How to Dress like a Melbournian


How to Dress like a Melbournian

Street Style in Melbourne – It’s back to black

They say Melbournian style is all about looking as though you ran through a charity shop wearing velcro and came out the other end giving zero fucks. And by they, I mean – me.

You know those days when you’ve gone to bed with your make-up still on and your hair tied up cause you’re a lazy piece of shit? Only to awaken with a dewy, smudged, smoking hot look and meticulous boho hair? No? Me neither. Which is why, although Melbournian style is beautiful in it’s simplicity, it’s pretty tricky to master. Think no make-up make-up. (I don’t even know what means) Think a diet of green juice, a regulated daily dose of Vitamin D and a high disposable income. Still not with me? Think Body art. Delicate Jewellery. Top knots. And always, always, ALWAYS an assortment of Black. It’s like you turned 18 and thought – fuck this shit – but you’re also a massive hipster so you bought a tote bag with a political message and stuck to the right side of the law.

I have to give it to Melbournians. They’re freaking beautiful. And like srsly black in 40 degree heat? It’s like their clothing are solar panels. Storing up the sun’s energy in the hot weather to warm their bones as soon as the temperature drops to 20. Which it does in the space of a few hours. The weather man *rolls eyes* SO premenstrual. Am I riiight?

And Melbournians savour their unique pieces. They opt for independent or Australian brands over large chains. It’s no wonder charity shops in Australia are called opportunity shops – Op Shops. You’re not a charity man, you’re an opportun-ity.

And oh BOY! So many opportunities to buy things you didn’t even know you needed. A cashmere cardigan with embellished buttons? HELLA YES. A sequin jumper? HOW DO I GET YOU ALONE. A see-through lilac blouse? I’LL NEVER LOOK BACK. The opportunities are endless and who CARES that it’s an average of 35 degrees outside. How can you think about such practicalities when faced with an opportunity of a lifetime. I like to think it was around this time that Duran2 and I started to say ‘Oh Honey YES’ to each other – a LOT.

Before Duran2 and I left for our east coast road trip – we bought everything we needed from op-shops. I bought a variety of old lady jumpers including my Sequin Jumper which I had to (haha HAD to) carry in my stuffed backpack across the Phillipines because I couldn’t bear to part with it. I recently let my friend wear it out and it ‘went missing’. Here, we commenced a full blown search party which eventually ended in it’s appearance stashed behind my washing machine. 2 hours later, I still had to chase after her as she left my house wearing it. Er come BACK here young lady.

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THE sequin jumper. You can look but you can’t touch.


Thought process of: a Tidsoptimist

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It’s 3am. I think my bag is ready. Maybe I should unpack and repack it one more time in the morning. Let’s set my alarm, maybe write a quick list of what I need to do when I get up:

  • shower. shower.
  • have breakfast.
  • grab a coffee.
  • say goodbye to the family.
  • pack my charger, toothbrush and retainers. Do. Not. Forget. Your. Retainers.
  • Find a plug adapter Buy adapter at the airport.
  • Book first nights accommodation. Mmm that’s kind of a biggy. It’ll be fine. I have loads of time.
  • Print boarding passes and first night booking confirmation.
  • Blag a lift to the Station. Airport. Station.
  • Travel to airport


What time’s my flight? 2.30pm. Ah what am I worrying about that’s ages. Let’s set my alarm for 6am. 7am. 7.30am. 6.42am.

Oof this is early 6.42am. I shouldn’t have seen the girls last night. I’m only away for 3 weeks I should have just come home and packed. Oh well, too late. Okay shower? Shower 7.10am. Am I sure I’ve gotten everything? 7.30am. Indi’s awake, let’s grab breakfast. I’ll suggest eggs to try and avoid today’s 15 minute argument about no ice lollies. She’s falling for it. Yes. I’ve won. Ella 1 – Indi nil 7.45am. Where’s indi gone and WHY am I EATING an ice lolly? 8.15am. Make-up – I look dreadful 8.25am. Letting indi help put my make-up on is not a great idea ella 8.30am. Sam is shoo-ing indi away. WHERE has all this glitter come from? 8.40am. Ah shit I need to get out of the house and find somewhere I can print all this stuff. I’ll head to the office 9.01am. Pull over for coffee? Yes. No. No. Be sensible and if you have time then grab a coffee 9.29. Yes, hi everyone I know I’m IN the office but I’m not IN to work so please just ignore me. A problem with what? Okay fine, let me have a look 10.07am. Printing 10.13am. Ah balls, check in online. Where’s my passport? In the car. (I know what you were thinking) 10.27. AH BALLS first night’s accommodation. Searching…Searching…11.01am I DONT KNOW WHERE I’M STAYING 11.02am Geez ella you need to calm the eff down. 11.03am Searching…closest beach to airport 11.20am. Imagine all the stuff I’d know right now if I’d planned this at any point before right this second. Maybe just read some stuff on lonely planet. No. Focus. Ooo arugam bay looks pretty. No ella. No time. 11.24am. Another office question really? Sure. I’ll help. 11.37am. ‘Great place to stay if you’re on a budget. Close to station’ 11.47am. FUCK IT 11.48pm. Ah geez you need to get out of here ella. Print confirmation. GRAB DAD ASK FOR A LIFT TO THE STATION 12.00pm. Arrive at the station 12.23pm Buy train tickets 12.25pm. Wait for train 12.38pm. That wasn’t a long wait, that’s lucky. Now all I’ve gotta do is chill out on this train, listen to some music. Let’s just re-check what time my flight is – 2.30pm. Okay sweet. Loads of time 1.15pm. How long does this train take? 1.34pm. Erm? Ella? 1.45pm. I don’t want you to stress yourself out here but this might be cutting it a bit fine. 1.50pm. It’s okay. 1.52pm. Is it okay? 1.52pm. I don’t think it is o….kaay 1.59pm Shit, 1.59pm means it’s nearly 2pm 2.00pm. Hang on a second, my flight is at 2.30pm so I’ve only left it HALF AN HOUR BEFORE TAKE OFF.

I knew I shouldn’t have showered.

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My little niece has a thing for swimming costumes. Because of which, her drawers are stuffed with one pieces. She’ll pick one for day wear, change twice, one if she wants to actually go swimming – in which case, another spare for the evening. Plus 1 just in case because, come on guys she’s only 3. One has a little tutu stitched around the waist, another, has shiny mermaid scales. She pairs these with glittery trainers, gold sandals or jelly shoes if she’s feeling like dressing it down a  bit. Dress code: Smart cas(ual).

I take a look at my own swimwear. Mismatched bikinis which I love but never wear. Whom, I ask you, has the opportunity to wear a bikini in England? Like for reals. They’re as redundant as the swimming pool you insist you need with your gym membership. I own 2 one pieces. One, is a plain black high neck that I wear when I swim lanes and feel snobby when I roll at the end and kick off, safe in the knowledge that when I kick off, my swimsuit kicks off with me. We’re a team. As opposed to the bikini that you smother in a beach towel on holz OR in an attempt to remain as horizontal as possible, sausage roll over the sand to the sea OR volunteer to be the person made into a sand mermaid. Which you hate.

Fun and fancy adult swimwear is hard to come by. Let me tell you, I am not above wearing children’s clothes if they would accommodate me. I had to re-visit the apostrophe in children’s. Like new children’s clothing, not like clothing that already belong to children. The other one piece I own I found on e-bay and originally purchased as fancy dress that would later form the outfit I have come to name the ‘funky disco chicken’. Whom, I insisted, featured in the opening sequence of the Lion King to someone who had never seen it – aaaaah savegnyaaah baba gitzuvava – the circle of life and that. This particular one piece is neon pink, orange and green with gold coins and swirls and came at the cost of £2.04 plus £2 postage and packaging. Come to think of it, I’ve pulled every. single. time. I’ve worn it. Which, in my humble opinion, has been worth the investment. (I’ll be sure to feature it in a post)

So, next up in my collection of my fave Instama’amers is The Drifter BlogSwimsuits all round. Bikini’s welcome too. Equal rights and that. Or – have a mosey below from my Pinterest board.

swimming costumes, swimwear



surfer girl style, skate style, street style,
*creepy whisper* I love Instagram.

Like all social media channels, someone has to go “go on, it’s great”, quite a few times before you actually, you know, go on. My brother tells me of the time he recommended Instagram to his friend and later as he asked in a normal conversational volume how she was getting on with it, she hastily turned around to him and in an intense whisper said ‘oh my gosh, I love instagram’.

A few years ago, my morning routine consisted of stumbling out of my room, turning on the coffee machine and then sitting in a multi-coloured armchair while I waited for my life to come into focus. Let me tell you, morning ella is not comparable to daytime or evening ella. Morning ella is feral. A feral animal, gradually stirring after a heavy dose of tranquilliser. An animal that you know you could take in a fight, but rattles the cages and scares the bejeezus out of you anyhow. Like a really pissed off hamster. Or an irrational crab. I don’t feel the need to dabble in recreational tranquillisers because it’s how I imagine I feel pre 8am. Bemused. No sense of direction. Minimal motor skills. Questionable balance. I once fell from top to bottom of my Parent’s stairs because my Dad had roused me pre 7am for a bible class. A bible class. We looked at each other in silence before I slowly turned around, walked straight back upstairs and put myself back to bed. ‘ergh forget it’ – my Sister would later add in the reenactment of broken morning ella at the bottom of the stairs. I also once invited a homeless man who had rung the doorbell at 5am into our home…but that’s a story for another day.

In said armchair, I had the view over my favourite surf spot – Combesgate. I could gauge an hours weather report, perv over the sea and coax myself into the routine of breakfast and clothing whilst I medicated myself with coffee.

Today however, my view pre 8am is a little different. Depending on where I am, it’s residential streets, or chickens, or maybe the gym (insert smug face). Instead of coaxing my own stomach towards breakfast, I’m debating with my 3 year old niece about why ice lollies are not an appropriate breakfast, of which I still have no solid argument against – “yeah I guess it is a bit like cold juice”. Thankfully, someone invented Instagram. Which is basically like my previous routine, except instead of my own life, it’s someone else’s. Alarm goes off – phone switches on – cue 5 minutes of images that imply I live in the tropics and have a diet that is 89% baked goods. Which, now I come to think of it, is probably 50% true.

So if you need to live your life through someone else’s – I’d recommend the LadySlider who is first up on my posts from my fave female instagrammers aka instama’amers.