A Wonder Woman Wardrobe

Blessings upon blessings we are travelling back to the UK over the next few weeks to see family and friends for the first time in many many years. But before we reach our snowy white Christmas we're having a sneaky few days in Thailand. An unbelievable and unexpected treat which we are soaking up with reckless abandon.

I don't know what it's like at your house but I'm telling you, the beautiful simplicity of an uninterrupted conversation with my husband is a rare treat, and we've had at least three since we arrived.

Three glorious uninterrupted conversations.

Yes.

Three.

And I dare say it may happen a few more times before we leave. That's the beauty of being in the same place, both awake, neither stressed, while the kids are happily entertained by general happy holiday-ness. Hallelujah.

Also, it's been  five days since I've cooked. Longer since I've done any washing. And every time I return after the cleaner has 'made up my room' I dance a little jig in the doorway before I enter. Thanking the hotel gods for the blessing of a clean room. It's like being a kid again. Leaving for school In the morning with your room a disaster zone, your floor covered in washing, half drunk cups of water at your bedside table. Then returning in the afternoon, post mothers touch to a thing of beauty, your room straightened into order with well practiced hands.

Anyway before I make you all thoroughly sick with talk of my cooking/cleaning fast, and my spousal conversations let me share with you this strange nawing anxiety I've been experiencing. It's taken me a while to work out where it's come from. But I'll try and explain without sounding like I've completely taken leave of my senses.

It's to do with my holiday wardrobe. We all do it, right? And probably with good reason. I'm sure pop psychology backs up our practice of donning our parallel universe wardrobe. All those bright colours and flirty cuts probably release endorphins of epic proportions to help get us into the holiday mood. I'm wearing mine right now. Fruity floral tropical prints. Bright colours jutted up against bright colours with great swathes of missing fabric revealing unprepared and awkwardly surprised skin.

But rather than experiencing a rush of endorphins I feel lost and uncomfortable. Without my linen dresses, my organic cotton jeans, and my slightly geeky a little edgy oversized 'this and that' I feel as though I can't breathe. Flitting about in flirty tropical onesies and attempting to relax as I suck in my bare tummy poolside is simply not fun or endorphin inducing. Frankly, it's stressing me out.

I didn't realise how awkward and strange I was feeling in my holiday wardrobe until today when I spotted this rather fabulous looking lady, with not a sarong or a fluro floral sheath thrown over her togs, but an oversized white and blue striped shirt with crisp collar and cuff and shaped hem that finished graciously at mid thigh.

How had she known to do such a thing! Not only was she looking effortlessly sassy poolside- she wouldn't be caught unprepared post flight home to a European winter with that 'I fell asleep in the sun' shade of red at her shoulders and ludicrously inappropriate tropical sundress. No, part way through said flight she could zip to the loo, shimmy on some dark skinny denim to really make that crisp striped shirt pop. Oooo la la, a piece of chunky hand knit at her neck and boom - she'd be ready for landing - not looking like the rest of us sunburnt knobs returning from our trip to Thailand.

I actually let out a sign of approval as I watched her sahsay past. And a lightbulb went on in my head. Yes, that's what I needed to restore equilibrium and quell my anxious tummy. I needed my actual wardrobe, not holiday Jodie wardrobe. I needed my oversized linen smock dress in ochre hues, my forest green linen trousers with the serious waistband and uncompromising pleats, oh goodness gracious me how I wished I had packed my geeky brogue sandals.

And then it dawned on me. I had packed something that would do the 'it's okay, you're still you, and you're the bee's bloody knees' trick. For the next decidedly colder stage of our journey I had packed my truly awesome Tonic & Cloth oversized white mens shirt. A Holi Boli masterpiece I had planned to wear in the U.K. -merino and denim under, jacket and mustard hand knitted cowl over. But 'O' joy of joys it would be perfect for Thailand. Thrown over togs, or worn at breakfast as I piled my bowl high with tropical fruit. I could be poolside appropriate, and yet still me. And I could do as I imagined that fabulous lady by the pool doing. Boarding the flight from Bangkok to London with a wisp of crisp white shirt - then achieving a Wonder Woman transformation before descent into snowy London. Now that's what I call a holiday wardrobe! And that's what I call style without compromise. 

Lipstick and a Brave Face

People frequently describe a fledgling business venture like a new born baby. The delight and terror and uncharted territory all rolled into one sleepless thrill ride.  For me it is the terror that rings most true.

I started my business in February of this year. Since then three days a week I have donned work attire, lipstick, heels and a brave face - and walked from my kitchen to my home office (about 5 or 6 steps). There is no tricky commute or bully boss - there is nothing stress inducing to speak of. And yet each time I reach the office door my heart squeezes against my rib-cage and the ringing in my ears reaches fever pitch.  Every past, close or real call with failure swirls around me in a cacophony of  'you're not good enough', 'you're too young', 'too old', 'too sick', 'too stupid', 'YOU. WILL. FAIL'. A chorus so loud and so fervent it disorientates and exhausts me.

Ridiculous really. In the beginning no-one, bar a select few, even knew of my plans to launch gingerly into the entrepreneurial world. These defeatist feelings have nothing to do with others expectations - and everything to do with my own. Until I stepped out of my comfort zone, I had no idea they were even there.

As part of my degree I did this wonderful creative writing paper. In one of the modules the guest speaker and published author took us through the most commonly used story line in novels and movies - and it struck me the story line she spoke of drew strong parallels with life itself. She talked about the protagonist reaching out toward an ultimate goal, one we are all gunning for her to reach, but alas, between her and this goal are 'gatekeepers' to throw her off course. Why? well it makes for an excellent story, doesn't it? But in real life, it just sucks.

I've  kept on with the lipstick and heels in the office thing for months. Working at a snails pace, focusing most of my energy on fighting off negative self talk, dodging gatekeeper bullets as I researched, played hide and seek with them as I found suppliers, then most satisfyingly I gave those gateway keepers 'the middle finger' when I finally secured funds.

It's funny what happens when you just keep turning up. Doing the hard thing. The uncomfortable thing. The stare all my weaknesses in the face everyday thing. It. Gets. Easier.

Then this week, I had a light bulb moment. Actually, not true. I reached down into my beat up old bag of light bulb moments and I pulled out an old one - dusted it off and took a good hard look at it. I realized that to do this, and not just do it, but enjoy it, I needed something that shouted louder than that negative cacophony - a vision bigger and more compelling. A vision not about me and my success or failure  - but one about lives being changed. I want women here in New Zealand and Australia to feel beautiful and confident no matter what they face each day. And I want women in a tiny town in India to be able to to go to work today, be part of a team, use their hands to create something good and lasting and incredible - and play a part in putting a smile on the face of a woman in pain over here. There's something beautifully symbiotic about that vision. It's lasting. And more importantly it's loud. 

I'm arming myself with that today - lipstick on - (side note "hungry like the wolf" - don't you just love lipstick names!) vision on. Let's do this.

(Organic) Seeds of Change

I’m no Eco warrior. I’m open and interested, but I’ve failed more times than I’ve succeeded. My compost bin got off to a flourishing start until hubby moved it to mow the lawns – it’s been in pieces since then. I can’t work out how to click it back together. And then there was the worm farm/massacre of 2015, need I say more. I learn at a snails pace. The seeds of change grow slow in me; at times dying off in harsh, drought-like conditions before they even sprout.

The first time I came across organic cotton I was in London on my big OE – drawn into an exhibition up a tiny side street. Some hopeful looking punters were trying to spread the word about the merits of organic cotton. Their enthusiasm was somewhat lost on me. Why, I wondered, would I invest in an organic cotton t-shirt, I mean – it wasn’t like I was going to eat it. In my twenties and on a nanny's wage I could barely get my head around paying significantly more for organic produce. The thought of spending hard earned cash on organic clothing was a hard sell.

The organic cotton seed had unfortunately fallen on stony ground with me.

Later I moved back to NZ. This time settling in a small town where I met an incredible bunch of people who grew their own veges, made their own skincare products and drank raw milk. I was fascinated. Watching and learning from them got my brain ticking again about that organic lot in London.

I too started growing my own veges. The process began to speak to me. If I was going to put this stuff in my mouth at the end of the growing season I wanted to make sure it was safe. If I was going to go to all this effort I wanted to make sure I was growing the best. So I started with organic soil and organic seeds – I added sunshine, water and time – next thing I knew I was eating what I’d grown a few steps from my front door, from soil and seeds I trusted.

When I became pregnant with my first child, niggly periphery concerns came into sharp focus. I’d read a study talking about the chemicals found in breast milk. It made me recall once again that day in London, and the enthusiasm of the organic cotton proponents. Maybe they were making a fair point, maybe there was something to this organic cotton malarkey after all. Maybe it did indeed matter what we put close to our skin. And more than that, certainly it mattered what the cotton farmers were touching, inhaling, and bringing home with them on their skin at night.

It wasn’t until last year that I switched once and for all to organic cotton underwear. I mean, if you’re going to start somewhere it might as well be around the important bits! And this week I bought my first piece of organic denim, the jeans are halfway finished and I’m excited. My theory is - switch high use items first, and surely there is nothing higher use than underwear and jeans!

While it’s taken me time to get my head around this organic thing in my personal life. In business it will be much faster. It needs to be. The stakes are high. The flow on effects of each decision far reaching. What that little London exhibition was trying to say is true - cotton growing is chemically intensive. These enormously toxic chemicals have an undeniable impact on air, water, soil, and the health of people.

The impact is real, it’s personal.

This is not about creating an 'eco-brand'. This is about, wherever possible, making good decisions for my family and my business that will flow on to the planet. I don’t want Tonic & Cloth to simply add to the frenetic milieu of fast fashion. I want to listen, and be fertile soil for seeds of positive change - if there is a way to do things better, then I want to know how.

So that’s why this week I have an organic bee in my bonnet - I’m hunting out organic cotton manufacturers for Tonic & Cloth’s Summer collection. And I hope I find what I am looking for. Wish. Me. Luck!