Saturday, April 9, 2016

Taste the Rainbow

 One week into the third nine weeks of school (my school year is split roughly into four nine-week periods) I was already on my fourth all-nighter and suddenly my life had become a sign from above for me to stop sinning because, between my AP US History teacher discovering the concept of pop quizzes, giving us one practically everyday and my AP English Language and Composition teacher who must have been auditioning for the role of "most-obnoxious-teacher-period" by scheduling a 250 point mandatory mock exam on the Saturday morning AFTER MY BIRTHDAY PARTY (moment of silence please), everyday was literal academic hell (or maybe it was sign for me to stop procrastinating, but, you know).

   I made it through though, by multiple shots of caffeine, 30 minute naps at 1:00 a.m., the ends of my nails, and Fashion Week. Lots and lots of Fashion Week.

   Ok, so, maybe Fashion Week was the reason why I was up so late all those nights, and maybe, MAYBE (most certainly) I'd scroll through online articles of show recaps and fashion blogger vlogs instead of doing a few (most) of my Precal assignments, but, hey. With shows like Ashish's fall/winter 2016/2017 prismacolor collection where models shimmied down the runway line with punchy, pastel afros and and iridescent, fish scale sequined dresses, flouncy blouses, and bottoms in matching vibrant hues giving not only a nod to 70's disco dances but also a throwback to 80's colorful cartoons like Rainbow Brite and Jem and the Holograms (one model looked almost exactly like my favorite Hologram, Shana Elmsford) could you blame me? 

Sunday, December 27, 2015

Faux Fantasies

Faux Fur Fantasies 


The sky in Southlake, TX keeps 
throwing fits, dropping fat goblets of freezing cold rain down her face dark and bruised with storm clouds. You
 can really see the Christmas lights even though it's just mid-morning. All the houses and trees in my aunt and uncle's neighborhood are outlined in glimmered whites and golds that the drizzling rain catches and shatters into an odd wintry starlight hanging in the arctic air, and everything looks so otherworldly and dreamy and dramatic, it feels like a movie. I feel like a movie. One of those 60's movie, maybe, where the pictures are sort of hazy but the actors' eyes and the lights all shine with an odd clarity, like Breakfast at Tiffany's or something. And I want to get dressed like a movie, 60's heroines don't sit on laptops in syrup-stained Marvel sweatshirts and pastel pink shorts (confession: I haven't seen many so I could totally be wrong), but rainy days are lazy days so I'm still sitting in my pjams day dreaming about what the 60's-movie- heroine-me would be wearing if reality-me wasn't so lazy (or broke or confused about fashion time periods). 

 Movie-me would probably be all dolled up in thick faux furs in powdery pastel candy shades of pink and blue and bold leopard prints and warm, milky creams and browns like the faux furs reality-me has been obsessing over recently and that one faux fur vest that reality-me saw in Zara the other day that she fell instantly in love with after trying it on because it was absolutely, certainly, most definitely the most glamorous and dramatic thing that reality-me had ever seen, and a movie is supposed to be dramatic, and there is nothing more dramatic than being draped-over by some faux fur which just oozes glamour and luxury (except for, maybe, your mom protesting over the $150 price tag. Whoops.)