Dedicated Follower of Fashion

It was always my intention to regularly update this blog not with my the day-to-day experience of an Australian living in Manchester. I could never keep a diary. I fell asleep reading back what I wrote, which was often something like this:

Dear Diary,

Today I went to school and it was boring. Leonardo DiCaprio is so hot.

Date: 14 December 2009.

I once actually wrote in my diary that I smoked pot. I lied in my own diary. I couldn't even keep a sheets of lined paper interested in my life. So when I first started my blog Cinephile Paradiso, it was essentially a way for me to show off to, well, possibly no one (or everyone) how clever I am at film analysis. A noble pursuit, surely.

However, I still wanted to document my experience of living abroad in my own particular way. And, well, the part of me that just can't be arsed keeping a diary has for the most part beaten the part of me who just needs to vomit up the ridiculous swill that runs in my head daily.

A fellow exchange student remarked to me on Saturday, as we were traipsing through a vintage clothing fair at our student union, that the information she had been given was that the British wore neutral colours and didn't really dress extravagantly. When she got here, though, she soon realised that the people wearing the shiniest clothes were in fact the British.

Sequins are the thing to be seen in here. Sequinned everything. Headbands, blazers, cardigans, dresses, skirts, t-shirts, underpants, harem pants - for every plain one, there is a thousand covered in shiny little discs of pure disco sunshine. It was just starting to take off when I left, so perhaps we Aussies aren't nearly as backward as we think we are. I mean, we know what Topshop is, for fuck's sake.

As international students and therefore foreign, my flatmates and I were intially baffled by the British. Too much make-up, hair as big and possibly as tangled as a rat king, and to top it all - dressed as though they were completely numb to the elements. And I have to say, to be fair, girls dress like that in Australia. There are always those girls who think the bikini is an all-purpose ensemble, or that fake tan is like a warm jacket in a can. But when you're in ten layers and you're still cold, watching girls walk down the street in a one-shoulder minidress and heels without tights or a coat or even a look of intense pain on their face makes you feel like tackling them and smothering them with your coat.

I am actually a big fan of British fashion. I love the amazing coats, and the sequins, and tights as pants. I also love the hair adornment. I love it all, so much so that when I was in Paris I could spot the British girls from the French girls. I've found, to my delight, that my own style is not that different from British style. Not only that, but the fact that I'm bigger than most girls doesn't seem to matter here nearly as much as it seems to at home. Topshop, New Look, H&M, River Island, Urban Outfitters - all not only stock my size, but usually have plenty of items in my size in stock. I remarked to a British friend, whom I have grown to adore in the short space of time I've been here that a top was nice if you had the figure for it. To which she responded, 'what do you mean?' Bless her.

But perhaps I am digressing. Fashion? Love it. Heavy black eyeliner during the day? Love, love, love (and am improving my technique). Leopard-print coats? Oh, god yes. Good, done.

Today I went on a tour of the BBC here in Manchester, which is on Oxford Road, merely a walk away from my digs. And while it might seem rather embarrassing and even naff to go on a tour of a television centre when you're on your way to being part of the industry, being told in layman's terms what you've already learned in class like it's part of the magical world of television and you're being let in on a grand secret, jostling alongside elderly folk and children as you traipse through a maze of corridors, being shown cheesy videos about how to be a weather girl...but to me, it was like, checking out my future office. In just under two years, Manchester is going to be a huge media and communication capital, with the building of Media City in Salford Quays and ridiculous promotional video aside, it is the greatest thing for anyone interested in media production since someone told other people about the invention of this new way of preparing bread in pieces, or, 'slices.'

Say what you like - that the BBC's editorial policy means a severe limit on creative thinking, that they're a slave to conservative public opinion because the public pays for them to remain in production, but you can say that about so many jobs. The BBC has superior production values, they make a range of diverse programs, and everyone who ever dreams of being on telly, or making telly, dreams first of working for the Beeb. I'm Australian and it's my dream - that's how powerful it is an institution. And their radio studios have an alarm system in place for if a member of the Royal Family dies. It is the cutest thing I've ever heard or seen.

Another thing to cover. The Final Countdown. Not just a power ballad for me anymore. My time here is winding down. In fact, after submitting two assessment items tomorrow and a scary scary assesssment of my film with two tutors, I am finished. Both studying at Manchester Metropolitan University and indeed, studying at any University. As long as I pass and get credit for these studies back home, I will have another undergraduate degree under my belt. One which will hopefully lead to a career...ahem. This means that I will be leaving in less than one month's time. It also means that I'm losing flatmates and friends in the next week. The most painful one will be my flatmate who I've come to think of as one of my best friends in this incredibly short space of time. The rest will leave during this week, and after a spot of travelling I will be alone in my flat, just as I started. Only this time it won't be grand because I'll have the bathroom, kitchen and toilet to myself. It'll be awful, because I know I won't run into anyone in the corridor or kitchen and have a conversation. No more regular dinner parties, either. No more friends, in short. And there is the fear that I'll never see some of these people again. It's so awful I'm upsetting myself just thinking about it and writing this down.

And then of course there'll be the people I have to leave behind from my course. These are people who feel like they've been my classmates for years, not a couple of months. Some of them I feel are just more British versions of myself and my best friends at home, and would gladly pack them in my suitcase. Of course, that would be a problem when flying out, but I'm sure I'll figure it out.

And to be honest, I'm going to miss studying my course. I don't mean to sound disloyal, but apart from the better resources and slightly more efficient process of hiring equipment, this course is much better than my own. It's focus is entirely on filmmaking and improving your process. Nothing about learning communication theory or learning about creativity in a general, here's a bunch of confusing theories kind of way. I was thrown into a year that really tried to pull back on teaching us exactly how to do things, but a year in which you took all the techniques you'd learned the year before and experimented. If you didn't know how to do something, it didn't mean you shouldn't do it - it meant that absolutely you had to do it and you could learn through research but most of all through practice. And while as students we tend to fall into a mood believing that we should know how to do this stuff already, that's not the point of this year in the course at all. We're given incredibly challenging briefs for our films and not a lot of time to do it in. It sounds scary and on some level it is, but it's also fun. Some might think it's surprising that you produce anything at all, but it's exhilarating knowing you can write, shoot and cut together a film in four weeks and actually have it be not so bad.

Well, there you are. That's what's been sloshing around in my big brain recently.