A Poor Girl’s Guide to Paris.

Parisienne chic on a budget, where to stay, things to do and places to see

Sacré Cœur in Montmartre

Ella here reporting to you how to do Parisienne chic on a budget.

I’m lucky in that I get to go to Paris pretty often since my mum moved there at the end of 2014. As great as it is getting to visit this heckin’ cool city twice a year, travelling ain’t cheap. However, I’ve learnt a thing or two about getting around on the (somewhat) cheaps, with the added bonus getting to check out cool places that I wouldn’t otherwise know about if my mum didn’t live there. Here are some tips I have picked up about visiting this fab city over the years.

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24 Bad Ass Women.

I interrupt this brief blogging silence to bring you this listicle.

Last year for my birthday, I shared 23 life lessons I had learnt from my short time on this earth so far. This year, I’m turning the heat off myself for a second and sharing with you 24 amazing women who’ve all had a part in inspiring me in some way or another.

creature type

Source: creaturetype.com

Quick disclaimer: this list is not exhaustive, and certainly not in any order. Let’s just hope I live til 100 so I can include so many more on this list.

Also, fun game to play as you read along: drink every time you see the word ‘talented’.

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The Blogger Recognition Award.


I’ve always had a weird relationship to blogger tags. I think, on the whole, a lot of them are uninspired, and don’t really procide material I would usually read. That’s not me poo-pooing on them, at least not intentionally; I’ve been tagged in these kind of posts before, and I’m always so so grateful to be thought of. But I have given myself a rule not to put anything on my blog that didn’t feel natural.

So thank you to Grace, for mentioning me in this tag, with a bit of a twist. It certainly is great fodder while I’m stuck in this blogging slump.

This is my Blogger Recognition Award post. The rules are:

  • Thank the blogger who nominated you and provide a link to their blog.
  • Write a post to show your award.
  • Give a brief story of how your blog started.
  • Give two pieces of advice to new bloggers.
  • Select 15 other bloggers you want to give this award to.
  • Comment on each blog and let them know you have nominated them & provide the link to the post you created.

How I got started.

Oh boy. I have been blogging in some form or another since I was around 13/14. I had a Livejournal which was just that, a jounral. I wrote about my day, who I fancied, typical teenagery stuff. Once I got to sixth form, I upgraded to a blogspot, Notebook Charlatan (I don’t even know) which I think was mostly reviews of films, TV and books that I liked. Then, at university, when fashion and beauty blogging was the big thing, and I started becoming interested in it myself, I started a fashion and beauty blog. I changed the name a couple of times, not really finding anything I really liked, until I landed on Whimsicella. I don’t know how, but there we go, it stuck.

Though I blogged about my favourite makeup and hair products, did oufit posts and wrote about red carpet fashion, I also wrote about feminist issues. I even interviewed my friend Jess, who at the time ran a feminist Tumblr and YouTube channel. I was enjoying what I was doing, but felt that something was ultimately missing. That, combined with the hurricane that was a hectic third year, my blog kinda fell off the radar.

It wasn’t until December 2015 that I moved over to WordPress and started this incarnation of Whimsicella, and I’m loving it. It’s more me, and great way of showcasing my writing skillz (lol).

Advice to new bloggers:

Stick to it.

One thing that I regret about my blogging career is that I was always stopping and starting; dumping one thing when I got bored and starting something new. I was constantly trying to reinvent myself and what I was interested in. While there’s nothing wrong with taking a break from blogging (and I especially needed it for that last year of university), it’s always good to see through what you started, even if you have a period of trialling different ideas to see what sticks.

Write what you want to read.

It’s a cliche for a reason. One mistake I often made through my years of blogging was writing what I thought other people wanted to read. What I thought would be popular. But the thing is, people are clever; your audience is clever. Readers can tell when you’re not putting your heart in it. And when you write things you love and want to read, I can guarantee you that other people will want to read it, too. I may not have a huge audience, but I do have a loyal following of likeminded individuals who I can always count on coming back.

The bloggers I nominate to take part, should they wish:

Vicky Flynn

Green Who Writes

Fern Elizabeth


Carpe Diem Emmie

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Sick of it.

“Everyone knows that if you’re born with a vagina, creepy dudes are just a part of the deal.” Denise, Master of None (S1EP7)

A few weeks ago, Vix Meldrew asked the women on twitter stories of being followed or harassed by men. After recently watching Season 2 of Master of None, I’ve been rewatching Season 1 and was reminded of this particular line.

When I was 18, I was at home in Brighton during a uni break. We lived quite centrally, really close to the station, and town was just a stone’s throw away. I was walking home after some drinks with friends – it wasn’t particularly late, maybe 9 or 10pm – and as I was walking down my street, I noticed a guy at the other end coming towards me. No big deal usually. Usually. I was expecting us to just cross paths swiftly, like you would with any other stranger. But literally the millisecond before I turned to walk up the path to my door, he stopped me.

He gave me the regular creepy guy spiel: told me how “stunning, beautiful, goregous” I was, in ways that made me feel majorly uncomfortable. Not just because he complimented me; not to blow my own trumpet here, but I’ve been complimented by strangers many atime and never usually feel threatened out. But this guy had weird vibe about him, from the look in his eyes as he scanned me up and down. He asked me whether I wanted to come out with him and his friends, and of course I said no, making up some excuse about already being on my way somewhere.

“I had a feeling you were a party girl,” a devillish smile stretching across his face.

As mentioned, I lived near the train station, so luckily it could have been completely plausible that I was making my way there. I tried inching away from him, insisting that I was running late for the next train, but he kept insisting that we swap numbers so that we could ‘meet up later.’ And he wouldn’t leave me alone until I gave him one.

I gave him a fake number (well, an old number of mine from years ago that I still remembered) and a fake name (Eliza). I thought I was in the clear, but then he decided to ring me so that I could also ‘have his number.’ As he dialled, I darted away, saying I was late, and didn’t look back. As I ran, my palms were sweaty and my heart racing with fear.

I hid in the train station for 20 minutes, hands shaking as I texted my mum what happened. I just kept thinking, “thank god I didn’t turn up the path to my door before he stopped me.”

I tried not to think about what if I had gone up the path, and put my key in the lock before he stopped me. Would he have just lingered on my door step? Would the subsequent days and weeks just be him showing up at my house? I remember telling all this to a guy I was dating at the time, his charming response being, “I bet you loved it, really. You pretend you don’t, but you girls love this sort of attention.”

(I wish I could tell you I dumped that guy straight away, but alas 18 year old me was not as secure as 23 year old me)

It really does baffle me how some guys think that harassing a woman can be complimentary. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been followed after nights out, or asked for my number on the street or when I used to work at bars. The catcalls and honks of horns from inside cars. The longer than acceptable stares on my commute to work.

Many women have had it a lot worse than me, from taking photos without permission to public masterbating over their feet. But on behalf of women everywhere, I’d like to say:

You’re not funny or clever or big for shouting, ‘Nice arse!” as you safely hide behind your moving car.

We are not going to fall head over heels for you after you’ve told us to smile when we don’t want to.

We’re not going to be flattered that you spent the last ten minutes chasing us up the street or pestering us for our number, when we clearly have somewhere else to be.

Street harassment is not a compliment. And we certainly don’t ‘secretly love’ the attention. What’s there to love about clasping your hands around your keys in your pocket when you’re walking home in the dark? What’s there to love about feeling like you can’t wear a skirt or shorts when the weather is hot, for fear of attracting too much attention? Or keeping your headphones in your ears at all times in efforts to deter anyone from approaching you? Or telling one of your girlfriends to ‘text me when you’re home safe’?

This is a reality every woman has to go through, and it’s exhausting and boring and, somehow, we’ve let it become the norm. Society perpetuates this idea that our bodies belong to the public, and that the harassment and daily fear we face is the price we pay for deigning to be born as who we are, and daring leaving the house.

And I’m sick of it.

There is no moral at the end of this post. Just acknowledgement that these things do happen. Daily. By the hour, minute, second. And it’s not gonna get better unless we all aim to make this world a less shitty place. Stand up for women, call out those douchebags (as long as you can guarantee your safety, of course). Stare down those dudes who think it’s okay to leer, and report street harassment to the police as and when it all happens, so that they can learn to take this all seriously too.

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