Alissia Bevan - The Founder

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18 The Founder | Wednesday 21 October 2009 Features Love struck... Studying for that exam in Bedford library, running for a lecture in the Windsor building, grabbing a coffee in Café Jules or sipping a cocktail in Medicine...love can strike at anytime at Royal Holloway. Email lovestruck@thefounder.co.uk and tell me a little bit about the gorgeous girl or super-hot guy who you just can’t stop thinking about since your chance encounter about campus. Let me play cupid and help you find your true love...or crush! To the brunette with hazel eyes. Wearing a black hoodie, and tight jeans. We locked eyes in Founders dining hall. I want to take you on a date in Venice and ride the gondolas. CURLY ITALIAN GUY Fashion makes me seem like a fool I was personally made a victim of fashion recently and felt extremely embarrassed as a result. Here goes: my humiliation from the start… Alice Dunn The day began perfectly. I got up and pulled back the curtains in my room. A beautiful morning was revealed; hues of warm, comforting amber were just beginning to play on the leaves of the tree I overlook from my window. My choice of attire had immediately been determined. Well, a combination of that and the fact that a week previously I had invested in a pair of man-style brogues. A delicious tan colour, as the sycamore tree reminded me. I simply had to follow this display of divine inspiration. And since I always begin composing an outfit with the shoes, it felt very appropriate. I left my room mid morning London-bound wearing my brogues, a pair of wide leg navy wool trousers, a shirt, a divinely cut tweed jacket and mini satchel style handbag. I met my friend Delphi at Waterloo Station; she had sadly been tricked by the brilliant sunshine into thinking that it was a reasonably hot October day, sporting a chiffon-silk summer dress, complete with a frill trim and dangly chandelier earrings that almost created a tune with every slight movement. It was then that I suddenly realised how extremely (and highly unusually for me)… masculine I was looking. Her hair was a cascade of curls; mine, pulled neatly back in a bun, sporting a flattened barelythere-at-this-point-of-the journey quiff. It dawned on me. I was just looking rather androgynous – very in this season - I consoled myself, as I marched my poor shivering cold friend into the nearest shop. This is where it happened. We entered a boutique, selling men and women’s clothing. I regretted my choice of shelter immediately, but I knew we had to get Delphi a coat, for her skin was now beginning to match her duck egg blue garb. My heart sank as soon as we crept across the elaborately decorated doormat at the entrance, thereby generating a musical melody, (complementing the sound of Delphi’s earrings), which produced six elegantly dressed shop assistants, chillingly looking us both up and down, smirking, smiling. After a while, I discovered a v- neck cashmere-wool grey sweater, and, picking it up, caught sight of the price. Feeling rather worried about the value of the garment I was clutching, I carefully tried it on and looked in the mirror. I was unimpressed with the fit; it was shapeless. Instantaneously I felt two of the associates (the other four were assisting Delphi) creep up behind me. I shook my head, when one of the guys working at the shop said, ‘don’t worry you know, it’s supposed to be like that. It’s the boyfriend fit’. My jaw hit the floor, feeling instantly insulted and obviously very sensitive to any remark about my current boyish apparel. I exclaimed dramatically, ‘I AM NOT A BOY!’ He went a pinker shade of beetroot, managing to articulate, ‘I – I never suggested you were madam! You are clearly very aware of the ‘women to dress like men’ look. I – I was merely suggesting that the jumper…’ I beamed and at once felt exceptionally mortified, ashamed of my outburst. I then felt obliged to buy the wretched thing, to ease the situation and ensure that there were no hard feelings. Every morning since that day, I simply peep out of the window, opening it slightly, to gauge the temperature, cautious not to gain sight of anything that will influence my gear, especially wary of that shrub that lingers outside my room. The guy who looks like Jasper from Twilight, you work at medicine. I can’t stop thinking about you since I saw you last Wednesday. Drink? BLONDE GIRL STUDYING HISTORY To the gorgeous brunette girl with long hair who lives in Tuke. I see you nearly every morning on the way to lectures. Fancy a morning espresso sometime? TIRED GUY WHO HATES 9AM LECTURES The cute fair-haired girl who tripped outside the Mc Crea building last Friday. I helped you out. How are you recovering? Discuss over a coffee? CONCERNED GUY WITH SHORT BLACK HAIR To the toned blonde-haired guy with blue eyes. I see you at the gym every morning. I wish you would come out of the weights room more. I’m always on the treadmill when we see each other. RUNNER GIRL WITH BLACK HAIR lovestruck@thefounder.co.uk tf The Founder Want to work on any part of The Founder? We are always looking for new writers, photographers, businesspeople, designers, web designers etc. If any of these positions interest you, please email: editor@thefounder.co.uk
The Founder | Wednesday 21 October 2009 Features 19 Memoirs of a Holloway fresher Part 1: First Night Nerves Naomi Nightingale reflects on her first month at ‘Hogwarts’ After one month of student life, one will inevitably reflect on the experiences, and by now we all know what they are: the first night nerves, the 2nd, 3rd 4th and 5th night of drinking. If you’re lucky the kisses, and if you’re not, the mornings when you wake up next to someone resembling one of the Napoleon Dynamite Cast. I myself, for the most part was a grazer in that department - all 5ft 1 of me surrounded by new faces and (though I’d never admit it to those I left behind) inexperience. But like most, despite having known the majority of people here for the worldly equivalent of thirty seconds, already feel like I know and (even scarier) trust them. I suppose that’s the strangest thing about university - the fact that we’re all strangers - in a strange place and for some unknown reason that equals friendships, and bonds with people you ordinarily wouldn’t speak to, laugh with, kiss and lose inhibitions with. But the strangest thing about it all is that the idea that uni was a daunting prospect disappeared almost instantly and this place felt more like home in a week than my college did in two years. How can the biggest transformation we’ve made in our lives can feel so natural in such a short space of time? Maybe we’ll never know, but the all night parties, constant drinking and the common question “I did what last night?” all helped in that department. Truthfully, apart from the 20minute confusion I had with the washing machine (which caused me to long for the days when my clothes came back folded neatly on my bed and I never gave a second thought as to how they got there) I haven’t really missed home which, for a self-confessed mummy’s girl, is a big step. Don’t get me wrong home will always be a place of family, good meals and non-self reliant clothes washing, but finding your own way just seems to make so much sense. I don’t know about you, but somewhere between the Student Union, hangovers and the gorgeous guy that drives the night buses back to Kingswood, I forgot that I was actually here to work - which resulted in the first lecture being something of a shock. Having the attention span of a puppy on Prozac doesn‘t help either, I suppose. At least I’ve got Reading Week to catch up… Throughout my life I’ve always believed confidence is key to success, and when it comes to starting somewhere new I believe you need two things: confidence and, for want of a better phrase “wing people”, friends that you stick to and stick to you. In all my excitement I feel I must mention, that though at the moment things are good, there is a big and presently unanswerable question in my mind: “What happens next?” Who will be there at the end of the year? Who will I love? Hate? Kiss? Maybe these are just the questions of a confused fresher, but as has been the case for most of my teenage life, only time will answer them and, for now time is something we all have in bundles. Michael Kors A review Shairah Habib As we pack up our gladiator shoes and slide on our woollen Uggs in preparation of the cold rainy days ahead of us, we cannot ignore the threat of disease that is hitting our nation. And no I am not talking about the Swine Flu. The disease I am referring to is the glamour disease. Static hair, chapped lips and runny noses are only a few of the factors that will threaten us ladies by taking away our glamour factor, but fear not! There is a remedy to cure this disease, and it comes in a bottle. With many prestigious awards under his belt including Woman designer of the year in 2003 and many prestigious clients such as Michelle Obama, Michael Kors has transferred his talent of fashion into perfume. In his exclusive Very Hollywood perfume launch at Harrods on 1st October 2009 he states the need for every woman to feel glamorous. Obviously as not all of us would ever be able to afford his clothing collection with our overdrafts deepening by the second, this perfume is affordable and oh so....well.... GLAMOROUS! Michael Kors style motto goes as follows, “Be optimistic. Have fun and most importantly be glamorous whenever. Even at the grocery store, be glamorous.” So next time your checking out at your local Tesco and you smell the aroma of Mandarin, with a hint of jasmine and subtle raspberry, you can rest assured, she has been cured.
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Alissia Bevan - The Founder

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