Skip to main content

Feathers & Bindis

Prepping for another photoshoot. I was supposed to be looking after my flu ridden sister, but I opted instead to boss her about in my clothes. I found you can get away with more when your sister is half out of it.

Check out these super cool feather hair extensions from www.flockstocks.com. They come in a range of colours and tones, and once there in, they're permanent! You can wash, straighten, curl and dry em, just like regular hair extensions, but hello - who needs fake hair,  when you can have real feathers...

This lot of feathers and suede tie is from Spotlight. Add a little twist to my shorts draw string and crop tee tie back


Bindis and Bangles hail from India


Make shift arm art

Back of my Missoni inspired shift design


My news ASOS baby blue and metal bracelet ♡ 




Indian Bangles, ASOS peace sign bracelet


ASOS peace ring / my new favourite nail colour - Olive from Sportsgirl



outfit from upcoming Spring Bohemian collection - coming soon to www.radapriya.com.au

new place for traditional forehead bindis

Should I go the nose ring? For some people, its the only way to tell me and Saci apart...
-xox-

Popular posts from this blog

The Man I Was Taught to Fear

There are people we grieve twice in a lifetime. Once for who they were. And once for who we were never allowed to know. My father is one of them. When I was a child, my mother told me he was a paedophile. She didn’t whisper it. She didn’t hesitate. She said it plainly, as fact. As warning. As control. When we misbehaved, she would drop us at the greyhound station and force us to spend sleepless weekends with him. I remember the noise of the station. The way my stomach would knot. The terror that would sit in my chest at night when the lights went out. I was absolutely terrified to sleep. He was a workaholic. Twelve-hour days. Long hours. Absence disguised as provision. He would leave cash on the bench, stockpiles of food in the fridge, and the television on - a wild luxury I couldn’t enjoy because fear had already moved in. At home with my mother, we weren’t allowed a TV at all. Looking back now, my father was unemotional, but never unkind. He didn’t ask questions. He didn’t offer hims...
Read more

Versions, and “Versions”

I’ve already written about  The Wiiyaan   as a journalist. That piece lives in the Tweed Weekly . It’s careful, respectful, measured. It honours Bundjalung origin story, place, and the quiet authority of listening. It was written for a broad audience, many of whom - like me - come from settler families, carrying our own histories alongside the land we now call home. But after filing that story, I knew I wasn’t done. Some stories ask something back from you. This one did. So this is the version that doesn’t fit in a newspaper column. This is the version that explains why that exhibition cracked something open in me - why listening to Kyle Slabb speak about holding  one  version of Country, with care and restraint, felt like a mirror I wasn’t expecting. Kyle spoke about perspective. About how this telling is not  the  story, but  a  story - shaped by lineage, responsibility and law. He was clear, careful, and deeply respectful of other versions held...
Read more

The Painter on the hill

I went to meet Scott McDougall deliberately underprepared. This is not how journalists are usually meant to begin. We are supposed to research, cross-check, read the biography, study the exhibition history, arrive with neat questions and enough knowledge to sound vaguely authoritative. But Scott had been recommended to me by artist Hobie Porter, who told me he was someone I might find interesting. That was enough. I did not want to arrive with the internet’s version of him already sitting between us. I wanted to meet the man, see the work, stand in the room where it happened and absorb it without the corruption of other people’s opinions. I am not an art writer. Not really. But I am an artist at heart. A fashion designer by training. A lover of light, texture, form, fabric, structure, composition and the controlled drama of a perfectly judged line. Becoming a journalist has opened a new lens. It has also made me realise how often I underestimate people. My general disappointment in hum...
Read more