L.A. Confidential

"You do that and I'm calling my lawyer. I don't owe you guys anything."

"There's a loan repayment of 500,000 dollars due on your account."

Where was the Yes Sir, any other special requests sir, what can we do for you today sir? The schlep on the phone had no respect whatsoever! Didn't he know who he was? Didn't he know?!

Jäger Johnson swaggered over to the brandy cabinet and pulled out a bottle of Hennessy. Grabbing a scotch glass he poured himself a generous amount and sat on the marble floor of his rented villa. 

He looked around the parlour, opening his eyes to the consequences of the previous night. Half empty bottles of Dom scattered across the living area, remnants of cocaine on the glass table, lingerie that definitely did not belong to him. 

"Shit. SHIT." He muttered to himself, pushing his fingers through his thick blonde hair. 

What the hell was he going to do? There was no money left and he knew it.  

His inheritance was under lock and key until his 30th birthday. Twelve million dollars a year and his dumb ass was too young to start cashing the cheques.

His mind couldn't begin to process the call he received from his step sister last week. His late Father's illegitimate 24 year old kid. Begging for money as per usual. Said her mother needed to clear a 100,000 dollar hospital bill. Where was he supposed to get that kind of money? Did they think he was made of money because he had made a mediocre name for himself in Hollywood?   

Stage three lung cancer and not once had he gone to visit his step Mother. He had his excuses though. Money was tight. Business was bad. It was a difficult time in Hollywood. He needed the space. He needed the 10,000 dollar trip to Abu Dhabi last week. Damn it, there was no loyalty in Los Angeles. Friends come and go and family only show up when they need something. What kind of a life was that? 

Now he owed a ton of money to the bank and who could he call to help me out with a 500,000 dollar loan repayment? At 26 years old, 30 was a long time away. 

Whipping his white Givenchy shirt off, he slapped himself on each cheek, grabbed at his box of Marlboros and disappeared through the sheer white curtains that led to the front porch. Inhaling deeply on his last cigarette, he watched as the tidal waves on the beach crashed and cooled. 

There was a way out of this mess.

A producer gig with Paramount films. It was a one million dollar deal and word was out that the executives were still looking for their perfect match. Jäger Johnson. Movie producer. Yeah he could do it. His Father was a movie mogul who owned a production company for 20 years... produced some of the greatest movies in Hollywood. Jäger felt his confidence lift. Why wouldn't they hire him?  He was Jäger Johnson Junior. Soon to be billionaire. Soon to be King of the world.  There was a movie premiere after party at the Beverly Hills Hotel tonight and unlike any other night he was finally going to put his premiere invitations to good use. 

His best friend Zachary had mentioned the deal earlier in the year and he had seemed incredibly excited about it. Wait, Zachary didn't think he could land a deal like that did he? Zachary was a Law School graduate, what did he know about making movies? Jäger's Father was a legend. A mogul. Jäger was blue blood in Hollywood. The publicity alone would break box office. That had to count for something. Wringing his hands into a tight ball, he thought quickly about what could be done about Zachary.

A deal was a deal was a deal and in Hollywood his soon to be billionaire status had to count for something to someone.

Pretty Young Fools

(Img source: Prettified Allure)

Mood | Desperado

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. 

Mood | Gone Girl

She never existed in this world. Even when sitting on trains and walking down busy streets. She was either reading a book or listening to some form of audio. She lived in a world of pure fiction and it thrilled her, for reality was bleak. Muddy and tasteless. However she found nothing mundane. She was intrigued by everything and everyone around her.  Forming stories and lives for each person that she encountered - to suit her mood of content of course. 

Layla was a girl she met in Bible studies. With loving parents and a budding career. Layla was a drug addict who sold her body for money.  

Jason didn't run a high class brothel for a living. No, Jason was into cars. Therefore he sold and bought cars.

Pastor Gibbons was a kind man who was involved with plenty of charities. Pastor Gibbons just got back from jail after a 10 year sentence for child molestation. 

But to ruin Jane's idealistic world of perfection would be tragic. 

"No. Not today, Mother"

"No. Not today, friend."

"No. Not today, Satan."

For the most part she found solace in solidarity. She wished to be on her own because people to her - REAL people were cancerous. They were lies, and heartbreak and deceit. They ruined everything. They did not know how to control their words. Why listen? What good would that do to her world of content? No good. So she buried her head in books and songs that whooshed her away to another world. 

She didn't believe in wearing nice clothes or brushing her hair.  There was no happiness to be found in superficial beauty. Just pain. Just critics. Just people who talked about things that didn't matter. 

Sitting in her uniformed beige pants and t-shirt, she stared out of the window of her beige room. A knock on the door. 

"Are you ready for your medication Jane?" 

She stared at the woman blankly. Medication. As if she needed them. She created her own happiness. She was the mastermind behind her own life. She didn't need the meds. She. Needed. To. Be. Left. Alone.

So she screamed :  a shrilling sound of utter madness. Until the nurse backed away, shutting the door to the outside world.

They thought she was mad. They thought she was crazy. She thought THEY were crazy. She laughed at THEY. There was nothing more beautiful than a world full of imaginary peace. Chaos... No chaos  led to unimaginable pain. And the real world? The real world was chaos. 

Mood | Cafe Rendez-vous

On entering the Starbucks cafe on Broadway, Addison slipped her Dior sunglasses over her head. Her eyes were proof of tiredness but she didn't want to be that person - you know, the one who speaks to people with their bloody sunglasses on. The click of her Manolo heels echoed across the room as she made her way over to the counter in a tight turtle neck dress and a tweed Chanel blazer. It was a Sunday afternoon and if this wasn't New York City, the stares would be endless. Addison didn't mind though - she dressed according to mood and right now she was in the mood to make money. 

At just 26, Addison was the founder and CEO of a high tech productivity app. She had been working on the app for 8 years with a couple of her engineer friends before it caught the eye of the big guys in Silicon Valley. Addison smiled coyly at the memory as she placed her laptop on one of the rounded coffee tables.
Can you imagine their faces when they realised that she was a girl? Sexist pigs - every single one of them but getting the 100 million dollar investment was like taking candy from a baby. They loved her - not enough of the smile, the legs and the certainty in her voice when she declared to them at a networking party that she stole the idea from her boyfriend after he cheated on her. She didn't- it was all hers but Addison was adept to playing the game. 

On hearing the sound of the door open, she looked up. Before her was a man in beige slacks and a denim shirt. Sandy blonde hair, dark green eyes and a light stubble. An iPad in one hand and an iPhone in the other.  Staring intensely at his phone before approaching the counter, Addison wondered what that was about. An email or a text from a soon to be ex lover? She knew what kind of guy he was just by looking at him - oh yes - egotistical and a proud money making machine.

Or was that who she was?

Putting aside her people watching habit, Addison got back to her research.

There was a business conference tomorrow morning exclusive to the top 10 Alpha startups in Santa Clara. She planned on taking the first flight out.

Julian stared at his phone for a long 10 seconds. There was no fucking way they were going through with that deal. Why was Ian even bringing it up again? As the two cofounders of their gaming app he knows how hard they've worked to get to where they are today. Julian feared for his business partner. There was a difference between taking risks and being stupid.
He was not about to lose everything for a friend who was great at networking and drinking scotch but not much else. With a steady 45 million dollars coming in this year in revenues, Julian was confident about the future. Maybe it was time he finally bought him out once and for all.

Julian looked up from his phone only to notice a young girl with black hair and a lazy smile. She held a newspaper in her hands. He didn't understand why she was staring at him but she was pretty. 'The rich kid of a movie star in expensive Chanel' kind of pretty. She didn't look like she was complicated. Yes, that seemed fitting. If he didn't have to get back to his office so quickly, he would stay and strike up a conversation. 

But there was a business conference tomorrow morning exclusive to the top 10 Alpha startups in Santa Clara. He planned on taking the first flight out.

***

Tumblr Accounts:
1. Diamants au chocolat
2. Kilimanjaro Stars 

Mood | Oscar le Martel

Sitting in his trailer at 4AM wide awake and fully dressed wasn't an unusual occurrence for Oscar le Martel. Hair and makeup would be ready for him in less than an hour and he didn't see much point in going back to sleep. Closing over his Macbook he stared at the hand written notes he had taken down from his online computer science program, wishing for another life. A life without excruciating fame, unethical opulence and... lies.

Oscar le Martel was really Oscar Smith. Scouted on the streets of California, his agents had changed his surname to le Martel. After all It sounded sexier - what more could you want for a potential star? Nothing but the best, that's what. 

A 19 year old extremely into gaming, building apps and silicon valley. He didn't require much to keep him content: a laptop, a book or two and comfortable clothing: plain white t shirts, hoodies and baseball caps. Oscar Smith was a loner and he enjoyed every minute of it. Digging up research on projects he hoped to create rippling impact with, he aspired to be like the greats - Mark Zuckerberg, Kevin Systrom, Steve Jobs, Bill Gates. 

Except Oscar Smith was stuck being Oscar le Martel. TV SENSATION!!! Dark mysterious eyes, a head of black hair, a jawline that could cut ice and a smile that melted the hearts of young teens who lived their lives according to his. Oscar laughed to himself - if only they knew. Pretty boy had brains and didn't find anything empowering about being an actor. However before he could object, a boat load of money was already being jammed down his throat by those who were extremely motivated by profiting from the kid with good hair and an abundance of on screen charm. Money. How it could silence any god damn person into submission. 

So he submitted himself to the interviews, the guest appearances and the demands of his agency. He dressed in Calvin Klein, Giorgio Armani, Balmain and whatever other brands he was paid to consider. 

Would he ever get out of this rut? He didn't know. The money felt good, the attention felt great and there was nothing he could require that he wouldn't get. Would it be the same in Silicon Valley or would he become a joke?

In the eyes of the public he was the boy who had it all and it was true. He did have it all - fame, money, luxury, attention, power, pain, a feeling of dissatisfaction, loneliness, hopelessness and more.  But to himself, he was simply the boy who cried wolf. 

Oscar checked the time on his gold Rolex subconsciously wishing he was the man who invented it instead of the man who merely wears it. 

A knock on his trailer and his 25 year old assistant entered. 

'How's the programming going?'

'I'm still taking down notes.' Oscar replied reverting his eyes to the floor.

'Just dive into it Oscar. You can always come back to acting if it fails.' She joked.

At least someone believed in him. 

Mood | Lover Girl

Chatter echoed off the walls of her dining room. Seated were 16 of her friends, laughing and discussing the events of last night's event: The British Fashion Awards. She watched them contentedly half listening,  half day dreaming. 

'Ivy, you looked like a million bucks on the red carpet. And fashion innovator of the year? You really couldn't have done it without me.' James exclaimed - hand on heart - grinning triumphantly.

'I would have been nothing without you James. You know you're the hottest makeup artist in London right now but I'll tell you anyway.' Ivy laughed. 

Adoration was the name of the game and she dashed it out like sprinkles on a cake - to whomever and whoever sought it out.
She was everybody's lover in one way or the other - keeping an eye on whose birthday was next, who had a promotion coming up and who needed a lift when life didn't play fair.

'Anyone for dessert?' Ivy stood up, lifting the white napkin from her pleated burgundy skirt, with which she wore a crisp white shirt, opaque tights and patent black ankle boots. Her hair was scraped into a neat bun and her face was bare.
'Coffee is good with me.' her assistant Sal said.
'You could do with a slice of red velvet.'
She couldn't. Sal was plump enough but Ivy didn't believe in worrying about things that simply didn't matter. It was Thanksgiving for God's sake.

Not often did people walk out of Ivy's life. Attached to the charisma, the charm. Her wicked smile and manic laugh, they found it hard to leave. Ivy had a knack for making people feel good. With Ivy, the world was not going to end and the moon would stay radiant, illuminating clouds of worry and doubt. She created a place in the corner of the minds of others that envisioned only good things to come. A place that shut off looming darkness.

A man made bubble full of only things that shine in the dark. 

Mood | Moonlight Dancing

Amira observed her friends sitting on the couches in front of the artificial fire in her apartment. Under the influence of Margaritas, chatting about politics and people they hated. Pop music that none of them particularly liked blared out of the speakers. But for tonight they would enjoy that and the bitter taste of tequila. In a metallic gold turtle neck crop top and high waisted black velvet leggings, Amira stood up to sway to the music.

'You know we should go to Amsterdam tonight. Head to the airport and just book tickets, we'd be there in no time.' she said.

'You're either completely out of your mind or really fucking wasted. I choose the latter.' Eve laughed.

'Think of the lights. Think of the canals. Think of the people.' Amira pleaded as she moved over to Eve.

'I'm not wasting this outfit on a plane ride. We're going out tonight.' Jay pointed at his Armani watch, overpriced leather jacket and checkered shirt to match. 

'We could actually do it. I don't go back to work until Monday.' Jenny enthused, pushing her sandy brown hair behind her ear.

'It's a Thursday night and unfortunately for me banks open on Friday's, then again I'm the boss.' Shay grinned cheekily.

The frosty Winter contrasted the warmth of Amira's apartment. Their laughter and chatter compensated. Eyes lost in Christmas lights that brightened up the city, facial expressions broken down to define only that of content. Amira inhaled the cold air. To exhale was to feel the joy that had been building up in her all night. 

'So where will we go for coffee in the morning?' she said smiling at a complete stranger. The energy around her was magnetic, and if one thing led to be true, strangers loved a good smile. 

Mood | Shameless

Elle Gardner watched the bouts of cigarette smoke cloud the reflection of herself in the mirror. She killed the sparks of the half smoked Marlboro with her fingers and picked up her Vodka tini. In leather pants and a lace corset, she strutted towards the door of the bathroom, suddenly engulfed in a chaos of loud music. Her eyes half open and disengaged,  her strut a little unbalanced, facial expression unreadable. 

Crossing over to the bar, she decided there were greater evils in the world and she wanted a taste. Her credit cards, cheque book and cash were all sitting on the bedside table of the Ritz Hotel. But what was money in a world where a pretty face was just as powerful a currency? Fuck it. Someone else would fund her habits of self destruction.  

The barman set down a champagne coupe of Mimosa in front of her. 'From him' he said pointing at the guy at the opposite end of the bar. 

Elle looked over blankly before turning back to look at the young barman. 'Scotch on the rocks please. And put it on his tab.' Elle smiled coyly before walking over to her knight in shining Armani.

'Thanks.' she said.

'So what brings a pretty girl like you here?' he asked.

'I'm just here for the free drinks. And in the morning I'll probably wake up and wonder what the fuck was I doing in a 20 somethings bar accepting drinks from old Johns like yourself.' She said grinning this time.

He chuckled. 'Then why do you do this? Why do you come here? I see you every week on the exact same night around the exact same time. You spend no more than an hour and then you leave.' 

'Aren't you supposed to be asking me if I want to dance?' she retorted, a sarcastic tone eminent in her voice. 

But a different answer floated in the midst of her thoughts. She wanted to say that it was a coping mechanism. A way to prove that she was in control of her life. That she could either tear it apart in any given moment or build it up. She toyed with both sides to hold the balance of power. 

But in trying to prove that she was in control, she engaged in activities that controlled her. Elle Gardner lived a life of excruciating irony. 

Mood | Thrill

Year: 2020

'Derek, $50 million dollars is on the line here. You were supposed to fix that javascript problem two fucking hours ago. I want it done yesterday. You got it?'

Maya sighed. Voicemail. The sonofabitch didn't even have the courtesy to pick up his phone. Knowing what was at stake, she couldn't help but be pissed. This investment was either going to take them to the next level or leave them benched next to the startups who never made it. Her heart was pounding in her chest with excitement. She got a kick from raising money... and raising hell.  Burning up conference rooms with killer negotiations, a force to be reckoned with in a world full of tech and men.  

Alek observed the young girl ranting into a piece of technology on her wrist in the lounge of the Beverly Wilshire hotel. 25 years old with the mouth of an obnoxious New Yorker. Cladded in a leather skirt with a rather lengthy slit down the middle and a long sleeved turtle neck sweater. The new work attire of the nouveau riche. He sipped slowly on a mug of hot black tea and tried to get back to reading the Monday paper on his smartphone. But his mind couldn't help but wonder back to the girl with the dark eyes and even darker hair. At 37 years old, he swore he was losing the plot. Ambitious 20 somethings were everywhere in LA. Why hadn't he taken notice before? A red-hot desire to draw up a conversation slapped him hard on the chest. 

'What joy does money and materialism bring you?  Don't you want to live out your 20s in coastal islands with little money but all the freedom in the world? Don't you want to fall in love?'

'It's not about the money and you know it. It's about the thrill. The adrenaline rush. The ego boost. The kill.' 

All of which he knew too well. He slowly chuckled at memories of his old self. Best leave that conversation alone. She would soon find out that even the thrill had an expiration date. 

Just as he was about to look back down at his paper, the girl stood up and walked right past him. Smiling as if to suggest she knew what he was thinking. Perhaps people really could read minds. He sure hoped she read his.

Mood | Decadence

Serena stared out of the window of her spacious bedroom, watching the currents of the beach ripple in and out. The moon was still out in all its glowing beauty, the sky shaded a deep red with hints of ultramarine blue. She closed the book on her lap. A lack of concentration. The Winter of our Discontent - a John Steinbeck classic about characters who were neither good nor bad. Predominantly grey, Serena had decided. 

Thoughts whizzed in and out of her mind as she stood up from the stool purposefully placed by her window. It was 5AM and the world was still asleep. She wondered how many other kindred souls were also up at this time: the waking hour of passion. The magnetic buzz of thoughts and ideas that zoomed through her mind were often uncontrollable. Not that she minded insomnia... it had its perks. 

At 23 she still lived at home: painting visions of grey buildings, writing stories with no happy endings, drawing personifications of envy, cooking in ripped denim jeans and often a white turtle neck. She posed no interest in the world that turned art into deceit for money. It made her furious, frustrated even. She wanted more from the world...but didn't know how to get it. 

Letting out a deep sigh, she cozied up into a long camel coat and tiptoed downstairs to pour herself a steamy hot mug of peppermint tea. The frosty air of the beginning of Winter could not be ignored. The sun replaced the moon and yet, another day was about to begin in a world of crafty manipulation.  

Mood | Slave to the Rhythm

Img Source: Tumblr

She doesn't belong to anything. She's off in her own world. 

She shimmied into a mid length white body con dress. Aubergine stilettos on her feet. Copper brown hair and ox blood lip stain. Everything clashed, just the way she liked it. She popped a large cigar into an Yves Saint Laurent clutch, maybe she'd smoke it. Maybe she'd put it back into the wooden case she had kept it in for the last 5 years. 

Her first stop was Sunset Boulevard. West Hollywood, it had its charm. Alone, she sauntered past the bouncer at the door of a modern club. One eye on the bar, one eye on the dance floor - all eyes on her. 

Drunk on the attention, the drinks that actually followed, she treated as chasers. She sipped distastefully on an olive martini, knowing the music to come would quench her thirst more than the liquor would. But she used the time to observe the crowd: businessmen who came straight from the office to the club - classy. Film directors in black shirts, secretly searching for the next Angelina J. Music producers dripping in oversized and very overpriced jewellery...All eyes on her.

Her body moved in ways a snake couldn't. Eyes shut, hips swaying, ears alert to the rhythmic beating of her own heart. Music was her drug and right now, she was intoxicated. Detached from her emotions, troubled thoughts vanished into thin air. An electric energy flowed through her bloodstream. Slave to the rhythm, the moment was hers. 

Mood | Recognition

She got off the plane in her usual airport attire of black jeans and a biker jacket. Hair tied up loosely, she covered her eyes with a dark pair of this season's Prada glasses. A getaway. Exactly what she needed; a place where people were unaware of who she was and what she did for a living. It was as refreshing as the light South African breeze whooshing past her. 

There was only one thing on her mind at this moment in time; a book as good as the cup of coffee she was about to buy. 

Stepping into a local bookstore on a daily basis wasn't anything unusual for Sara, but seeing her book on the shelf? That was something new entirely. She rushed over confidently to relive the moment when she first saw them in stores. The adrenaline whizzed through her body, her eyes alert, her emotions burning from inside out- pride, joy, a sense of achievement-

'A memoir about breaking the fashion industry, sounds like a tough life'. Sara looked up. A 5ft 8 22 year old male was standing two inches away from her, analysing the cover of the book as if the story was in the detailing of the gold font or matte cover. 

'How can anyone from the fashion industry know anything about anything? The chapters on living in a societal prison world, animal cruelty, and defying the unwritten rules of the industry must be so generic. Who would have thought huh.' She said quietly, as she flicked through the pages of the book only to look at him at the end of her sentence. 

A smirk and then a laugh and then something along the words of 'you can't be serious' yet there he was grabbing a copy of the book to make an impulsive purchase, intrigued by the content described and most of all, the alluring girl behind it. 

Mood | CHOCOLAT

She looked like subtle art. 

Covered in diamonds. The perception of a blind man. She was to attend another gala tonight, the 54th annual event of Monsieur Beaumont. Admiring her dress from the balcony window, she envisioned a night of tasteful music, expensive wine and guests with more money than they knew what to do with. Her winged liner was perfect and she knew that tonight she was out for the kill. A time where she did not come home with at least 10 new contacts on her phone? A time she never had to know. There wasn't a single soul in the small island of Monaco that did not yearn for her to bring life to a party. 

The dress was sheer for the most part, long but sheer, courtesy of Elie Saab. Long sleeved with a high neck, the pastel blue material covered every inch of her body. She paired it with a heavy round grey stone embellished necklace. Her hair was already slicked into a high bun, her red lipstick accurately applied. She did not wear any earrings. The attention was to be solely on the dress, it was too extravagant to risk taking any attention away from it. 

She arrived at the gala, late as per usual giving everybody some time to loosen up and enjoy the atmosphere. The music had already changed from mellow to enraging. Tense shoulders loosened and genuine smiles appeared. Taking it all in, she didn't notice the old man standing beside her, carefully observing the behaviour of humans removing their masks of mundanity, releasing their formality for the air to take away and finally becoming themselves once again. 

'You must be covered in diamonds. I can feel it in the air, there is something very special about you but I cannot put my finger on it. Care to share your secrets with a dying old man?'

'It must be my $2000 dollar shoes, they help me to dance better.'

'Darling I may be blind but I am no fool, it is more than that. If a blind man can sense your air of grace, it must be something you carry in your mind, no Givenchy purse or Valentino heels can do that. Arrogant enough to know that you are worth more than the thousand dollar décor present in this room, but modest enough to accept a compliment with grace. I like your balance, it is daring.'

'Monsieur Beaumont, it is nice to finally meet you.' 

A STRUCK OF LUCK

Source: Kristina Bazan

A 6AM wake. Is it so outrageous to wish for a thunderstorm that halts every act of movement in the city? Defeating the force of exhaustion that encouraged her to snooze her alarm, it was time to get ready for the biggest time of the year: fashion week. Her eyes were dreary and her hair, a mess. She made it her mission to avoid every mirror in the upscale hotel suite. 

An 8AM evolution. Her hair slicked back in an elegant bun, winged eyeliner drawn to perfection and lipstick the sharp colour of blood painted acutely on her lips. She slipped on a long metallic pleated skirt, a long sleeved grey sweater crop and the longest grey fur coat. Her Manolo Blahniks slip from her hands to her feet as her cobalt satchel hangs from her shoulder. She was aware of her conventional beauty, it wasn't a secret. Who would suspect an inch of insecurity from a girl with such poise, grace and charm?

Placing her tainted circle sunglasses over her eyes, she stepped out into the crowd of hungry admirers with intimidating cameras. Smiling and twirling as the camera lights flashed with unimaginable speed. 

'Mademoiselle how do you do it?' a pap shouted with encouragement. 

Moving round in a swift circle, one hand perched elegantly on one hip as she blew kisses at strangers. 

A struck of luck, I guess. 

DIAMANTS au chocolat @ PFW

Let's fly to Paris together. Let's do something crazy for once and book our flights on a hot sunny day. Let's be as spontaneous as the famous streets of an elegant city. Spending hard earned cash on gourmet dishes and the most extravagant pieces of clothing. I want to pretend to be Parisian even just for one day. I want to wear red lipstick and slick back my hair, catching the attention of all who dared to admire. Ah, the adrenaline rush that comes with Paris fashion week. It's 8.24pm and I should be attending graceful events hosted by Armani and Mulberry. It's 8.24pm and I'm dreaming of my version of paradise.

WHEN THE STARS GO BLUE

She wears all black just like her soul yet her heart is made of gold.

Walking down the streets of New York, in her high waisted snakeskin leather pants and tucked in silk button down, the only thing on her mind was finding a discreet cafe for which she could read her latest book. Pulling down her fedora hat as the wind aimed to force her off balance, she stepped into the quaint cafe on 7th street ordering her usual Americano. 

She sat in the booth with the prettiest view of the sky. Taking off her long dusty blue coat, she stretched her legs. A chic outfit followed by the roughest soil grazed combat boots on her feet, the laces were deliberately untied. She rearranged the hat that allowed her to hide her unbrushed hair, currently slicked into a low pony tail.

As she waited for coffee as dark as her attire, she watched cars come and go, people come and go, the blinding sunlight come and go and as time slipped away, she found it impossible to leave the cosy 24 hour cafe until it was dark enough to see the tiny bursts of lights coming from the darkened sky. Taking breaks from the book she was enjoying, she spent several seconds staring into her brewed coffee, watching the now coloured milk swirl round and round. 

Lost in her own world, she didn't notice when somebody sat across from her. 

Not uttering a sound until she raised her eyes from her book, he laughed and stared back into his own coffee. Stealing little glances of her as he traced the puzzle of imperfections on the wooden table that separated them both. Wondering if she was as unsolvable as she looked, he blurted out a question that he wish he hadn't.

Where do you go when you're lonely?

Her eyes flickered upwards as quick as a light switch, subconsciously massaging in the dark red lipstick she had applied that morning. She smiled back before continuing to read. 

He swore he could see reflections of a sky filled with stars in her colourless eyes. Snapping out of his mode of curiosity, he got up to leave.

Take a guess, was all she said. 

**When in doubt, wear all black but with a touch of colour. Attaining sophistication is easier than you think. 

MOODBOARD Monday #1

It's not as sunny today in Vancouver. The sky is back to being grey and dull but the pleasant view of the mountains on the other side of the beach sends me into the horizons of dreamland. You know, that place you let your subconscious float to before you realise that you must get out of bed to eliminate things off of that dreadful to do list.

Coming from a family that has always appreciated luxury, it is no wonder I find myself dreaming of extravagant parties and trips to the exotic land of Dubai most often. Unfortunately that cannot be redeemed in reality without an immense amount of hard work.

5AM.  Lying in bed begging the sun to stay down for another hour so I could enjoy the bliss of extra sleep, my alarm goes off awakening anyone in a 3km radius. I curse at the damn thing and roll out of bed anyway. The pile of work sitting on the chair in the corner is not going to accomplish itself. I slept in my swimsuit so the laziness of not completing my morning workout wouldn't come knocking on my door. I don't know how I managed to move my legs all of the way downstairs but I find myself on the ground floor staring at the high glass ceiling of the hotel swimming pool. The cold water electrifies my skin and suddenly I am more awake than ever. 

7AM. I meet Kamilė in her room, ready to organise the back to back meetings we must attend from 10-3pm and the evening events we have RSVP'ed to for later that night. We pack up our laptops, chargers, diaries, and pens and head back to my room to start the day with a refreshing kale smoothie and strawberries on the side. Just as I sit on the couch to begin responding to emails, my phone rings. Crossing one Balenciaga heel over the other, I pick up the phone. 

What's that? Oh, that's work calling.  

All of my dreams are in one suitcase and that is all I need to conquer the world.