How To Survive When You Can’t Sleep (An Honest Review of Lush’s Sleepy Lotion)

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Instagram- lo_cowen

So, here’s my usual bed time routine: Get in bed, shut eyes, convince myself someone is hiding in my wardrobe, check wardrobe, get back in bed, sweat, open window, shiver, close window, practice conversation that will never happen in my head, think of a business idea, check clock, say a few expletives, shut eyes, convince myself someone is going to break in and kidnap me, create a plan of action for such an event, check clock, say more expletives whilst worrying about how few hours sleep I’m going to get, check Instagram, Tweet about not being able to sleep, shut eyes, worry about something silly, eventually fall asleep.  Sound familiar? Well I tried the internet’s insomnia hero, the Lush Sleepy Lotion, to see if it could help.

Continue reading “How To Survive When You Can’t Sleep (An Honest Review of Lush’s Sleepy Lotion)”

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How To Survive Approaching People You Fancy in Nightclubs. (A What Not To Do Guide consisting of Anecdotes from One of Many Hideous Encounters.)

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Image from my Instagram @lo_cowen

Sorry to disappoint but this isn’t anecdotes about myself approaching people I fancy in clubs- although that would definitely make a highly cringe-worthy and self-deprecating post that would entertain you for hours. But no, this is a post based on experiences as a female in a nightclub on a Saturday night, just wanting to get dolled up and go out dancing.  Continue reading “How To Survive Approaching People You Fancy in Nightclubs. (A What Not To Do Guide consisting of Anecdotes from One of Many Hideous Encounters.)”

How To Survive Work Experience.

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(Left Image taken by Anna Fletcher at Boohoo. Both images taken from my Instagram: @lo_cowen)

I’ve been on work experience before, but that was mostly at hairdressers or restaurants under the obligation of school courses or CV enhancement. In that case, you can imagine how nervous I was when I landed some work experience at Boohoo HQ! I’d never had work experience doing anything I was genuinely passionate and cared about before, so I really wanted to impress here. However it turned out that even I managed to get along just fine, despite my (often wildly mistaken) preconceptions and fears about working at such a huge fashion brand.

Continue reading “How To Survive Work Experience.”

How To Survive Feeling Like a 2/10 (When Everyone Else Seems like a 12/10)

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Instagram: @lo_cowen

One day I was trying on my favourite bikini to check it still fit for my holiday. It did. Like a glove. To be honest, I thought I looked great. I’d been working really hard in the gym and actually remembering to feed myself at regular intervals throughout the day (instead of you know, eating nothing all day then eating my entire house and the complete cast of Newsies when it got to 8pm). So yeah, overall I was feeling pretty hot. And then I saw them. These long white stripes across my bum cheeks. I have stretch marks. Continue reading “How To Survive Feeling Like a 2/10 (When Everyone Else Seems like a 12/10)”

How To Survive Going Back to Live With the Parents. (Kindly Katie’s tips!)

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The lovely Kindly Katie (click to see her blog!) had some great ideas for those of us who’ve come home from university, travelling or anywhere else and are back living with our parents. Although the free food in the fridge and household heating might be a luxury at first, sometimes the novelty wears off of being back home, but Katie’s gathered a few ideas about how to cope with this:

Continue reading “How To Survive Going Back to Live With the Parents. (Kindly Katie’s tips!)”

How To Survive People Caring About Your Body When It Has Nothing To Do With Them Anyway.

Today I was scrolling through Snapchat and somehow ended up looking at the Daily Mail Snapchat Story. There was an article which, if you have me on Twitter, you will know infuriated me. So now I’m going to rant about it on here and you’re on this post now so you might as well sit and listen.

Angelina Jolie went to meet the Archbishop of Canterbury to discuss the Refugee Crisis, preventing sexual violence in conflict and South Sudan. These are just a few of the humanitarian issues Jolie vocally cares for and works towards bettering. Amazing right? A star as big as her using her platform to better the world and help those in need. What did the Daily Mail have to say about her? They released an article reporting comments about the fact she wasn’t wearing a bra, claiming the Archbishop was “in danger” (genuine quote, because nipples are so threatening, didn’t you know?) of being distracted by her nipples. The last few paragraphs of the article did mention some of Jolie’s charity work, but the leading headline and opening paragraphs were focused on comments on her nipples. It also implied the Archbishop had nothing to be concerned about other than her nipples, as if he spent the whole meeting staring at them. Doubt it Daily Mail, it’s only you and the likes of Piers Morgan who think every opportunity is an opportunity to sexualise something. In the same Snapchat Story, women’s bodies were constantly the forefront of their “News” yet they continued to place negative light on women doing well and being happy with their bodies.

The same has been seen with Emma Watson’s latest photo shoot which apparently was a “topless” photoshoot, which it was not. It was slight under-boob/ cleavage. To be honest, it was nothing more than any ordinary artistic modelling shoot you’d see in Vogue or something. But even if it was topless apparently, you’re not allowed to be a feminist and have boobs. Men like Piers Morgan are the ones who get to tell us what is and isn’t feminism and what is and isn’t acceptable to do with our bodies. Duh. Apparently images of Cindy Lauper looking smoking af (see his twitter feed) are okay, but Kim Kardashian, Emily Ratajkowski and Emma Watson can not possibly be sexual beings with you know, female bodies, and also feminists.

Perhaps even worse, however, is women tearing other women down because of their bodies and what they choose to do with them. You don’t get to tell someone “oh put it away.” or say “her bum isn’t even that nice” just because you’re not comfortable with flaunting your own body. It’s okay to not want to take topless photos or wear short dresses or whatever. But it’s also okay to want to do that. What’s not okay is slating someone for being happy with their body, choosing to wear revealing or non-revealing clothing. (To be honest I don’t even like using the word revealing here, it feels kind of derogatory, sorry, I just can’t think of a different word). If you don’t want to see someone’s pictures, if you think how they’re dressing is wrong, how they’re posing is wrong or their bum isn’t that nice, fine. Unfollow them on Instagram, wear whatever clothes you want and keep your nasty words to yourself.

Seriously, how have we got to a point (or should I say how are we STILL at a point) where women’s bodies and appearances get more attention than their UNICEF work, animal rights work, women’s rights work, charity donations and time spent volunteering, amazing acting work, amazing entrepreneurial skills or you know, nice personality and good-will? In the words of Emily Ratajkowski “If you can’t take a woman seriously because you’ve seen her body, that’s on you.”

Bodies are just bodies. If anyone is critical of yours and what you do with it, it’s only because they’re taking a break from being so critical of themselves.

Speak soon,

Laura

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How To Survive Being a Lazy Perfectionist.

Seriously do you have any idea how frustrating this is?

I am somehow, simultaneously, the laziest person I know and the biggest perfectionist I know. I know it sounds impossible but on one hand I’ve genuinely been referred to as “the real life Monica Geller” before but then I’m also the kind of person who leaves my dishes on the side hoping my housemates will eventually, bit by bit, wash them for me. (Sorry housemates, love ya!) But heaven forbid that pile of dishes spreads further than the designated dirty dishes section of the kitchen counter. Dear God no.

I like to do this thing where I get an essay question and plan my answer to it weeks in advance, feel really productive for one day doing loads of secondary source searching, then not look at it for weeks and leave it until the last few days to actually do any writing. I want my work to be perfect, but I’d much rather binge watch Netflix. See the internal conflict?

I also love hosting. Being a control freak and all, the role of the hostess and organiser of pre drinks, sleepovers, whatever is very appealing to me. Okay, fine. It’s nice to have someone around to organise fun things to do in a group, right? WRONG. Remember that Friends episode where Monica hosts a birthday party for Rachel but no one enjoys it? The one where the guests keep trying to sneak to Joey and Chandler’s alternative party because Monica’s getting neurotic about coasters under glasses and her awful party game? I’m the Monica there, except my neurosis is induced by trying to herd uncooperative people into taxis and not letting anyone use my family heirloom Vintage 1960’s shot glasses. (The fact that my family heirloom is a rack of shot glasses probably says a lot about my family but let’s not pry.) I love to host, but it’s my way or the high way. If you’re wondering why I don’t just let someone else host, well, I just couldn’t possibly. Where’s the control in that?

My favourite, however, is sleeping in way past my alarm and leaving it until I have twenty minutes before I have to leave the house to get ready and eat breakfast. Impossible you say? Nope. The Monica Geller in me has solved it. Gym clothes. Picture this: me in normal clothes looking tired, windswept with last night’s hair. Lazy, running late perhaps? Now picture this: me, make-up -less, windswept with last night’s scruffy bun BUT with running leggings, a sports bra and trainers on, carrying my “Drop it like a squat” water bottle. Suddenly, I no longer look lazy, just super active.

I have decided, however, to embrace my Monica Geller side more. She’s not so bad. She’s organised, she’s got great clothes and everyone still comes back to her apartment at the end of a long day. Although, I do promise never to get my hair braided like hers no matter how humid it may get.

Speak soon,

Laura

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