The complexity behind the smile

I don’t know what it is… but working in the creative arts often comes at a price. Whether it’s deep-seeded insomnia from an over-working mind, panic attacks stemming from insecurities, or months spent paralysed fearing failure or God knows what. Actors have it, writers have it, musicians suffer from it. Even comedians fail at “laughing off” such demons.

I once met a guy who was great at making everyone around him smile. He wasn’t a close friend of mine, but I know he was a devoted husband and a loving father. What made him take his life no one will ever know, but what is certain is that it was no easy choice, or a quick way out. It was something that came from desperation.

A few years back I remember admiring Alexander McQueen’s work, thinking of him as a national treasure, someone that added to Britain’s creative greatness. He too, took his own life. I remember telling my boss at the time about the sad news, to which she replied “What a selfish thing to do. I have no respect for anyone that commits suicide”. Back then, I lacked the words and courage to jeopardise my job and tell her how shallow and mistaken her words were.

Two weeks ago, I opened my eyes to a very cold bedroom. Instead of braving it and jumping out of bed, I stayed under the duvet for a short while. While I don’t like to check any social media or emails first thing in the morning, I chose to look at my Instagram, and the third picture I saw was one of Robin Williams, a fan lamenting his death. I felt a sudden pain in my chest, and got out of bed.

I never met Robin Williams, but his work, especially his stand-up comedy routines, hold a very special place in my heart. They remind me of a beautiful time of my life when I fell in love with a man and everything that was connected to him. Some of Williams’ films take me back to my childhood, afternoons at the cinema, with sugary gum sweets that stuck to my fingers. 

As I said, I never made his acquaintance, but that morning, after hearing the news of his passing I found it hard to stop crying. I still well up when I see any of the beautiful tributes that have popped up over the last days. 

We will never really know all of the reasons, everything that troubled him, the facts that had him turn to suicide. He was incredibly talented and it is no secret that a lot of his comedy was propelled as some sort of automatic response to cover his own demons. 

I never knew him, but I know he was a wonderful man, just like many more that we lose to suicide, that fall victims of depression. Emotional issues don’t come from a lack of intelligence, like I was once told. I’ve heard “get over it” way too many times. While it can be difficult to find the “right” things to say, there are also many wrong things to say. No one seeks to suffer this much, it’s not a conscious, or selfish choice.

Sometimes it’s not the circumstances you live, or things you can change. Sometimes it’s rooted deep within. Sometimes it comes with being so connected to your emotions, that you can be a comedian, or write, draw, perform, create things with such intensity, they touch strangers, hundreds of thousands of miles away.

I really don’t know what it is…

What I do know is that after his death, Robin Williams continues to live. His contribution to this world is too great, too beautiful and too powerful to simply disappear.

The ultimate fashion tip

If there is one tip that I find actually works, and that can be applied to states of stress, depression, sickness, nervousness, moments in which everything surpasses me, it’s to make the effort to look good. Whether by styling my crazy hair, getting out of the pyjama bottoms – I could live in them – or applying some make-up. It works.

It’s about feeling good about myself, whenever I catch my reflection in the mirror or on a shop window. If I look good, I have something less to fret about, adding ease of mind and helping me feel better. Think about the opposite: if I do nothing, go out without washing my face or choose the beaten up old pair of yoga trousers to dress for the post office, it’s
very likely I will soon regret not having made a slight effort.
Why give myself the extra worry? It can take less than five minutes. These are my rules:

1 – Regarding make up, bucket loads are not required. Maybe mascara and some lipgloss, or just some foundation and a light blush. Personally, I feel made up with just some brown eyeliner, concealer to cover some dodgy areas and lip balm.

2 – Never underestimate the power of a nice fragrance. It’s been scientifically proven – that’s “Jess talk” for I read it somewhere – that people wearing perfume feel better about themselves. I love refreshing body sprays, no fuss and quick to apply after a nice shower.

3 – Invest in some nice loungewear, or ask for it on your next birthday. It’s not the same to walk around the house in your pyjamas – which is absolutely fine to do once a week, with a tub of ice cream, and The Good Wife on repeat -, than to do so with some nice-fitting cotton trousers and a flattering top. This applies especially if you work from home. It’s just too tempting to make no effort, and speaking by experience, it eventually will make you feel pretty miserable.

If it works for me, it can work for you. Whatever you are going through, whatever is making you curse your life at the moment, you deserve to feel better, you deserve to be happy about the way you look. You deserve to smile. Never forget about yourself.

Picture: Fashion Limbo

13 random facts about me

At the risk of fuelling the ego-centric side of blogging, this post is actually a good exercise in writing – and something I should do more often. Without rambling further about the reasons behind this, here goes:

1 – I used to practise judo. I did five years of it, took part in a competition once and won a gold medal. I quit at the age of 11 to join the school choir.

2- I speak French. I learnt on the go while working for a high-end fashion brand in Brussels. I also ended up picking up some words in Dutch – although my “conversations” in this language mostly involved nodding and smiling repeatedly.

3- I’ve been a music junkie since my childhood which can make playing Buzzer with me slightly annoying. Ask me what kind of music I like and I break out in a sweat…I wouldn’t know where to begin.

4 – I always try to get rid of insects by – gently- throwing them out of the window. If I am forced to kill one, I always apologise to the poor creature.

5 – I’m a wannabe vegetarian. It’s more about ethics than dietary preferences. Living with someone who enjoys eating meat, paired with my low budget makes it very difficult for me to become a full-time vegetarian, but I do try to eat as little meat as possible.

6 – I spent most of my childhood in southern Spain, and after years of not being able to dance flamenco at parties, in my late teens I asked my friends to teach me. I only mastered a type of dance, called sevillanas, but became quite good at it.

7 – When I was 7, I asked a nun whether my dod would go to heaven after he died. She told me he wouldn’t, as beasts weren’t allowed into heaven. That’s the day I began questioning the Catholic Church.

8 – My favourite film is Drive. The soundtrack gives me goosebumps.

9 – I’m a bit of a nerd when it comes finding information online. It takes me seconds to make connections and go from one subject to the next. I am not sure what I can do with this skill, but it has become very useful to those closest to me.

10 – Although I can seem be very sociable, I’m actually an introvert. I lost my best friend a few years ago, and due to other events in my life, it takes me a while to trust people. I also don’t like to talk about my personal life to people I don’t know much.

11 – While I don’t read comics, I’m pretty well versed in the Marvel universe. This is thanks to my older brother brainwashing me as a child with the likes of Spiderman and X-Men. I gleefully devour any films on the subject of superheroes.

12 – I once lent my vocals to three songs by a pair of Belgian producers. I spent hours in a recording studio, and although I enjoyed the experience, I am happy to say this songs have been lost, especially a – very strange – dance track I recorded.

13 – I have tattoos in three different parts of my body. One on my left shoulder, a few small ones on my ribs, and the most recent one on my right foot.

And that’s it… feel free to share any random facts about yourself below. xx

From zero to your own hero

I used to think I was pretty useless. I labelled myself as a loser and considered myself undeserving of anything good, such as friends, money, holidays and love. More often than not, I felt deflated hanging out with people that earned more than me, admiring their lovely clothes and flawless manicures or their seemingly fulfilling existences. It’s not that I resented them, I admired them and their abilities to become who they were. The one receiving all the hateful judging was myself. 

Life treats us all differently. Whether you were fired from your job, bullied in school, abused by those who are supposed to love you, treated unfairly at any point of your life: the worst thing you can do, is believe what negative, narrow-minded and somewhat twisted individuals say about you. Someone or something may have put those ideas in your head, and they may not even be true, have you ever considered that?

You should never cease to believe that you are your own person, master of your own life, and, incredibly enough, your own hero. When was the last time you looked in the mirror and saw yourself for the incredible human being that you really are?

The operative word being “used” – as in I used to be pretty cruel to myself – this is what made me change the way I looked at myself.

1- Sleeping more: As simple as it sounds, getting some extra time under the covers can do wonders. Fatigue makes me cranky, and when I’m at my moodiest, I take it out on myself. I feel slow, incapacitated and lazy. Every night I attempt to get a minimum of eight hours sleep, or whatever I need to wake up feeling rested. If I need more, a 20 minute nap in the afternoon can do wonders. Sleeping more will make you think better, feel better and it has a direct link with improving your health, so get snoozing.

2- Carefully select what you share and who with: The best decisions I’ve ever taken are those in which I really didn’t consult anyone. I was always the type of person who needed a second, or even third opinion when it came to decisions affecting my career or my lifestyle: basically, anything that was relevant only to me. Over the years I listened to those that said “that’s a stupid idea” or “you’ll never be happy if you do that” and even “how can you want to do that?!”. Each of these opinions came from people that, supposedly, loved me. The truth is that, taking their own fears and doubts as my own, I ended up unhappy and pursuing nothing. Since I stopped doing that, which was easier than I thought, I am feeling happier by the day, failing and succeeding at my own decisions. I’ve never felt freer. I’ve never felt greater.

3- Take up a challenge: Maybe it’s climbing a high mountain, or training for a half marathon, or you may want to read four books in one month. Whatever you fancy doing but are unsure, just set yourself the challenge and get on with it. Mine was getting a yoga teacher’s certificate, with a life-altering injury and zero confidence. You can read more about it here, and here. Last week I was given my certificate, and I am now fit to teach Yoga. That rectangle of paper made me feel like a true badass…which is quite a wonderful feeling. 

4- Listen to your gut: it something doesn’t feel right, it’s probably because it isn’t. Don’t force yourself to do things that others expect you to do. Ask yourself, who will be disappointed? If it’s others, think long and hard about what you do to yourself. How will the situation affect you and how will it feel after you do it. If you’re the one to suffer, don’t do it. Take care of YOURSELF, then take care of others, just like the safety announcements on planes.

5- Replace the nasty lie with a beautiful statement: Most of my negativity comes from statements such as “I’m a slacker and a loser”. If I am going to make declarations that are not true, why not make them wonderful? “I work REALLY hard and I’m a success” -> this is the mantra I should apply to myself, the words I should keep in my head. Not the negative, self-destructing ones, because those do nothing for me. Think about what negative things you say about yourself, write them down, then turn them around. 

Life is tough enough, with its daily battles, dizzy highs and trying lows. Realising you are the most important person in your own existence, championing yourself and celebrating your own achievements is as important as drinking water. Feed yourself from the inside out, you deserve it.

A feather for a writer

I wanted to be many things when I was little but none of them were what was expected of me. I came alive when I listened to music, sang with the choir, or doing drama at college. I remember dressing up as Madonna to perform a “colourful” dance routine in front of students and teachers at my Catholic school – although the nuns didn’t seem to enjoy it. At age 8, a teacher referred to my writing praising my creative imagination. At secondary school, another said I was a diamond in the rough – although he did place quite a lot of emphasis on the “rough” part.

At fifteen, I was made to choose a “serious” career. “Arts will bring you no money, Jess”. Unlike many of my peers, I didn’t want to be a teacher, or work in a bank, become a doctor or a high-paid lawyer.

With no means of studying anything creative or artistic, to please my parents I decided on a career in teaching English. Years have passed and that first choice has turned into a nasty habit: pleasing others ad infinitum. Maybe I should have pushed harder, maybe I should have left home sooner, but I chose the path of least resistance: the cruelest on myself.

I worked as a teacher and was good at it, but ultimately it made me miserable. I tried working in office buildings, managed myself brilliantly through meetings and presentations, but inside I was in an permanent state of anxiety, hating going to work. Eventually it made me sick.

I did enjoy dressing mannequins and styled a high-end fashion store. I was also in my element during some bizarre sessions with a couple of Belgian music producers, straining my vocal chords to sing some dance club anthem – don’t ask for those recordings, I have skilfully misplaced them. The first time a magazine published an article I wrote I felt like the happiest person in the world. All of these activities paid little, or nothing.

After years of soul searching, life in different countries, jumping from one job to the next, and disappointing some people, I finally get it. I am a certain type of person, with a particular DNA and a specific make up. It means I don’t function properly in an office environment. Routine isn’t for me. It just doesn’t work.

It’s not about getting over it, changing, trying harder, or repeating questionable pseudo-mantras like “no one really enjoys their job”. Life is about accepting who you are, loving yourself for it, and making the most of your existence.

So…

This past weekend I travelled to London, and following my cousin’s Nic advice, went to Sims Tattoos in Croydon. I already had two tattoos, a dragon on my left shoulder, and some stars on my ribs. A few months back I had decided on what I wanted next: a peacock feather with a specific detail on the tip.

I chose to remain open minded about the design, had thought about some colours, but nothing more. A few minutes after meeting Michi, the guy about to decorate my right foot, I felt strangely at ease with him, so I followed his suggestions on the design.

I’m not going to lie, it hurt like hell. Having my ribs tattooed was painful, but this time the session lasted more than 3 hours, which meant Michi worked, repeatedly, on heavily bruised skin.

I worked through the pain in several ways: I had an “extremely chatty phase”, bombarding Michi with questions, trying to distract myself by finding more about his life – being nosy, a very Mediterranean way of dealing with pain. Then I went through the “get me out of here phase”, physically pulling away from him, as if wanting to detach my foot from my body. My cousin had to keep pushing me onto the chair to stay still.

Through those long hours, Michi was simply brilliant. The man is pure talent, and I wished I could make him justice through my words. He drew a bit of a draft (Head to Sims Tattoo facebook page to see the process) with a magic marker, to then, grab the needles, and proceed to do the tattoo freehand. He made the feather beautifully fold onto itself on the top left side and I love that. It looks like it’s moving. The tip of the feather has a writer’s quill on it. It’s simple,yet so skilfully drawn. Part of me was feeling physically sick at the pain, the other part was in awe, seeing a true artist create a stunning piece of work.

To me, this tattoo is a celebration of something I’m good at, a side of my personality that for years I thought was worthless. A part of me I was told would bring me no joy. I cannot thank Michi and the team at Sims Tattoos enough. I also want to thank gorgeous Nic for being the best tattoo-buddy ever.

I do live up to what a writer is, I am creative and sometimes intense. I am also generally skint. I can barely pay my bills, I have no money for fancy holidays, clothes – my other passion – and if any of my dogs require any veterinary care it means I can eat only pasta for a month.

I know not everyone will agree with my choice of lifestyle. Not everyone likes tattoos. I know some will read this post and think that I will never grow up. I know some still think I’m not good enough for them or their loved ones.

However, I’m loving being a writer more than ever. While I may  disappoint others with my choices, I’m not letting myself down anymore. This is who I am, and I now have a piece of art on one of my feet to remind me.

*If you want to see more of Michi’s work you can follow his Instagram account at @michelich, or find him via Sims Tattoo on Facebook.

**If you want to see more of my writing go to fashionlimbo.com/work

The introverted teenager & the CD

I’ve always been very fond of my own company. Throughout my childhood I learnt that spending hours in my bedroom surrounded by music, not only kept me out of trouble but it was also an effective way of drowning my parents’ fights. I played Madonna, Michael Jackson, The Beatles, Prince, Abba, Bon Jovi, even Paul Simon. Then, as I reached my teens, I went through an intense yet short-lived New Kids On The Block phase, until I discovered Nirvana and Courtney Love. Yes, hardly a defined taste.

As an introverted girl, these private music sessions suited me. I lived in the south of Spain and went to catholic school up until the age of fourteen, with books and folders covered in Blond Ambition Tour pictures. I had unruly brown hair,  thick eyebrows, a huge dog, a vast music collection and problems at home. Prettier girls easily pulled the boy I liked or, alternatively, made me the somehow boring topic of their cruel gossiping.

At high school, I was never the “cool teenager”. I practically blended into the stained beige walls we had as background. I dreamt of cool clothes that I didn’t have, trendy curly hair that would never be mine, a certain brand of fitted jeans I couldn’t afford, and of flying out of Cordoba into a more vibrant life. I studied moderately hard and received good grades.

Me in my Keep The Faith Bon Jovi tee, supermarket trainers  for teen chic. My little sis plays the cute card

On weekends I stuck to my all-female group of friends, went to the minuscule bowling alley in the town centre and spent my pocket money on video games and drinks. I wore turtle-neck jumpers I “borrowed” from my mum – I also wore her boots, which weren’t even my size, and did the same with her Wonderbra. I caked my face in a powdered monotone peach shade, finishing it off with layer after layer of brown Revlon lipstick. I simply copied what my girlfriends did, never considering who I really was and what my looks said about me. Self-expression was confined to the words in my diary, safely written within by my four bedroom walls.

As a teen in the mid 90s, Britpop fever hit me hard, making me realise how great my native country was, with very few around me as enthusiastic as me. A few of my friends listened to Blur and Suede, which was fun, but then they moved on to Take That. I tried to get my dad to play Oasis in the car, but after the first guitar rifts in Roll With It, he would complain about the loud music and change the tape. Most of my boyfriends were more interested in The Offspring, Metallica, and Spanish rock singers trying really hard to be like Jim Morrison. My attempts to play DJ at parties lasted for less than a couple of songs before my choice of music was labelled “not fun” and swapped to some local band that regurgitated international sounds into something more simplistic, yet unsurprisingly popular.

It was during 1995 that I heard a song on a TV show that focused on international music charts, including the UK. I liked it so much, the second time I saw the video I recorded it on a videotape. I learned the lyrics, practised the moves, and that’s how I fell in love with a guy from Sheffield: the wonder that is Jarvis Cocker. My older brother was spending his summer holidays in England, so I asked him to bring me a copy of the song: Pulp’s Common People.

Whenever I listened to the CD single, every  hair in my body would somehow feel electrified – thankfully bushy eyebrows seemed unaffected. Each guitar, keyboard, drum, and the ridiculous amount of instruments on that song made me want to break into a dance every time the song started.

Through Common People, Disco 2000, later This Is Hardcore and its fascinating album cover, I began to understand who I wanted to be, and learnt how to express that outside of my diary. I read Smash Hits for the sole reason to hear about what was going on outside the charming little town I lived in. I bought a cheap silver faux-silk shirt in C&A and begged one of my aunts to cut all the stitches and sew it up again, to make it hug my skin. I cut one of my mother’s denim skirts to make it shorter and more rugged. I saved up to ask a pompous and rather terrible hairdresser to cut my hair like Justine Frischmann.

Outfit picture posing already happened in the 90s. Me age 15, with the silver shirt

It turns out, I ended up renting a flat above a shop, I cut my own hair, I got a job. I realised my dream of moving back to England, got a couple of extra gigs to pay for my studies, went to lectures smelling of fried food, to later go out “and dance and drink and…” you know how the song goes.

I now listen to Pulp’s Common People, and it is still, quite possibly, my favourite song ever. It was an anthem of what I was about to live, the people I was to meet just a few years later, the cheap clothes, the badly paid jobs, the debt I got myself into, the dodgy things we smoke, the awfully tasting alcoholic concoctions, the regrets the morning after… the life that was waiting for me.

I don’t have that silk shirt anymore, but I’m still an introvert. I still enjoy listening to everything from rap to folk music, by myself or with anyone that doesn’t mind me going into full music-nerd mode.  There is still no one quite like Jarvis. I still have that CD.

Pictures: Fashion Limbo, Island

Dear Nasty Old Landlady

Dear Nasty Old Landlady,

Today I was told that you took €440 from my deposit. They sent me a quick e-mail telling me to sign the paper and then I would get what was left of it. At first, it really upset me.

For months I’ve been worrying so much, losing sleep and developing a stupid eye twitch. There was always something “fishy” about you and I kind of suspected this would happen. I knew that no matter how well I treated your flat, no matter how much I cleaned it, kept it tidy, ensured my dog didn’t damage it, you would find a way of robbing me, because that’s the kind of person you are.

I was always honest and straightforward with you. I talked to you with respect, and paid all my bills. When you wouldn’t answer the phone because the washing machine broke, I didn’t yell at you, or told you to give me a new one. I waited for you to get your crap together, and finally replace the machine with a much older one, that barely worked. When you ignored my more than five phone calls and three voice mail messages asking you to please call an electrician to check the dodgy lights in the flat, I kept my cool and found a way around it. When you ignored my more than 10 phone calls, several e-mails and numerous text messages because the boiler had burst and flooded my bedroom, I still paid my bills and took care of the flat.

When you called after I moved out to accuse me of stains in the wall, I politely told you that those marks were there when I first moved in. I told you I knew you would take the money no matter what the truth was. I also informed you that I stood by my honest statement, and that I hoped you would be honest too.

But you weren’t. You took a huge chunk out of my deposit. A money I was deeply embarrassed to ask friends and family for. A money I didn’t have at the time of moving in, but my life had suddenly collapsed, and that’s all I could do. Find a home for me and my dog, get a job, and pay the bills, even with a broken heart and a badly injured back.

I’ve had a rubbish year in terms of losing money and a job. Now I won’t be able to pay the lovely people that helped me get by. However, one thing I will for sure do, is not cry. Why?

Because two days ago my family came to visit me, and reminded me that I am loved. They are so brilliant they are always answering my messages, and I reply to theirs. They are so bloody amazing, they are beautiful inside and out, that people like you become silly little creatures not worth thinking about.

Because I share my life with my best friend, who has got really angry about this so I don’t have to. I wonder if you’ve ever had a handsome and extremely intelligent guy do that for you. I don’t think you have, because those of us who have someone like that can’t be as bitter as you are.

Because I am a healthy, talented… I’m pretty amazing. I am also extremely resourceful so guess what, since you think money is the so essential in your sorry life that you feel the need to steal it, I’m going to tell you a secret: I intend to make more of it, and you won’t have any of it.

You may have my €440 euros and that probably means I won’t be able to treat myself to nice food or things for a while. But I have so much to live for and you are just a sad old cow that enjoys taking money from honest people.

Fuck you sincerely,

Jess

Eddie Izzard in Avignon, in French

Last night I went to see Eddie Izzard at Le Palace in Avignon. He is performing there for five days (July 13-17th) as apart of the local festival, and I was lucky – and also mad – enough to convince some of my loved ones to drive there and watch the show. It was an unmissable chance to see him extremely close in a tiny venue. Now a Hollywood film and TV star (Ocean’s Twelve and Thirteen, Valkyrie, United States of Tara, The Riches to name a few), an English speaking comedic icon, an inspiring runner and an activist, this courageous man has decided to re-work his Stripped show for French audiences, so it is all in the language of Balzac.

He performs in a a small room that barely fits over 100 people, and with Madonna’s Hung Up, Eddie makes his appearance on stage. I am sitting on the first row, and as he is barely a couple of metres away I spot his beautifully manicured nails, in deep shiny burgundy red, very much the shade of  a good Merlot, with his ring finger dressed with the Union Jack colours.

Does the show work in French? Speaking with fellow Eddie Izzard fans just before the show, discussing wether his gags could actually be translated, we all admired his determination, but wondered what the final product would be like. And it really isn’t a disappointment, more accurately, it’s quite a brilliant performance.

The best gags from Stripped work perfectly in French, mainly because Eddie’s humour is very visual, and extremely surreal, making it timeless – you can watch his former shows on DVDs and YouTube and they never get old – but also lacking geographic boundaries . He may be talking about the differences between a Mac and a PC, or digressing over the differences between dinosaurs: it’s absurd, funny, both in English and in French.

And also I am playing the Avignon Festival in France in July. Et aussi je joue au Festival d’Avignon en France en ju… http://t.co/VkCLYHqulv

— Eddie Izzard (@eddieizzard) June 15, 2013

 

In French, his stream-of-consciousness, free association technique, his ramblings, when closely watched, look like extremely hard work. You see Eddie squinting his eyes, touching his temple with his fingertips, his mind quickly working under the heat of the stage lights, tying gags together, pushing it a bit further, all in a foreign language. All of this is, including his now famous hand gesture of taking notes for future performances, acquire an extra touch of charm, humour, and brazenness that enrich the original English act, and that the audience during that opening night seemed to lap up.

What comes across when you watch the show is the sheer determination to make it all work: to make up your mind about learning a language and then, present yourself in the countries in which this language is spoken, and attempt to make people laugh. I spoke to a comedian who was promoting his gig outside of the theatre, and to him, what Eddie was doing was madness, “you can’t translate everything, it doesn’t work” he told me. Eddie Izzard seems to differ, and his style of comedy appears to be the perfect vehicle to pull it all off.

When the show finished, it wasn’t the end of Eddie Izzard for me. I have a stubborn boyfriend named Rob who was determined I talked to Eddie after the show. I’m not one to approach celebrities, I’m always worrying about bothering them, but Rob was determined we congratulated him on the gig, so we waited for 20 minutes and that’s when Mr Izzard made his way out.

Extremely scared I stood behind him and called his name, he turned around, shook my hand and when I told him I came from Barcelona, his eyes widened and he said “wow, thank you!”. We then proceeded to briefly chat about him doing his work next in German, then Spanish, and then we discussed linguistics politics for a bit. He was soon ushered to move on to other people. But I got to look him straight into the eye and thanked him for a great show.

I never got to tell him how much he has changed the way I look at life. I didn’t manage to explain to him how his film Believe made me question everything I had done, made me accept the misfit that I am, and pushed me to want to strive to become the version of myself only I wanted to be, pursuing a career in writing.

I didn’t bore him with an account on how after watching him running 43 marathons in 51 days for Sport Relief, with tears of admiration and also frustration, I grew determined to find a remedy to end my nasty back injury and be able to run again. I didn’t get to explain how every time I complete my modest 2km runs, when I feel like my insides are going to disintegrate, when tendinitis flares up and my injured back and muscles force me to stop, I think of him fighting during those Mandela marathons, and then I remember that, like him, I am a runner already. That, in my brain, I have already ran the London marathon, or done the Iron Man challenge, it’s only my body that needs to catch up.

If you have the chance, go to Avignon. Si vous pouvez, allez á Avignon , ca vaudra la peine.

PS: I also never got to offer my services as experienced University teacher and language expert, so Eddie, if your brother needs a hand with the lessons, let me know 😉

To buy tickets: http://www.billetreduc.com/91561/evt.htm
Eddie´s Twitter page: @eddieizzard

Picture: Fashion Limbo, Eddie’s Twitter page

The Superhero Effect

I used to run. I even did two 10-mile runs and raised some pretty decent amounts of money by doing it. Then, in 2009, my back began telling me something was wrong, but I was too involved in my career to hear it. I was too focused in worrying and stressing out over things that really didn’t matter: work, money, work again, less money, more work, slightly more money, more work, and more stress. Finally, in summer 2010 I had to stop. After several trips to the emergency room, countless medical tests, my back gave me a big fat “I told you so” and I had to quit my job.

During the last 3 years, I’ve encountered many back specialists, therapists of all kinds, I have tried several treatments, heard different diagnoses, have had my body scanned left, right and centre. I started doing Pilates – which meant I could do things like walking my dog, or even riding a bike now and then. The only thing that was certain, was that I couldn’t run, or jump, or stand for more than a couple of hours. It turned out I also couldn’t really sit for a few hours either, so again, I lost a second job.

The human brain is a curious thing. When someone tells you that you can’t do something, then you really want to do it.

Even when I could run, I really didn’t get it completely. I just did it for charity, because I could, because it was good for me…but not because I wanted to. I used to wonder when running outside, “why am I running? No one is chasing me! This hurts!” Then at the gym, at the treadmill, I felt like a lycra-clad hamster. However, when back therapists and doctors told me that running may never be in the cards for me, that’s when it really hit me. And it hit me in the form of anxiety, depression and A LOT of rage.

Then one day, I watched Eddie Izzard’s Believe, a documentary on his life and his pursuit of many goals, including his career.

“You’ve got to believe you can be a standup before you can be a standup.
You have to believe you can act before you can act.
You have to believe you can be an astronaut
before you can be an astronaut. You’ve got to believe.”

The brilliant Eddie Izzard is a hugely successful comedian, an actor, and now, also a runner.  I watched in awe while he ran 43 marathons in 51 days around the UK. Recently I watched how he attempted to run 27 marathons in 27 days, as a tribute to Nelson Mandela. He didn’t manage to complete this challenge because, basically, his body told him to f*ck off.

Which is, really, what tends to happen when you are convinced you can do something, but then life has other plans. Watching Eddie, I began to believe I could run because… why not? Except my back kept telling me to, you guessed it, f*ck off.

I would get angry, yell, quietly curse at runners in the park – I’m really silly when I’m jealous – feel depressed when my friends signed up to runs I had to watch from the side. I could tell my body “hey you, you can do pilates, you can walk up stairs, why can’t you run a little?” My body would still tell me to f*ck off.

Even with my legs, hips, knees and back refusing to cooperate, I dreamt of doing it all. I imagined myself running miles and miles, completing marathons, winning an Olympic medal. I pictured myself doing amazing things.

Why am I telling you this? Because , yesterday I bought a new pair of trainers…

 

And, because today, June 20th 2013, I imagined no more. … I ran.

No photoshop, just pasty-white and out-of-breath me. Early am. So glamorous

Barely a 2 km run, and at a speed so slooooow, birds wouldn’t even move out of my way – I’m pretty sure a couple of pigeons actually mocked me. I finished exhausted, light headed, almost collapsing as I walked through my front door.

My 7 year old mini dachshund mix, after the run, continued to jump up and down sofas – mocking me, animals tend to do this around me – wrecking his toys apart by shaking them non-stop. It felt like when Carrie Bradshaw fell on the catwalk and Heidi Klum walked over her. My dog being Heidi, a fabulous athletic creature of German origin.

I don’t know if I will be able to run a marathon, but what I did today is already pretty cool. I don’t know if I will be able to run fast, or if my back will allow me to jog regularly, but stretching afterwards, then eating my big breakfast with the best tasting coffee (EVER!!!) felt insanely good. As @karleensmith told me over Twitter:

@fashionlimbo no other feeling like it. It’s the superhero effect 🙂 x

— Karleen Smith (@karleensmith) June 20, 2013

“the superhero effect”

I’m dedicating my first run to those around me that, knowingly or not, helped me run today: Rob, Daniela, Luli and my awesomely brilliant back therapist Ramon Gassó. They made me ready for this, with their support and advice.

And then there’s the great runners out there, that have made me dream of being them. That every time I heard them talk of their running achievements, I thought “I’ll do the same some day”. The amazing Bangs from bangsandabun.com and spikesandheels.com, who is a genius when it comes to motivating the masses. Then there’s lovely Gemma retrochick.co.uk and her health & fitness blog lipsticklettucelycra.co.uk. There are so many inspirational women and men in Twitter … I can’t name all of you, but you know who you are.

Marta & Laura, two teenie-weenie running-addicts from Madrid who are so bloody “chulas” I adore them, and my aunt Sylvia, whom I repeatedly watched leaving her house on bloody cold mornings in London, to run around her neighbourhood like a trooper.

And basically everyone that believed in me, told me to forget about the naysayers and focus on what I wanted to do.

Life begins when you realise you are capable of doing amazing stuff.

Pictures: Fashion Limbo

Daft Punk and Zara know how to get it right

Just a quick post while I listen to Daft Punk’s new album – if you haven’t heard it yet, head over to iTunes to check it out for free, streaming for a limited time only – and the rain outside. It’s pouring, and this is something that’s been happening quite a lot in Barcelona recently. Back to the music side of things, the french duo’s new offering is pretty cool. Some love it, some are a tad “meh” about it. Some are calling it pretentious, others genius. I personally like it a lot. It’s not Aerodynamic, or Robot Rock, but that’s good. It’s different, it’s not about electronic music but “traditional” instruments. There are plenty of cool beats with a clear disco vibe, and some extremely dramatic lyrics and musical climaxes, adding a good dose of madness during certain key moments – tracks 3 and the last one especially. I’m loving the free streaming and cannot wait until it’s actually released (May 20th)

With regards to the fashion side of things, as of lately I’m questioning my own personal shopping habits. Many a times I have voiced my concern – to whoever is bored enough to listen to it – about the fact that Spanish shopping streets are Inditex-dominated, with more Zara than Starbucks, Pull & Bear in every corner, Bershka too, plus a few other “meh” brands. I cannot ignore how savvy the people behind Zara are at choosing their merchandise. In my opinion, their designs are the coolest by far, and as much as I want to start buying differently, locally or through the internet, it was especially hard to avoid falling head-over-heels for a gorgeous jacket. It’s from their SS13 collection, a bestseller, and I got is as a gift from someone who loves me very much.

I’m unashamedly wearing it over everything: leggings and shirts, a LBD, boyfriend and skinny jeans, and I have a cute white dress that I believe will look even better paired with this pretty varsity jacket.

Anyway, that’s it for now. Next week is the Primavera Sound festival here in Barcelona, and I cannot wait to see Blur, Solange, Nick Cave and the Black Seeds, Hot Chip and more… I just hope my back injury cooperates and I will be able to enjoy the weekend as much as want to.

So, back to the music, do you like Daft Punk’s Random Access Memories as much as I do?