And right now, I am in an extremely surly mood. No, it is not because I am actually Wednesday from The Addams family and enjoy living in a state of sour-pussness (I am VERY aware that this is not a word. But I am very intent on starting a revolution, sooo.... Might as well start with words eh?), It is because EVERY year since, well... The years I have been such a fashion obsessed scarecrow, something or the other has prevented me from attending.
Shoes; Rachel Antonoff SS12
There's always, ALWAYS the problem of a lack of funds. I know, a clever person/someone who is actually that interested in fulfilling their dreams of attending London Fashion Week and getting hugged by Vivienne Westwood (so vivid is my imagination, you see) would save and scrounge pennies away to make this dream an actuality. But life is not that way, my dear friends. In my head, it seems achievable. But when one is faced with the decision of either-save-your-money-so-you-don't-spend-yet-another-semester-of-university-eating-cereal-daily, or buy-a-ticket-for-twenty-quids-and-spend-a-fortune-getting-to-London-for-one-day, life kinda wins. This pains me, because now I realise that I am becoming less of a dreamer and more of a realist. Which means I am growing up. Oh goody.
United Bamboo Spring 2012; I'm loving the monochromatic/ minimal feel of this collection. Shweet!
*Sidebar* See, if I were a rich girl, na na naaaaa, then I'd have all the money in the world and actually SIT IN ON A RUNWAY SHOW oh ohh ohhhh....
I really HATE being dependent on money for everything. Yes, yess, I have not been living under a rock, and I have known for awhile that to live, money is expedient. I am very much aware. But in this case, I mean I hate the fact that I always have to pick and choose between, you know, DEATH and going to a fashion event which will make me momentarily happy. I just want to be able to live without having to pick or choose all the time. Is anyone with me in this, or am I just ranting for the sake of it? Is everyone but me privy to a trust fund and a rich daddy and mummy?
Because that will just make me even more sad. And I might probably cry, and proceed to write dark, emo poetry on the inherent unfairness of life where my fashion obsession is concerned.
Right, back to nursing my woes with a cuppa like the true fake Brit I am (Nigerian, baby). You see, everything seems to work itself out just by drinking a little Twinings.
I will be back, after my scheduled sulk - sesh, with more oohs and ahhs over the clothes...
For now, Adios!
Pictures courtesy of TUMBLR and STYLE.COM. Yee-HAR!