Meghan Elward-Duffy
Nearly all of my income is spent on books, food, traveling, and coffee. I enjoy cycling, taking long walks around strange and familiar cities, browsing vintage jewelry shops, and baking.
This blog was originally started as a way for me to vent out my frustrations while a student in Washington, DC. Now it chronicles my life in Eire. I'm an amateur photographer at best, but most photos I post here are taken and processed through Instagram. Remember, the best camera in the world is the one you have on you. Please note that all views and opinions are my own and not necessarily those of my employers.
email: melwardduffy at gmail dot com
twitter: @megelwardduffy
pinterest: megelwardduffy
My grandmother on her wedding day. June 18, 1960
I know this trend has been around for a while, but I’m only really starting to get fed up with it now.
Thigh gaps? Really? That’s a thing?
I feel like I’ve always been a little weird about my body - always wanting it smaller and thiner. This blog is evidence of that. At my heaviest, I was a size sixteen with no muscle tone whatsoever and a complete inability to exercise. Now, I’m 6’0”, a size 8 (UK 12) and I’m actually reaching a point in my life where I look in the mirror and feel really, really okay with myself. And that is not because I am a smaller size, it is because it is stronger. I’m not a size 4. I’m okay with that. I may never be smaller than this. And yeah, I’m okay with that too.
Do I have a thigh gap? No. And do I want one? No. What’s the point? Is it meant to be a mail slot or a space in which to deliver a box of pizza sideways? Because, lemme tell you something. This body that I spent most of life hating has done some pretty great things recently. It does yoga, it does pilates. These thighs keep me stable in warrior pose, they balance and stay strong when I need them to. Later this year, they my take me from London to Paris on my bicycle (more on this later). They are strong, they have a great shape and I don’t give two shits on whether or not they touch or rub together when I walk because they are strong and that is all I really want from them.
Good god this thinspo stuff is terrifying. And so is Bieber fever, One Direction Worship, and Tsarnaev-is-hot blogs. Young women really are the scariest demographic.
Tubby times gone by.
Not even the doorway could disguise the size 16.
2007 was not a good year. 19 years old. So depressed, so lost.
Burnt gorse on top Howth Summit.
An evening in Phoenix Park.
Howth, North Dublin
St. Vincent - The Antidote
Location scouting.
Last night, I made a number of good decisions in a sequence of questionable decisions involving tequila, tacos, and a gang of incredible but probably certifiably insane people. There was dancing, there was gossip, there was drunken admiration, and Jesus Christ I needed it. But when I got home, I did not make the good decision to remove my makeup and this morning when I cracked open my eyes and had to face the daylight, this is what I looked like. I hope Al really felt the luck of waking up next to this face this morning.
Oh, but today was tres fab thanks to the good decisions of yesternight. We went to the Glasnevin Honest 2Goodness market, had a picnic in the National Botanic Gardens, went shopping (see below), had a cup of tea in Indigo & Cloth, and came home for a nap. Yes, yes. Tres fab indeed.
For whatever reason, I’ve never been interested in purses. They mostly look whatever to me, so I only shell out whatever money is necessary for a functional bag that can carry all my stuff and call it good. No more. Apparently lusting after high priced bags is a snap when you look for practicality and style.
This week was quite busy, so I bought this today. Hooray!
