I left the cinema feeling quite dirty, disgusted and slightly unsettled after watching The Riot Club, based on Laura Wade's acclaimed theatre production Posh, and directed by Lone Scherfig. Nonetheless it was a brilliant piece of cinema that was upheld by great performances by the boys, especially Sam Claflin, whose character Alistair Ryle, frankly, I absolutely despised by the end of the movie. Set on the grounds of the elite university of Oxford, The Riot Club focuses on an exclusive, all-male society consisting of 10 members hand-picked from amongst the 20,000 or so students. According to Wade The Riot Club is a fictionalised version of Oxford's unofficial Bullingdon Club founded approximately 1780, which included past members David Cameron, Boris Johnson, and George Osborne. Shy of the 10-member criteria the club needs to survive, they conduct "Operation Grasshopper" to recruit two new members, the most best and the brightest from the best and brightest. Although it does help to follow the unspoken, unknown number one rule: don't ask to be in The Riot Club, which one unfortunate wannabe does when he asks George Balfour (Jack Farthing), an existing member of the Riot, at the beginning of the movie.To join the society, nominees Miles Richards (Max Irons) and Alistair Ryle must undergo a series of initiation rounds: drinking a glass of Chateau Pretrus with a combination of a cigarette butt, a bogey, a hawking of saliva, a small tube of (what I'm pretty sure is) urine, and live maggots, quite a gagging moment to watch; drinking a sack of alcohol from a pierced condom while being read a series of questions which they have to memorise and answer after running a lap around campus; and their accommodation being trashed. Living by the rule of hedonism and debauchery, the club indulges in excessive feasting and drinking. At the same time as the young men revel in celebrating their wealthy position they also abuse it, as their ostentatious behaviour and lack of civility and respect for those lower in the financial food chain only serves to create a strong dislike from the audience towards the represented rich. The film involves everything you'd expect from a group of over-excited, over-privileged undergraduate boys, but with a darker, slimy element lurking underneath their prim-and-proper facades. Due to being banned from the local restaurants, the boys have to compromise and downgrade their dinner services when the club dinner is hosted at an isolated pub. Owned by a single father, him and his daughter of early-20's struggle to get by. With his daughter's student fees debt accumulating, her father reluctantly agrees to host The Riot's event. The scene around the dinner table becomes the main focus of the film, showing just what happens when there is too much testosterone and ego in one room. With only a spark needed to ignite the mob mentality of the club, Alistair proves to be the manipulative and sly member who eggs on various despicable moments, involving the hooliganism attitude towards "poor people", the sexual assault of Miles's not-so-affluent girlfriend Lauren, and the brutal beating of the landlord. Arguably his behaviour derives from his desperation to impress the existing members of the club and to break away from his brother's "legendary" shadow and cast his own. The film highlights the many issues within modern society, most notably the British class system but also the attitudes towards gender and sexuality. Victimising those who are not so fortunate, the boys believe their reprehensible acts can be redeemed by bribery; the most repugnant act I found to be was the offering of £27,000 to pay for Lauren's student fees in exchange for oral sex on each Riot member. Pressured and overshadowed by reputable families The Riot Club becomes the outlet of wildness, anger, frustration, and sheer boredom for the boys as they struggle to create their own identity. However there is also the desirous connections the club creates amongst one another's family. This proves successful for Alistair, as being the one to take the blame for the assault of the landlord, his acquaintance with Jeremy (the uncle of Riot member Harry) opens up a promising prospect of walking away a free man and a clean record. The film provides an insight of how a fragment of the spoilt rotten and filthy rich live and behave, drawing the conclusion that the line between the ordinary, working-class and the over-privileged is very much blurred. The only difference, apart from money, is the other has a posh accent.

I remember one of the first times I went jean shopping with my mum; I think I was about 12 years old, we was in Miss Selfridge and I was picking through the flared jeans section (*cringe*), hoping to find the right size for my short, small, pre-pubescent body. Now 21 I look back at the many fashion faux pas’ I went through in my adolescence and wonder “what the hell was I thinking wearing that?!’ But no matter how much I wince at the embarrassing memories and photos of my failed fashion statements I have never regretted the choices I made in what I wore. Everything I wore during my youth made me happy and comfortable, and I think that’s what’s important when you’re young, naïve, and ignorant. Of course I know how bad I must’ve looked with baby blue flare jeans and bulky, clog-like sandals, but that’s what’s so refreshing about being young – the fact that the only freedom we had during our childhood and adolescence was our choice in clothing; and that you could probably get away with wearing anything because you were just a kid. But even when the trend transition from straight to skinny jeans emerged less than a decade ago, I was still slow in realising skinny jeans were probably the better option in defining the shape of my slow-growing legs. Instead I still sported indigo-dyed flares with Lacoste trainers (eek!), unaware that it drowned my bottom half, and oh-so-uncool. However, though skinny jeans have made their mark on the fashion industry and have become a wardrobe staple, the wide-leg, wide-hip jean is making a comeback. Nowadays the potato-sack shape of the mom jean is one of the hottest shapes trending in our favourite high street stores. And considering Topshop, a landmark within the British fashion industry, launched a whole range of mom jeans earlier on this year in various colours – from baby blue to bleached to faded black – I guess this was the go-ahead for other brands to launch an alternative jean shape to their denim departments. And lets face it, the mom shape helps to disguise the foodbaby we get after a big meal, something which skinny jeans is no help with and just emphasises even more! But the Thelma and Louise look isn’t the only denim style that we’ve been directed to, as we’ve recently seen the update on the slouchy boyfriend jeans. Hanging off the waist, ripped at the knees and shredded at the thighs, it states an effortless, laidback look with a “meh” attitude. In this day and age, there’s no more of “does this make my bum look big?” because chances are the mom and boyfriend jeans do make your behind less defined compared to skinnies. So its time to embrace the baggy, loose jeans and draw inspiration from our number one’s, the mum’s. We all know the key to finding the right pair of denim is to know and understand your body shape. Most women prefer high-waisted skin-tight jeans as they help to outline the hips, define the legs and shape the bum, and therefore emanate a sense of femininity. I’m one of the many who do prefer the skinny jeans. I found it to be a revelation to my wardrobe when I discovered my first pair. Sad as it may sound, wearing skinnies was one of my first steps in dressing myself as a young woman, a small moment that resonates Britney Spears’ “I’m not a girl, not yet a woman”. But of course 12-year-old me wanted to go against everything mum said, so whilst I was too occupied in finding the perfect flares, my mum pointed out a pair of straight leg jeans and said, “Why don’t you go for a change and get these instead?” Maybe I should’ve listened to my mum and took her advice, could’ve at least spared myself a few years of the FFF: fashion flops in flares.

'Shoot all the bluejays you want, if you can hit 'em, but remember it's a sin to kill a mockingbird.' I had heard many praises for this novel, which naturally made me want to read it. Surprise was my first reaction to the story when I realised it was narrated through the extremely fresh eyes of Jean Louise "Scout" Finch, who is only six-years of age. Although I had read the blurb beforehand and therefore had prior expectations of the story being told 'Through young eyes' (arrow books 50th anniversary edition), I was interested to see how Harper Lee could explore Scout's interpretation of Maycomb's divided attitudes towards race, politics, law and class. Depicted in the Deep South in the 1930's Scout and her older brother Jem Finch witness their father, whom they address as Atticus, struggle to find judicial and social justice for Tom Robinson, a black man charged with the rape of a white girl, Mayella Ewell. Brought up by Atticus with the help of their black nurse Calpurnia, Scout doesn't understand the social gender expectations of being a lady and is frequently teased about wearing overalls and her boyish manners. Scout is undoubtedly bright that, at times, you almost forget she's a child. Instead of joining in with Aunt Alexandra's tea and gossip society Scout enjoys playing outdoors with Jem and Dill, a boy who visits Maycomb every summer to stay with his aunt. Inevitably Scout and Jem are exposed to the brutal realities of their town as they encounter the prejudice, violence and hypocrisy that corrupts their innocence. But it is Scout and Jem Finch's adoring sibling relationship that provides a soft, humorous tone to the serious issues addressing rape and racial inequality. Atticus is a fictional idol for racial heroism, a symbol of courage and compassion. Through this case we discover further underlying issues within Maycomb society such as domestic violence, gender roles, social attitudes to interracial relationships and children. Nevertheless a very heartwarming and touching read that fulfills you with hope, leaving you wanting to give a big, warm hug to the Finches.

Haute couture is a subculture that celebrates the fashion fairytale of handmade pieces tailored and customised for a specific client. An haute couture garment provides that rare feeling of a second skin. Haute couture is highly exclusive pieces that are created using only the expensive fabrics that are of the highest quality, sewn with extreme attention to detail. This particular business hires only the most experienced and capable tailors, dressmakers and seamstresses. For a fashion house to earn the right to be a couture house, they must belong to the Syndical Chamber of Haute Couture in Paris. The members must follow strict regulations: they must have a workstation (atelier) in Paris that houses fifteen people or more employees, design made-to-order for private clients with three to four fittings, and must present their collections twice a year. Another unwritten rule of haute couture is to keep the clients and prices discrete. The desire to be a part of the haute couture lifestyle is encapsulated in the idea of owning a piece of clothing that no one else in the world can possess. The legal ownership, speaking in fashion terms, of an haute couture piece ensures there are no imitations, and therefore no mass-production. But due to the high expenses and unprofitable market of producing haute couture there has been a significant decline in haute couture houses over the 20th century. It is estimated there is only 200 regular customers worldwide. Despite the small clientele, the prestigious image of haute couture is kept alive through renowned fashion houses such as Chanel, Christian Dior, Elie Saab, Valentino and Versace.