Pretty Young Fools

(Img source: Prettified Allure)

NYFW 2.0: The End Of Blogging

I lived the fast life for all of 10 days this month. I attended New York Fashion Week once again,  seeing approximately 15 shows including Malan Breton, Just Drew, and Raul Penaranda - former designer for Oscar de la Renta. 

The Art of Seduction

Everybody has a weakness.

Mood | Desperado

War Zone

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"I don't want to be heard, I want to be listened to." - Twenty One Pilots

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Classe | In my #Calvins

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So we stare out of car windows, hair blowing, soul searching.

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There's a general rule in life that you can control what you want but you can't control how you get it. Except I am a control freak and a worrier. I like to be in charge of things and when plans don't work out  the way I want them to, I have an emotional breakdown. Every single time.  I am fussy and I like things, situations and life in general to be perfect. In my head I am consistently in a fantasy world, It's what keeps me calm when a storm decides to hit. The funny thing is I eventually get what I want but never in the way I imagined I would get it. Yep, my life is one big mind fuck.

BUT every so often I'll find myself in a mood of nonchalance. In fact I'm in one right now.  I assume this persona of simple seduction and nothing in the world could make me care more than I should.

Calvin Klein Girl

Rolling out of bed at 8AM in a sports bra and tiny panties, putting on music and possibly some boyfriend jeans. A notebook in one hand and some peppermint tea in the other. Maybe we'll jut down our thoughts, maybe we'll jut down our dreams. Or recall things that keep us wide awake at night.

A good song comes on on the radio and this time we can feel the lyrics, not just hear them. An instant urge to get up and pretend to be our favourite rockstars in front of the mirror. Morning exercise feeding into us like heroin.

Night time falls and all we want is the thing we crave: music. So we stare out of car windows, hair blowing, soul searching.

Then we're on the dance floor in the nude. A nude turtle neck crop and tight denim skinny jeans. Conversing with strangers with our eyes as they say more than we could ever possibly voice. Conversations might start, conversations usually end. Resulting in entertainment or a sheer waste of a good song.

But who fucking cares? It was fun to begin with.

Mood | Casanova

Holding her dress at the hip, Sierra Mercier paced herself in  excruciating 6 inch sandal heels. Shoulders back, head high and a smile that held just a little bit of arrogance. She sashayed into her ensuite humming a Lionel Richie song. Nothing and no one could dwindle her current adrenaline rush. Her heart was beating five times faster than usual, a glint that could not be described in any other way but pure ecstasy lingered in her eyes.  Three nominations and one Oscar. Sierra Mercier. Producer! Director! Hottest Actress in Hollywood!!!  

East Harlem Sierra is now the most demanded actress in the movie business. Shit, who would have fucking thought? She still remembered her life three years prior. A 22 year old girl who could not afford to pay her college tuition fees. From club dancer to international supernova. From several early morning acting lessons  with a 47 year old out of work actress in Brooklyn to being discovered  at the Empire Hotel rooftop bar in Manhattan. She did it and she couldn't give a damn what anyone had to say about her past. 

Stripping off the gold high neck Michael Costello dress and immediately redressing into a red lace dress, Sierra checked her appearance in the long mirror. Switching from a nude lip to a red lip. She wasn't a moron, she knew appearances in LA were everything. Nobody got by without it and as long as she remained in Hollywood, she was here to steal the show.   

He looked at her with such admiration. She was beautiful in the most exotic way. Her acting was great but not Oscar worthy. Was this jealousy talking? Theo fixed his tie in front of the mirror as he watched her fix her lipstick from the corner of his eye. 

May will mark his fifteenth year in the film industry. Theo was known for his natural zest and amazing translation of complex characters in gripping movies but not once has he ever won an Oscar. Not fucking once and it bothered him. More than he ever let on. Fuck! If only he could grow tits and play dazzling pretty brunettes in movies with gripping sob storylines. Maybe he'd win an Oscar then huh? After all that's the kind of crap that sells out box office these days. He was 10 years older than Sierra but what the fuck did that matter? He wanted an Oscar more than he wanted her and every year he loses to some schmuck or the token black guy.  What the hell was up with that? 

A strong pang of guilt hit him hard in the chest. He envied Sierra with such rage and she didn't have a clue. But goddamnit he hated how she flirted with every fucking guy at those ridiculous after parties. They lusted after her and she enjoyed it. What the fuck did he need that for? Staring at the exquisite ring on her left hand, he wondered if he had done the right thing. Of course he had. With Sierra on his arm he would be unstoppable.  She was his ticket to the golden league of Hollywood royalty and he was going to get there by fire, by force.

"You ready to go?" Sierra asked, eyes shining brightly accompanied by a charming smile that could disarm anyone and everyone. 

"Ready than I'll ever be." Max replied linking arms with his fiancée as they left the Park Hyatt for the Hills.