The White Album pounced on me and was truly unlike anything I’d read before—a seamless weaving of current events with memoir, facts with potential fictions, a soft-edged journalism that thrilled me.
Exhaustion and indulgence do not make other people “bad,” so why must I color them that way for myself? This is what’s at my core these days, the question I can’t fully kick.
The onslaught of so-called news now delivered during fashion week regarding each show, celeb sighting, and inevitable blogger collaboration entirely drowns itself out, rendering all of it tired, dull, and a waste of my time.
The statement, style, and song that I’m obsessed with right now.
When you don’t follow any religion, you have to find your Gods elsewhere to avoid not going insane. What I mean is, we all need something to believe in–anything to help us come to terms with what’s unknown. My higher powers these days include Buddhist proverbs, astrology, and a collection of sentences from my favorite books.
Sometimes I feel invigorated like this—the words of an author send me spiraling into a kind of blissful state where for once I’m not thinking about what I’m doing but simply doing it.
I dare you to put your Netflix, Google deep diving, apps on apps on apps, etc. on the backburner and join me in getting as creatively weird as possible, off-screen, using the hands that your mommas and poppas so kindly gave you.
Women rethink the narrative they’re born into, laughing at Mean Girls rather than recreating their own version. They aim to bake a great, gooey pie, rather than merely perfecting one rigid, self-absorbed slice.
A recent post on Man Repeller declares that belly buttons are the new nipples on the scale of shock-worthy body embellishments to reveal in public. While that may be the case for your average woman, it was laughable to me, because guess what? I don’t even have a belly button.