expat wives

Expat Wife Fashion Go-Tos

/ Emma-Jane Austen-Jones / 12 Comments

I was thinking a few days ago that I should become a fashion consultant for expat wives in Singapore (and beyond!), if only I had the time, which I do not : (.

I would be great at it though because I am constantly being stopped in the street by strangers who tell me how hot I am, and ask where I got my outfit/ accessories from. Having done a weeklong course on iconic looks for tropical climates some years back, I thusly know all that there is to know about floaty versus fitted. Also, I possess an abundance of relevant experience as an expat fashionista who dresses herself daily, and I have many gorgeous Expaterati friendses who really know their onions. Unfortunately (boo!!), I defo do not have time to launch this new career, so I thought the least I could do is create a bespoke, boutique, artisanal written work, detailing the hottest expat wife Looks, and how to achieve them.

So, dear readers and babeses, here it is:

Every expat wife is unique in her own special way, but I will present below a state-of-the-art assemblage of awesome Looks that we generally espouse, in order to attain maximum hotness, even in challenging climes.

1. The Labels Look

This expat wife wears sizzling designer gear from head to toe, hairpin (vintage or diamonds) to handbag. Could be mistaken for a Rrrrra-shon, but distinguished by the fact that she would never knowingly wear a yellow jean. (Though how can we be sure what colour we’re wearing anymore, since #thedress??)

To achieve this Look, it is not necessary to buy entirely genuine items, however you will need a certain number of key realees. For example, you must purchase at least one handbag per year priced at US$ 2,000+, and a few bits from Chanel, the Gooch, the Chooster, Loubouties, and Givenchy, albeit at discounted prices. Intersperse those key pieces with fakees, and you’re there.

2. The Asia Boho Look

Likely to be seen in either v flowing or v fitted silks and cottons, purchased on fabulous regional trips, or custom-made by some amazebobs tailor she found on RSEW. ABL will team a cheap bracelet from the Krabi night market with a $20,000 Cartier watch, and throw something freakishly tall (I just heard that from one of my American BFFs – apparently it means expensive) around her ankle for good measure.

In achieving this Look, it doesn’t matter to the unpracticed eye whether you’re combining Asiana market chic with realees or fakees. But babeses, to be honest and stuff, it seriously won’t work with only fakees, and why make a spectacle of yourself if you can’t afford realees? ABL can only be fully achieved if you have access to realees. Otherwise you just look like a hippie. Not to dis hippies, but they were a bit sloppy, and that’s not an adjective that any self-respecting member of the Expaterati should aspire to.

3. The Mainstream Look

This sweetheart shops at Zara and Banana Republic, and orders from Boden. She wants to be a leeeetle bit out there, but would die if anyone thought, “OMG, what’s she wearing?!”

To reach the un-dizzying heights of the ML, shop at the aforementioned, or any of the mainstream outlets on Orchard Road. The Gap is also great for that stuff. Take note though, ML ladies, if you followed the guidelines from the previous categories, you would be way hotter, and your hus would be less likely to develop the dreaded yellow fever. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

4. The Mutha Look

Ladies of this ilk either have no helper, or persist in the charade of mothering like they would at home, should they have been in the desperate situation of being unable to afford a nanny. Or cleaner. Or driver. Or cook. They seek out squashed banana stains and bad hair days, purely to substantiate a sense of dedication to their irritants.

In the unlikely event that you would wish to achieve this Look, wear whatevs. Just please make sure you have your breast pads properly installed so that they don’t fall out as you wave b’bye to your husband.

5. The Worker Chic Look

This is the most challenging Look of all, due to the need to present oneself as simultaneously powerful, assertive (but sheesh forbid aggressive!), and femininely hot; and all this while moving from freezing cold A/C to hair-crazying 35 degrees.

The method in this madness is as follows, sweetses: layering. So I have these babelicious lacy bustiers I bought while spelunking at Aber & Fitch, and I pair them with a shear Marc Jacobs top and an H & M (yes, go there! No one will know!!) pencil skirt, finalising the project with killer Loubouties… And there you have it! A Do Not Mess With Me outfit. Add a realee Rolex and a gigantic Alex McQueen bag, and you’re a-go-go.

Additional sub-category: The Gym Bunny
Among these five main categories, the Gym Bunny is a consistent apparition, regardless of age, race, creed, or how sexy one looks in exercise apparel. All expat wives will, at one time or another, show up anywhere in their finest gymmies, and LuluLemon will undoubtedly feature highly. It is a truth universally acknowledged.

So there you have it. It has not been easy to categorise the fashion go-tos of the expat wife, but I think you’ll find that I have reached an epiphany with this exposé. Should you wish to add another Look, please do so in the comments.

(Don’t forget the hot undies, babeses! These are from H & M, but tell no one.)

Weekends Are the Mega-ly Worst Part of the Week

/ Emma-Jane Austen-Jones / Leave a comment

The weekend is abso the v worst time of the week for an expat wife. The awfulness kicks off first thing in the morning, when you have to get up megaly-early, or it looks like you’ve been having lie-ins all week. Saturday is bad, but with the helper’s day off, Sunday is soul-destroying.

A big part of the problem is having to spend too much time with the children. Well, Max tends to keep himself to himself, but I mean Milly really. The most annoying thing about Milly is that, for a three-year old she is extremely self-centred. She probably gets this from Don, but I suspect that there is also a link with the breastfeeding. Until she went on to solids, Milly was exclusively breastfed, and since then the only milk she has is still lady milk. Not from me, of course, but from the help. That was on my list of requirements when we hired her:

1. Must not eat spam
2. Must not be too hot
3. Must currently be lactating

It was a horrible shame, but I had to stop breastfeeding after five weeks because I just wasn’t seeing Milly often enough for her to rely on me for food (and pumping is too disgusting to persevere with unless you have a really great party to go to).

Max, au contraire, was only ever breastfed by yours truly (we didn’t have full-time help in the UK), and he has really turned out far nicer than Milly. Whereas she takes after Don, Max is totes more like me in most respects, beyond his passion for Minecraft. I feel certain that there is an interesting piece of research to be done there, to determine whether excessive breastfeeding – or the wrong type of milk?? – can turn a child into a nasty little dog-torturing turd. I think I should pursue it, as part of my future studies in child psychology.

Another problem with weekends is that the husbands just swan around, from golf to tennis to the cigar bar, and the wives have to take up the slack around them. They never want to come to social/ whole family engagements that either they or their assistant didn’t arrange. They don’t trudge the kids birthday party circuit, year in, year out. Yet, all of a sudden they’ll come up with the brilliant idea of taking the children to Universal Studios or something (UGH), and hey presto, they’ve won the best parent award.

Then it gets to the evenings, and we either have to go out or, worse, stay in. Nightmare. You hear all this self-pitying “flying solo” tripe from the single expat mothers (and I think you’ll find it should be flying solA, girls, didn’t you pay attention when you holidayed in Spain?), but frankly babeses, what you’ve got right there is a breeze.