So today was My First London Audition.  Yes it's in capitals because It Is A Very Significant Thing For Me.  I'm starting from scratch here.  I know nothing and noone so any little tidbit (read: audition for anything!) that comes my way I am seizing upon as if hungrily stalking Hansel and Gretel; collecting crumbs of importance that will lead a path to my future.  After tossing and turning all night, today, I was a bit of a wreck.  Conveniently, just as I walk out the door, my phone has decided to die.  So now I am completely on my own.

But my tube ride is long and gives me plenty of time to think.  Too much time if you ask me.  Whirling around in my head are the niggling anxieties that riddle my skin with goosebumps and fear of what lies ahead.  Will they think I am some country bumpkin from the end-of-the-world?  My accent, which has always been a bit of an inoffensive car-crash to New Zealand ears, might it completely offend British sensibilities?  Am I too short, too old, too smiley, not smiley enough?  I catch my frowning reflection in the window opposite, nervously biting at the corner of my fingers.  I put my hands down and uncrease my face..

I haven't had a coffee today and I can't stop yawning as the train pulls into the station.  Not a good look to turn up bleary eyed and inattentive.  My saving grace is some charming little coffee shop on the corner that makes a delicious soy flat white.  With a taste of home warming my cockles and a little chocolate to perk my mood, I set out the last 500m to the studios.  What will they be like?  Gleaming and white, polished and new?

The street is charmingly well dressed in the way that all the historic brick lined streets are here. Or at least the ones that aren't marred by the oppressive presence of a council estate in their midst.  As I count down the houses to where the studios lie, my heart plummets to my stomach.  There is a small crowd outside.  A motley crew of a dozen or so middle aged men and women and two vaguely punkish types that look more like gaffers than presenters.. I've never been to a cattle call casting before, but I remind myself; I will have to start somewhere.

He leads me up a rabbit warren of stairs and unlocks a door,  And it's just a room.  A dark, dingy, slightly-too-warm-from-the-camera-lights, room with a scrabble of editing gear, playback screens and microphone wires.   I see my dummy script on the table and I smile.  It's short, it's commercial and it looks like a hundred commercials I've done before.  I relax and realise I can actually do this.  My first read through though is crap, I'm letting my nerves creep in front of my eyes.  Note to self: get better at sight reading.  I do a quick readthrough under my breath and go for take two.  My second one, was spot on.  I knew I hadn't stumbled or put any weird pauses in anywhere and the director was just looking at me grinning saying perfect, that's it, handing me two business cards asking me to email both his production companies.

So that was it.  It's not much, but it's something.  It's a step in the right direction and a reassurance that I'm not going to be completely out of my depth here.  And it feels good.  It feels like progress and and happiness are just around the corner.  I just need to hurry up and go meet them.  xx

ps - got the call today:  I got the job!  :D

How to say goodbye to a piece of your heart?  How to let go of that which you love still?  To walk away from what you know as close as your own skin, as intimately as a lover?  How to carve a star in the shape of your home, to shine on when you step forward into dark unknowingness?

The heart-stopping, hand-trembling, immobilising fear of terra incognita. All the goodbyes and the things left unsaid.  The people you'll miss and the jobs left undone.  Preparatory panic and awful abandonment of all that you have collected to say; this is me, these are the things I love, these are the ones I chose over all others, which I am forsaking now.  Futility: time dripping through your fingers like trying to catch water and hold it in your hand.

But what price freedom and dreams unfulfilled?  The bitter frustrations and quiet anxieties of ignoring the obvious and choosing the path untravelled.  The temptations of comfort and simplicity and succumbing to that mind-numbing acquiesence.  All for what - a taste of strange?  Hang on Houston, this could be a bumpy ride.

I wish for a perfume, the fragrance of here.  It smells of sunshine and summer time, fresh cut grass and lazy days at the bach.  The creamy warmth of sunscreen and a tang of insect repellent.  The salty wind and crisp alpine breeze.  A delicate, light frothiness of a pavlova topped wave to wash away my worries with the sand.  The mustyness from a farm with a little oily smoke of a tractor.

And now.  And now.  My moment has come and an indefatigable, poignant pain has arrived.  All I have loved, still love, and have yet to love - I gave you a place on that carousel that turns on infinity, with revolutions of care, circling through my mind; that I might remember how we were, what we did, and have yet to do.

Aided and abetted by the ones who loved me best, you cared for me and protected me, cried with me and for me.  Fueled by a fire that burned for more, so I can light it here again.  Some unrequited love and thirsty ambition to inspire the hope that some future awaits and spark that passion anew. 

And now I go, to step forth armed with nothing but blind faith and good intentions.

New Zealand, you are my heart.  I'll never forget you, I take you with me wherever I go.  Arohanui, Katy xx

I was asked on Good Morning the other day "What do Bloggers write about?"  Good bloody question.  There are a lot of quality blogs out there, but mark my words, there is a world of drivel.  Call 'em what you will, but to me they are essentially typey-faced content farms, overrun with keywords and someone else's hyperbole, there to manufacture the manufacturers traffic.  For the older generation, who like their news on paper and their self-conscious twatterings over the fence - how best to describe the purpose of a blog?

Without getting too precious about it, I like my blogs with a slice of insight, lashings of intelligence and strong doses of personality.  I like lots of humour and balls.  Especially balls.  The ones who dare to say what others cannot or will not.  The whistleblowers and the champions of a cause.  That's my cup of tea.  Of the bloggers I read, I've happily observed them unawares, in their non-blogging capacities and they are the real deal.  Thought provoking, sensitive and stylish people. Ze genuine article..

it's something I wish more writers would consider before pouring forth some regurgitatey mess of combobulations, cobbled together with the aid of Google search, facebook quotes and PR wordsmiths.  I can forgive the odd grammatical error and spelling mishap - when you're on a roll.  But if you're not, if you have no angle, no story, no aim, no hook, nor line or sinker, what exactly is the point of it all?  You might please the PR people and the marketing monkeys, but I doubt very much their salaries contribute to yours.  You're basically doing all the leg work for some suit you don't know, of some topic you know nothing about. For what?

The interminable question: what to write.  I agonise over it, picking and choosing my insinuations and level of entendre and depth of congruity.  Debating the topic in my head before I take it to the blog-o-sphere.  Is it newsworthy?  Too verbose?  Not enough? Will it make someone smile?  Fashion and style might seem trivial, but I'm no Mc Donalds, I can't belt out blog post after blog post to clutter your eyeballs and slaughter your braincells with unprocessed rubbish.  As a fashion lover, does anyone give a damn?

I wrote a piece for Wellington Style TV last year during Fashion Week that captured the essence of the burgeoning problems facing, if not least the NZ online audience, likely the digital landscape at large.  The wealth of choice, verbal and visual diarrhoea that spews forth from the interweb is overwhelming.  People are confused and noone knows where to look.  It's not like the library and mastering the dewey decimal sequence, the Google rabbit warren leads you further.  Ergo, I believe the purpose of the blog, is to disseminate the facts.  We're meant to save you from a plethora of platitudes and give you the good stuff.  Those nuggets of knowledge we've hunted down for your attention.

Of the blogs I love, some introduced themselves to me; on here and in person, some I knew from a past life, others I've worked with and some are friends; friends of friends, new friends or not-quite-yet friends.  Either way my ecclectic readership grows and morphs as I become more discerning and garner the recommendations of others, whose opinions I respect and admire.  I don't mind a long blog - I appreciate good photography but I like it better with words.

I meant to start this off as a recap of my Fashion Festival-ing experiences so far.  But, therein lies the rub.  If you write from the heart, it's difficult to disuade it from it's course.  Even when yours is as broken as mine. 
If you have a blog you love to read, please share it below in a comment.  Everyone who does goes into the draw to win a pair of Remmington Keratin Straighteners!  Extra entries via facebook. Good luck x

Grammy Awards and fashion are strange lovers.  A tumultuous affair of style against grace, glamour versus glitter and the fur will oft fly.  While we may be accustomed to seeing refined threads tread the red carpet at say, the Oscars and fine fashion at perhaps the Emmy's, when it comes to the Grammy Award's fashion - all the world's a stage.  And unfortunately, some will commit any number of fashion crimes and ensembling atrocities in the name of fame.

Now I'm all about self expression and when it comes to fashion and style - I'm pro choice.  But some really take  attention-seeking dramatics to a tacky extreme.  Not least for their lack of aesthetics, but if I was a teacher and kids were shouting over the top of me and all the other students, I'd send them out of the classroom for bad behaviour.  Just sayin.  So in no particular order here are my Grammy Fashion Awards for those who missed my styling tips on TV One's Good Morning yesterday.

Nicky Menaj, who I like, looks like a sulky noob in this get up; which I do not like  The thing which really annoys me about this is she is wearing 3 things I adore. 1) A cape!  I love a cape!  I own more capes than anyone else I know (probably more capes than anyone, period) I have even, often been heard waxing lyrical about the practical and aesthetical benefits of what I call "capey goodness"  2)  I love that shade of riding hood red... on a cape no less! Those two things together should be the sex! 3) Matching driving gloves.  Normally, tres chic. 

But anal-bead-esque detailing, excess volume and general sheeny-ness render her Vesace outfit ridiculous.

Rihanna on the other hand hits a home run in this stunning Armani designed gown.  She has simply never looked sexier in a simple black number that showed exactly why she is one of the hottest musicians in the world.  Full marks for fashion, minus points for collaborating with Brown.  She's an idiot.  And frankly, as such a huge role model, she should show some responsibility to her young female fans by maintaining her distance.  But that's getting a little off topic now.  Back to the Grammy fashion shall we?

I actually like this.  In a "I wish I had the balls/body to wear that" kinda way.  If you take away from the fact that she is kinda nakey (and let's face it, with all the mesh and lace that's been so on-trend *insert sarcasm* of late), realistically, she's not doing much that others aren't already doing in the office.  She's just doing it in orange.  She's covered up the cleavage and that aint no thong song.  Overall that lace is divine, so are the capped sleeves and the mermaid train.  If she'd done it black everyone would be having kittens - but it's the Grammy's so apricot it is. 

I actually love this dress.  On it's own, it is simply stunning.  The fabric, the beaded detail, the fall, the cut, the waisted tie-belt; divine.  But the dress is obviously one that can wear you, if you let it.  There is a lot going on.  And perhaps the dress fell short because of the weird blue-dye-job, volumous coiffure and noticeable regrowth.  Maybe it was just that the cut - which suits flat chested girls by distracting away from the boobies (or lack thereof) with a flash of back; was not designed for someone with knock-out knockers like the boobilicious Katy Perry.  Oh to have such an acursed affliction!  Whatever the reason, ememble numero deux worked better.  Dude behind her pulling the face... not so much.

The full run down and styling tips video from Good Morning will be up in the next few days.  I'm so sorry lovely readers I haven't been able to post much this year. 

The truth is, I've been going through a whole pile of horrible personal circumstances that have made me too emotional and upset to bear turning on my laptop.  Let alone stringing words together to make sense.  But I'm starting to come right now... not full sunshine, lollipops and rainbows, but I can see a few rays of sunshine poking through the clouds,  I look forward to bringing you more and better very, very soon. 
Much love <3 Katy xo

_Purging my wardrobe is part of a complete personal overhaul.  No longer will I keep things in the dark, locked away from the light of day.  Nor will I dress them up or adopt a fashion that is not my own.  All of my bad decisions, fashion failings and secret shame will be brought to the fore.  Likewise, I'm letting go the assembly of ensembles that have defined my past; the well loved and fabulous finery I fashioned my memories from.  In 2012 I'm confront my mistakes, embracing successes and releasing the shortcomings that have stitched themselves into the fabric of my life.

With my closet doors thrown open, I'm calling my skeletons out.  If you have buried your bodies there, for me to hide and cover beneath a veneer of fabulousness, they shall not remain hidden very long.  To cleanse myself, wash away all that clings to me from yesterday is both painful and rewarding.  The thing with clothes is, they are a tactile embodiment of who you were when you wore that.  Baggy and black, to shrink inside yourself and hideaway from the world.  Bright and colourful, the artful misdirection - be the vividness, feel the energy.

_But there comes a time when you can live in the past no longer.  Evolve or die.  To repeat the same experiences is not living - it's barely existing.  It's a waste of the precious gift we have in life.  I haven't quite figured out the meaning of that quite yet, but I'm pretty sure it has something to with creating more happiness than sadness.  Being a beacon of positivity, so others may shine in turn bringing light to others in their encounters.  To create a cycle of joy that is ever expanding.

These things in my wardrobe, that I need no longer, have brought me so much pleasure and brought smiles to faces when I wore them.  And now the time has come for my stitched stories to tell a new tale.  Find a new home and have more adventures.  I cannot cling to them for what they were and who they represent.  I am that person no longer, I have a new narrative and a fresh yarn to spin.  They all have a story to tell with much life left in them - they deserve a new wearer and fresh eyes to reinvent them.

On March 1st 6-9pm the Blogger Closet Raid at Cross St Arcade will join in New Zealand Fashion Festival and a huge worldwide phenomena.  Bloggers often struggle to make money from blogs.  Selling advertising looks a bit naff and it's a bit awkward trying to post an honest opinion if you're receiving a backhand payment from a fashion brand, any brand.  To remain authentic and genuine, how do you stay truly independent and pay your rent, or afford that gorgeous vintage scarf?  I don't have the answers, probably no bloggers do.

But one thing we do know is fashion.  Our clothes, our style, it's who we are and what we do.  Our readership is unique to our personality and form of expression.  We're not just selling our stuff, we're inviting you in; to see us stripped bare - literally,  Showing you our wardrobes is showing our naked selves.  We stand up from under our laptops and peek out from behind out cameras to sign a name to our faceless opinions and take the online world offline.  In the flesh and in the fash. (ion)

_So come, come, come along!  a) it would be lovely to meet you and b) you'll snap up a bargain!  As part of the fabulously fun First Thursdays and New Zealand Fashion Festival, there will be music and drinkies, mirrors and changing rooms.  A fun, thrifty way to get into Fashion Fest, go shopping and meet other bloggers, shoppers and blog readers.  I'll be there with some other gal pals who are peddling their handmade goodies, which I'm sure you'll love as much as I do.  I hope to see you all there xx

_Pardon me while I don my ranty-pants.  Oh my, don't they look fabulous and gripey today!  Today I bemoan the state of my humble abode, hobbled by the flux of superfluous stuff we acquired over 2010 and Xmas.  Being a hoarder by nature, naturally, doesn't help the matter.  Like many inclined toward procrastination, my spring has sprung a little late; maybe because summer has yet to arrive in Auckland.  Either way, I'm spring cleaning now.

By virtue of waste-not-want-not, my nana lived through the depression and she impressed upon my mother, and my mother onto me, the sacredness of, well everything.  Grow fruit in the garden, make your own jams, keep waste for compost, stash xmas wrapping; use it again, embellish plain outfits yourself and so on.  All of which I do.  I'm an avid recycler and upcycler.  One advantage of not getting any taller, is I still fit everything I wore when I was 13.  However, my previous predilection for all things sparkly sort of undermines the practicality of that,

Unfortunately, I do keep clothes for sentimental value; not because I have ever or would ever wear them.  I have oodles of mini or travel sized everything because it's so damn cute.  Chopsticks, napkins, coathangers - just incase I ever run out.  I accumulated friends on Facebook I don't know due to a period of indiscriminantly accepting everyone who sent me a request; because I felt bad about rejecting anyone (and I still do).  It gets worse - I have bra's that are too big, just incase, one day I wake up with massive tits (even I'm reading this going WTF is wrong with this girl) and I desperately need a bigger booby holder.

I cringe at the clutter and chaos I've created, with my waste-not-want-not hoarding tactics.  My op-shopping habits haven't helped either.  My self-imposed insurance policy of 'keep-it-just-in-case' has spiralled out of control and I can't blame my Catholic education for the guilt complex I've got about throwing things out.  I've gone batty of my own accord.  And for this type of crazy there can be no molly-coddling, no softly-softly.  Nothing but tough love and hard arsed-ed-ness ...and other words to that effect.  I'm becoming ruthless.

_Becoming Ruthless Involves The Following Ruthless Rules:
1.  If I don't use it daily, it should live in a cupboard
2.  Anything in cupboards for over 3 months, must go.
3.  If it looks bad on you, find someone it suits or sell it.
4.  Noone needs more than 6 spares of anything, rehome it.
5.  The dog is not sentimental - if it's beyond washing, chuck it
6.  Delete all vaccuous or vicious facebookers; they don't care so why should you?
7.  Ditto farmvillians and other village idiots..
8.  If a drawer or shelf overflows, you have too much
9.  Don't keep crap books! Why are you keeping them? Why?!

Clearly I need guidelines, boundaries and rules so I don't stray by the wayside and collect an oversized wardrobe for an undersized girl.  I hope I am not the only hoarder I know, please  let me know if you suffer a similar affliction with a comment below!  Oh and here's the link to my online wardrobe clearout, incase your cupboards are bare xx

New Zealand Fashion Festival is upon us!  Weehu!  "A Fresh Take" shot by George Buxton and produced by Glenn Hunt gives us all sneaky peak backstage at fun, fashion, and faces of New Zealand Fashion Festival's new campaign.  Hitting magazine's everywhere, are the gorgeous photos shot by Stephen Tilley.  Here's what you need to know about New Zealand Fashion Festival:

New Zealand Fashion Festival is all about you - the shopper, the blog reader, the fashion lover and magazine hoarder.  Unlike Fashion Week, which is an industry event, Fashion Festival is designed to get you up close and personal with your favourite designers, fashion bloggers, models and makeup artists to give unlimited access to catwalk trends right off the runway.  Seriously.  you can literally buy the clothes off the models back, in store, same day.

Plus it's at a spanking new venue, Auckland's Shed 10, which just, quietly rocks my socks.  Fashion Festival runs from the 24th February to Sunday the 2nd - tickets go on sale today from Iticket.co.nz
Get in, get amongst and keep your eyes glued to the blog and facebook.com/iamkatythomas

UPDATED: Win a double pass to your choice of shows by checking out this lovely interview NZ Fashion Festival did with me!

Confirmed designers and retailers include: Andrea Moore, Annah Stretton, Barkers, Bendon, Blak Luxe, Carlson, Celine Rita, COOP, Cybele, Farmers, Hailwood, Helen Cherry, Huffer, Ingrid Starnes, Jimmy D, Juliette Hogan, Kimberley’s, Lennox, Lonely Hearts, Max, MisteR, Moochi, Neverblack, Pearl, Playtex, Ruby, Sabatini, Sable & Minx, Salasai, Skull and Bones, Starfish, Stolen Girlfriends Club, Storm, Sylvester, Taylor, Trelise Cooper, Whiri, Who’s Henri, Workshop, WORLD, Zambesi, Zambesi Man.  For an updating list and show schedule see nzfashionfestival.com

Every year, I write down my new year's resolutions.  Sometimes the list is exhaustive and when I look back on my teenage diaries, frequently they are vacuous.  Yet more often than not, even if I never refer to my hopeful intentions again, they frequently come true.  I'll tell you a secret:

Writing wishes down gives them power.  Saying them out loud helps too.  I wouldn't go as far as clicking my heels or clapping my hands - I'm not tinkerbell and if your dreams are sincere, they ain't gonna die.  But getting them out, out of your head and physically into the universe is a good thing.

It tells the world you are shedding a skin from the year that has been; what you have learned and who you are becoming.  You can effect change as minute as smiling more, making breakkie for your mate or as monumental as moving house or leaving a partner.  Here are mine, in no particular order; except for the first one - which is definately priority number one.

MY NEW YEARS RESOLUTIONS 2012
1. Get a job with the BBC
2. Start saving 10%
3. Travel to Marrakesh
4. Learn a language
5. Buy less, sew more
6. Learn to sew
7. Overcome my fear of singing
8. Write a book, or 3
9. Get a great new house, with a garden for Monstar & planting veges to become more self-sufficient
10. Teach Mum how to use Skype

_Whatever you wish for yourself - put it in writing and make your dreams materialise.   You owe it to yourself to have a fabulous 2012.  Happy New Year one and all! Xx

Some days I wake up, jump out of bed and count my lucky stars I live in a place as beautifully built for summer as New Zealand.  This was one of those days. 

_Brimming with happiness and excitement for the long, hot summer ahead, I headed off to shoot a top secret summer tv commercial for Coke. 

Shoots are always a bit of a mystery before your get stuck in, but I was stoked to see the optimal mix of peeps I know and love, and some new faces who were equally good value.  There were Shortland Streeters Kimberley Crossman, Faye Smythe and Fleur Saville, muso Josh Leys, plus Simon Oscroft and Jeremy Redmore from Midnight Youth, Sharyn Wakefield from the Edge, pro surfing brothers Jay and Maz Quinn plus surf lifesaver Jacqui Hickey - and me!

_I'm not 100% we're even meant to blow the whistle on the project before it's all ready for launch... but it's killing me keeping it to myself! 

_Basically, you get to star in your own Coke ad!  Then you can upload the video to your facebook, twitter, myspace - email it to your Mum whatever.  And speaking from experience, it is Fun with a capital F.  So here is your sneaky peak at the TVC that hasn't even aired yet: