A Redo of Sorts

 Remember that one time I wrote that one post about like statement lipstick and such, yeah well that sucked.

More on Shoes

Shoes seem to be a regular on the brain this month. My closet- of which is a metaphor for my life, remember- seems to be in constant aim of divergence from my feminine qualities. Therefore making suit for yet another discovery of  a burning passion for Tim's and more Nike. I know, and I'm sorry.

My thought process is so limited these days, resulting in inevitable and consequently the blunt character of my posts. Do you appreciate that? 

Nevertheless, I like really want these shoes like really bad and I have retained minimal analytical or comprehensive insight to this fact. It's funny because with the Timberland's I'm actually really surprised by my desire in ownership. I was always kind of thrown off by the very raw disposition of the shoe of which provoked a kind of swagger and confident air that I never really appreciated. I have to say,their presence on the extremities of a variety of lax bros sporting Hawaiian shirts, backwards hats, and neck length blonde hair, threw me through a bit of a loop.The literal bearing of the Wheats (cool kid term for Timberland's)didn't seem to reciprocate with the visage of the participants of the elusive lacrosse sport nor their private school attendance.Maybe my Timberland appetite is fueled by a temporary lapse of heart, in which I hallucinate my true self as one characterized by none other than The Bad Gal, you know, RiRi. All euphemisms, aside in reality, do I really hunger(pun) for intellectual reasoning? F**k no. I just want them, and as of now their want is present simply for a reason I have yet to successfully solicit justification for.

Let's be real, the Air Max and Free Run speak for themselves. I mean, they're beautiful. The Free's are running shoes with a contradictory purpose that could only appeal to someone of my nature. Someone who appreciates their functionality but disregards this truth based on the simple fact that suede, running,exercise, motivational deficiencies and Mid-Western climate rarely coincide. Also, I'm 96% sure the Air Max has no other purpose than to pair with printed trousers or a plaid skirt. No really, it says it on the box.

Dear Family, if you're listening, my birthday is right around the block(7 months is not equivalent to a corner)*wink wink* .

#justsayin/doit

Behind the Curve

I find myself on many occasions being a tad behind in the mainstream of fads and trends as characterized by the current state of my closet. Basically, the whole Lips-on-fabric-on-human-skin trend (commercialized most effectively by Markus Lupfer and Diane Von Furstenburg) has gone through a single complete cycle of fateful ins and outs before my proud ownership of a clothing item to mock the literal visage of my face. Nevertheless, I told you I live in Michigan, right. Yeah that fact alone pretty much sums up the defect of my wears of which I have little control over challenging. 

On a rare trip to DC, I soon discovered that the city had unfairly and most likely illegally attained not one but two Zara stores of which obviously upset me for obvious reasons. In the end, I purchased this shirt and I really like it and other than that I have little other reasnable comprehension of this truth besides the below jpgs.

That is all.

Zara tee, Pitaya shawl sweater thing, Forever 21 plaid skirt, Comme des Garçons Play Converse. Facial Expressions brought you by the raging teenage instagram conformist within all of us.

C U L8R

JT's influence

Thanks to Justin Timberlake, and such of the women of which I aspire in replicating their suiting masculinity in the form a snazzy SUIT and maybe a TIE, I attempt to do just so in the below images. 

At this stage in my adolescence, I very rarely have any fancy affairs to attend on the regs, I mean the Bat Mitzvah's started and ended in 7th grade.... I did tell you I live in Michigan, right, draw your own conclusions. Even when those few occasions arise the formality lends itself to the procreation of cutesy dresses, furnished by nude pumps and tasteful fabrics. But that's rarely any reaaaaaal fun.

Insert makeshift suit substituted with a blazer and leather shorts so you can easily be on your suit and tie shit. The key word is appropriate in these cases in contemplating conformity, which inevitably  coincides with the insurance of safe styling, versus un-coformity in achieving a more unconventional version of you. Essentially: let the pot simmer or vigorously stir the cauldron.

Wearing: stuff, not sure of the specifics. Also, excuse my toned thigh and calf muscles.

The choice is yours but I guess at this point you know me to well to "play it safe". Ha, "safety" what a naive concept.

The Analytics: Sneakers

 As of late, a regular question has been posed to women in subjugation of their relative state of sexuality. I remind you that this is not Cosmopolitan Magazine and we will not explore far into the desires of woman beyond the question of accouterments juxtaposed on our limbs, in highlight: feet.

As much as I hate to relent to the vitality of practicality in daily life, I'll be one to admit, it is a quality worth revitalizing in the mainstream conveniences of everday. My unconventional nature is an ultimate irony to this fact yet complacent to it's truth in the wears upon my feet. In reality, high school permits little convenience to the strapping heels I so desire to attain right of ownership to. Yet,  there still aren't enough homecomings in a seemingly nonexsistant football season (inside joke) to justify this purchase in diversifying the range of my small scale shoe collection. Therefore,  a flat sole for now will be comprable in feeding the estrogen enriched soul.

Which presents me to my next point introducing the similar complexities of hormones in resistance v. embrace-ment of the sneaker.  May I remind you that the current topic of discussion does not provide an analysis of just any sneaker, no. But rather those in appeal to masculinity as opposed to the pimped out  and further blinged out-Nicki Minaj-twinkle toes nature promoted by a variance in Adidas and Sketchers alike. It is a struggle in fighting both urges to swoon upon the simplistic elegance of a suede pump and nike frees in similar enchantment and equal eagerness in ownership. I get it, I've been there, regularly. And when I went there I responded in a fashion that any knowledgeable aspiring young female citizen would. I bought both in justification that the monthly hormones induced by my physique will teeter. And when they totter I will own a shoe to uphold the wishes of my perpetually confused body. There, I can be swaggy Justin Bieber and adolescent transgender Justin Bieber at my own whim. A capability never worth invalidating, never.


In sum: currently owning too may variances of Nike, a fact of which I have toats come to terms with.

Fine Print

As a high school student it has yet to be of relevance in my adolescence to claim an air of "dress to impress". It's rare that you'll find me in a pant suit, "appropriate" heels and hair pulled into the likes of a chignon of which I have very little literal sensitivity to in terms of pronunciation. This fact inevitably produced the pencil skirt brought to you by the similarity of trends that rarely coexssit with the principles Darwinism.

But I feel like we need to make it a tad but more unconventional in here. Therefore, in the ethical matter of living their lies risk-taking and within risk-taking you are likely to find wearing pencil skirts when not necessarily necessary especially in dis-conjunction with age and purpose in fine,fine print. It's true, you probably will.

Thrifted white button up, Roots sweatshirt, thrifted pencil skirt, BDG coat, Tiger Sneakers.

Imagine if I were attending a job interview for say a job, would you consider me a "dresser to succes-er"? No for real, this my livelihood we/you are talking about.

Lips & Lingo

Style is quite a figurative word, it's subjective, undefined,never literal because comprehension of such a concept is so far from tangible that the likes of urban dictionary can't even pin point it( insert gasp). In the tainted lenses of my eyes I "see" style as a provocative, definitive, act of confidence. Your personal esteem is what signifies your style choice and comfort level.Yet, like any human being our confidence can be temporarily void when society encourages the pushing of our theoretical boundaries.

Steve Madden jackte, Nike wedege sneakers, UCLA jersey from my padre

We are in constant desire for challenge whether based on need or the security in the further advancement of this want to prove the stable foundation our backbone has inhibited. In reality, in this day and age, can't the primitive addition of a red stain streak across our lips incite a similar challenge? In fact, I was posed with this question a mere 3 weeks ago upon deciding on the literal existence of this trend on a particular Thursday morning. My confidence and instinct had once again superseded my conscious as I prepared the preceding night with the likes of an outfit that proved vastly inappropriate to the figurative uniformity of school wear, yet demeaning to my own self standards. At which point I had reached a relative level of annoyance with the inhabitants of my closet and decisively chose to look no further in the current of accouterments. 

When suddenly(cliche, I know), a light bulb flickered in my head of vast similarity of those of the dim light of my kitchen, it sorta occurred to me of my ownership of a certain dollar store worthy 3+ year old lipstick tube residing in the depths of my nail polish drawer ( don't ask). Of which I obviously trialed and emotionally readied to flaunt the following morning at the runway that is my sub-sub-sub-urban high school. The following morning I prepared to leave the house lip fancy and all when my mother approached me on my way out with her first recoignition of the uniquely flesshy visage of my lips. To say the the least her reception was unkindly and made obvious threat to my confidence  as I strategically placed paper towl in my backapack in even further preparation to the demise of my ssemingly beloved shock of red.

Crushed was one thing but embarrassment seemed to be an emotion uneasy to stylize and channel into further pursuit of desire to express. But I carry(d) ooooon ( Fun.) and to my surprise my mother the,copy cat,was found to be sporting a similar look the following day(s)/month(s) seemingly in awe of the supernatural power the lipstick obtained. It was kind of unreal to say the least that I was, dare I say, impressionable.

An exciting venture I had not yet had the advantage of becoming acquainted with and of which made my heart flutter with the convenience of the rights of my own self-invigoration that my style had both incited and curated annually. Could the inner beauty promoted by the timeless eloquence of Cover Girls and Estee Lauderettes was a truth I had yet to discover be a reality, or was I just literally too hot to handle in retrospect.

I also feel like this outfit would be appropriate if I was to somehow land my own VH1 reality show as a very real basketball wife...someone make that happen.

IDK #innerbeastorbeauty