If the dress fits . . . buy it

So, here’s a little tip ladies (and my few fashionista fellas) – if you barely fit in the change room, it’s highly unlikely that you’re gonna fit in the dress.

Or is it . . . ?

*does best pondering face*

After holding up to myself what seemed to resemble a slightly lengthier black hanky, I had a little Cantonese woman say “Ooh you tall, you wear. You try, YOU TRY!” as she forcibly shoved me in to the change room (little bugger was stronger than she looked!).

Too scared to leave the change room – also known as 0.5 metre squared change hole with curtain and no mirror – I decided to de-robe (gayest expression), and give this little hanky a run for its money.

After impressing myself with some crazy flexibility skills (I knew those two yoga lessons would pay off one day) I maneuvered my way into this slinky number and – low and behold – actually did the zip up! Sweet!

Jo, 1. Dress, 0.

Still not sure what this thing is actually looking like (coz of lack of reflectory devices in change hole) I promptly pluck up the courage to step out from behind the curtain and face the mirror outside (as well as the probing hands of the Cantonese woman, who likes to touch giant lady).

Soooo . . . conclusion?

Well it’s a bit lame from the front (Cantonese lady tugs at bow), although I do like the back (puts her hands on my waist and squeezes), and I feel somewhat catlike in it (starts picking off imaginary threads from dress), which is always a bonus (does the waist thing again).

I start to weigh up the pros and cons . . . Pro: it fits! Con: I don’t have anywhere to wear it. Con: I have seventeen black dresses. Con: I am not sure that it’s actually that nice.

“I’ll buy it!” I declare (I never was very good at the adding up part of the pros and cons game).

“Oh yes. You buy,” smirks old ‘Seven Hands’.

So now I officially own yet another black evening dress, to wear to nowhere in particular. Wanna see it? Kay ('scuse lame photography)!

Who wants to come to Hong Kong and whisk me away to some lavish cocktail event?

Peace out peeps!

xoxox

I work on top of designers

Is my heading the quote of a lesser known smutty supermodel?

No, my dear friends, it is a Jo Hamilton original and refers to my place of work – Pacific Place in Honky Tonk town.

Pacific Place is a fantastically massive shopping mall ('mall' is the only way I feel I can describe this place), and is filled to the brim with designer gear and niche boutique stores.

Picture old Joey from Sydney Town, walking around smiling like an r-tard, staring in the windows of Gucci, Louis Vuitton, Manolo Blahnik (!!!), Burberry, Escada, Salvatore Ferragamo and more, more, MORE!

I know we've all seen these places before, but not all in the one joint people! And not bloody well underneath your work. It's rad!

So now instead of aimlessly walking into 'SES' at Wynyard ramp, I am shamelessly striding into Chanel and Hermes.

My new favourite game is to walk in, unfold things, hold them up to myself, look totally displeased, then drop it back in its place with a slight 'tsk' . . . then I look down my nose at the lady in the store and say 'Not for me daahhling . . . yes, bay (bye).'

Aaaghhh Joanne, have you no dignity? No respect? No polish?

No.