Today I Cried at Work

I haven’t posted for almost a year. Everything changed. I’ve been overwhelmed. This morning I cried at work. Again. I’m scared I might get depressed. Again. But I won’t let that happen. So I wrote myself a letter. It helped. I feel better.

Dear Jess,

Dafuq is going on with you? 30 minutes ago you were snotting on your sleeve on the fire escape, desperately trying to pick the mascara goop out of the corner of your eye, lest one of your colleagues discover your awful secret – you’ve been crying at work again.

I know life is weird. New house, new job, new boy. But it’s been a more than a year since things started changing. Shit, you’ve handled much worse in your time.

The house is the nicest you’ve ever lived in in London. You can see the Gherkin and the Shard from the window for fucks sake. Granted you have to tilt you head at a weird angle but still. You don’t even have mice. Or bedbugs. Or that noisy cunt upstairs.

The job. Well it’s a mixed bag. It’s probably the main reason you keep crying. You’ve had some of the nicest praise, and biggest successes of your career, but you’re still not happy. You’re bored. But you’re taking control. Believe in yourself. And remember to be patient.

The boy? He’s perfect. He adores you. And you, him. He looks after you. He wipes up your snot. Granted he makes some seriously fucked-up ‘nutriblasts’ but hey – if putting garlic and cauliflower in a smoothie is his worst trait then jesus, girl. You’re on to a winner.

It’s now been about an hour since your incognito trip to the fire escape. You’ve written a press release, sent a few emails and talked to that sales guy for too long. Because, why not? Your bored.

But you’ve also stopped crying, and you’re finishing this letter. Well done. No, really, I mean it. I’m worried you’re feeling depressed. Getting shit done will help. I know that building a duvet fort and hiding in there with Archie is tempting but you know it won’t do any good. You’re doing ok, love. Ease up on yourself.

Archie and me, in happier times!

Archie and me, in happier times!

Being in your late twenties is weird. When you met that puppy the other day your womb literally contracted. Your body is telling you to do things you’re not ready for. And everyone keeps asking ‘when are you going to have a baby?’

But, you know what? Fuck ‘em. Do what you want.

You know you’d rather just live life, even if it does feel a bit poo right now. It won’t tomorrow. And then it will again for a while on Thursday, because you’re a bit all over the place at the moment.

You’ll be ok though. You always have been.

Be kind to yourself.

Love Jess

6 awkward things that happen during sex and how guys and gals should deal with them

As we edge gradually away from the shelter childhood provides and hurtle towards saga holidays and pension plans – life likes to throw little butt-nuggets of shite at us. Or in other words, as my old man once told me, ‘sometimes life kicks you in the nuts’.

This is not a post, however, on dealing with workplace stress, relationship problems or navigating your way through buying your first house (what the fuck is stamp duty, anyway?) We have people to talk through all those joyous adulthood inevitabilities with.

This is a post about all the humiliating things we have to deal with that no one warns you about. Some people even pretend that none of these things have ever happened to them. Well I have news for you ladies and gents. Those people are absolutely, and categorically, full of shit. Some (or if you’re really unlucky – all) of these things will happen to you at some point in your life.



Queefing refers to the often funny, but rarely unembarrassing, art of farting through your lady garden. Pretty it ain’t. Inevitable it is.

How Do You Deal With It?

Most varts (geddit?) are the result of doing the underpants dance. And while it may be tempting to moan loudly in a bid to cover it up, it’s too late sista. The cat is already out of the vag. The best thing you can do is laugh it off. If you’re simply too mortified then blame him. You didn’t put the air in there, after all.

If You’re A Dude

The goal here is to make your girl as comfortable as possible, If she ignores it, so should you. If she giggles; smile and carry on as you were. What you absolutely should not do is laugh so hard you do a little (or big) fart of your own. There’s no recovering from that.

Bum Beards

Yup, that’s right, a beard of the bum. It happens. While your manicured early twenty-something self simply cannot fathom the idea of a butt barnet, suck it up. If it doesn’t happen to you then you’re one of a lucky few.

How Do You Deal With It?

A little tushie toupee really isn’t the end of the world and, the best advice I can give is to come to terms with it. You’ll have more fun with less hang-ups. Naturally, of course, I’m a total fucking hypocrite and regularly tidy up ‘down there’. You can read all about that here. On a serious note though, I do it because it makes me feel better. You should not feel pressured into hair removal. It’s your minge (or arse). Do what the fuck you want with it.

If You’re A Dude

This doesn’t really concern you. Nothing to see here. If you’re the kind of guy who is grossed out by this then you’re probably either an arsehole or have watched way too much porn. Either way, read a book on feminism and learn some fucking respect.

Guys Not Getting It Up

Another of life’s less fun inevitabilities is the fact that you will at some point have to negotiate a stubbornly flaccid phallus.

How Do You Deal With It?

Well for starters, get over yourself. Don’t sulk or cry or make his limp lunchbox all about you. If you got this far, it’s highly unlikely that you have any bearing at all on his wilting willy. In fact, it’s probable that he wants to have sex with you so much that he’s put too much pressure on himself. So, be cool. Don’t sweat it. Have a cuddle instead.

If You’re a Dude

Be cool. Don’t sweat it. Have a cuddle instead.

Nasty Knickers

Many of us have been there; we know we’re about to get lucky and we run through a sex pro forma in our heads. Have I shaved my legs? Check. Have I got a condom? Check. What underwear am I wearing? Oh fuck. Whether it’s wash day and you’re wearing your apple-catchers or if you just grabbed a pair of 10 year old trusty (but crusty) kecks in haste this morning, you’re now formulating a plan which involves somehow sneaking your bad bloomers past his hungry eyes.

How Do You Deal With It?

Option one: Turn all the lights off. Like, all of the light sources ever.

Option two: Fuck it. He’s about to get lucky and it’s what’s underneath your knickers that he’s really excited about, Besides, he’s probably worrying about his skid-marks anyway.

If You’re a Dude

While some guys get-off on a whiff of a women’s knickers, most ladies are a bit self conscious about their undercrackers. Unless you have a mutually happy smalls-sniffing relationship, it’s probably best to whip ‘em off quickly and fling ‘em as far away as possible.


We’ve already tackled the humble hairy heinie but, as you move further away from your teenage years, don’t be surprised to spy whiskers cropping up all over the shop. From chins to chests, and from knees to nipples – don’t be too shocked to find stubble in what you once thought to be the most unlikely of places.

How Do You Deal With It?

Depends. Does it make you feel self conscious? If so, there are tonnes of options. The ol’ tweezers do the world of good for the odd, unruly nipple whisker and beauticians can help you out (just remember, they’ve always seen worse). If you don’t give a shit though then nae bother. Just let it all hang oot.

If You’re a Dude

You’re damned if you do and you’re damned if you don’t. Just keep your fucking mouth shut.

Farting During Sex

When you’re both that relaxed it’s not surprising that the odd sex fart occurs. But nobody wants to acknowledge the (smelly) elephant in the room.

How Do You Deal With It?

Don’t. Moan a little louder, bounce a little harder. Use every distraction tactic in your armoury and blame the cat if he brings it up later.

If You’re a Dude

Much like when a queef occurs – absolutely do not start pissing yourself laughing. And, under no circumstances should you take it as a cue for you to let rip too.

So, there you have it boys and girls. Whether you’re a secret queefer or harbouring hairy hindquarters, don’t sweat it. Even the most prissy among us have likely let out a little backdoor breeze in the bedroom at one time or another.

The naked (and sweary) truth about bikini waxing

There’s one area of my life in which I’ve always aired more on the modern side. Cooking? Nah, I like a prawn cocktail as much as the next person. Home decor? Nope, love a brown paisley curtain, me. So, what then? Body hair.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’ve faced the odd long, damp winter with a secret bush keeping me warm on the coldest of nights but, generally speaking, I like to keep things trim ‘down there’. Why am I telling you this? Because I recently ventured in to the deep, dark world of waxing. And I was fucking terrified.

Why? The pain? Well no, actually. It was more the thought of spreading my hirsute legs, and revealing my well nurtured pubic mound to the well-kempt and perfectly plucked bird in the salon at the end of my street.

So why the hecky peck am I about to share a tale of throbbing fanny maintenance, on a blog my dad occasionally reads? (Dad, if you’re there, please stop reading now. No, really. STOP READING). Well, I’m doing you a favour, of course. Forewarned is forearmed ‘n’ all that.

Now, I think we all know, generally speaking, what is involved. Basically, you whip your knickers off and 10 minutes of pain and humiliation ensues. Right? Nah. It’s not that bad.

How bad is it? Really?

The first thing to remember, as you lay worrying about the size of your labia, is – they’ve seen worse. Like, definitely. Whether you’re a bit on the sparse side, or have full-on arse side burns. They’ve seen it all before. So, relax. Trust me, it’ll hurt less.

The second thing to get your head ‘round is what kind of wax you want. A Brazilian? A Hollywood? A Timbuk-bloody-tu? Who would’ve thought there were so many didgeri – dos? The best thing you can do is ask what they all mean at the particular salon you visit. One word of warning from me though. Think you know what a Brazilian is? Think again. They go inside for that shit. And I don’t just mean inside your pants.

So, back to me. Here I am. I’ve got to grips with being nearly naked from the waist down and the bed I’m lying on is pretty comfortable. The nice lady even told me to keep my pants on as I’d opted for a high bikini (I’m being pretty brave but there’s no way I’m letting an orange person with a tub of hot wax near the inside of my foo foo.)

Now, I’ve got to be honest, the first one stings. Well, that’s a massive lie. Oh, sweet jesus it fucking hurts! But only for about a millisecond, then it’s over. After about 90 seconds, I’m laying there – drawers hitched up to my belly button – with a lovely smooth (albeit glowing red) front-bottom, complete with neat little triangle of pubic hair. I feel smug. I got through it.

It ain’t over yet . . .

“Ok, turn over onto your side and drop your knickers” says the nice orange lady. “We’ll just do your bum.” “Er, what the fuck?”, I think. I mean, fair enough, I had noticed a little beard sprouting down there but I didn’t know if I was ready to invite the wittering, slightly glazed-eyed beautician to go rooting ‘round in my under-carriage. I mean, what If I had a dingleberry?

Granted, I’m a grown woman who’s perfectly capable of properly wiping her own arse but, for that one second of anal epilation contemplation, the mind boggles. “What if I fart?” “What if I’m so gross down there she’s sick on my back?”

Sorry, I’m scaring you. Turns out it wasn’t that bad. Yes, you do have to hold your arse cheeks apart and, yes, you’ve probably been in more dignified positions in your life but, you know what? That’s right, they’ve seen worse. Hell my nan went for a wax once. And her beard’s got a beard.

Be Brave

So, if a retro bush is your bag then power to ya, sister. But if you’d rather a more modern muff and have, as yet, feared waxing – go on, give it a go.

Despite fleeting fears of random fanny farts and being compared to chewbacca, the lovely lady in the salon down the road put me completely at ease and I have been back – and voluntarily spread my butt cheeks  - time and time again. The idea really is much worse than the reality.

So be brave, spread those cheeks and take a nice, deep breath. You’ll be out of there, with a superbly smooth snatch, before you can say ‘Brazilian.’

Thanks for reading!
Jess <3

An Annoying List of Feelings Every Vintage Lover Can Relate To (With Gifs, Of Course)

How I feel when I spot that perfect vintage dress . . .



And it fits . . .


Then I find out the price . . .


And ruin it in the wash . . .



How I feel for the five minutes after I get my haircut . . .



Then I go outside and it rains . . .



How I feel when I wear a new dress out dancing . . .

Dancing 2


And how I actually look . . .



How I feel when I see something I want in a shop window . . .

window shopping



And when someone gets to it before I do  . . .



Thanks for reading!

Jess <3

Where To Sell Vintage Online: Ebay or Etsy?

For years now I’ve dreamt of owning my very own vintage shop. I get lost for hours imagining days spent trawling the country for vintage gems and fantasizing about what cakes to bake for my lovely, loyal customers (of course it will be a clothes-cum-cake shop! Of course my customers will be lovely and loyal!)

As I come back down to earth with a bump though, defeatist thoughts of how impossible it will be take over. But is it really unrealistic? Shouldn’t we always strive to make our dreams become reality?

Recently I started thinking that maybe I could begin online and, given that my wardrobe is bursting at the seams – I wouldn’t even need to source any stock. I have plenty of pre-loved treasures I don’t wear any more. So, to begin on my journey I bought a dress makers dummy on which to display my wares.

Phew! That was pretty easy!

Phase two however, had me a bit more stumped. Where should I start selling? Ebay? Etsy? I started by having a look-see on Ebay. Is it just me, or is a lot of the ‘vintage’ on there actually a load of crap? Crap that fetches crappy fees? So, to Etsy I turned.

But I understand Ebay well. For years I’ve used it to sell of odds and sods and I’m fully au fait with how it all works. Etsy however, is a different story.

Luckily for me, the company I work for recently made a beautiful, all encompassing guide to Etsy. In the interest of disclosure – yes I work in PR and yes it is my job to promote such things. Equally, yes I have a genuine interest in setting up shop on Etsy! Call it perfect timing, call it coincidence, call it what you will. In reality though, I think the guide was my idea. And a jolly good one too if I say so myself. It really is rather useful!

Click image to open interactive version (via WorldPay Zinc).

The procrastinator in me has spent a good deal of time reading through this guide but, I’m still yet to set-up shop. Naturally, for a procrastinator, I have humpteen excuses (I’m about to go to Japan for three weeks, I haven’t got time, my camera’s not good enough) but, the truth is I’m hesitant because I don’t know if it will be worth it. This morning I spotted this rather timely post over on the Queens of Vintage blog. It seems that the lovely Lena has been struggling to get a good return on her vintage.

What are your experiences? Do you think it’s worth it? Should I just bite the bullet? And are there certain items/eras that sell better than others?

From one vintage-lover to another, I’d really love to hear your thoughts, experiences and advice. Please do leave a comment below.

Thanks for reading!

Jess <3

1 2 3