I was raised in an antique Kentucky town that can’t even pronounce its own name. Versailles. Every syllable was used. Ver-say-elles. Naturally, I spent every second of my time there trying *desperately* to escape. Quite frankly, my hometown just didn’t inspire me anymore. I want to travel, lose my phone for a few days (or weeks or months… forever?), learn a winsome language and have an effortless “cool girl” outlook on everything. Essentially, I adore romanticizing life to an impractical extent.
My style is of this exact pattern. It’s overtly simple, underdeveloped, pushing at the edges of taste, glamour, prep, grunge, something else, without ever fully making it there—a sticky toddler in the world of high fashion glamour-grandmas.
Luckily, like many of you, I am young. Like, super young. I live by the idea that my taste, looks and acuity will age unlike the many moldy Naked juices in my mini-fridge: that is, finely. In other words, I got time to improve, sistas, and so do you. So embark on this journey with me—one where I persistently seek out my unique style in this confusing, inspiring, trendy world (and by world I mean college campus).
Inspiration isn’t going to find you on its own—no, inspiration looks down with mortal shame upon the lazies. You gotta work for it. So just sit back and let me help. Let me fill your precious, perpetually sleep-deprived little minds with my personal fashion trial and error, words of wisdom and the occasional feminist rant (naturally).