Thursday, 31 December 2015

2015: The Recap



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2016: The Change


We like to keep our New Year's Resolutions to ourselves because we are afraid that we won't achieve everything we set out to. We are cowards who refuse to hold each other accountable. We sneer at each other and say "HA as if you're really going to do that" or whisper condescending little sayings like "and how will you manage that exactly?" Only because we are scared of ourselves. We are scared of our power in different ways. Some of us are so scared that we laugh at others who try to achieve things we KNOW in ourselves that we can't (what?) achieve. "If I can't do it, she definitely can't." OR can she? So you panic and write a quick list that'll stay buried under your bed because you're scared of what people might say if you don't tick off absolutely everything.





The inner voice of a coward. 

"Loser."

"All talk - no action."

"HA! Arrogant to begin with."

"I thought so."

 Not 'I told you so.' Because I would never have the guts to tell you to your face that I was hoping you wouldn't make it. I didn't want to feel like you are ultimately better than me because you take actions and I suffer consequences. 




Those of us who are sane enough to know that << if he/she can achieve her dreams, then so can I  >>  have the ultimate power. We don't wait around for someone to tell us that we are good enough. We just get to work and do what needs to be done.

We're not bitching and crying about who has what. We count on hard work and hard work never disappoints.

I'm about to begin part two of two of getting my shit together with integrity, purpose, inner peace and the belief that anything that can happen, will happen. 
Most of you will find the confidence within yourselves to achieve anything you want in 2016. You'll sit down tonight or tomorrow, jut down a few goals and chase them like your life depends on it. Because it does. 

You have my undying support. Go for it. Start now and don't look back. 


Dreams of 2016: New York, LA, London, Italy, Thailand, French, completing writing and business projects, good friends, good food, being outrageous & dancing a little in the rain. 


I think I'll keep the hair too.
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2015: Lessons Learned

*These quotes represent everything 2015 has taught me. I hope 2016 comes with more lessons, experiences and thought provoking changes.



Personal 

"I want to have a spontaneous, passionate and crazy life that's worth telling."


"Consider becoming the type of energy that no matter where you go or where you are, you always add value to the spaces and lives of those around you."







Love
"You've got to stop asking everyone for their opinions. Fuck it. Love yourself, kiddo. You've got to love yourself."


"Spend so much time improving yourself that you have no time left to criticise others. Be too big for worry and too noble for anger."


"Being a true badass has no weight or gender requirement - just 100% commitment to greatness."


"So you plant your own garden and decorate your own soul, instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers."







Success 

"If your success is not on your own terms, if it looks good to the world but does not feel good in your heart, it is not success at all."


"Effort won't betray you."


 "Great things take time."


 "You are allowed to outgrow people."








Superficiality 

"Laugh at the men who tell you you're pretty. You are more than that."


"Be independent, interesting, idealistic, kind, opinionated, original, funny - a thousand things, before pretty."


"The best things in life aren't things."







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Sunday, 27 December 2015

Mood | Gone Girl


She never existed in this world. Even when sitting on trains and walking down busy streets. She was either reading a book or listening to some form of audio. She lived in a world of pure fiction and it thrilled her, for reality was bleak. Muddy and tasteless. However she found nothing mundane. She was intrigued by everything and everyone around her.  Forming stories and lives for each person that she encountered - to suit her mood of content of course. 
Layla was a girl she met in Bible studies. With loving parents and a budding career. Layla was a drug addict who sold her body for money.  
Jason didn't run a high class brothel for a living. No, Jason was into cars. Therefore he sold and bought cars.
Pastor Gibbons was a kind man who was involved with plenty of charities. Pastor Gibbons just got back from jail after a 10 year sentence for child molestation. 


But to ruin Jane's idealistic world of perfection would be tragic. 
"No. Not today, Mother"
"No. Not today, friend."
"No. Not today, Satan."

For the most part she found solace in solidarity. She wished to be on her own because people to her - REAL people were cancerous. They were lies, and heartbreak and deceit. They ruined everything. They did not know how to control their words. Why listen? What good would that do to her world of content? No good. So she buried her head in books and songs that whooshed her away to another world. 

She didn't believe in wearing nice clothes or brushing her hair.  There was no happiness to be found in superficial beauty. Just pain. Just critics. Just people who talked about things that didn't matter. 

Sitting in her uniformed beige pants and t-shirt, she stared out of the window of her beige room. A knock on the door. 
"Are you ready for your medication Jane?" 
She stared at the woman blankly. Medication. As if she needed them. She created her own happiness. She was the mastermind behind her own life. She didn't need the meds. She. Needed. To. Be. Left. Alone.
So she screamed :  a shrilling sound of utter madness. Until the nurse backed away, shutting the door to the outside world.

They thought she was mad. They thought she was crazy. She thought THEY were crazy. She laughed at THEY. There was nothing more beautiful than a world full of imaginary peace. Chaos... No chaos  led to unimaginable pain. And the real world? The real world was chaos. 

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Classe | Dear Karl



Dear Karl, 

I wish for you to teach me a thing or two about real elegance. Not the type flaunted on TV and magazine covers. I mean archaic, old fashioned elegance. And then I would like you to teach me how to morph it into something of the next generation without loss of quality. 
Quality - such a precious yet rare thing found into today's world, but for you quality flows through your veins. You read books and paint art. You sleep in only white sheets and enjoy complete solidarity. You let the art do the talking commercial or not. You are mysterious but so very charming. You don't think outside of the box. There is no such thing as that. Instead you draw new boxes and find a way for people to want to hop from one box to yours. You own fashion. It's taken me  while to learn why it's taken you so long to brig out your brand. You've built great brands like Chanel, Fendi and now your own brand. What fashion house or magazine exactly does not require the Karl Lagerfeld input? Always a head of the game you are but never one to state it. I have only one nickname for you: 

Chameleon. 

Karl  Kids

We sit around reading books and drinking coffee from wine glasses. It'll be the thing of the future.  You know the thing. The thing you absolutely must do. Running on alcohol seems the thing of the 90s. Coffee is the new drug. Dressed in the whitest button down shirt. No jewellery. And NO blogger hats. Just a pair of ox blood Oxfords. Straight short hair and minimal makeup. There is no beauty in coloured-in eyebrows. Pinstriped tights and a tight leather skirt to match, I don't care to do much but to live life to the fullest. Not for pure enjoyment alone but for the purpose of creation. At dusk we attend the coolest parties. Dancing the night away. Meeting several different people to establish the new aesthetic. Walking home light headed from the music. Not alcohol. Alcohol dulls the mind and there is nothing worse than a mind that cannot be put to good use at dawn.




"Like poetry, fashion does not state anything. It merely suggests."
- Karl Lagerfeld. 





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Dreams of | Italy


(Img source: Tumblr) 

Italians. They have good taste in everything. Wine, cheese, pasta, gelato, style, art, music and books. With their dark features and seductive culture, they simply stun the world into oblivion.  If I was to be born again, I would wish to come back as an Italian. Preferably with curly black hair and an alluring sexy accent.  Perhaps as a gallery owner somewhere in Florence capturing the hearts of the new generation of romantics. Maybe as a business guru in Milan. I'd own  a fruit and vegetable market, working from early morning until dusk. Exchanging life stories with neighbouring markets and retiring to a cosy home with just the right bottle of Pinot Grigio. How about Venice? I think I'd spend my days imitating Nancy Drew on the quest to finding out what really happened to that worshipped  painter from the late 50s. Boat rides and a compass Google Maps (because new generation) would be  a part of my aesthetic.   Then there is Rome, I'd return as a common tourist to  relive the lives of those who lived before me. The memories that lie in the cracks of the colosseum and the stories that could only be told by ancient locals. To hear Italian - not to understand it - but to feel a part of it for a second or two, pretending that everything that is said could only be made up of the most charming dialogue.  






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Tuesday, 22 December 2015

Life | Late Nights


I promised myself that I would post something new at least 15 times this month. Today is the 22nd of December and I can admit that I am slacking a little bit but all for good reason. For me to write consistently on this site, I need to stop for a minute and live outside of the bubble of social media so that I can come back with new ideas, new experiences and sometimes a new perspective. That's exactly what I attempted to do in the last seven days. 
I spent a lot of time hanging with family, Facebook calling my sister who lives in the UK, jump rope sessions with my brother to get our hearts racing as we watched the moon disappear behind the fog several times only to reappear 5 seconds later (magic?), drinking a stupendous amount of wine with old friends and new friends.

Remember when I said I couldn't find my old self? Well she reappeared this week. Bold, daring, unashamed, unafraid. The girl who has fun because it's literally in her DNA. Staying up late staring at the ceiling with my hand on my racing heart. Why is my heart racing in the middle of the night? Why am I even awake? Do I sleep? No. I just dream out loud.

Do you ever get a feeling that something REALLY good is about to happen and you don't know how to even deal with the thought? So your heart races in anticipation. You're energetic and all of a sudden you're being goofy and silly. Taking nothing seriously except living. Content with what you have, not seeking anything more but knowing you're about to receive more anyway. It feels great and I feel grateful. If you're friends with me on snapchat, you'll notice how silly I'm being - taking countless selfies/videos. I'm trying to distract myself. I am anxious and excited and I do not know how to contain it. It's ridiculous. Ridiculously good. 

Wow this sounds so badly written but can you feel that? My excitement is taking over and I don't care if this isn't written in perfect grammar. I don't care if there are spelling mistakes (I do) or if a full stop is missing somewhere. 

I have no desire to be perfect so I do crazy things and reflect on them later. Imperfect but always willing to learn, cheerful but also melancholic. 
Impatient, satirical and critical but I'll never get rid of those aspects - it wouldn't work out. I wouldn't be me.

My Tumblr Accounts














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Friday, 18 December 2015

Dreams of | Manhattan



Polluted wafts of air . Tattered walls and buildings we call art. An intoxicating atmosphere that pulls you into the midst of something you've never experienced before. This isn't real life. This is Manhattan: the island of grimy dreams. 
Drunk on the views, the lifestyle, the people. The waiters will flirt with you and  so will men in Armani. They'll ask for your hand in marriage but you'll politely decline because psychopaths wear suits too. You'll work 17 hours a day, exercise for one hour, lunch for 2 and sleep for 4. Rockefeller is your goal. 
You'll make friends easily and keep them around because everybody has something to offer in New York. You'll never be overdressed and when you are, they'll treat you like Kate Moss. You'll spend money you don't have with time you don't have. 

Your old life will never again feel like your old life. You'll learn and you'll flourish in a city full of grime that glitters. This is new. This is the truth. 

My Tumblr Accounts
1. Diamants au chocolat
2. Kilimanjaro Stars



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Tuesday, 15 December 2015

Mood | Cafe Rendez-vous


On entering the Starbucks cafe on Broadway, Addison slipped her Dior sunglasses over her head. Her eyes were proof of tiredness but she didn't want to be that person - you know, the one who speaks to people with their bloody sunglasses on. The click of her Manolo heels echoed across the room as she made her way over to the counter in a tight turtle neck dress and a tweed Chanel blazer. It was a Sunday afternoon and if this wasn't New York City, the stares would be endless. Addison didn't mind though - she dressed according to mood and right now she was in the mood to make money. 

At just 26, Addison was the founder and CEO of a high tech productivity app. She had been working on the app for 8 years with a couple of her engineer friends before it caught the eye of the big guys in Silicon Valley. Addison smiled coyly at the memory as she placed her laptop on one of the rounded coffee tables.
Can you imagine their faces when they realised that she was a girl? Sexist pigs - every single one of them but getting the 100 million dollar investment was like taking candy from a baby. They loved her - not enough of the smile, the legs and the certainty in her voice when she declared to them at a networking party that she stole the idea from her boyfriend after he cheated on her. She didn't- it was all hers but Addison was adept to playing the game. 

On hearing the sound of the door open, she looked up. Before her was a man in beige slacks and a denim shirt. Sandy blonde hair, dark green eyes and a light stubble. An iPad in one hand and an iPhone in the other.  Staring intensely at his phone before approaching the counter, Addison wondered what that was about. An email or a text from a soon to be ex lover? She knew what kind of guy he was just by looking at him - oh yes - egotistical and a proud money making machine.

Or was that who she was?
Putting aside her people watching habit, Addison got back to her research.

There was a business conference tomorrow morning exclusive to the top 10 Alpha startups in Santa Clara. She planned on taking the first flight out.


Julian stared at his phone for a long 10 seconds. There was no fucking way they were going through with that deal. Why was Ian even bringing it up again? As the two cofounders of their gaming app he knows how hard they've worked to get to where they are today. Julian feared for his business partner. There was a difference between taking risks and being stupid.
He was not about to lose everything for a friend who was great at networking and drinking scotch but not much else. With a steady 45 million dollars coming in this year in revenues, Julian was confident about the future. Maybe it was time he finally bought him out once and for all.

Julian looked up from his phone only to notice a young girl with black hair and a lazy smile. She held a newspaper in her hands. He didn't understand why she was staring at him but she was pretty. 'The rich kid of a movie star in expensive Chanel' kind of pretty. She didn't look like she was complicated. Yes, that seemed fitting. If he didn't have to get back to his office so quickly, he would stay and strike up a conversation. 

But there was a business conference tomorrow morning exclusive to the top 10 Alpha startups in Santa Clara. He planned on taking the first flight out.

***

Tumblr Accounts:
1. Diamants au chocolat
2. Kilimanjaro Stars 
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Monday, 14 December 2015

Life | Killing Smiles



I caught the flu last week (didn't everyone?) ultimately destroying my concentration level. Even worse than losing concentration, I lost my appetite. Can you imagine the devastation when your favourite pastime is consuming food? My snapchat went from grade A food to grade C selfies. What. A. Hard. Life.

As a result of the flu and some kind of intolerance to all things wheat and lentils, I found myself with plenty of unused late night hours - half staring at the ceiling, half dreaming of 2016. Fun isn't it? Knowing you can wake up any morning and decide what your next step is. There are so many places I would like to visit and so many projects I'd like to complete. 2015 has been the biggest roller coaster of my life: lots of surprises, lots of challenges, lots of decision making and hefty prices to pay. With the best came the absolute worst - it shook me up more than I thought it would. Sometimes I feel like a shadow of myself and if I'm honest, I don't know what to do with her. I'd like to say I'm stronger for it but really I have a lot to learn. 

So I can assure you I'm feeling the pressure, but in a "this is going to breed diamonds" kind of way. 

I'll let you in on one of the first moves for 2016: I'm restructuring the 'Lookbook' section on Diamants au chocolat. Posting outfit photos on a blog is so 2013. I mean we have Instagram now for blatant self promotion - do we need a blog too? I don't think so. Or maybe I'm just redefining what a blog is...or maybe this won't be a blog at all. 

Yep, Diamants au chocolat is about to change a whole lot yet again in 2016. I've been highly focused on innovation and with that, I finally think what I will be doing in the next two years could possibly 'break the (already saturated) Internet'. Something so big that I'm going to need to hire a team. I'm sure you know I can't say much (because there are daggers in men's smiles hmm) but I will leave you with this - 

Don't let people tell you you're not good enough to do something because more often than not, you're better than what they tell you you are. 


My Tumblr Accounts



SNAPCHAT: @ayisha_o

INSTAGRAM: @ayisha_ogbara

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Wednesday, 9 December 2015

Mood | Oscar le Martel



Sitting in his trailer at 4AM wide awake and fully dressed wasn't an unusual occurrence for Oscar le Martel. Hair and makeup would be ready for him in less than an hour and he didn't see much point in going back to sleep. Closing over his Macbook he stared at the hand written notes he had taken down from his online computer science program, wishing for another life. A life without excruciating fame, unethical opulence and... lies.

Oscar le Martel was really Oscar Smith. Scouted on the streets of California, his agents had changed his surname to le Martel. After all It sounded sexier - what more could you want for a potential star? Nothing but the best, that's what. 

A 19 year old extremely into gaming, building apps and silicon valley. He didn't require much to keep him content: a laptop, a book or two and comfortable clothing: plain white t shirts, hoodies and baseball caps. Oscar Smith was a loner and he enjoyed every minute of it. Digging up research on projects he hoped to create rippling impact with, he aspired to be like the greats - Mark Zuckerberg, Kevin Systrom, Steve Jobs, Bill Gates. 

Except Oscar Smith was stuck being Oscar le Martel. TV SENSATION!!! Dark mysterious eyes, a head of black hair, a jawline that could cut ice and a smile that melted the hearts of young teens who lived their lives according to his. Oscar laughed to himself - if only they knew. Pretty boy had brains and didn't find anything empowering about being an actor. However before he could object, a boat load of money was already being jammed down his throat by those who were extremely motivated by profiting from the kid with good hair and an abundance of on screen charm. Money. How it could silence any god damn person into submission. 

So he submitted himself to the interviews, the guest appearances and the demands of his agency. He dressed in Calvin Klein, Giorgio Armani, Balmain and whatever other brands he was paid to consider. 
Would he ever get out of this rut? He didn't know. The money felt good, the attention felt great and there was nothing he could require that he wouldn't get. Would it be the same in Silicon Valley or would he become a joke?
In the eyes of the public he was the boy who had it all and it was true. He did have it all - fame, money, luxury, attention, power, pain, a feeling of dissatisfaction, loneliness, hopelessness and more.  But to himself, he was simply the boy who cried wolf. 

Oscar checked the time on his gold Rolex subconsciously wishing he was the man who invented it instead of the man who merely wears it. 

A knock on his trailer and his 25 year old assistant entered. 
'How's the programming going?'

'I'm still taking down notes.' Oscar replied reverting his eyes to the floor.

'Just dive into it Oscar. You can always come back to acting if it fails.' She joked.

At least someone believed in him. 

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Monday, 7 December 2015

Life | Lost Connections


I've read almost three books since my last life post. I say almost because I have a habit of reading three or more books at the one time, which probably says a lot about me - mainly that I get bored and distracted quite easily. These days I find myself more connected to people I don't know - journalists, authors, researchers but most of all fictional characters. One can say It's easier to get to know characters in a book because their story is so openly and honestly told. Human beings however are far more complex. We keep secrets. In this day and age of social media we give less information and display one sided lives. We hide the dark thoughts and burdening emotion in order to appear less vulnerable. 

When I came back from Canada, I thought I was the same person as I was prior to my move. That turned out not to be true. Setting foot on Irish soil proved it. Everything and everyone were the same but I was different. I had picked up new values, new behaviours and a new way of thinking in 2015, which to my surprise further isolated me from my own world that I had already carefully built. A world that I left in one piece, hoping to come back to it just like I left it. But I was different. 

The world I once built for myself didn't fit anymore. 

In Canada I met people with different interests and staggering ambition. It fuelled me but most of all it excited me. Suddenly I wanted to do more and in that half a year I achieved more than I ever set out to in the first place. Yep, every single one of my New Years Resolutions came to pass. Every single one. And I don't dream 'small' - ever 

...but damn was it harder than I expected. 

Then came my move back to Ireland. No one around me was going through working for hours on end, facing risks, putting together business  plans and proposals, opening rejection emails, to simpler things like changing dietary lifestyle - or at least they didn't talk about it. I didn't talk about it either.

So I drowned myself in TV shows and books and people that talked about the things I was facing. I learned about the 10, 000 hour rule where in order to become great at something, the minimum of 10, 000 hours of work must be achieved. My focus is no longer on who gets it or who gets me (although it would be nice to know people facing the same debacle IRL) but the work I'm doing and why I'm doing it. It's lonely for now yes but a part of me thinks It's going to be worth it. 

After all the future is looking very very bright.



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Saturday, 5 December 2015

Classe | Girl in Prada


What does it take to build powerful brands like Miu Miu and Prada? What does it take to be worth 3.4 billion dollars? What does it take to create a brand that speaks fluent adage? 
The ability to think like and unlike the masses simultaneously to create outrageously clever concepts. 

Sometimes I think of refining my style because the business side of my brain says simple is commercial and commercial sells. Then Miuccia Prada reminds me that fashion isn't art. Fashion is commercial. Now that doesn't mean the creativity ends there. What it means is that you must work smarter to turn boundaries into advantages. 

For many years, I missed the intelligent part of fashion (blaming the glamourisation of fashion and celebrity construct) which left me in utter frustration. It turns out I wasn't looking closely enough in the first place. Most people don't look close enough. We're stuck in a world where skin defines sexy but Miuccia Prada says otherwise. Miuccia Prada says sexy is intangible. 

I've always felt a bit wilder than the other girls. With acute opinions, raging passion, the will to achieve the impossible, to drink more wine than necessary and to rely on melancholy as much as happiness. I never fit in. It used to bother me. It doesn't anymore.


Prada Girl

Leaving the local library at 6AM in the morning having just finished a classic Jackie Collin's. Page turner created only to leave the heart racing. Hair loosely tied back. No makeup. No nail polish. A palm imprint on my chin from resting my elbow on the table. Legs crossed in the darkest pair of tight denim jeans. Patent black boots. A long ombre coat of aubergine and copper. A white button down shirt placed under a loose black t shirt with the words 

"B E  B O L D  O R  I T A L I C.  N E V E R  R E G U L A R." 

spawled across the chest. Who needs sleep? 3 hours should do before meeting friends at an Andy Warhol exhibition. 





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Thursday, 3 December 2015

Dreams of | Switzerland


Swiss Chalets. Does anything sound more luxurious? An exterior elegantly decorated with clouds of snow. An interior boasting a large fireplace and inviting lounge sofas. The burning sensation of heat or passion to ski. Feeling the chill of the air, like stilled water: unmoving but thrilling. Swerving and sliding in a mesh of snow, dedicated and fearless. Training with natives who come looking for laughter and peace of mind. Slightly arrogant, immensely cheerful. Friendly competition on ice.
With Genève only an hour and 30 minutes away, there are always last minute gifts to be bought. A stop to Louis Vuitton to seek out the latest Twist shoulder bag in cassis. Pursuing unique art decor to symbolise another memory home for the taking. 
A pre Christmas dinner arranged for late evening in the attractively furnished dining room of the chalet. Pacing around languorously as a feast is prepared. 

Wine glasses clinking and snow falling graciously. 
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Tuesday, 1 December 2015

Mood | Lover Girl


Chatter echoed off the walls of her dining room. Seated were 16 of her friends, laughing and discussing the events of last night's event: The British Fashion Awards. She watched them contentedly half listening,  half day dreaming. 
'Ivy, you looked like a million bucks on the red carpet. And fashion innovator of the year? You really couldn't have done it without me.' James exclaimed - hand on heart - grinning triumphantly.
'I would have been nothing without you James. You know you're the hottest makeup artist in London right now but I'll tell you anyway.' Ivy laughed. 
Adoration was the name of the game and she dashed it out like sprinkles on a cake - to whomever and whoever sought it out.
She was everybody's lover in one way or the other - keeping an eye on whose birthday was next, who had a promotion coming up and who needed a lift when life didn't play fair.

'Anyone for dessert?' Ivy stood up, lifting the white napkin from her pleated burgundy skirt, with which she wore a crisp white shirt, opaque tights and patent black ankle boots. Her hair was scraped into a neat bun and her face was bare.
'Coffee is good with me.' her assistant Sal said.
'You could do with a slice of red velvet.'
She couldn't. Sal was plump enough but Ivy didn't believe in worrying about things that simply didn't matter. It was Thanksgiving for God's sake.

Not often did people walk out of Ivy's life. Attached to the charisma, the charm. Her wicked smile and manic laugh, they found it hard to leave. Ivy had a knack for making people feel good. With Ivy, the world was not going to end and the moon would stay radiant, illuminating clouds of worry and doubt. She created a place in the corner of the minds of others that envisioned only good things to come. A place that shut off looming darkness.

A man made bubble full of only things that shine in the dark. 



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Saturday, 28 November 2015

Life | Russian Roulette


I haven't written on here in a while because I didn't have anything to say. Instead I finished two books and roughly 8 seasons of Grey's Anatomy. I bought four more books last night and now have a total of 12 books to read before the New Year. Seeing as I've watched almost every TV show there is, that shouldn't be an issue.

Right now though I feel like a 'tortured artist'. Things to say but not many smart ways to say them. Yesterday morning I considered having a bottle of Rosé for Breakfast. Haven't you heard? That is what tortured artists do. They seek solace in alcohol or other recreational activities to allow themselves to say the things they find so hard to admit when their minds are in one piece. Alcohol breaks down the brain into pieces disallowing it to think clearly, to think rationally. And since creativity lies in irrationality...you get the picture. Plenty of gifted wine bottles lounge around my home with yet nobody to drink them. Give it time, I'll start soon.

An all or nothing mentality. It's probably why the word half bothers me so much. Luke warm showers, cold toast, half assed romance books, half filled glasses. If I can't get a high off something, then I don't want it. If I don't feel like a project is worth doing, I won't do it. I'll miss small opportunities because of that. Small opportunities that could lead to bigger things. Instead I wait for the large 'once in a lifetime opportunity' sailing my way in the hopes that when I make the jump, I'll land in the right place at the right time. There is no such thing as 'genius', or 'special' or 'gifted'. All there is is preparation and an expiration date. We all get that one chance and most of us miss it. 
All or nothing. A Roulette game that I'm very much ready to play.
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Tuesday, 17 November 2015

Character Assassination



I believe there are things we do for people and things we do for ourselves. The key to materialising what we want to do is differentiating what we are doing for people and what we are doing for ourselves

They say a writer isn't just one person but a collection of persons living in one body. Every week, I display a part of myself to the Internet world on this site. You don't need to meet me in person to know who I am. You probably know me better than some of my friends and family. 
Don't be fooled by the false names and scenarios, if you look deep enough you'll find me on every inch of this site. 
Character assassination. I take part in it everyday, highlighting my traits and deep thoughts, my strengths and my downfalls. You could say I do it for myself and that's 20% true but honestly? I do it for you. I write to convey:

Emotion: 
I want to make you feel something.

Concept: 
I want to get a message across to you.

Teleportation: 
I want to take you to somewhere you've never been before.

Clarity: 
I want to change your story by changing mine.

They say style is a form of expression that gives you permission to flaunt who you are without uttering a word. That is 100% for me. I dress to convey a mood, a character trait or culture - past and present. I don't do it for you because there is nothing you can learn from it. You must create your own. You must dictate what is valuable to you and what isn't. Dig deep and determine what you want to show to the world but do it for you -- not for them.

So today I take part in fashion for myself so that in ten years I will be able to take part in fashion for you in the hopes that I can convey emotion, concept, teleportation and clarity in the products that you may one day choose to use as your form of expression. 
As with the writing, I have been writing for myself from the age of 10. Ten years have passed and I hope my writing - like your favourite TV shows, movies and books - will change your story...or at least your thoughts. 











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Thursday, 12 November 2015

Classe | Belissima Cavalli


Img source: (Roberto Cavalli Official)


I remember writing a letter to Roberto Cavalli stating that he had better work with me because I was in need of being transformed into the most beautiful belle at the ball. This was when I was lying in bed with an awful disease called shingles in August. I mean, clearly I was delusional and the medication I had been taking silenced the voice in my head that was initially screaming -- 

"M r.  R o b e r t o  C a v a l l i  d o e s  n o t  r e a d  l e t t e r s  f r o m    
s t r a n g e  s e l f  p i t y i n g  g i r l s."

Roberto Cavalli was infatuated with beautiful women. His long life dream? To make us feel even more beautiful. With his creative eye, Mr Cavalli morphed women into sensual empresses, lionesses, QUEENS of a queendom using beautiful animal prints, bold colours of nature and dramatic cuts. A passion for the art and anything beautiful. 

Cavalli Girl

Throwing parties of extravagance would become a monthly hobby. A long champagne dress to hide the parts of my body that are most revealing but to bare shoulders, collar bones and a little bit of leg.  I'd order the best Pinot Grigio and Dom Pérignon. I'd find a kick ass caterer to create sushi bowls and yummy desserts. Beautiful velvet throw pillows with gold appliqué. Royal blue chiffon draping from the ceiling. Candles and ancient ornaments ostentatiously placed around the room. Hookah pipes and an intimate guest list. Loud music and a constant flow of discussions would linger around the room. The night is young. Then the night is over. The only task left is to fall asleep in a white print kaftan with nothing but the loud rings of a successful party echoing in my ear. 



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Tuesday, 10 November 2015

Mood | Moonlight Dancing


Amira observed her friends sitting on the couches in front of the artificial fire in her apartment. Under the influence of Margaritas, chatting about politics and people they hated. Pop music that none of them particularly liked blared out of the speakers. But for tonight they would enjoy that and the bitter taste of tequila. In a metallic gold turtle neck crop top and high waisted black velvet leggings, Amira stood up to sway to the music.

'You know we should go to Amsterdam tonight. Head to the airport and just book tickets, we'd be there in no time.' she said.

'You're either completely out of your mind or really fucking wasted. I choose the latter.' Eve laughed.

'Think of the lights. Think of the canals. Think of the people.' Amira pleaded as she moved over to Eve.

'I'm not wasting this outfit on a plane ride. We're going out tonight.' Jay pointed at his Armani watch, overpriced leather jacket and checkered shirt to match. 

'We could actually do it. I don't go back to work until Monday.' Jenny enthused, pushing her sandy brown hair behind her ear.

'It's a Thursday night and unfortunately for me banks open on Friday's, then again I'm the boss.' Shay grinned cheekily.

The frosty Winter contrasted the warmth of Amira's apartment. Their laughter and chatter compensated. Eyes lost in Christmas lights that brightened up the city, facial expressions broken down to define only that of content. Amira inhaled the cold air. To exhale was to feel the joy that had been building up in her all night. 

'So where will we go for coffee in the morning?' she said smiling at a complete stranger. The energy around her was magnetic, and if one thing led to be true, strangers loved a good smile. 
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Thursday, 5 November 2015

Classe | The Sins of Balmain


Img source: (Balmain)

From old money minimalism to the perfectly contrived extravagance of the nouveau riche. From exclusivity to inclusivity. From dust to gold. Balmain is now the most desired fashion house of the 21st century. Olivier Rousteing, one day I'll meet you and ask how you did it and you'll refuse to tell but we'll laugh over coffee in cafe de flore and you'll tell me how poor my French is. 

There is only a thin line that separates yin from yang and on occasion we allow ourselves to cross this line, ripping off the mask that covers our dark sides and allowing ourselves, for one brief moment to embrace dark thoughts, emotions and actions. Our true selves and our egos cohabit within us and everyday we choose between the two.

Balmain Girl

Champagne for breakfast because it's 5pm somewhere in the world. 5AM wakeup calls. Money to earn, money to spend...and people in the world to prove wrong. 100 hour weeks. Sleepless nights. A craving for the fast life so motorcycles over cars. From dawn to dusk. From work life to night life. From leather pants and plain t shirts to eloquently designed beaded couture dresses and blazers. 24 carat  jewels. Elegantly slicked back buns. Musky scents. A work of art.  My body is simply the canvas I choose to decorate.






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Tuesday, 3 November 2015

Mood | Shameless


Elle Gardner watched the bouts of cigarette smoke cloud the reflection of herself in the mirror. She killed the sparks of the half smoked Marlboro with her fingers and picked up her Vodka tini. In leather pants and a lace corset, she strutted towards the door of the bathroom, suddenly engulfed in a chaos of loud music. Her eyes half open and disengaged,  her strut a little unbalanced, facial expression unreadable. 

Crossing over to the bar, she decided there were greater evils in the world and she wanted a taste. Her credit cards, cheque book and cash were all sitting on the bedside table of the Ritz Hotel. But what was money in a world where a pretty face was just as powerful a currency? Fuck it. Someone else would fund her habits of self destruction.  

The barman set down a champagne coupe of Mimosa in front of her. 'From him' he said pointing at the guy at the opposite end of the bar. 
Elle looked over blankly before turning back to look at the young barman. 'Scotch on the rocks please. And put it on his tab.' Elle smiled coyly before walking over to her knight in shining Armani.
'Thanks.' she said.
'So what brings a pretty girl like you here?' he asked.

'I'm just here for the free drinks. And in the morning I'll probably wake up and wonder what the fuck was I doing in a 20 somethings bar accepting drinks from old Johns like yourself.' She said grinning this time.

He chuckled. 'Then why do you do this? Why do you come here? I see you every week on the exact same night around the exact same time. You spend no more than an hour and then you leave.' 

'Aren't you supposed to be asking me if I want to dance?' she retorted, a sarcastic tone eminent in her voice. 

But a different answer floated in the midst of her thoughts. She wanted to say that it was a coping mechanism. A way to prove that she was in control of her life. That she could either tear it apart in any given moment or build it up. She toyed with both sides to hold the balance of power. 

But in trying to prove that she was in control, she engaged in activities that controlled her. Elle Gardner lived a life of excruciating irony. 


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Monday, 2 November 2015

DEVIL - may - care



For one night of the year, the world allows you to either take a mask off or put a mask on. But why does everyday feel like Hallowe'en? 
86,400 seconds pass by in a day and everyday we spend a little bit of unnoticeable time constructing a new mask to display to the world. As if our original faces are too ugly to show. Doing jobs we don't like, studying subjects we have no true interest in, focusing on the lives of others, envious and bitter that everything we want is not yet ours. So we continue the cycle and put on masks in the hopes that it will help us to get to where we want to be.  Constantly hiding behind popularity, social acceptance and praise based on fabricated truth. Living an inauthentic life. 

This year I've learned that living for the sake of others, money or social acceptance is metaphorical suicide. I have to be myself and that means accepting the good, the bad and the ugly. I see people online who only embrace the positives and lock the negatives in a pandora box that will eventually breed the loathing of themselves or others. Forming a depiction of happiness so fake that it can only be pure. 
They say all creative people - actors, writers, artists, singers - were born with just a little bit of insanity but the truth is creative people release those negative energies back into the world through form of expression. They acknowledge them, embrace them and then finally let them go; Creating dark music, writing stories, playing a bad character. I've come to learn that stifling my level of creativity for the sake of opposing opinions is simply not an option. This isn't a site about continuously positive events. This is a site about embracing good fortune and also life tragedies. Releasing all energies through the art of fashion, writing, and imagination.


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Life | Abstract


Today in this moment I am happy. Not because anything special happened to me. I didn't win the lottery. I didn't leave the country and I certainly didn't find love in a hopeless place. But I'm happy because I choose to be. Self awareness is the most liberating concept in the freaking world. I am a lot of things. Stylish, charismatic, creative, chatty, sensitive, cynical, pessimistic, un-relatable, blunt.  Recently I've found myself embracing all of these traits, not treating them as strengths or flaws but simply recognising them as who I am. Knowing that It is okay to accept every single thing about myself in a world that aggressively promotes rejection is liberating. It makes me want to break barriers and let the world in. It makes me want to soar.

I don't believe people have the ability to change who they are. Improvise, reconstruct, yes but who you are within will never change. You simply cannot wipe the painting on a canvas clean. But what you can do is add more paint to turn it into what you want it to be. This is what I hope to do. To paint beautifully an abstract art of everything that I am and everything I aspire to be. I look forward to seeing the end result. I look forward to liberating myself. 
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Tuesday, 20 October 2015

Mood | Thrill


Year: 2020

'Derek, $50 million dollars is on the line here. You were supposed to fix that javascript problem two fucking hours ago. I want it done yesterday. You got it?'
Maya sighed. Voicemail. The sonofabitch didn't even have the courtesy to pick up his phone. Knowing what was at stake, she couldn't help but be pissed. This investment was either going to take them to the next level or leave them benched next to the startups who never made it. Her heart was pounding in her chest with excitement. She got a kick from raising money... and raising hell.  Burning up conference rooms with killer negotiations, a force to be reckoned with in a world full of tech and men.  
Alek observed the young girl ranting into a piece of technology on her wrist in the lounge of the Beverly Wilshire hotel. 25 years old with the mouth of an obnoxious New Yorker. Cladded in a leather skirt with a rather lengthy slit down the middle and a long sleeved turtle neck sweater. The new work attire of the nouveau riche. He sipped slowly on a mug of hot black tea and tried to get back to reading the Monday paper on his smartphone. But his mind couldn't help but wonder back to the girl with the dark eyes and even darker hair. At 37 years old, he swore he was losing the plot. Ambitious 20 somethings were everywhere in LA. Why hadn't he taken notice before? A red-hot desire to draw up a conversation slapped him hard on the chest. 

'What joy does money and materialism bring you?  Don't you want to live out your 20s in coastal islands with little money but all the freedom in the world? Don't you want to fall in love?'

'It's not about the money and you know it. It's about the thrill. The adrenaline rush. The ego boost. The kill.' 

All of which he knew too well. He slowly chuckled at memories of his old self. Best leave that conversation alone. She would soon find out that even the thrill had an expiration date. 

Just as he was about to look back down at his paper, the girl stood up and walked right past him. Smiling as if to suggest she knew what he was thinking. Perhaps people really could read minds. He sure hoped she read his.



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Thursday, 15 October 2015

Classe | Ghesquière Girl



*A big part of fashion for me is drawing out the character in me that identifies with a brand. Introducing you to 'classe'. Storytelling in the form of daydreams and my many personas.*

"Are you good at baking?" 
Odd question, one that might even get me demoted from front row elite of a Louis Vuitton show to priority standing. But It's simply the only question I want to ask Nicolas Ghesquière, Louis Vuitton's creative director. 

With baking, quantity matters. Too much or too little of any one ingredient equals the sour death of your highly anticipated red velvet cake. Suddenly what you take out of the oven doesn't resemble the Instagram photo saved on your phone. LE sigh. No easy task. With fashion the same concept remains. Except Nicolas Ghesquière possesses the perfect recipe. Disrupting simple pieces of garments with aggressive prints, mixing fur with leather, creating opulence of the highest order. Where the clothing actually beats the bag. 

Ghesquière Girl

With the aesthetic of a rebellious suburban Parisian girl, I'd wear my hair loosely in a ponytail and a cherry red lip stain. I'd paint my nails navy and wear vaseline on my cheekbones. Clean, sophisticated and just a little grunge. Charismatically reserved with a cup of black coffee in one hand and a gadget in the other. Skipping ballet lessons just to go into the city to people watch.  I don't want to know how to dance. I want to know how to read minds. Communicating with strangers with my eyes only. Nonchalant yet infatuated with those around me. 












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Monday, 12 October 2015

Mood | Decadence


Serena stared out of the window of her spacious bedroom, watching the currents of the beach ripple in and out. The moon was still out in all its glowing beauty, the sky shaded a deep red with hints of ultramarine blue. She closed the book on her lap. A lack of concentration. The Winter of our Discontent - a John Steinbeck classic about characters who were neither good nor bad. Predominantly grey, Serena had decided. 

Thoughts whizzed in and out of her mind as she stood up from the stool purposefully placed by her window. It was 5AM and the world was still asleep. She wondered how many other kindred souls were also up at this time: the waking hour of passion. The magnetic buzz of thoughts and ideas that zoomed through her mind were often uncontrollable. Not that she minded insomnia... it had its perks. 

At 23 she still lived at home: painting visions of grey buildings, writing stories with no happy endings, drawing personifications of envy, cooking in ripped denim jeans and often a white turtle neck. She posed no interest in the world that turned art into deceit for money. It made her furious, frustrated even. She wanted more from the world...but didn't know how to get it. 
Letting out a deep sigh, she cozied up into a long camel coat and tiptoed downstairs to pour herself a steamy hot mug of peppermint tea. The frosty air of the beginning of Winter could not be ignored. The sun replaced the moon and yet, another day was about to begin in a world of crafty manipulation.  



















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Dreams of | Thailand


I want to know what it feels like to be surrounded by tranquility. A peace so sure of itself that even the most alluring distractions are surreptitiously silenced.  A place that holds a fervent source of energy. A place like Thailand. Hiking through rainforests, amongst the company of singing birds. Hidden waterfalls that will take your breath away. Swimming in deep aquamarine oceans. Fresh mangos, pineapples, watermelons in abundance. Vegan thai food because to feed your body is to feed your mind and soul. A feeling of cleanliness. Wet hair, tanned skin and a vitamin D glow like no other. Short shorts, white tank tops, exotic sarongs. Even when night dawns, serenity remains. To live like nothing in the world matters more than nature and nurture. To discover a new part of yourself that you weren't quite sure existed before. Cherishing colourful feelings and memories that will never fade. 
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Saturday, 10 October 2015

Mood | Slave to the Rhythm

Img Source: Tumblr

She doesn't belong to anything. She's off in her own world. 
She shimmied into a mid length white body con dress. Aubergine stilettos on her feet. Copper brown hair and ox blood lip stain. Everything clashed, just the way she liked it. She popped a large cigar into an Yves Saint Laurent clutch, maybe she'd smoke it. Maybe she'd put it back into the wooden case she had kept it in for the last 5 years. 
Her first stop was Sunset Boulevard. West Hollywood, it had its charm. Alone, she sauntered past the bouncer at the door of a modern club. One eye on the bar, one eye on the dance floor - all eyes on her. 

Drunk on the attention, the drinks that actually followed, she treated as chasers. She sipped distastefully on an olive martini, knowing the music to come would quench her thirst more than the liquor would. But she used the time to observe the crowd: businessmen who came straight from the office to the club - classy. Film directors in black shirts, secretly searching for the next Angelina J. Music producers dripping in oversized and very overpriced jewellery...All eyes on her.

Her body moved in ways a snake couldn't. Eyes shut, hips swaying, ears alert to the rhythmic beating of her own heart. Music was her drug and right now, she was intoxicated. Detached from her emotions, troubled thoughts vanished into thin air. An electric energy flowed through her bloodstream. Slave to the rhythm, the moment was hers. 

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Dreams of | Paris

Img Source: Tumblr

...Always a good idea?
L'Arc de Triomphe from the Champs-Elysées, le palais de versailles, musée d'Orsay. Spare me nothing. 
Meeting writers, poets, artists, and painters in the steamy heat of hot nightclubs. None of them have made it yet but who cares? They are the future. Bodies clammed, music loud, hearts racing under the manipulation of hard liquor. 
Nursing headaches with croissants and macarons from Ladurée. Smoking Marlboros and sipping on sauvignon blanc. Because what is death in the face of fantasy? Luxuriating under large umbrellas and the chicest pair of dark sunnies. Dolce & Gabanna or Chanel next? Maybe, both. Reckless because Paris is a daydream and everything desired, including charming Mr. Handsome must be indulged. 
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Friday, 2 October 2015

Life | Disconnect


I watched a Ted Talk by Brene Brown a couple of days ago and it really hit home. It was about vulnerability: letting yourself be vulnerable, showing true emotions when you feel them instead of locking them away, being honest with yourself, and running far away from the concept of perfection. Being raw emotionally, mentally and artistically. 

I want to learn to thrive with imperfections and dismiss this constant feeling of needing to be perfect at everything I do. I've always been hyper-competitive. I like to win and I like to win big, no matter the cost. It's kind of dangerous if you think about it because It means when I fall, I hit the ground hard. There's this part of me that knows that I'm constantly breaking my own heart by being a perfectionist. I become calculative and lose all sense of artistic ability. Because I feel like I am not good enough. Constant thoughts of I'm not doing enough. That my being is not enough for the world. So I strive for better and I push harder without realising that greatness lies in imperfect things, imperfect situations and imperfect pieces of art. 

I started reading old articles on Diamants au chocolat today, mentally shredding some posts into pieces with fierce scrutiny. Picking at it like a bitter and overpriced salad. I don't want to do that anymore. In fact, I won't. I'm going to allow myself to grow day by day. Make plenty of mistakes and live without fear. I know what that entails now - living fearlessly - It is to be your most authentic self, getting rid of that one little hinderance that we all know as ego (or pride) and giving yourself the chance to be real. 

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Friday, 25 September 2015

Opportunity Cost



Photo credit: Kamile Kvaukaite

Drinking wine at 3AM on a Friday night with old friends. Baking muffins, brownies and all sorts of delicious cakes in an old apron that is too big, hair that is too messy and fingernails covered in dough. Reading books that make my heartbeat uneven. Lazily drinking coffee on rainy afternoons. 

Owning and running a successful company. Creating floods of wealth. Holding international conferences. Writing New York Times bestsellers. Travelling the world.  Making an impact...on a larger scale. 

I want it all and with that, I am a living contradiction... because we live in a world of give and take. To get something, you have to give something up. And if I'm constantly giving things up, am I really ever going to have it all? 

Temptation is always forcing us to choose. Heads or tails. Left or right. The choices we have to make are that simple but the consequences are more complex than we can ever imagine. Sacrifice is the name of the game and temptation is always the dealer. 

I recently started looking up theories behind some of Shakespeare's oldest plays, often trying to link the connection between a lot of the greats: Macbeth, Romeo & Juliet, The Merchants of Venice, Julius Caesar. To state the complete obvious, there is one thing the main characters all have in common: greed. Which makes me wonder from time to time do I want too much? Do we all want too much?

Sometimes I think I do but then I say why not? It's all there for the taking. And then I watch myself fall into that trap. It's all there for the taking but there is always a price to pay. Everyday, the devil  - like a debt collector - comes knocking on your door, looking for things as simple as your favourite pastimes or complex things, like a piece of you, to take away. There's always a trade... an opportunity cost. 


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