I felt very concave on the train today, I was trying to take up less space--wanting to disappear has become a theme this week. My friend that usually rides with me to work is busy doing awesomer stuff for a bit, so I have to sandwich myself against strangers on both sides until all's right with the world again.
Luckily, I found a place to sit, hunched, because I felt like a total assclown. I've been bitching about how I'm sad and feel weird or whatever, and it's really beginning to surface. Blah blah blah, I'm not, like, falling apart... I don't have the shakes, I've stopped crying.
I'm just accessorizing really poorly. I had too much time on my hands this morning because I couldn't sleep. So I did some slideshow workout that Refinery 29 told me to do via email, after they told me to "Stop dieting!" and--wow, I'm realizing I've become a total pushover. I even briefly considered plucking my unibrow after Irina at Mario Badescu told me that it was causing the "ahk-tiv-eht-y" on my forehead.
Back to my outfit. I was all, "Oh, I'll wear heels. It's nice out. I'll wear makeup. I'll brush my teeth." Look-nice-on-the-outside-feel-nice-inside-type life move.
I even did something to my toes. Glitter. Rose gold.
They were blinding people on the L the whole way. I felt like such a fraud. I felt like... don't get offended if this is your thing: a blogger. Instagram popular-page-making, heel-wearing, iced-coffee-drinking, hair-clipped, coral-lipsticked, seasonal-pastels-enrobed, Refinery 29-work-out-regimented, NAIL-ARTED blogger. Like, maybe I even signed up for a shoe and Olsen twin t-shirt of the month club. Rachel. Bilson.
It's unnatural, contrived even... maybe not contrived. Just so... girly? What am I doing? WHO AM I? The icing on the every-girl-blogger cake was the rose gold and the pastels. In fact, a stranger might look at me today and assume that I have a Pinterest full of pastel-iced cakes dotted with little rose gold nonpereils.
I kept telling myself to be cool. Like, it's really not that big of a deal. So what? You don't like your outfit today. Get over it. Why don't you go roll around huffing all the polos in the OC dude's section because you're oh so edgy and different if it makes you feel better, you twat? (Just try to out-trash talk me. I know all of my insecurities, you'll never win.)
"Wait," I thought. I know, at least, why I did the whole rose hold and pastel thing. Because Alex did it.
I still think Alexander Wang is the tits. I mean if anything gives me the shakes, it's him. As an intern, I would absolutely cower in his presence; I've never not belonged anywhere more than when I was standing next to him on the stage at the Westway after the company Christmas party, dancing (horribly--frenziedly) to Die Antwoord, smiling like a complete asshole. Sweating, probably. He doesn't sweat. His face the entire time was all, "Umm... who is this bitch?" while I, meanwhile, was like, "OMG THIS IS THE BEST NIGHT OF MY ENTIRE EFFING LIFFEEEEE!"
Let's stop playing that over in our heads. Point is, he did pastel and rose gold accessories. Like, a while ago. But whatever, it justifies my feet today and, hey, they're not that bad.
I actually don't mind the whole pastel and rose gold thing, despite it being shoved down my eye-throat like a dozen glittery girly peeps in the done-to-death blogosphere. God, these shoes aren't even pastel, really. They're, like, cream. I wouldn't hate them if they were mint green, though. You know?
I just painted on a clear coat of polish, then loaded some of the OCC Beige glitter up on the eyeshadow brush that comes with the Illusion D'Ombre shadow, and then tapped it, letting the flakes fall evenly onto the surface. I let it set for about twenty seconds, and then pressed it down with my fingertips to really glue it down. Then I did a second coat of glitter, and sealed with a top coat.
Also, my under ass feels great, thanks Refinery!