A little something to everyone I love and everyone who has pissed me off.

In an ideal world… I would have complete faith in humanity, and I wouldn’t have a perfect body or perfect hair and skin because these ideals wouldn’t exist in an ideal world. ideal. ideal. ideal. ideal. ideal. Has it lost meaning yet?

In my humble 20 years of life, I’ve realised 3 important things.

1. People can be shit. 

2. People can be incredible, and make you feel better than ever. 

3. You really shouldn’t rely on people or even circumstance, to an extent of course, to be ‘happy’, whatever that means. It’s all in your head. 

Since when was it ok to betray people? Since when was it ok to betray your friends? Since when was it ok to feel entitled enough to make choices you know would hurt other people? Since when did people in a place that is honoured for being a cosmos of intelligence, contain so many self-righteous arseholes?

I’ve had a major case of the ‘ugh’ recently. I’m pretty sure it’s an epidemic. 

We live in a place where ‘facetune’ - an app made for people to edit the way they look and make sure they look perfect in photos to post exists and is widely used, by a lot of people I know. People point out and make fun of badly edited photos not seeing the bigger picture, that although you find this funny, imagine the amount of anxiety someone had to feel in order to think that in order to publish a photo online they had to edit their real selves. 

In a place where people who are supposed to be best friends say shamelessly nasty things behind their backs, and often people feel the need to be something other than who they are just to fit in, even at a university level. 

In a place where when someone has knowingly hurt someone else they do not even have the decency to apologise, as they are scared of what people would think, and because they are cowards.

In a place where hearing ‘they’re so irrelevant’ is normal. 

Where things like ‘I’m so glad people have money here’, is an accepted phrase to hear in a club. 

It’s fucking disgusting.  

Do not get me wrong, a large portion of people and of life is wonderful, but that’s not what this is about. Some things just need to be said, and some people need to feel shame. It’s just not my place to go up to individuals and kick them in the balls, or change their shampoo for ‘nair’, however much I’d want to. Nah, I’d rather keep it classy and let people come to terms with the fact that they’ve been an arsehole with the solace of a computer screen. You are welcome! 

You know what, and it might sound really lame and really obvious, but being nice is actually really cool. Being a good person gets you fucking far. I don’t mean being superficially nice to people, murderers are capable of that. And ‘getting fucking far’ isn’t having the most money or power. Pablo Escobar was the richest and most powerful man in Colombia but he lived in fear, hiding and anxiety. 

It is people accepting mediocrity, and excusing the unexcusable that gets us nowhere. When did people start excusing cowardice, betrayal and dishonesty? And why? For fear of conflict? For fear of losing their reputation? Ok, move along dear. 

Standing up for people you know are wrong because its the easy option is also bullshit. Sorry for all the swearing, I personally think its fucking necessary. When people I love get hurt, even minorly, I’m not going to stay quiet. 

The ‘me too’ era triggered me, as well as a lot of friends. I’m not victimising or blaming here. But we are so devastatingly twisted into thinking that we SHOULD do certain things because other people do, without realising that actually, no, I’m not okay and not comfortable with that. The ability to realise and vocalise this is so important. There is no such thing as shame when it comes to consent. When something is right it just feels right. End of.

Sex is weird. People have it so casually yet it caused some of the biggest arguments, problems, complexities. Sex is never casual, even when it is. But people would have it with someone they met in a club who they previously ignored in the library. What is it about entering a club that changes the way people act and react? It is like a different world. Do I sound like I’ve been living under a rock? OR am I just consciously choosing not to accept the bizarre ‘normalities’ that we have become used to? Hmm, difficult. I am not condoning casual sex at all. It can be fun and spontaneous and amazing. But only when its actually liberating and empowering and appreciating of sexuality not when you do it because ‘its the done thing’ or ‘this is just what happens’. no. fuck off. 

The fact that unavailability, playing games, being hugely indirect, and acting socially superior are seen as attractive honestly leaves me in despair. It's particularly annoying because I am sucked in by this too. There's such a thrill. I hate it. I love it too though. There's no winning here. 

From a year of being so in control of myself, of what I want to do and where I want to be and who I want to be there with. With such control yet such freedom, it has just made university a really really weird place. I sometimes feel like I’m in year 7 again. I wrote this in July and it made me sad because I don’t remember what this feels like.

“I love spontenaeity.  I love not knowing who I'll meet tomorrow, where I'll be or what I'll be doing. I love mindlessly watching sunsets, breathing in the hot, intoxicating sea breeze and feeling the wild white horses massage my feet. I could spend hours stargazing, watching balls of light twinkle and listen to the soft humming of crickets lull me to bed, skinny dipping with strangers and feeling more than alive. I remember that night at that jazz bar in Paris dancing all night with a permanent smile glued to my face and I’d never felt that happy before ever. I don't like routine, but I know that it's something that keeps us sane, and makes us more grateful for all the wonderful insanity. I love the no judgement vibes. I love that right now, I’m one million percent unapologetically myself and all my crazy and its celebrated not scorned upon. I never want to let go of this feeling, I don’t want to burst the bubble and live in reality ever again”. 

I don’t even remember what that feels like anymore, and I don’t know what made me say that routine makes us sane because I’m in a routine and I feel more insane than ever. Is life meant to be a routine? Are we supposed to stay with one person forever? Or do people come into our lives as lessons, good and bad but nevertheless something can be taken from them. Even bad experiences teach you things. 

As usual, this is a stream of consciousness and I don’t really expect it to flow or make sense because if I could do that I’d be doing better in class and not procrastinating by manically breaking my keyboard to fart all over this document. 

But I hope that even if it wasn’t an enjoyable read, it was maybe a tiny bit relatable? If not I hope I helped you procrastinate? 

h a s t a   l u e g o   p u t a s  xxx 

This took a turn...

I’ve been doing a lot of going round in circles lately. Dabbling in the sludgy grey puddles of the infamous ‘coulda woulda shoulda’. And at the end of the road...I found nothing but a cul-de-sac.

Let’s talk about retrospect, and how everything seems better in it. When we look back on experiences, people, situations, they’re built up up to be superior than they actually are.

It’s far too easy and even more dangerous but completely inevitable to romanticise something which actually carried a modest amount of flaws.

We want what we can’t have, and what we can’t have is so much more attractive than what is easy to gain. #LaChasse #FuckLaChasse

Maybe I shouldn’t use the inclusive ‘we’ (I’m sure most of you reading this are far more sane than I) but I am almost certain that I’m not the only one guilty of this. Yearning after the past, even if it wasn’t that great to begin with, subconsciously knowing this to be true but we lust over it anyway, it’s nothing but self-torture. Be it a dress we lost, a university that we didn’t get into, a boy/girl with whom it didn’t work out. IT. WILL. BE. FINE…

…PROBABLY…!

Satisfaction then becomes impossible. 

Before moving to Paris, my life was a series of a lot of unanswered questions, personal and not, so I was counting on to moving away to my favourite city as an answer to my problems, an escapist attitude to what I was leaving behind. Luckily, I did get the internship I wanted here, and my first choice university, and it seemed like everything was falling into place. 

So why did I/do I still feel so lost/vulnerable? I had it in my mind, that by coming here, everything would melt into place, seamlessly. But that’s not real life, that’s only the limited vision I had before actually experiencing moving away. The “crisis” so to speak, stems from the fact that on a superficial note I have nothing to aim for at the moment and I am in a strange sort of ‘gap’, of having everything I want but still feeling…

I can’t explain it.

I don’t have to explain it.

Maybe it is because we have stopped being human beings, and have evolved into human ‘doings’. No one ever just ‘exists’. What does that even mean, to just, and only ‘exist’? I don’t think its possible. 

(Dear Diary…)I remember, I moved here on January 1^st, having packed until 4am that same morning which my Eurostar was scheduled to leave at 1pm, (putaaaaain). There I was at St Pancras international with two huge suitcases (I did not need to pack 6 coats but I won’t admit it and I’ll wear them all anyway just for my own pride and dignity), I was nervous, slightly scared, immensely excited. A couple of hours later I was at Gare du Nord, it was freezing, it seems as though I had forgotten how to speak French, and my uber went to the wrong street. I wanted to cry. #firstworldproblems but also it's all #relative. 

I underestimated just how much of a leap I had just taken. All I had dreamt of for so long was living out my fantasy life in Paris, working in fashion, drinking gin and tonics on pavement cafes with a cigarette just for decoration, and my fur coat. That’s a great photograph to take, I’m sure of it. Then I realised I am not one of Degas’ muses, I will actually have to live a real life here, and I didn’t at all think about that. 

I am having a magical time here, there are moments of complete heart eyes, watching a sunset on the Seine being one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen, or having a fresh orange juice and coffee on a sunny morning and watching the beautiful people of Paris take over the cobble stone streets, or meeting complete strangers and making friends or just conversation, reading in Abbesses from the top of the Sacre Coeur with a view of the whole city moulding into a digital age Amélie Poulain. 

It is a city that would make falling in love so very easy.

Instagram is a great way to convince oneself and others that they are living the life of their fantasies. Something a friend of mine said the other day made me think of this, she said ‘if you don’t want to double text, just delete the conversation and start a fresh’. Basically saying that what you can’t see doesn’t exist. This made me think of how when we post photos of us having a great time, no one really knows what went into that, how much is being concealed. 

I was talking to a friend who spent Christmas in New York and their Instagram made them look like they were having the time of their life, but actually they said the trip wasn’t at all that fun, they felt ill and were having relationship problems, but of course they couldn’t publish that online, and why would they. The idea of “Christmas in New York” already sounds dreamy, but they are just words and ideas we are idealising from the connotations they foresee.  If you think about it, you’re creating an identity, and you are free to create the image of the person you want to be, not necessarily the person you are.

We have a complex that our online profiles must be the very best version of ourselves: it’s a vicious competition, survival of the fittest. *cough TINDER* the brutal, online selective breeding process based on looks, (mainly) (possibly universities/schools if you’re an elitist snob). 

Another example of how instagram is ruining our authenticity: I know someone who was supposed to travel to X but then changed their mind last minute, however still posted a photo pretending they were in X, for the world to think they were. I leave judgement up to you, but I want to know what makes being in X cooler than not? Of course, for the sake of make believe, and everything with which Hollywood and her side chick, the Media, feeds (manipulates) us with, we are conditioned to believe that our lives have to look remarkable to the rest of the world. It forms an intrigue, and we are all somewhat intrigued by intrigue. Frankly, it frightens me how much we care about our online reputation, (even though I have succumbed to the devils of social media). That’s why I wanted to make this blog, and why I called it ‘uncensored rhapsodies’, a thesaurus aided, posh version of ‘basically no bullshit’.

I am a culprit of idealizing my life on social media. Most of us are.  I would never lie, but my Instagram is no doubt a fabrication. It is a lot of who I am on a surface level of course and I try to be as authentic as possible and as much myself as possible, but it’s still a premeditated version of my life. Much like fashion, social media is exciting, fast, always changing. It does keep you awake but suffocates you at the same time.

It is so hard… or even impossible, to look at something, objectively, without jumping to conclusions. Something always relates or makes us think of something else, we create stories in our heads from assumptions that we make. For example, a red rose is immediately linked to love or the romantic. As is a yellow rose to friendship. Who created these identities from something which is merely a flower? Maybe I’m over analyzing Instagram, arguably a trivial platform; but I have definitely scrolled through my feed, seen a photo of someone somewhere looking insanely cool by superficial conventions, with no idea of how much effort or editing or retaking this photo took to achieve its ready-to-be published finality. I think if something is too posed it loses its edge and authenticity and the ‘je ne sais quoi’ we are all obsessed by. Subtle nuances are so attractive. 

The point I’m trying to make is how social medias are just ego boosters, (arguably) healthy alternatives to anti depressants, showing the world that one is apparently enjoying their life. It’s an addiction. A competition. Social media is like heroin, once you’re hooked, it’s almost impossible to quit.

The other day I was sat in a pavement café in Montmartre, with a café noir and my laptop, writing. I dressed for the occasion, even though I was alone. I wore bright red lipstick for myself, and to be deliberately seen by myself. There is a luxury to being alone. Everything is what you make it. Right? There is a glamour to the solitary. Having said this, and while I self admittedly felt cool by standards of cool, I felt really homesick that day, and I romanticised my sadness by playing it off as a lonely glamour, a self-reflection. I would have rather have made something of my state, transformed how I felt into something, made the most of it in some sense. 

It is all about perspective, choose to see things the way you want to.

Right now, I’m basing my decisions and choices, small or large, on what I want, need, and desire without the underlying notion of what anyone else wants, or what would impress them. Its liberating. Do we all yearn for companionship? It is part of the human condition? Or is being alone a declaration of the ultimate freedom and power?

I am being forced to become more aware of the way I think, and react. It’s quite cool to understand yourself, (and realise that you’re even more complicated than you originally thought). I’m not trying to be a twat on my clichéd gap year saying I’m rediscovering myself in Paris, but maybe, despite however generic, I actually am and I just happen to be in Paris? It happened to Romy Schneider, so why can’t it happen to me? It is so easy, almost too easy to base your decisions (consciously or not), on other people and what they would prefer, and this makes you lose a piece of yourself.

Respect yourself enough to realise you should stop trying to change your appearance to someone elses or society’s liking, if they don’t accept you for who you are… they know where to go. 

Don’t doubt yourself. I’ve realised theres no point. 

Maybe I’ll post something light hearted soon, or maybe I’m too good for that. 

Not sure, we’ll see.

A tout ;) x

Hey u

I’ve decided I’m gonna strip for you —

Hope that was a satisfactory ‘attention grabbing’ opening I was always advised to start off a piece of writing with.

I will not literally take my clothes off for you, but I will tell you my naked thoughts.

I think (with absolutely no knowledge of whether this is true or not so don’t take my word for this or anything else for that matter) that there’s a gap in the market for a 19 year old drama queen, overthinking, slightly psychotic but good-intentioned, in-amidst-finding-herself-on-her-gap-yah blogger.

I have never been good at structuring essays, this can be backed up by all my teachers at school, *AAAAND the self-deprecation begins*, probably because so many thoughts come in at once that if I tried to put them on a page I would end up with something closer to a Jackson Pollock. Below is an accurate representation of my thoughts.

So I’m going to introduce myself… Hi! Hello! Lovely to meet you, I hope you are mildly entertained by my written verbal diarrhea/self-therapy.

I am currently on my GAP YAH. I’m in Paris, interning at Nina Ricci *ooo lala, oo la la indeed* for 3 months before heading off to Central and South America with my best friend for 4 months of getting ridiculously drunk in some beautiful places. I’m then going to study French and Spanish at university.

I’m super excited I won’t lie.

I’m starting this blog for a few reasons; one being that I have always wanted to, but thought do I REALLY want all my Facebook friends including family members, people I know for a fact who dislike me, people I think are really cool, and people I've gone out with, to read about my life and my weird inner thoughts? I don't want to completely jeopardise my reputation.. But then I realised, with the help of a certain Freud (thanks Sig), that I bet a lot of you have similar thoughts to me but are repressing them because of that bitch we like to victimise, our old friend SOCIETY!

I’ll leave this introduction with the thought that we are not in control of our thoughts, we can only control how we react and rationalize them. If this is true I can’t really be blamed for what I do.. or can I?

I hope you enjoy, or learn not to hate my opinions on… fashion, love or its non-existence, life (shameless ambiguity), the deterioration of countless things, my unique philosophical views, my adventures minus the too tragic and too slutty parts which I’ll save for the real no-bullshit blog (the voicenotes I send to my best friends on whatsapp, because this really is another fake attention seeking thing, minus acai bowls and pictures of girls wearing red lipstick and stripey tops who think they’re French) and the fact that you will slowly but surely.. oh so surely realise that je suis un peu crazy, and I majorly overuse ellipsis… playing it off as artistic license.

I’ll see YOU later  À bientôt lovers x