final exams are over, and school's out for winter break. so you know what that means... i'm going to be sending letters to my penpals, watching lots of anime, and making holiday-themed twee pop playlists (as evidenced here).
studying sociology has been rather enlightening. it has forced me to become more self-aware (aka disgusted with myself). like, here i am swiping away on my iphone, surrounded by other kids on their iphones, all of us drinking starbucks and tweeting about our classist privilege. nice. :-)
dedicating an outfit to blooming flowers before winter weather sets in. oh, and i was recently named a 'style icon' on chictopia. i am immensely flattered to help represent such a wonderful fashion community. so thank you.
i'm 100% unabashedly in love with cat sweatshirts. (i own seven now.) this one was an exceptionally good find - note the pink bow, floral print, and leaf detailing. and although you can't really tell, the white cat is covered in glitter... glitter.
um, hi. i'm just sobbing over how perfect molly ringwald's wardrobe is in pretty in pink (lace collars, floral vests, ill-fitting cardigans) and throwing popcorn at the screen because john hughes managed to sum up my entire high school existence within the first five minutes.
"have you been asked to the prom?" "no, not yet."
dressing in a slightly glorified catholic school uniform and feeling pretty 'virgin suicides.' writing daydreams in diaries, growing seahorses inside drinking glasses, and sneaking onto rooftops to fool around with boys. the tragic deterioration of youth. the imprisonment of being a girl.
“added to their loveliness was a new mysterious suffering, perfectly silent, visible in the blue puffiness beneath their eyes or the way they would sometimes stop in mid-stride, look down, and shake their heads as though disagreeing with life.”
-jeffrey eugenides, the virgin suicides
going to a coffeeshop dressed like a beatnik almost feels a little too post-ironic. like at any given moment, i could start tapping on a couple of bongo drums, talking about jack kerouac, and reading off my tweets as if they were modern beat poetry... oh god.
while rummaging through the massive collection of moth-eaten garments at my local thrift store, i happened upon this sweater. it reminded me of something rivers cuomo (weezer frontman) would have worn in the mid-1990s when he was all cute and mopey...
autumn classes have started up again, which means i'll be spending the majority of my time treking across campus in impractical shoes and
crying studying at the library. but there is something undeniably romantic about the endless rows of dusty books - each one filled with the stains of a former student's blood and tears... the sweet smell of desolation...
sometimes i forget what it means to dress in a way that's 'seasonally appropriate.' is wearing a tulip print dress in september still considered okay or whatever?
the way of the vaselines is one of my favorite albums of all time, so i scoured down this shirt on ebay. (it's important to represent one's indiepop kid status.) nirvana even covered quite a few of their songs. *a cool tip for awkward social gatherings: start talking about kurt cobain's adoration for twee pop and see if anyone's brain explodes.* trust me, it's fun.
(vintage blouse, random hat, thrifted purse and gingham skirt, topshop mary-janes)
the only thing i like about ‘indian summers’ is the fact that there’s a beat happening song named after them. it’s a sweltering 97 degrees today, and i’m this close to curling up inside my freezer and taking a nap. i’d probably dream about wearing this outfit on a romantic picnic date where we’d feed each other strawberries, and i’d pick bugs off his lightweight cardigan. can you handle how sickeningly twee i sound? i can't.