The other day my friend passed on some wisdom that her mum had passed onto her;

'You only notice you've aged every seven years'

We sipped our gin and nodded; wise words.

Lately, I've really noticed how much my body has changed; my skin, my hair, my shape, aren't the same as when I was 13. And that's exactly how old I was when I started this blog, and when I first shared my skincare routine, if you could even call it that. I was using a microbead exfoliator, cheap Primark face wipes, and described my relationship with moisturiser as 'occasional'...  I'd just like to pause here and take a moment to apologise to anyone that's been here from the beginning for exposing you to such awful recommendations, and to my skin for the previous torture.

And you just know that I will have posted about my skincare routine, and then changed products the next time Company magazine came out and recommended something new. I spared no thought for the chemicals and intensity I was subjecting my skin to, and never considered the ingredients of the products I was using. I based my purchases solely off reviews and opinions of others, with no knowledge about what my skin needed, no understanding that it was different from anyone else.

As twenty-year-old Lucy, that's top of my priority list for skin care; how does it make my skin feel. I don't fully implement anything into my routine without testing it out before hand, finally aware that my skin is really sensitive and some products just don't work for me. I've learned a lot about essential oils, and the benefits of certain ingredients to look out for. My relationship with moisturiser is now official and forever.

I've also come to accept that I will never have perfect skin. My skin is extremely reactive to foods and hormones, so without constantly monitoring myself, I'm never going to be 24/7 glowing. And that's fine with me. I feel very in-tune with my skin at the minute, I think I've learned what it needs, and how to recognise when I need a little extra or a little less love. And I think that's the most important thing. Maybe I'm not more aware that I've aged, maybe I've just matured in my relationship with my body, more aware all round. I care mainly about how products make me feel, no longer looking for a quick fix, but fully involved with the meditation of a skin care routine as self-care.

I'm recommending nothing but that. Get to know your skin, listen to what it wants. But to redeem this blog from the awful advice of my younger self, here are the products my skin loves.

The Basics

Under the influence of my nana, I became a Liz Earle girl. Living on the Isle of Wight, my nana always returns with a bunch of goodies for me, and I've narrowed it down to an essential roster of 4 products.

Cleanse and Polish

The holy grail, the beloved. Everyone has raved about this, so all I'll add is that it's worth the hype. It managed to remove makeup with so much power while remaining one of the most gentle and calming products I've encountered. At the end of each day, I like to use this twice. Once to remove makeup. Then I thoroughly rinse the cloth and repeat, to get a deeper cleanse of my skin without pushing the makeup into my pores.

But also, the act of using this is so calming. I like to end my day with it, as the last thing before getting into bed and winding down. I let the warm cloth sooth me, easing my mind and the pressures of the day, comforting and loving. It's the product that I love using as a valued part of my night routine more than anything.

Instant boost skin tonic

On the other end of the scale, this toner wakes me up. I like to keep this in the fridge and use it as soon as I crawl out of bed, to bring my skin to life.

In the past month, this has taken on a big part of my morning routine as I've been trying to wake up and exercise straight away, even if it's just dancing around my room. I use the feeling of the cold product as a sort of go button, it's the start to the 15-30 minutes of action, shaking me to life.

Gentle face exfoliator

I use this twice a week, to scrub away the stress and regrets.

Superskin moisturiser 

Maybe I'm only saying this because it was gifted to me, but after using the regular moisturiser and the superskin one, the extra money is worth it. Pause for my purse to scream.

Neroli is one of my favourite scents. The scent is proved to slow pulse rate, easing depression and anxiety, combating stress and insomnia. Maybe it's my knowledge of that that makes me love the product, but it makes me happy each time I use it. It's rich and luxurious, but the scent makes it seem feather light.

After my previous neglect,  my moisturiser and I are inseparable. And you'll find me smoothing this on every morning and night without a care in the world for how I'll afford to repurchase it.

And the rest;

Eau Roma Water

Rose is one of my favourite scents and oils to use. It reduces redness, has a calming effect on both mood and skin, can help relieve headaches, has anti-ageing properties and much more. In short, it's magic.

In the spray bottle, this has a similar effect as the instant boost tonic, I spritz my face to snap myself out of bad moods or wake myself up. But when I need some calm, I like to spray this only a cotton pad and hold it over my eyes and temples, taking some deep breathes and hoping that aromatherapy isn't nonsense and I didn't waste £6 on this product.

Tea Tree Oil

Once again, magic. Tea tree is antibacterial so does wonders for spots, helps encourage healing of the skin, and helps with inflammation both of the skin and muscles, so is a great one for a massage.

When I was younger, I'd slather this all over my skin, the thought of it makes me cringe. If I'm feeling like I need a bit of spot-fighting help, I'll mix a couple of drops of this with my toner on a cotton pad, or dab the TINIEST bit directly onto the spot. But I've learned to be gentle and use sparingly, thank god.

The Ordinary Caffeine Solution;

I get asked a lot about The Ordinary products. They seem to be shrouded in mystery, a real cult product that if you know, you know. And I know. I've used a couple of their products, and each one amazes me. But this one, wow.

Since using it from December to now, I see a difference. I actually look like a person who sleeps now.

But again, I love using this product. The bottle makes me feel like a scientist, and the process of patting the product in demands time and attention, a moment of pause. It's a product that makes you feel like you're caring for yourself, and that's worth it enough for me.

Also, the tiny £6 price tag is a beautiful little bonus.



Masks

The staple of any self-care night, the patron saint of the night before 'i need to fix my skin now' panic. I alternate between 2;

The pink one- Rosy Cheeks

Once again, I swear by the rose. When my skin feels especially irritated or angry, I grab this out of my fridge and let it work wonders. I like to use this in the morning because when I remove it, my skin is so calm and happy to don't feel the need to wear any makeup, I can glow about my day.

The red one- The Ordinary AHA 30 + BHA 2 Peeling Solution

Quite the opposite, this mask fights fire with fire, being just as angry as my skin. No, it doesn't make your skin peel off, but it takes no prisoners. This is my quick fix product, and out of my whole routine, I'd say this is the thing I now can't be without. I lay at its feet the credit for my newly clear skin.

It's not for everyone, being such a harsh product, but my skin loves it. It feels like tough love, exactly what I need twice a week. And once again, at £6, my purse loves it too.


In general, I'm a big advocate for The Ordinary products, using both their skincare and their makeup. They're vegan and cruelty-free, their products make my skin feel insanely soft, and I feel comforted by how scientific it all feels, like my adult skin as graduated to official, lab-proven products like serums.

Obviously, I still care about how my skin looks. I still get very hung-up on a spot and needing to have clear skin for a special occasion, with it definitely still being an insecure spot for me. But this routine works. And more importantly, I love it. Sticking to it is easy because of how good it makes me feel. It allows me time in my day to breathe and check in with myself, take a moment of stillness to just wait for it to sink it, knowing I'm doing myself good while doing nothing at all. I see it more as a ritual, just as beneficial for my head as it is for my face. It's balanced perfectly between comfort and excitement, helping me relax and helping me energise. And it's all mine, crafted with only my skin in mind, no longer the fickle routine of seven years ago. I think that's what they call adulting.

And so here's to you, wardrobe.

Here's to my burlesque basket, full of odd ripped stockings, pieces of costumes for abandoned concepts, stained bras, and lost gemstones. 2018 was the year I began performing, and that was undoubtedly a major player in my year. Joining burlesque and being adopted by my Steel City Sirens family has been transformative, for my relationship with myself and others. To get up on stage, armed with nothing but your own fantasies and imagination and push yourself off the cliff of your comfort is terrifying, and this year terrifying became magical. The odd mix of leaf bras, leather garter belts, and maid aprons made me fall in love with adrenaline, to reprogramme the feelings of anxiety and fear into opportunity.  In these looks, I learned the comfort of character dressing, the feeling of anonymity you can get from simply deciding to be someone else for the day. Within months I was heading out to the pub with my best friend, dressed as Lolita and Madonna because why not, both inamoured with the confidence and power we've gained from taking our kit off.

Here's to my polka dot culottes and pink fluffy jumper. I refused to let myself mope about in PJs, clutching my phone in one hand and tissues in the other, desperate for that boy to call. Instead, I wore trousers that felt like PJs and clutched a glass of rose, letting the wisdom of Samantha Jones and the Sex and the City girls wash over me. I coated myself in pattern and colour when I felt grey just so I could see happiness in the mirror. I draped long coats over the top and enjoyed the wind catching in the shapes when I dragged myself out for seaside visits with my friend and my mum. On the worst days, I managed to get dressed.

And on my best days, what I dressed in changed things. Here's to my bodycon dress, worn with confidence and assurance that I looked damn good, curves and hips and tiny boobs and all. As strange as it is to say, I think 2018 was the first time I saw and confronted my body. And god, nothing is more reassuring than having women cheer you on, nodding along in agreement. This year I talked about having curves, and the struggle to come to terms with them after being raised in a pre-Kardashians society. I talked about the feeling of being the curvey one and the challenge to not re-define that as the chubby one, learning to accept that these birthing hips will always look like this, so I might as well like them. And damn, in that dress, I worshipped them.

To my bikini; the holiday isn't one I care to remember just yet, I've accepted that this porcelain skin will never let me be a beach baby, but you looked good. And you look even better with some wide leg jeans, peaking out from a duster coat, on a November evening in Sheffield. Who knew a black bikini could be a symbol of reclamation?

Here's to my Mum's killer boots, my favourite secret weapon. Stomping my way across a rooftop in Camden, on my way to my dream internship at ASOS, in 2018 I learned to make noise. My very own kinky boots, this year I learned the power of the heel, forcing you to stand up straight and tall, making your footsteps heard, forcing you to walk with certainty when you might feel wobbly.  But mainly, stripping away the metaphors, here's to my Mum, for keeping me stomping on and cheering me on always. And one day I promise to forgive you for not keeping more clothes from the 80s, at least these boots make up for a lot.


Here's to my snake print coat. Not to be too dramatic, but I feel like my summer pivoted when I dug this yellow monstrosity out of the sample sale racks. My summer in London was described best by Dickens;

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.

I was nervous to walk into a fashion setting at my lowest, terrified that the Devil Wears Prada stereotype would ring true. But instead, I was assured of what I believed deep down, that fashion is good. ASOS wanted me to feel my best, the brand and all the people there are motivated by empowering others, and I felt that each day. I walked in day one in a basic jumpsuit and left on my last day in a sparkly star print dress, white mules and one too many animal print items. The coat sums it up. Before the summer I would have never put that on, and my sadness sure didn't match the happy yellow, but it felt right. Stomping round Camden in heeled boots, flare jeans, and yellow snake print felt right. When I couldn't feel my pride yet to celebrate myself, I could wear it through a one-of-a-kind loud jacket. And since, that piece has become me. The summer built me up until I could be that confident character, and now when I'm heading out to Tesco, oh I'll just throw on that bright yellow mac, just casual.



Here's to my pink and red clash, stood next to my best friend's animal print dress. Here's to living, drinking cheap wine in a mansion in Hampstead, winning free drinks in a dance-off, applying glitter eyeliner outside the tube stop, and crying on rooftops in pink denim.  Here's to Natasha, my partner in character dressing. Meeting a woman that loves fashion as much as I do was a blessing this year, but meeting a woman that also encourages me to wear my stupidest clothes for a simple pub trip, shout about my achievements, treat myself like a girl boss was an absolute miracle. We got through it all, and we looked fabulous while doing it. I feel like my year started in Summer, crawling out of heartbreak in a full face beat, animal print, and stupidly impractical shoes. Turns out if you dress like your Absolutely Fabulous heroes, you can adopt some of their spirits. Escapism becomes realism.


Here's to my fur coat, surviving into its third winter, still holding me like home. I didn't need new clothes to play a new role. My trusty fur coat feels like comfort and looks like a rich bitch at Christmas, and I wear it well, moving back to Sheffield still recovering but strong. And I end the year in that, my favourite coat, holding all the potential for any character I need to play to get me through the day. With leopard and red lips, or a jumper and jeans, all or nothing, screaming or quiet; I can dress for what I need, wearing soft fur as armour.

On the precipice of a New Year, I feel assured. When I put on my day, stepping into its spirit, I don't feel like I'm forcing it anymore. The snakeskin isn't hiding me as I've come to accept the multiplicity of the person I am, enjoying getting to know each side of me and the power of my sensitivity. I've got through a lot, but I've achieved even more. I finished my second year of uni with a 2:1, I put on six killer performances, I moved to London solo, I smashed my dream internship, I made some of the best friends with the best people I've ever know, and I carried myself through it all in some 10/10 looks.

Here's to the new year and the new people I'll be.

In Summer I looked to this flat as a goal, a light at the end of a dark tunnel. I desperately wanted to be well enough to thrive here, to make it a home and feel it so, for the first time in this city.

After a timeline of heartbreaks and tough times, Sheffield felt like a ghost town for me. I love this city, I'd be the first to advocate for its spirit and life, the creative blood that runs through it, and the communities its built through art and music. There is so much life here, but it felt dead for me. I thought I was done with it. And some places I am, I don't go to certain bars or parts of town, far too haunted to enjoy my pint. But this flat, I remind myself daily, is mine, it's new, reborn with me.

While living alone was daunting, coming into this flat with no one but my own company feels so right. I said in summer I wanted to live happily and radically alone, actively working on myself, and being selective of the energy I allowed through my door. And so far I think radical is the way to describe it, fluctuating from extreme highs to extreme lows, forcing me to confront and comfort myself far more than I knew I could.

At first, I filled it; I had friends round constantly, always the hostess, always busy. It took me about two weeks to realise that I was delaying the inevitable. I needed to freak out a little, it had to hit me that I was alone so I could start to learn to love it. Also, having friends round a lot just means you go through coffee and milk at an alarming rate.

My freak out came at around week three. In the excitement of freshers week and reunions, I hadn't even finished unpacking and settling in, my decoration still wasn't how I wanted it, it still didn't feel quite like a home. I turned down a night out and cried, home alone, for the first time. Being alone is terrifying, I don't know if we ever grow out of that feeling, flinching when you hear an unknown sound and always being a little bit scared of the dark. I definitely have days where I freak out a bit walking into my dark flat alone, or when I literally speak to no one else and go a bit stir-crazy.

It's not the kind of alone I imagined. I don't feel isolated at all, my best friend lives around the corner, and I go out more than I have any other year. I feel more involved and active than ever, and it's nice to have the space to offer up to others for meals, or pre-drinks, or even sleepovers when friends come to visit. We can lounge about on my sofas and not have to be sitting on top of each other when we watch a film or all sit around an actual table to have a meal, rare situations at university let me tell you. It's more of an internal sadness, the lingering insecurity that I'm 'doing uni wrong' by opting for solo living, or for sometimes turning down a night out to tidy my flat and do a facemask instead.
I have nights were I'm here alone, talking to no one, texting no one, bored out of my mind because I have no one else to rely on for entertainment, or to make me happy. That's the biggest thing. No one else is here to make me happy, no one is at my beck and call, I have no choice but to get on with myself.


My flat is now exactly how I want it. It's the haven of pink and feminism and pom-poms that I imagined it would be in summer. I've learned exactly what things and surroundings make me feel calm; each night I light my candles, turn on my fairy nights, and cuddle up to a hot water bottle with some tea, and each morning I open my curtains and put music on my speaker while I make my coffee. But the internal things take time. I'm slowly working on my issues with reliance, finally confronting them and learning to love my own company. I'm starting to feel it. I get giddy at the thought of my evenings, having complete freedom to pamper myself, do whatever I want, listen to whatever I want. No one can interrupt my flow, or dictate any of my choices, I can be completely and unapologetically selfish with no worries. Each time I take a 20-minute shower and perform a flawless one-woman show of Hamilton, I realise that I'm living in bliss.

It's all ups and downs. If I'm already low, it can be hell. Living alone in a creaky old flat and having anxiety is a challenge, and if my depression is playing up, the temptation to isolate myself from everyone and everything is tricky, but that's the point! It was always going to be difficult, I hoped it would be. I wanted these walls to test me, force me to work on issues that are too easily ignored or forgotten with company. I've had to step up for myself, learn how to calm myself, take my security and safety into my own hands completely, look after myself fully. My self-care has had to step up to full self-protection, preservation, love. I know myself now better than I ever have. Me and my mind spend a lot of time together, and I'm starting to think she's pretty great, she cracks me up daily at least.

They say you're all you'll ever have, you have to love yourself first blah blah, well living alone is a crash course in that, and I'm finally feeling like I can keep up.

I have always been fascinated by Andy Warhol and his entourage. The factory and its eccentric circle of artists, models, musicians etc, there is so much confusion and contradiction within its beauty. And then there's Edie, Andy's muse, the woman remembered as simple a muse.  I fell in love with her face and her style, then after watching Factory Girl, Sienna Miller's tragic portrayal made me fall in love with her story. The duo remains two of my favourite reference points, for the extremely minimal, to boundless maximalism.

'I love uniforms! ... It's better to always wear the same thing and know that people are liking you for the real you and not the you your clothes make.'

Andy Warhol is a symbol of simplism. His art cuts corners, and he didn't hide it. His most famous portraits are simply prints of photos with paint layered over the top, duplications made as a team with minimal artistic technique. Some may say he was false, obsessed with consumption and clinging onto pop culture, but that's the point. He knew that, he would be the first to say it. And that's why I love it. Everything about him was minimal, often doing entire interviews saying little more than a few words. And so I think of him on my minimal days, when I wear my blue jeans and leather jacket. I think of Andy in his breton tops and classic suits. Each time I pull on my black polo neck, I pay homage. He's my minimalist icon for when I want to wear a t-shirt and jeans and admire all the more extravagant things, I'll say 'oh yeah, that's great'.

'She was the first person to wear ballet tights as a complete outfit, with big earrings to dress it up. She was an innovator-out of necessity as well as fun... She was pretty incredible.'

Edie Sedgwick is quite the opposite; over the top in look and persona. I love the photos of her dancing in her tights and leotard, chandelier earrings swinging from her earrings; her bleached blond hair and iconic graphic black cut-crease makeup symbolise it perfectly. Edie was the ultimate it-girl, but also Andy's it-girl. While she was always maximalist in fur and jewels with a full beat, there's definitely a nonchalant effortlessness about it all as she is photographed smoking in a basic bra and pants, or a thrown on fur coat and baker boy hat. She always looks like she's going to or coming from a party, always an element of dressing-up. I love it, so so much. I wish I could just wear tights and big earrings, walk around with the same easy sex appeal. In it all, I see the joy of dressing. Andy summarises it himself, necessity and fun. While Edie was suffering massively from mental health issues, in her clothes I see a kind of power dressing, following her whims and shaking off the expectations on her from her high-class family. She defined her own glamorous, merging the high end maximalist with Andy's perfected casual. I aspire to do the same every day. Want to wear a t-shirt? I will. Want to wear a hot pink tasseled dress? I will.

Andy and Edie seem like the strangest and best friendship ever known, you can't have one without the other, inextricably linked and mutually inspiring. Somedays I'll be Andy casual, then the next I'll draw black onto my eyes and posing in my leopard print. And somedays, I'll be both, an ode to the perfect mess of their friendship.