ME causally ruining your lives, ya tu sabes. Where I’m from being an evil bitch is a prerequisite, I had to learn be nicer. Now I’m only horrible to those who truly warrant it. A treat! Karma is a bitch after all, I mean look at me. Do you think I care? Photographer: Marc Hispard
LORDT! I MEAN THE LEVELSSSSSSS. Let’s start with the audacity of Joan Smalls, bitch how dare you do the bare minimum and look like everybody else’s most? Where do you get off? Supermodel, real life supermodel. She looks like fucking art, the clothes are art, this whole collection is mind blowing. I can’t get over the extravagance of the silhouettes, dying for the oversized bows, the small bows, the headpieces…thank you to all parties involved for giving me life. Which look is your favorite? Via: Vogue Italia
Often imitated never duplicated. It’s the first of the month, new movies have been added to all streaming platforms. What movie you finna watch tonight? Via: Pimples And Prada
“If we don’t have trust, we have nothing.”- Beck
A concept incomprehensible to the honey haired prince, who would one day blossom into a king, ruling over his dominion with compassion and light. My hero, setting me free from the plantation, that try as I might I could not abscond. The darkness I endured there could not be believed, nor discussed since I signed settlement papers.
This was no chance encounter, it was our second time meeting, but this time we sat for hours. I didn’t want him to go, so I tried coaxing him into continuing the night. Respectfully he declines, elucidating a 7am call time the following morning. A supermodel radiating grace; even off camera, in candid moments possessing a poise and fluency of his being. He promised to come back the next day, he didn’t and by the time he did I’d vanished. His appearance setting off a chain of events that led me to karmic justice.
When it was confirmed that he had indeed returned in search of me, I messaged him incessantly. Indebted in gratitude towards him, I wanted to tell him everything. However, something went wrong and the honey hair prince abhorred me. No matter what, he wouldn’t give me the time of day. It hurt, but I understood he was manipulated with misinformation. On my end seeing him again infected my conscious, making me feel disloyal to my false twin flame. Still just like our first encounter, I couldn’t get him out of my head. The mere thought of his contempt towards me was unbearable, so I tracked him down based on a photo of his fire escape (my brain operates like Sherlock Holmes) and wrote him a letter.
Eight years his senior, I had the wisdom to see that it would be selfish of me not to let him go. I’m at a different stage in life, his skull isn’t even fully developed. He’s too young for the white picket fence (in my case a brownstone with a library, praise Jesus and it shall be so), dirty diapers and a diamond. I wasn’t ready at his age either, there’s so much life yet to live, lessons yet learned. Still something gnawed at my insides regarding his reaction to it all, he didn’t give me the opportunity to expound my point of view. He let others narrate for me, I would have never done that to him. In recent events this proved to be our dynamic, his first instinct to turn on me in a furor. So for you honey haired prince, who will one day blossom into a king, ruling over your dominion with compassion and light (if he’s lucky, which he is) know this: love without trust, isn’t love at all. Photo: Iprincipito
Before she was a botched face, loud mouth, controversial aught’s reality star, Janice Dickinson was super fucking hot. The self proclaimed “World’s First Supermodel,” was Mick Jagger’s lover and Jim Belushi’s best friend, who frequented Cosmopolitan and Vogue covers. She was definitely an 80’s It Girl. Large almond shaped eyes, pouty full lips, can’t tell if she’s naughty or nice demeanor, this party girl was a knock out.