03 Sep I blue myself.
This Target skirt was a bright beacon of yellow light in the midst of a layoff from my dream job over a year ago. And when I saw it in my closet in the middle of a frustrated frenzy of trying to find something that would work with this beyond bold blue lip (ColourPop’s, Mr. Blonde), I figured what the hell. And then it just came together magically. Even my coral sandals matched and my $2 necklace from the little circle of Thrift Hell you Half Moon Bayans call Twice As Nice perfectly matched the aesthetic. Accidental outfits like these make me thank the lord for the invention of clothes and the human race for turning it into an art form. Real fashion isn’t about image, people. Because try as you might, you can’t control the interpretation that leads to the very concept of your image. Real fashion is pure expression. It is when the only fuck given is whether or not you feel real while wearing it. This was my real that day.
Also, how do you like my little poem on Fat People Flipping You Off?
Mmm. That was a delicious Smurf.