In his latest WWD column, fashion publisher John Fairfax proclaims that trends are dead. The reality, however, is that fashion trends are nowhere near dead, they just arise from different sources than they once did.
Because not all mother figures are blood-related, vagina wielding Betty Crockers, okay?
“Write normcore on a post it note and have someone shit on it. Call it art.” Sorry if you’ve been holding your breath, but my self-directed-real-talk is BACK, and it’s pretty extensive to make up for lost time.
With enough baggage entrenched in our lives already, the things we carry can quickly become another burden, and one of the few that’s rather easy to let go of. Yet many of us continue to cling to certain collections, so why is that? What do these arbitrary arrangements do for us, exactly?
A rundown of what’s taking up my brain space these days. Currently very into overnight oats, Leila Yavari, old Destiny’s Child, depressing but insightful Holocaust memoirs, Mad Men, faulty celebrity feminism, etc. Ya know, the usual.
After a few requests from readers, I have decided to add a DONATE button to the site [see right hand column] in case your heart desires supporting this 100% labor of love in any way other than your eyeballs (which has always been my main goal).
I think it is common for teens to want to push their damages under the rug, hoping that they’ll disappear. As I’ve grown older I’ve learnt that the most interesting, well-rounded people tend to pull them out, stare them boldly in the face, and, eventually, move on.
A trip to Brooklyn results in a little sartorial nausea, courtesy of the trying-so-hard-to-be-hip transplants crawling out of every nook and cranny. On the other hand, my native-to-NYC friend doesn’t seem to be trying much at all, and blows them out of the water.
Because little did you know, where you buy your coffee is a loaded choice, one which even the most philanthropic humans can lose sight of.