Had such a fantastic, unplanned, beautiful day on Tamarama beach with my flatmate, and her friends. Most of the guys were from South Africa, and spending time with them was certainly different from spending time with most of my Australian male friends. There was a real grounded-ness, chivalry, thoughtfulness, and unpretentious masculine energy that I encountered, and have encountered with SA guys, that I haven't, as a general, with men from other countries. Or boys from other countries.

Before you give me that look, I wasn't interested in any of them, and vice versa, haha, and nor have I dated an SA guy in the past. But there is definately something there that I can't quite put my finger on, that is aaaaaappealing. My flatmate (who is from SA) thought the same. In my encounters with most Australian males - I have found either a lack of wit, humour, intelligence, passion, or ballysness in the sense of approaching women in a genuine way. Or they have these qualities but aren't into vagina. And I don't mean mine, I just mean in general...

We were discussing this today (Myself, flatmate Marian, and her fabulous epitomized french friend Alexandra who alternates between passion for her flame and down right disgust, while smoking, swearing, giving orders, opinions, and laughing at the same time), and all of us seemed to agree on a few points.

Australian men have the casual thing going, but it's crap. They might have intelligence, but then no passion. There is a masculine energy, but it is pretentious and showy rather than grounded and humble. And there is definately a lack of deep seeded confidence. And where these things are apparent, then there is no subtle wit or humour that comes from culture and intellect. Maybe this gets better past the 20s. But that doesn't much help me. There's no communication regularity. No attachment. All game playing. Like, we know you are right next to your phone 24/7 - why wait two days to reply??? Can someone genuinely explain that logic to me? And if you use terms of endearment too soon, pack your bags. And as Alex put it, "aye doown wann to call im maiye lorve, yoo know, beecoz ee laiyke, freeeaks out, eee maight not cohme back, so aye say eeet een French, eet sownds soffterre".

So maybe being straight with them, being honest about not being up for the game playing might work? When you come across one of these, also, please, let me know. So far if I refuse to run, well they just find a runner to chase elsewhere.

I once offered to sew the sleeve of a guy I had been "dating" for about a month (I know, feminism is rolling over in it's grave...) and he gave me a pretty scared quizzical look. To which I replied (in all subtelty) "or would that freak you out", to which he nodded. Nevertheless he wasn't so keen on the whole, regular communication, regular interaction thing, regular anything, more like call-you-maybe-play-mind-games-say-the-right-things-but-see-ya thing, and proceeded to sever my heart about a month or so after that.

Which provided an excellent lesson. Know what you want, and stick to it. Don't settle. Well not in the early 20s anyway? Anyone who has read "He's just not that into you" will know how trans formative and empowering this simple concept can be. But my problem is my requirements.

Makes me laugh. a lot. Witty. Intelligent. Driven. Caring. Passionate. Creative. Attractive. Tall.

Plus - in case you hadn't noticed from my previous post, blonde and tall, slim, broad shouldered tends to get some kind of physical reaction I wish I could bottle at once and hide away.

Too many qualities from one nation of males? The same friend who made the comment about regular intimacy (first post), suggested I move to Sweden.

Please tell me that my becoming bitterness is premature, and the people with good experiences are the majority? Or maybe I just need to move out of Sydney.




P.s. Anyone doing the Eastern Suburbs regularly knows that for the majority, you could probably walk around naked in Bondi and the guys wouldn't notice they are too busy looking at themselves ;) and the rest are backpackers and leaving the country, like, tomorrow.

photos by Alexandra Cohen

yay yay yay

A little eensy sample taste of the current season. Watch this space.

Photographers: Jared Stedman, assisted by Tommy Mcnamara
Model: The gamine divine Jessica from Work Agency
Styling: wonderscease.


So one of my bestest friends, who is beautiful and talented is onto the third collection of her label wonderscease. Maryanne, just finished shooting next season's edible pieces on Saturday :) It is run by the delightful Maryanne Edwards and Emma Fitzgerald, and you need to get it. Their next lookbook is coming out soon, but they will also be showing at the upcoming Fashion Forward Festival and are one of ten of the design finalists in the running to win some sponsorship that would really give the label a commercial kick start.

We should be all about supporting local talent, that is actually talentful... yes. that's a word. So head along May 7 - 9 at Paddington Town Hall. Or if you're a super sweet player with a few extra G's lying around, they do take cheque. For contact/ order details check the link. Do it.


P.s. Unless, like Jess, you are gamine-divine, feel free to accessorize this look with some sweet wonderscease. bottom half's, to be lookbook displayed soon!

Get comfortable.

4:40pm today.

Found myself sitting at the front window of Gertrude and Alice despite being filled with best intentions to go home, jog, tidy, budget etc and put thoughts of M out of my mind. M: the beautiful, big blue eyed, blonde German who chased me down the road from the IGA at Hall St, Bondi, to earnestly and Germanly ask for my number.

We first made eye contact in the U-Turn yesterday late afternoon and I instantly felt my whole being start kicking at a million miles an hour. Everyone who thinks we are highly evolved, immune to animal behaviour, is kidding themselves. From about 10 metres away, as soon as our eyes locked, he said "Hey". The spontaneity took me off guard, and rabbit in headlights I found shelter in the suddenly intensely interested perusing of the rack of clothes in front of me. A parting smile and awkward chemistry, and I exited the op shop to see them (M + friend) about 50m up the road in the direction of the IGA I was about to head about 5 minutes later.

Walked right past him in fright in the diary section. It went something like: Yoghurt. Yoghurt. Yoghurt. Cheese. M. Ahhhh. freak. out. Yoghurt. Yoghurt.

Pathetic. I know. What am I 12?! Anyway. In another aisle he continued his forward streak with "Hey, how are you", "Good how are you". Keep walking. Lined up behind them, genuine coincidence, then a parting smile as I left.

Next thing, a few shops down the road and I am tapped on the shoulder by such German. Number given. Win. 20 minutes later realised I may have in the moment misstyped number. Fail. Anxiety. Sleep.

Day 2. Sitting in Gertrude and Alice after a conversation with my friend Sam led me to ride past my stop, so found myself walking up the street to just outside where we had met, sitting in the exquisitely wooden worn window seat, and for some bizarro reason thinking I might see him again. Well. Who should walk through the door of the shop, about an hour and a half later as I am on my second caffeine hit and writing madly in a note pad, but M.

Win. Definite Win.

Watch this space.


P.s. On A lighter note. This poster was up in the Bathrooms. I'm pretty sure it sums up my current experience of looking for a place in the Eastern Suburbs. Especially near the sea. Box not included...

P.p.s. I have recently, and seriously, decided to give up on the whole dating thing for a while. I bet you they can smell it. Somewhere, there is a secret society of men, plotting ways to keep themselves on our brains. They are like, ha... cracked another one. Aryan Super Race: 1. Caroline: 0.

everything, everywhere, all the time for me, is a work in progress.

lips lick natural curling
and enjoy the soft unfurling
of a hip heavy heart giving way

messing and caressing
the limbs lovers undressing
then deeply punching pressing
away the grief grown gray

relief and tension mingle
tingle, and single out the sorrow
smothering with a luke-warm lay

believing and breathing
through truth's sieving and the leaving
so the solid sinks like sand
and hearts sail out onto the bay

a heartbeat of flutter
do we brave to even mutter
the most human of all our daring hope

that we rope and grope and tie
to the beds of all our lies
and chant and chant and chant
our loves free will did lead the way

hold and enfold a hopeless like dope
and rope nope
to the lovelingered night

bite at the plight
of throbbing delight
and wonder if you're ready to fight

because boys toy
do cloy and destroy
at your soul with testosterone might

the fright of your life
and the life of all fright
delivered with will and last right

the pleasure and treasure
you search through the ether
begging silent to hold and taste

won't stay and fulfil
but will sway and spill
through your fingers at record pace haste

the moment you smother
the lover with cover
of your social mask fabricate paste

run run they will
it's a pity still
such a love such a love
goes to waste.

coming to terms with singledom, is risky. risky because that's when boys enter the equation. they don't arrive when i would tear my hair out just to have someone hold me at night. they arrive when i have made plans alone, and when i don't want anyone else in my room, or freshly washed sheets.

but this is usually a resolve that arrives at the conclusion of someone. give me a couple of months and i might be humming, nay, chanting, a different tune.

which begs the question: is just having a man, any man, or unfortunately, boy, really the point?

the exact words came out of a friend's mouth the other day. "but at least you're having sex". really? really?! is that what it has come to? or cum to?...

sorry. couldn't help myself.

dating people we kind of like, but wouldn't rush home to meet mum, just for company?

but. seriously. the "atleast i'm having sex" tag feels like some kind of pseudo-liberated-i-just-watched-greer-on-youtube-while-txting-for-booty-at-11pm line. i for one know that when you watch a romantic comedy, and feel jealous of the kiss scene because they have known each other for, like, atleast, like, two weeks, then there are some serious questions to be asking.

for me, they start with, how liberated are we, as females, really, if we aren't happier?

or maybe that's just me.