paris?”

“Oh just the usual- sightseeing, Disneyland, girls weekend away. What about you?”

“Oh I’m here for a casting for Paris Fashion week.”

This is how we found out that the three tall, skinny indie boys we were dancing with, just happened to be male models. Keno, Dustin and Dejan- German, Canadian and Serbian respectively.


with "almost as much ink as the New York Times" Keno has "already been shot for the Versace lookbook, in an editorial with Donatella herself" and "into skateboarding, beer and cigarettes", according to Image:

So we fulfilled our aim of seeing the sun rise- although hearing tales of Versace and Gautier, and being taught the walk by genuine veterans of the runway in the grounds of the Louvre at 6am wasn’t exactly part of the plan. Keno even gave me his oversized black cord Levi shirt he’d picked up in a Parisian vintage store to keep warm in the cool breeze of the morning. And I almost got away with keeping it as we hopped in a taxi to go home and leave behind the world of the “rich and beautiful”.


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Daisy Chains

Me and Daisy...

Daisy and Jennie

Rocking Teller’s lense in countless Marc Jacobs ad’s, as well as topping all my fashion polls with her innate sense of British style, tailored to her own taste with kooky vintage finds and designer goods ( no doubt loaded upon her by the designers themselves); everyone desperate for their own signature splash on a bit of Daisy. These are just some of the reason’s why I, along with millions of others, love her.

So as I sat in the staff room at work, flicking through some trashy gossip magazine that had been left behind, I couldn’t help but be drawn to an article claiming that her relationship with the new Doctor Who, the dashing Matt Smith, was over due to the fact that he was more into the relationship than she was; hardly suprising I thought to myself. Later on, during my practically daily visit to Urban Outfitters after work, I was sitting beside my friend on one of the store’s signature distressed leather sofa’s, engaging in a spot of people-watching. At one point, an unshaven, skinny-jeaned, Ray-Ban wearing guy walking by with a noticably cool swagger caught my eye. I couldn’t help but nudge my friend and point out his obvious charisma that was tangible from a distance. As he walked up the stairs past us, the girl he was with followed close behind and as she ascended the steps we caught eyes. It was Daisy Lowe.

The Queen of Cool herself, was in Belfast?! How could this be? And the very same day I’d read the article about her love-life, and an ill-informed one at that! All I knew was that I couldn’t pass up this opportunity to meet one of my fashion heros; and she did not disappoint. What charm she obviously has in style, she did not lack in personality. She successfully calmed me down from my starstuck panic, signed a Marc Jacobs ad from my copy of Teen Vogue which I luckily had stashed in my bag (not her one unfortunately- now that would have been too perfect), posed for this photo and chatted to me about everything from how she was planning to study Law before she shot to supermodel stardom, to how she liked my outfit (!!!!!). All inbetween my incoherant gushing about how much I loved her work and personal style. My questions on what it was like working with one of my favourite photographers, Juergan Teller, as well as what is was like breaking boundaries by being a relatively normal size in an industry so cut-throat on enforcing conformity to super-skinny, got lost admist her warm chattiness and lack of aloofness. I could have been chatting to an old friend I hadn’t seen in a while- the cool factor still present and awe-inspiring, but not prominant enough to be intimiating. Although she did change into the top she was buying in the store right there at the counter where she paid for it; in full view of everyone. Now that,it must be said, is too cool.

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