Obviously I'm too cool and self-assured to be throwing down with hipsters at Bastille this Saturday night, wearing my eye makeup in a ridiculous frenzy of kohl pencil and twerking in high-waisted pastel shorts. Mostly because I still don't know what Bastille is and by 'cool' and 'self-assured' I actually mean 'unaware' and 'without friends who tell me about these things'. And by 'throwing down with hipsters' I mean 'circling them, waiting for someone to say something to the general group so I can feel like I was included'. And by 'wearing eye makeup in a ridiculous frenzy of kohl pencil' and 'twerking in high-waisted pastel shorts' I mean bring shame upon my family.
I feel so mah'fuckin' snazzy because of mah hurrr and mah new shoes and mah finally even-again skin and just mah larf right now. See, today I finally got a new charger for my Canon (which hasn't been used since, like, October) and I can finally feel superbly amateur again with my photos that don't come out so tack Nikon sharp anymore.
Franny & Zooey, salt. and The Bell Jar), Mr Price Home and Kodak.
Above, are my new fancy scented candles that I'll light in the bath while I've got No Angel on loop and just get the feels out. Nothing like the sweet fragrance of Jasmine and Baddie Bey telling me that she loves me even more than who she thought I was before (which, if people would stay around longer than five minutes, they would realise too) (like, I'm sorry I asked for a lock of your hair but I swear I'm a lot of fun) (seriously, though, let's make BFF bracelets) (oh, you have to leave? That's cool, I've got stuff to do anyway).
I printed over a hundred photos many of them (shamelessly) including Snapchats, selfies and WhatsApp/Twitter screenshots because pretty photos of the beach will not sum up my life when my biography is being written in five years.
That Snapchat, pictured on the far right, is a misquote of Drake's fam-usss line on Mine (that was obviously, like ALL Drake lyrics, directed at me), 'all them fives need to listen when the ten is talking,' because I am funny and my friends are funny and we're all just a group of comedic misfits.
You know Beyonce's super this-is-Sparta(aaaaa) facial expressions during her half-time performance at the Super Bowl because her moves were so fierce and she was ninety-three shades of werk-ing-eet? That was me when I found Company magazine at Exclusive Books. And, because I'm turning into a fairy, I also copped Frieze Masters because, duh, cool art and cool people and intelligent shit and, like, three steps to becoming elitist and better-than-you. Also, insert weave flip.
But I don't think "oh my God, we're like twinsies" is a great pickup line.