Where the Hell Have You Been Loca?!
Consider her reinstated— and back for a very BRAT summer
Maybe you’ve been asking where the !#$&*()@¥ I’ve been? (maybe you haven’t)
And I’m here to tell you that the true query is less of where I’ve been and rather where I haven’t. Which, to avoid a long-winded stream of excuses, the answer is here. I haven’t been here. In all senses of the word.
See, I spent so much of my mental and emotional energy this winter and early spring trying to stave off seasonal depression by whatever means necessary— going no contact with my grocery store and kitchen utensils, nearly developing frostbite playing pool outdoors, self ordained tutelage under pilates mother Teri (iykyk), or mustering joy through 30 colored button ups. And I’ve frankly had enough of myself.
What’s any of that got to do with you? In all honesty, not much... I’ve been waiting around, hoping for something to re-spark my ideas, and return the fervor I had back in February and March, but alas, nothing did. And I know, waiting around for inspiration to strike means virtually never starting again. So plan C, I’ve just gotta get the ideas and words out of my head and the (rusty) writing will follow.
As a means to bridge the past and the present, I’m dropping below my scattered “where have I been” listicle, complemented by mental musings, and the spitballing of many of my fashion finds, fumbles, and literal flops since we last spoke.
Finds and Fumbles: Starting off big, like triple-D big. I’ve had INCREDIBLE luck as of late, finding pieces, new and vintage, that actually support and lift my boobs, which is frankly unheard of when you’re sporting larger than life girls.
In painful, skinned-knee contrast, I’ve had a total f-f-flop. Shortly after scoring my sought-after Versace single platform avitas I wore them with my beloved wool coat, and the heel in all it’s blocky glory got caught and I literally took a tumble down the front steps of my apartment. A girl trips in Brooklyn, a semi-autobiographical novel. So yeah, those need repairing. (And I’ve got a bone to pick with the universe, because why is it that the moment you get one thing repaired/tailored/adjusted, it’s like everything you’ve ever owned suddenly also needs to be repaired/tailored/adjusted?)
Okay, alright, please continue to follow my disjointed stream of consciousness, and acknowledge that Lacoste is on the up UP. You heard it here first.
I’m deep in an east-west bag phase, and I’m most excited to share that my ponyhair Prada bag collection has extended to include zebra—more on this budding safari next time! They’ll never make me hate you, animal print.
J Crew summer sale. That is all.
Musings: Menswear in store at the moment is so… dull? What are the boys wearing? Where are they shopping? At least at the mid-low tier price points? Because you shouldn’t have to drop 700 on a Kenzo vest to be fashionable. Rick Owens boys, need not answer.
Much like Lacoste, Charli XCX is on the rise, with those bangers off her latest album Brat (as someone who didn’t really pay her much attention before– you heard it here last).
I’ve officially started looking at engagement rings. Diamonds are so nuanced. I know momento jewelry is having a moment, so I figured I’d mention my own lil lifetime jewelry moment. Haha so weird.
I fell off my War & Peace slow read, and in its place took up A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara. What a fantastically fucked up read to binge, 10/10, would not recommend to the faint of heart.
Just got a hydrafacial for the first time in my life and WTF, the girlies were not lying when they say it’s that facial. And with no downtime. Can’t compete. Shout out to my face case girl who’s not my girl (yet), Oksana!
In Conclusion: I’m back and ready to divulge my closet secrets once again. Thanks for sticking around despite my hiatus, or joining while things we’re looking rather stagnant. Here’s to getting back up and dusting yourself off when you’ve fallen off the saddle (of life). Let’s get after it, and as always, happy dressing.
xxx
