My mind floods with thoughts of how much BETTER everyone around me is eating, how they’re saintly nibbling chia seeds, or “running off” their indulgences with 10ks, or going completely raw (#ugh).
I suspect that if there’s any REAL through line between all the grief in this world, it’s the shared feeling of, “Well, shit, this is not how they told me it would be.”
I was beginning to feel like I would never end up in a place that I truly wanted to be in, and then the universe threw me a big shiny bone.
Two black models and one Asian in a showing of 54 looks—so, essentially, a sea of white women. Is that wired to the wider world? Not so much.
Your entrée into this realm of the elite can be jarring, which is why we’ve convened to help you through it.
I’d probably be much more successful if I could apply my need for control and general insanity to this blog, but the reality is that it’s one of the few corners of my life that has eclipsed those demons.
It’s about having fun with fashion again, and what that represents for my bigger picture—daring to try new things, to mess up, to be a little squishy rather than slick.
I can deal with my father’s death, even if it’s tragic and awful and makes me want to puke—I have seen this now, that I can survive a worst-case-scenario, that surviving it is no longer an idyllic, future happening, but a reality that I’ve been thrust into.
I’m another souvenir, amongst many, from the various journeys through time that my father took. Perhaps more deeply rooted, being his child, but still a part of a much larger picture.