Rationalizing the "yep"

As I hurriedly traversed the aging hallway of my beloved school one fine Thursday morning of which I was late to a  first hour math test (Thanks Dad), upon rounding the corner I found myself awkwardly walking side by side with may favorite staff member who seemingly was the vice principle.

Just a little insight upon the character of this particular vice principle: very blunt, comical, sarcastic yet retains the material contents of a teddy bear.

 Returning to the novel: like I said strutting down the hallway like hot shit, when this fave vp of mine decided it was appropriate to comment on a newly acquired beanie of the fluorescent variety. Yeah so I'll admit it was pretty damn bright, but being the unconventional and somewhat indifferent being that I am, the personal countenance of others in the presence of my sacred hat had not yet registered at this fine not mention 7:00 am Thursday morning. The conversation is as follows: "Nice hat", he said, "thanks" I said, "pretty bright", he said, "yeah" I said, " ha, looks like something you would go hunting in" he said, to which I replied " yep". END SCENE. If you felt that awkwardness slither into the dark crevices your lateral veins, then I have effectively captured my state of being throughout that entire conversation.

 

 I could not definitively state my offense in his commentary. Rather of which could I be, dare I say, flattered by his senseless stab at a so called "compliment". Who knows,  maybe he himself is in fact an avid hunter and it is quite possibly true that within the mysterious world of Duck Dynasty and Sarah Palin my state of topical florescence might be kind of gangsta. Which draws me to my final conclusion, in my book, if there ever was one, you always just gotta get in where you fit in. Fortunately, according to my trusty sarcastically inclined school veep, I was hot shit and not in terms of animal feces ( too far?).

Nike tee, Converse One Star plaid button up, Forever 21 denim shearling jacket,gap riding pants and my fave tenny(-shoes):Supergas. Oh and florescence brought to you by your local Beauty Supply Plus.




Don't hate, commentate! Also excuse the horrific makeup job thanks to the amateur skills of my staff/family.

Yo Quiero

Google Translate is quite frankly a necessity in these matters. In the first installment of Yo Quiero, I pretty much tell you all the things I want as this may serve as a possible reference in the furthering of your insight of my present core values and desires. As well as provide an electronic foundation for the tentative existence of a year round wish list with a non-denoimnal structure not in cahoots with a specific holiday. In essence I'm gonna basically be like: "I want this because it's 7:39 on a Friday night, my birthday is in like 7 months, 23 days, 5 hours, 35 minutes and 21 seconds and I'm bored".

 

 Apparently my current wish list exemplifies a quite demure yet tom-boyish facet of my intra-personal being through the present exposé displaying a lacking variety within the color spectrum and an ultra swag he-she state of mind. Wildfox Couture tee, seeming to never disappoint in materializing a very real psyche that plagues millions of adolescence in America. Some say it crude, I call it accurate. TORN denim at a professional level brought to you by River Island, if this doesn't make you feel like your ex-boyfriend was a construction worker/ plumber, then clearly what will?! Topshop boots in love-e-e-e (sung to the tune of the guy on that one song by Rihanna...) since the probability of my acquiring the likes of  Balenciaga are slim to maintaining a health balance in my college fund, Topshop rips them off better that you can even imagine. Gracias Topshop UK!

 Supreme obviously does it better in a snapback than I could do better in majority of other aspects in my life, so that just a fact that I've had to come to terms with. Finally, Juicy's amazeballs lightening bolt earrings that I've developed a fancy for as my affinity for bolts of the lightening variety curate, maybe its because I'm attracted to visble power or the simple fact the Juicy Couture does it extra-better?

Nevertheless, yea. Yea so that's about it.

Pimpery

Every few months my mom goes through this whole kind of cleansing shit of a more materialistic standard. She may or may or may not be categorized as a recovering shopomaniac (shopaholic is so mainstream) but I accept it because in effect her closet is my closet which makes it all okay. In an effort to make up for this sad yet beneficial fact, a hefty donation or resale venture will be in place, in which case a quick all expense paid shopping spree through the guest bedroom that is her closet maintains necessary.

This truth has allowed for the existence of this quite frankly awesome wine colored coat to remain relevant within our household. I feel as if I have saved a poor animal from its demise by euthinzation, a graphic image,yet,a perquisite to furthering my purpose. It was this poor article of clothing that was simply on the verge of a similar ending of which I saved from parish upon the virtues of my own heroic being. Brave, yes I known, to salvage such a coat that could only ensure the viscous remarks of my peers commenting on the baller-shot-caller nature of the aforementioned. To which I dutifully reply on the basics preached by Fat Amy, "I rather just just call myself a wannabe-gonnabe-pimp so there's little need for you snitches to say it behind my back" a very rough interpretation of her exact dialogue but if you happen to be a teenage to lonely adult female with little depth upon the matter of acting/singing/talent, you get the reference."What Now?!"most likely proceeded with a finger snap, head wave and off-putting yet defiant exit.

H&M denim dress, yes dress, hat designed by my padre, Coaco coat and Superga(z)

The coat and I may have a weird, sort of irregular, or dare I say unlikely companionship but we sort of get each other. It's like that person on your block that owns a really screwy looking dog with like an underbite and patchy hair thats like super ugly and your like "why do they even keep that thing its hideous" but its like they love it even though its really gross and creepy, ya know? Well its like the same thing but not really...

"I'm different, yea I'm..".

In general,  my desire to increase the difficulty level in my life and in particular my wardrobe have drawn me to a whopping 45 minute time period to carefully decide upon the accouterments of my physicality the following day. To that, I congratulate myself as it depicts a growth in the complexity of style therefore implying the distinct capabilities of my being. In essence, I AM UNIQUE!?

 In this instance, dreams are made realities in which I actively flaunt my uniqueness-ness with an outfit and then a outfit on steroids.

Lands End gingham button up(or is it button down), Children's Palace sweater, target leather shorts, Nike wedge sneakers, AshleyB Coat


I should truly consider sporting more make up in these ocassions, meanwhile, please excuse the the very raw,sleep-deprived features of my face...

No tengo mas decir. 

.

Like a Colleigate

 In effort to further my support in revitalization of a more recent era ( see: The Revival), I found myself chasing after a more collegiate look in recent months as graduation into a higher level of expertise in my education is a mere three years away. In search of a piece that would master this look, I ventured far into the depths of the interweb and later the dark corners of a neighboring vintage shop. It promised a unique and devoutly authentic take on the original varsity jacket as opposed to the appreciated yet commercialized visage of Forever 21 and Urban outfitters. However, upon browsing the large shop to little avail I discovered originality came with a price, such a price that my dwindling sitters fund would not allot.

In a state of frustration I slyly mentioned to my father of my current disarray, 3 weeks later a package from my Aunt with my name on it arrived on mah doorstep. The contents became the pride and joy of both my father and my existence. In my heart I knew my dad was proud that the son he never had was sporting his now 30 year old varsity jacket displaying his previous ability to take part in physical activity including not only three varsity sports but a Playboy patch to match,yay assonance.

 

Thrifted tee, denim shirt from some sketchy Asian web store, floral pants via a forever 21 type store in Cabo San Lucas, Rampage flats,Varsity jacket from...well you should have figured it out by now.

It retains an authenticity that money simply cant buy in its  rancid smell, torn seams and scratched leather sleeves.In essence, I was kind of in love as the possibilities seemed endless in their unconventional capabilities. Just think, leather or maybe even floral skirts, dainty trousers or shredded denim. My heart seemed to leap with joy and continues to leap till this very day(kay I'll admit that was corny even for...me)

End.

A Story of Revival

There remains a general notion in the retelling of history that it's true purpose in its perpetual oral existence lies in the hope that society will deny repitition of it's past faults ( i.e. dense petticoats,limited enfranchisement etc.). In reality, if we lived in the utopian society that seems only to exist in the vague presence of our filtered cerebral lenses, the torn boyfriend jeans upon my waist would not reside, nor the age old varsity jacket humble the small of my back, nor the Chuck Taylor's on my feet.

 
In today's story, in the defiance of history and the short lived lived reference of "trend", I present to you an analysis of the basics we love to hate procured by the champion of the essentials that transcend time(see: American Apparel): the scrunchie.

You may often find this specific accoutrement gracing my wrist on any given day, lately in the velvet variety and in multiples. In a previous statement I made public my inability to stylize the likes of my wrist on the daily, UNLESS,the juxtaposition of a multiplicity of exhausted hair ties account for this defect... In order to appease this deficit a miracle appeared upon this dilemma while on errand to the fancy of a Beauty Supply Plus. For an entirety of $1.49 I could achieve a fraction of beauty upon my extremities yet attain a high level of functionality in its purpose, in the similar effect. A whirlwind of emotions attended to my psyche in the act of subtracting a two dollar bills from my wallet.I questioned the instinct in my purpose, then followed that thought with an appropriate "why the hell not".

 

 















The scrunchie stands as a defiant symbol to our youth and indifference in insubordination to the message history has proposed. While we want to believe that everything it stands for and the memories that retain mistakes of the past (one in fact era that I did not have the innate ability of being conceived in)it also displays an insensibility to those malicious qualities. In sum, the scrunchie stimulates the simplicity of its elastic contents in their necessary appraisal of the oversights of yesterday yet remain applicable as we venture into our future.

It is also kinda cute, soooo, that helps too...  

Scruchies via American Apparel.

To Confuse You

Mixed signals seem to be my middle name in both my relatively- and by relatively I mean most definitely- nonexistent love life, as well my current wears. My respectful indifference to many things in my life including the specfics of the atmosphere may or may not become more concrete in the future, but if not here's to trying.

The weather is changing or has changed depending on the publishing date, mother nature seems to me in a current state of limbo, in which we are subject to her neurotic being as ice resides on the ground stylized by the presence of a 50 degree sunny skies. I'd ask her to make up her mind but, in a more civil and personal response I choose to take my anger out on you in which case the imitation of her seemingly proverbial emotional roller coaster is emulated in an #ootd. What may seem as childish explanation of the unconventional structure of  my wears is a realistic reaction to a lacking financial ability to invest in therapy...

Getting to the good stuff, the "why's" with a semi-tangible explanation provided:

1. A cable knit neon orange turtleneck sweater via Gap: to express my inner crossing guard, Mini Wheat Cereal always provided this become a reality but proved a failure of my elementary years. 

2. Old Navy plaid: Obvi, lumberjack revival.

3.DIY ripped jeans: self-explanitory (i.e."Torn")

4. Sorel boots: they single-highhandedly retain memory of my youth in which snow was a viable noun of which could be juxtaposed next to "fun" in a subordinate clause.

5.Calvin Klein trench: bucuz...

6.Red lip:brought to you by the cliche that is my inner beauty (to be dissected at a later date)

There are obviously like 10 million things going on in this outfit- or at least 7- as there are in my head  as you can easily infer by the variety of insanity harbored by the content. The real question,besides how many colons I can use in one post, isssssssss: Are We There Yet? (as in your state of confusion).

I should probs stop.

Feeling/looking like I belong in a Land's End advertisement, both of which realities I am totally okay with emoting.

Ath-le-ti-ca

Trends, trends are no fun unless they're are shared with the everyone. Lately, a desire to achieve a perfect blend to the care free jock and atypical fashion inclined (wo)man seems to be of extreme pertinence. To that challenge I propose my own take on the matter at hand seeing as how I have dedicated 3/4s of my short lived existence to sports of both the soccer and volleyball variety. Therefore, this came easy to me as an entire drawer, yes drawer, of my closet overflowed with underarmour, spandex and sports brassieres. 

In my opinion, like you actually care,  I think this inclination towards wearables capable of applicability in various sporting events, are fueled by a certain degree of swag we all seem in sweats to attain. Maybe that explains the backwards caps upon my head or the vintage UCLA jersey I've been dying to stylize. I clearly don't know about you, but sometimes I wish my testosterone levels were higher in which case I could more successfully attain this goal, but then this floral skirt would be obsolete so never mind.

 

Just a thought, more pictures less analytical theses.

  

Champion athletic long sleeve tee, Nike jacket, Charlottle Russe skirt, gap socks, Topshop velevt shoes

  

My "like-a-boss-what-now-boom" pose

Wrist Rainbows

Attempting to patent  my own phrase before I hit 21 I present to you the "wrist rainbow". Don worry, it'll catch on, yea, it will, yea.... I feel the web evokes a feeling of honesty, you know a sense of security and home where identity theft and people stalking may be increasingly accessible but only pose a minor to moderately severe threat to the survival of both our virtual and physical state. To that long stream of therapeutic rambling, I pose a confession of sorts that make consequently deteriorate the validity of this here blog.

Kay, here it goes, about to say it, god goodness I feel like Jodie Foster at the Golden Globes, kay, yep soooo, I dont get jewelry. Look don't judge me and I won't judge you when stalking your every retouched-amaro-filtered-selfieday-erryday instagram photos...While it may be a consequence to the prime of my existence the latter procures this lack of understanding.Nevertheless, I fear the current dilemma proses a future threat of in-capabilities in the juxtaposition of twinkly accoutrements on the dainty of my wrist.

I  now question if my signature phrase will ever be probable in my case, a fear that resides within me today and may continue in to my now dimming future...In lieu of that revelation made possible by the personification of the World Wide Web, I devise and attempt to solidify your support in my efforts to achieve excellence in upholding the premeditated vitality of the wrist rainbow name.

I find myself seldom resorting to the likes of a rubber watch and authentic braided bracelets purchased in none other than a questionable, some say shady, shop in the streets of Cabo. Irony remains the best policy in this instance as sporting a watch that may or may not work and an adolescent brain that may orrrr may not be able to read any time that is not digitized upon the display of an i-product. Life is ironic why not bedazzle your appendages with a wrist rainbowwww...

It'll catch on, I promise.

The Review

Thus far you have noticed that a reoccurring theme of  both rebellion and indifference posing vital in my being and, in particular,to my choice in attire. Today, in the next installment of active defiance in the name of unconventionality I bring to you a the one and only, master of the elements, ladies and gents Mother Nature. We all know she can be bit of a ludicrous, indecisive B likely residing in Apartment 23, but she has become a major part of our lives whether we,as mankind,like it or not. I being not too keen on her decisions that ultimately determine both the state of my hair follicles and the fabrics upon my back, chose to challenge Motha Nature.

You heard me phuck the the weather, I'm gonna wear cotton skirts with no tights in 35 degree weather and white sneakers when snow has risen above my ankles. And guess what, if its 85 in Cabo I just might wear sweater with reindeer on it just because I feel like it.

So suck on that rain, snow, sleet, hail, sun, shine and the creator of the elements. My bare limbs have very little shame in their game. Very. Little

Bebe Skirt, Obey tee, Converse One Star plaid, Nike Tiger sneakers, Michael Kors turtle neck, H&M moto vest and Converse One Star striped button.

And then it got cold so I went inside.


The.End. 

Torn

I have found the likes of the beginning a distinct fascination with both punning and and their similarly sartorially charismatic counterpart: the ripped jean. Hence the title " Torn", which in turn provokes the obvious message in which my denim is, well, torn, but also proposes a more insightful nature of  my being in which I intend to analyze my psyche in this...perplexity shall we call it.

To begin, I have always sought power in such things that seem to display qualities of their defiance of mankind's conformities, it seems that destroyed (insert clothing item here) encompasses that idea as it effectively mimics a consciousnesses of the repetitive " I don't really give a bleeps". It is solely this indifference which moistens my finger tips in single-handedly (pun) obliterating my  babysitters fund or the likes of my unknowing fathers. In particular a certain pair ,currently on sale at asos is becoming more keen in this  gesture as the weeks monotonously pass on by. 

However, this desire to exposes my raw,ashen skin to the world, an idea that posed unfathomable in my early adolescence,seems to display a similar rebellion in the becoming of my youth. While I perceive my actions as an active form of defiance to the tradition of modestly covered knee caps and well tailored denim, am I conversely a living stereotype in which I reflect my rebellious qualities in my choice of shredded clothing? What's next, shall I commence shopping at Hot Topic and similarly redefine a blouse as a strategically hemmed brassiere?!

American Eagle Outfitters striped sweater, thrifted burgundy shirt, Forever 21 plaid skirt, Dollhouse jeans and Steve Madden boots.

I ponder this thought in a maniacal state in the wee hours of the day... in the mean time therapy seems most apt by my own hands in which do-it-yo-self is presented as inevitable.