This is the type of outfit I wear when I want to blend in, and these days, that's all the time. I honestly don't know how to dress during summer, especially when it's over 28 degrees Celsius. At home I just skip the pants, and walk around in my t-shirt.
All I do is eat watermelon, blow soap bubbles and drink ice coffee. I'm sketching a little, but mostly I just spend hours counting bumblebees in the back yard and think about my serious lack of ambition. It's almost time for that inevitable day, July 15. My birthday. I find no pleasure whatsoever in turning older, so I'll just keep on eating watermelon and continue counting baby bugs. Maybe drown my sorrows in giant box of ice cream. Or three.
Quote by John Glenn
Dress - Berskha // Cardigan - KappAhl // Headscarf - Holzweiler // Minimalistic rings - Still With You // Signet rings - Tom Wood // Bracelet - By Benedicthe// Shoes - Bianco
Life is about more than selfies and hashtags. "That's rich, coming from you", the realistic and pessimistic critic in my head tell me. I wrote that on Instagram yesterday, and someone, perhaps unknowingly clever, continued my statement with; it's about ice cream as well.
It's the small things in our very busy lives we tend to forget. The most important moments of them all. Like that one time I stepped on a bumblebee. It felt like my big toe was on fire, my whole foot, in fact. It took my step-aunt half an hour to figure out that we should remove the poisonous tail-thingy. I was about twelve years old, but I remember it like it was yesterday. I had a very boyish hair cut and wore red floral shorts. I still watch my step when I walk barefoot in the grass, and I learned something very valuable from the whole experience. Don't step on bumblebees.
Or one of the times, last fall for instance, when I was walking to my very patient psychologist and ended up being late to my appointment because I lost track of time running back and forth through an ocean of leaves. And Instagramming it, of course. I never told her why I was late in the first place. How embarrassing would it be to admit that I have this never ending lust/urge/need/compulsion to re-experience childhood memories? Or would it?
I try to take all these things with me; the small painful things and the manically fun stuff. I secretly, and openly, act like that kid we're supposed to bury deep inside of us as we grow older. I dress up in my finest, even though I'm not going anywhere - and I eat Ben & Jerry's straight from the box in the middle of the night when I know no one is watching me. And it's OK. It's all these things that make up what we in sixty years will refer to as our life.
Denim coat - Cheap Monday // Blouse - Ebay // Skirt - Object // Signet rings - Tom Wood // Minimalistic rings - Still With You // Shoes - United Nude
“Life is like a box of crayons. Most people are the 8 color boxes, but what you're really looking for are the 64 color boxes with the sharpeners on the back. I fancy myself to be a 64 color box, though I've got a few missing. It's okay though, because I've got some more vibrant colors like periwinkle at my disposal. I have a bit of a problem though in that I can only meet the 8 color boxes. Does anyone else have that problem? I mean there are so many different colors of life, of feeling, of articulation. So when I meet someone who's an 8 color type...I'm like, hey girl, Magenta! and she's like, oh, you mean purple! and she goes off on her purple thing, and I'm like, no I want Magenta!”
― John Mayer