Elope.
I haven’t been totally on board with this wedding thing but after watching Sheena from Closet Therapy take the plunge this way. Eloping sounds like a very good idea. If only we go to Vegas to get Elvis to marry us.
I want to look like Kate Bosworth here.
I nipped this image from whowhatwear.com and cropped out the rest. Accordingly, she was wearing a H&M Polka Dot Sweater (I want but not in this weather), a Current/Elliott’s baggy Army Pants and a Mulberry Leah Messenger bag to dig her nose. Well, I don’t have a sweater (I’ll break out in a heat rash), but I do have baggy jeans and a backpack. Why on earth don’t I look like that? Effortlessly natural while digging my nose. Oh because I forget, I am not a stick insect.
How does one look effortlessly chic when one is not only 40 kgs and breezy?
Hello to you too. Where have I been? Oh you know the December issue. You know what I mean…. night shoots until 0200 at Marina Barrage, etc…
Well, this is going to be a long rant or at least it seems like it right now. Who knows I might lose steam halfway but anyway, I really can’t stand bloggers and blogshops. There I said it. (I’m trying to not to use the word ‘Hate’ so much so when I use it, it has impact.)
Blogshops are reigned mainly with clothes wholesale bought from Thailand (specifically Bangkok of course), Hongkong and Korean. Clothes are modeled by sweet young things (who are blogstars on their own right). Entrepreneurship, I have nothing against them. I mean for those with capital (rich parents or parents who are willing to give them money, the sources are different but for the outcome is the same) means that little girls these days model themselves after these blogshop owners. I guess of course not one wants to work a nine to five job at a desk when they can wake up late and the sky’s the limit when it comes to profit and sucker little girls who purchase their goods online.
Though I don’t understand the allure of blogshop clothing, the beef I have against those blogshop owners who don’t wear their own wares. I have never been a salesperson but I believe you got to walk the talk or wear your clothes if you are selling them. Abit like a celebrity not wearing the brand that she endorses. A little like those Far East shop owners still wearing Topshop clothes. Heh. But what really disgusts me (and of course I am jealous lah) is I chanced upon this feature done on this very popular blogshop owner online. She chronicled her seven days of outfits and not a single piece of her outfits were from her blogshop. In fact, they were a mix of high fashion (a DVF dress?!?!) and higher than high street (Karen Millen was like her cheapest piece). I wonder whether all the XMM who gleefully buy her blogshop clothing know that they are paying for all those high fashion purchases. Then again, is it the same as someone who sells drugstore skincare using La Mer or a Prada salesgirl having a LV bag?
Finally, bloggers. I love Bloggers and I love how entertaining they are and now inane they are. Apparently alot of people do too because business are willing to pay them 4 figure amounts (more than 5,000) to so just an advertorial! Why? Because of inane clueless viewers like me.
In the future, what kids will say in their compositions will be ‘I want to grow up to be a blogger’. I think we better build robots to do the proper jobs.
The others go to Italy, Taipei, Beijing and Tokyo. Well tomorrow I go to Bintan! Heh, wish me luck that I don’t get seasick on the ferry.
It started with me getting seven hours of sleep even with the late-ish night that I had the night before. Then I made it to the gym where I attended a really boring spin class and then ran almost 4 km watching some documentary about the ancient Greeks. Met up with Addy to pig out on my kind of junk – octopus balls and then Leng for some shopping. Satisfactory dinner with Mama of mini pork fillet burgers and going to bed at 1 am on a Sunday night.
If only next Saturday could the same. Not with the December issue on its way.
You know how being Singaporeans or rather the lucky generation, you seem to take things for granted as though you think that your life truly sucks? Like health and wealth, hair and in my case it is my good skin.
Or what used to be my good complexion. I never broke out or had angry pimples during my teenage puberty years. Well I’m definitely paying for this now. Breaking out every so often is now the norm, pimples on my cheek and forehead and nose, especially now when I have the mother of all pimples on my chin that seems to have developed into a boil and will not go away.
Well that teaches me never to take anything for granted.
Changed my yoga to Ngee Ann City to join the tai tais. Went to the 18th floor the other day with Addy and we were like whoa. Atas chi chi ah. No wonder must pay more than Chevron. Then as if I am not poor enough, I decided to add the gym too. I admit, the swanky new Knightsbridge building really appealed to me. I never even stepped into the place. Don’t even know what floor it is! Muahahaha.
So tomorrow I have a spinning class after a good four years. So what does one wear to spinning at Pure Fitness?
This editorial in Purple is not new but ………. epitome of perfection.
Jie Lun (as Afern calls him) is playing on my iTunes. His first and second album. That’s why I only can sing like those few songs from those albums at KTV. Funny how we never sing ‘Ke Ai Nu Ren’. Though Vivian Hsu is the epitome of Japanese Gu Niang Manga, I have to admit that I’m obsessed with her. The same way I am obsessed with Shu Qi.
The writing (non work) has been coming along in drips and drabs. I wonder how it is going to end up but so far I have almost 10 thousand words. I would like to stay it’s the longest I have written but it’s not. My story from JC runs into chapters with so many variations.
It’s nights like this, the same way I feel after clubbing especially if I drove back with the windows down that I wish I was back again. Back again to a time where I dreamt like mad and I dared to go for it. I would plot and scheme all this ridiculous situations but in the end when they never panned out, I still believed. I still woke up every single morning determined to believe that whatever I dreamt, however weird it was, it would come true and become reality one day.
I remember how some JC classmates used to laugh at me reading ‘Love Stories’, this ridiculous book series (not unlike Sweet Valley). I did have to admit, even then I found it absolutely retarded. But I loved them. I reveled in them. The same way I revel in silly fan fiction that little girls that I once was wrote about their favourite idols.
I can’t remember a single thing about how JC was like. I couldn’t tell you what the lecture hall was or whether there was one in school. But I can tell you, I can remember just how hard I dreamt and how hard I felt and how to this day, I still hold those feelings close to me. I wish I dare again. I wish so hard to be me again.
I live in a different world but yet I’m still not in this world. The people I interact with are glittery and glamour. I don’t do drinks, I don’t do glamour, I don’t understand how to protect myself from people who might not be as they seem. I wonder whether I came into this world too late and will be not able to catch up in it. I want to understand them. But I don’t think they will let me.
I know deep inside the story I am writing now is for me to runaway into. Except I don’t remember much how to write anymore. I just keep sentences repeating and I forget to describe. Have you ever wondered about being someone that people looked up to and wondered about?
I don’t feel old but I don’t feel that I have accomplished anything. Some days I wake up not even caring what I put on when I should.
I wonder how I will feel when I am 38. I wonder. How to live life without any regrets. But my logic is, whatever you do, you will regret it. Do you understand that?
Is it wrong to aspire to be a supermodel? I want her hair, I want her skinny-ness and I want her striped top. And to act as though Emma Pei is my BFF? I have her blog bookmarked. If only I read more Japanese. If only she blogged in English.
