Tag Archives: Clydebank

back to the beginning

27 Sep

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The reason I have opened today’s post with an old photo of Bon Scott smiling through the agony of a badly infected testicle that you can practically hear straining against the seam of those skin-tight grey jeans is…. sorry, I’ve completely lost my train of thought.

well hello

well hello

Oh yeah.  Something to do with an idea I had for one of my wig assessments.  Any man out there willing to let me apply mascara to his chest hair to achieve the look?  Get in touch via my contact page.  I’ll make you look cool, promise.

This being-in-a-new-city-and-not-knowing-many-locals-well-enough-to-ask-if-they’ll-let-me-paint-their-bare-bodies situation is going to quickly become a problem for me at college.  All I ever had to do in Oban was pull a ‘having a creative idea’ face and BAM, everyone’s volunteering to get naked, painted and photographed.  Where are you, Glasgow exhibitionists?

Perhaps I should be careful what I wish for.  Remember what happened when I put an ad on Gumtree looking for a flat-share?  Yeah.

Anyhoo.  Here are some other rock-god chests I wouldn’t mind painting, since I’m feeling particularly self indulgent today.

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Reckless Love, who I shall be seeing next Thursday with Carissa – we are returning to the scene of last year’s crime…

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Jettblack. When you google images of them, two pictures of me come up, which pleases me immensely. Lick lick.

Alright, that’s enough of that.  We’ve got a lot to cover today.

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Autumn’s here.  Next week it will be October.  I’m a little shit-scared of how fast time is galloping by.

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I feel both settled and still very new in Glasgow.  The very first time I arrived here in March 2008, I had a budget of £15 per day – £2 for food (Subway 6-inch of the day), £13 for my hostel bed which included breakfast, and dinner was a row of chocolate from the enormous stockpile I had bought in Belgium.

There is something about having absolutely no money that is kind of liberating.  I mean, it fucking sucks, but it simplifies things.  I walked and walked and walked around, day and night.  I ‘saved’ all the free museums and art galleries for shit-weather days, and just walked the rest of the time.  I would sleep in until right before free breakfast ended, so I wouldn’t be awake for too long burning calories and getting hungry.  Late at night I would sit in my bunk writing, watching the others in my 14-bed dorm, wishing I was travelling with a big group of friends like they all seemed to be, wishing I knew where to go and what to do.

Everyone I spoke to raved about Edinburgh.  Nobody seemed to think that Glasgow was up to much.  I didn’t necessarily agree but after nearly 2 weeks walking and walking and walking around, I thought I could probably justify forking out for a bus to Edinburgh to see what all the fuss was about.  There began a chain of events that lead me to running the backpackers’ hostel in Oban for 5 years, but that’s another story for another time.

What I didn’t immediately realise was that I’d developed quite a good relationship with Glasgow in this formative period of my early backpacking days.  I didn’t have a head full of shit about how dangerous Glasgow was, so it didn’t occur to me to feel unsafe cruising the mean streets on my own in the middle of the night.  I think I have always been reasonably sensible so I wasn’t going anywhere actually dodgy at night, but in retrospect I think the whole experience would have been different, and ruined, if I had been scared.

Instead, I felt Glasgow’s friendliness, I felt like it was a good place to be if you weren’t from here.  People heard my accent and were interested.  I was a young woman travelling alone so people went out of their way to make sure I was ok.  I got invited into people’s homes for cups of tea and to look in their old family photo albums.  They wrote down their addresses so I could send them postcards from wherever I went next.  No one stabbed me, and I was never even offered heroin.

Glasgow is my Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman.  Glasgow is my hooker with a heart of gold, my rough diamond.  Glasgow’s reputation might not be the best, but you have to cop a feel for yourself, make your own mind up.

And do you think I can get the effing gif of Julia Roberts and Richard Gere in The Diamond Necklace Scene to work?  Gah!

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Anyway, here I am again, back where I first started my Scottish adventure five and a half years ago.  My budget is about the same again, but the new job I start tomorrow will hopefully have LOTS of overtime and put an end to all this being-broke bullshit.  It’s really cramping my style.

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Are you still reading?  Good for you.  This week at college!

Kim Kardashian-style kontouring!

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Saoirse kontoured to within an inch of her life

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and just to think, most people try to get their makeup to match their skin tone and NOT leave a streaky brown tide mark around their jaw.

Wig work!

Ashleigh rocking the 90s-kids-TV-presenter look

Ashleigh rocking the 90s-kids-TV-presenter look

She would have been the coolest girl at my high school in 1998

She would have been the coolest girl at my high school in 1998

not pubes, just another wig sitting in front of the mirror

not pubes, just another wig sitting in front of the mirror

… and posing, bitches.

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So here’s AC/DC with their 1980 hit, You Shook Me All Night Long, because it’s Friday.  I know this flog has attracted the attention of many classic rock puritans internationally who are going to light up the whole internet with bitter posts about how you can’t have a photo of Bon Scott’s crotch one minute, and be signing off with a Brian Johnson hit the next, but all I can say is bite me.  Also, AC/DC are Australian*.  Ha!

Happy Friday, lovers Xx

*No one in Scotland likes hearing this truth.

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the results are in

18 Sep

I strongly dislike airbrushing.  It’s frustrating.  The guns we use at college aren’t the best, and it’s impossible to clean them properly.  That, and our class is 20-odd chicas, so we all have to share.  Everything.  All the time.  There’s one of each thing we need, and 20 people wanting to use it at the same time.  Gah!

I just... don't like sharing.

I just… don’t like sharing.

And as previously mentioned, the makeup itself is minging.  It has turned my skin to that of a 14 year old boy, yet when it’s on my face, sinking into my pores and wrinkles and looking like a thick hideous mask, that ugly crap somehow manages to make me look 100 years old.  Bah!

Anyway, that’s today’s makeup bitch.  Airbrushing will come in handy when it’s body-paintin’ time…

stencil time

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…I just don’t like it on my face.  And college is awesome, in fact, and we only have to do airbrushing for another couple of weeks before we move on to other stuff.

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ermagherd

And even though there are more people than required materials in the class, mostly everyone’s mostly cool.  The tutors are all great, and it’s nice to sit in a classroom without wishing your time away.

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I pay so much attention.

So this week, apart from hating on airbrush guns, we’ve been doing normal basic makeup/foundation…

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makeup is gross

makeup is gross

….and we also continued with studio portraits for our portfolio production.  Here are some behind the scenes shots for your enjoyment:

my view

my view

their view
their view
then we got fancy AND schmancy with the lighting

then we got fancy AND schmancy with the lighting

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snap.

snap.

So that’s what’s going oooon, dear reader.  Tomorrow, computer class in the a.m. and WIG-WORK in the afternoon!  Couldn’t you just die?

Here’s Def Leppard with their 1983 (a very good year) single, Photograph.  From Pyromania, back when Rick had both arms.  It’s not my favourite DL song, but it’s not my least favourite either – and it’s topical, so bloody well listen to it, alright?  😉

 

x Imo

oh yeah, and about college

30 Aug

If you’re an avid Imogen Maxwell fan, you’ll have noticed an unusual amount of activity on my Instagram recently.

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That’s because I am unemployed and have no friends.

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and spend all day in H&M trying things on with absolutely no intention of buying them.  Star jumper crop top accessoried by my newly re-calibrated mullet, by David @ Rainbow Rooms Int, Royal Exchange Square

But considering I am unemployed and have no friends, I’ve been keeping quite busy.  Let me tell you about my first week at college.  The journey there was (before I found carpool friends) a shitty bus ride and a walk past this:

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Titan Crane, Queens Quay

to eventually end up here:

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My class is 21 ladies from all kinds of backgrounds; a few hairdressers, a few with completely unrelated degrees.  All of them lovely, none of them the terrifying supermodels I had feared.  Most of our sessions are spent in rooms like this:

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it was this photo that reminded me to get a haircut

wearing this:

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The coursework sounds like it’s going to be time consuming, expensive, and fucking amazing.  We’ll be doing everything; hairdressing, photography, digital editing, styling, location work, high fashion… everything.  I have so much to learn and I can’t wait to really get stuck in!  Win!

I was going to end this post with School’s Out by Alice Cooper, since it’s school-themed, but school’s only just gone back in so here he is with Trash instead (cos I love the way you look, you’re such a high class tramp).

 

Happy Friday, sexy readers Xx

habits I need to break

29 Aug

It’s our two week anniversary, Glasgow.  You’ve given me three new housemates and two job interviews.  You’ve taken me on one date, 19 subway rides and too many trips to MacDonalds.  We’re two weeks into our new life together, Glasgow, and I’m one week into my course.  I know this might be rushing things a bit… but I think you might be the one.

Here are our Finnish friends with their new single So Happy I Could Die, which nicely sums up how I’m feeling about things right now.

 

This post was going to be a LOL-fest about how I need to stop smiling at people on public transport and saying ‘hi’ to everyone I walk past in the street – we’re not in Oban any more, Dorothy – but I don’t actually intend to stop doing either of those things.  Smile and the subway smiles with you; fart and you stand alone.

But anyway, there is something more pressing to be addressed.  I have identified a ‘development area’ for myself (two job interviews and I’ve turned into an utter wanker, it seems).

Obviously, I’m meeting a lot of new people here in the big smoke.  All the mega-babes on my course, naturally, but ‘non-makeup’ people too.  And it’s normal when you meet new people for them to ask you what you do.

And I need to STOP answering “studying.  Makeup Artistry… but I’M NOT A BIMBO.”

Are you LISTENING to yourself, Imogen Maxwell?  That’s an insult to me, my tutors/lecturers, and my classmates.  It’s also a bit of an insult to whoever I’m talking to when I say things like that; I’m yet to have “I’m studying makeup artistry” met with “well you must be one hell of a vacuous deadshit, hey.”

no-no

I’m judging people for judging me when they aren’t even – and that is using bad judgement.

So.  If ever I’m met with “why?” instead of “cool!” when i say what i do, I shall puff up my chest, look ’em in the eye and say “because I want to.”  Which is, as far as I know, the most compelling reason there is.

But until that day, I’ll be cutting back on so much self-deprecation and apologising about what I’m doing; no one else actually gives a fuck anyway, and I’ve taken on some reasonably seismic upheaval to make this dream of mine come true.  I AM serious about makeup, so it’s time for my words to line up with my actions.

To celebrate the end of MY bad habit of hanging shit on myself, I present to you the second long-haired pack of reprobates for today – unprecedented!  Two in one flog post – you lucky devils!  Here you’ve got New York young guns, Nasty Habit, with Hip Shakin’ Fox.  Sorry, and you’re welcome.

 

blogs and kisses,
x Imo

 

let’s go, Glasgow

18 Aug

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Here is my face looking pretty darn pleased with itself, because as of Wednesday last week, I live in Glasgow.  And tomorrow I go in to Clydebank to enrol in my first of two years of study towards a Higher National Diploma in Make-Up Artistry.

I haven’t put much up on here lately because it’s been a bit of a funny ole time in the Imosphere, and I’ve not known what to say about a few things during this time of upheaval.  And this flog is for PHOTOS and feel-good fun times, not wordy introspective moany whiney pish-posh.

The end of my era (in Oban generally, at the backpackers specifically) – although not any kind of final goodbye – was hard and sad and weird.  I didn’t say goodbye because I didn’t want to, and I still wake up every morning with what I need to get on with during my working day there playing on my mind.  I guess that will fade in time.

Packing and moving always sucks but I’ve done it enough times, and recently, to be good at it.  My toothbrush and deodorant were where I thought i’d packed them, and I was also able to immediately locate the bra and dress I wanted to wear when I got changed.  I still need quite a bit of storage/furniture/drawers/a desk etc, but for now I know what is in each of the boxes piled around my new room.

Tomorrow will be my first shot at public transport between my new flat and the college, which will hopefully pass without incident.  After enrolling I’ve got one more week until classes start for real, one more week to get good at being in Glasgow and also maybe to find a part time job.  Wish me luck.

I’m looking for a highly-paid part time position that is fun, with cool workmates, preferably somewhere that gives me access to a lot of free shit that I actually need or want.  These things might include CDs, concert tickets, food and makeup.  Please forward job offers/sponsorship via my contact page.

But anyway.  This flog is about to be inundated with exciting tales and photos of my road to makeup mastery.  Thank you for hanging in there with me while I transition from backpacker queen to Academy Award-winning makeup goddess.

Perhaps today’s toughest decision is which farewell/new-beginning/winds of change themed hair-metal track to whip out to commemorate this moment in our journey.  There are so many to choose from and I feel a great responsibility to choose wisely.

Is Glasgow to be my Paradise City?  Here I Go Again On My Own, striking out solo in a new town?  Who will make me feel Welcome To The Jungle?  Or should I be looking backwards and assuring Oban and all my friends there that I Remember You?  Is there ever a good enough reason to put the cringey I Hate Kissing You Goodbye out there?  Should I be saving Home Sweet Home for a future post about my upcoming trip to Australia?

Gah.  Whitesnake wins.  Now go get yourself a floaty white dressing gown, a powerful wind machine, not one but two Jaguars and roll around on the pushed-together bonnets.

Enjoy!  Xx

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