Have Gen Y forgotten how to make plans?

23 Thursday May 2013

Tags

facebook, generation y, instagram, plans, relationships, social media, twitter

Social networking is a central part of my life.

Most days, Facebook is the first thing I look at in the morning, and the last thing I see before bed.

Instagram brightens my daily commute as I scroll through the feed, simultaneously inspired and amused by filtered #foodporn, spectacular sunsets and selfies.

On twitter I just follow, retweet and wonder how people manage to swiftly and effortlessly construct such witty quips whilst keeping up with the #qanda convo.

It is love/hate, my relationship with this surreal online mainframe that has become our lives. I see the positives and the negatives, the potential for both magnificent progress and destructive drama.

What I what to talk about today is relationships, and the impacts of social media in how we react to our friends, families and our surroundings.

You see, I have this friend. You’ve probably got one too.

He’s a pretty cool guy, most of the time. He likes films and photography and going to the gym. Nice eyes. Great smile.

But he doesn’t make plans. Like, ever.

There is always vague conversations and texts, a suggestion, thrown into what seems like the wind. Plans are made and then changed, developed, adjusted, based on what else is happening.

Yeah, you know him?

Well, to be honest, if you are under 30 you probably are him. All of you.

Because he is Generation Y, and he is terrified of commitment.

Woah. I know, we just entered generation generalization cray cray town which is a slippery slope to … well… bullshit. But bear with me.

With the rise of social media and other technologies like smart phones and laptops which never leave our person (or is it just me?), we are constantly connected.

Plans can be made in the blink of an eye, the amount of time to flick through a text and get one back.

As a result of this ease in communication, we make promises without thinking, without reflecting on what else is going on in our lives.

We don’t check our calendars first.

And, plans are just as easily cancelled, a message away.

It all kinda works when you’re in it.

When your mate bails on coffee – ‘I am SO SO sorry I completely forgot I have a million and one uni assessments I have to do but can we PLEASE catch up next week? LOVE YOUUUUU XXXXX’ – it’s super easy to flick a quick ‘Coffee? 20 mins?’ to half your address book and make a date.

Plans for a night out normally consist of knowing who is going to be in your general vicinity… an exact place can be determined later once you have decided whether you feel like cosmo’s and conversation or tequila shots and tapas. Or drugs and dancing. Whatevs.
The problem lies with the generational gap, the clash of social cultures. Parents, employers, older friends… they ain’t so happy when you dismiss the plans because you double booked yourself.

And they’re all like:

‘No, I DIDN’T get your wall post FFS, because I haven’t checked Facebook since last century’. (Am I being too mean? Sorry. Thought I should continue the generation stereotyping for purposes of standardisation).

Anyway.

When they were growing up, making plans was hard freaking yakka. You had to make a LANDLINE phone call, and organise a date and time. You wrote it down somewhere. And you, umm, were at that place, at that time.

My mum is always complaining that I won’t commit to her. And it’s not that I don’t want to hang out. The problem is, I never know what my friends are doing.

Are we going out Friday night or Saturday night?

Well, that depends if my girlfriend is having brunch with the boyf on Saturday or Sunday. And that depends on when his sister has to go to take her driving test, which depends on when the assignment is due and if she can fill out her logbook in time, which depends on whether his Mum can get off work early etc etc. YOU GET MY DRIFT.

That is the thing.

I complain, on one hand, when my beautiful boyfriend just won’t tell me what the fuck he is doing on the weekend so I can organise my life. But, I, in turn, will delay committing to people in case something more exciting comes up.

Technology has allowed for us to fit so much more in, accomplish things in record time.

But it also stuffs people around. And, it makes you wonder which people really care.

So I think it is time we switch off. Disconnect from our screens to reconnect with the people that matter. Make plans. Stick to them. Have integrity. Be honest.

Phone a friend instead of texting them. Speak. Laugh. Listen.

And have dinner with your Mumma. She misses you.

Should we be teaching #auspol in schools?

19 Sunday May 2013

Posted by Bella Westaway in Opinion

≈ 10 Comments

Tags

abbott, auspol, australia, canberra, gillard, hsc, legal studies, politics, schools, twitter

I want to begin this article with a confession: I don’t have a clue about politics.

I mean, I know who the PM is. And the Opposition Leader. Although given that I often see Tony in his bike shorts having coffee near my house makes this somewhat less impressive. (P.S Don’t hate me. I didn’t vote).

But I know very little more than that. Left wing, right wing, judiciary, double majority… what does democracy mean again?

And what’s up with the whole ‘liberal’ thing? The Liberal Party is not liberal? WTF.

It makes my head spin and my eyes glaze over. Unless, of course, it is Charlie Pickering interrogating Abbott on The Project, in which case I am laughing so hard I can’t see, hear or speak. Fucking brilliant.

But now the election is coming up. September 14. That is 118 days until I have to vote FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER!

And I don’t know who to vote for. #embarrassing.

Or is it?

After I decided I was basically an idiot, I talked to my friends. Smart, well read, worldly young people. They said – somewhat embarrassedly – that they didn’t know much about politics either. Not enough to make an educated vote.

A lot of them said they would cast a blank vote

Wow.

These are smart, passionate, caring young people. They are interested in our country, our world and the future. They want to make changes, the want to improve things.

But none of us knows how.

We haven’t been given the opportunity to learn.

The last time I was taught about Australian politics I was twelve.

That’s right. In Year 6, lucky 12 year olds get the opportunity to learn about Australian politics. They even go to Canberra and visit Parliament house!

All I can remember about that school camp is that one of my friends got her first period (which was like OMG) and I was stoked because we got to eat Domino’s which mum never let me have at home. Also I got homesick.

In other words, I was far too young to give a flying fuck about politics.

And then no one gave me the opportunity to learn it again!

Actually, that isn’t precisely true.

When I started my degree in journalism, I learned a bit about politics. I had a lecture on #auspol and started to wrap my head around it. I started watching Q and A and getting my news from a real newspaper, insead of Mamamia’s News in Two Minutes (which, by the way, is awesome).

But it isn’t enough. And it isn’t widespread. The majority of people aren’t getting a degree in politics. In fact, according to ABS, only 25% of Australians get a bachelor degree in anything.

What is especially worrying is that it isn’t taught in schools. There is no HSC subject called Australian Politics. The closest we get is Legal Studies, which kinda touches on it.

In Victoria, they have four Politics based VCE subjects. FOUR! Bitch please, whatever happened to sharing?

On a side note… why does each state have a different bloody education system? That seems frankly stupid to me. (But then again, considering I have just proved my uneducated political ignorance we should probably ignore that comment)

Moving on.

I understand it is very difficult to teach politics at a critical level without the teacher inflicting personal bias or – directly or indirectly – influencing susceptible young minds.

But we need something.

We need something more than some dogmatic online articles and biased opinions.

We need something more than the views of our parents, who are likely as baseless as our own.

We need something more than a singular issue, like our views on gay marriage or the Carbon Tax, to sway us.

We need something more than the fact that we hate one candidate slightly, erm, less than the other.

Because that is lame. And I really, really want to be able to hashtag #auspol without looking ignorant. Which, really, I am.

What do you think?

Does anyone else kinda hate Uni?

06 Monday May 2013

Posted by Bella Westaway in Opinion

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

communications, degree, dropout, foucault, hard, hate uni, ideas, journalism, procrastinate, school, study, uni, uts

I am a genius. I have discovered the cure for writers block.

It begins like this:

Enrol in communications at UTS.

Take a subject called Ideas in History.

Attempt to complete a 3000 word essay about modernity or some shit.

You’ll quick smart find that gorgeous motivation for blogging. Some would call it procrastination, but I am an optimist.

And what I have been inspired to write about is….. University!!!

Why? You ask.

Because, well, it’s killing me man.

Being a uni student sucks hard.

Firstly, I have no money.

N-O-N-E.

Maybe if I attended work every now and again things would be looking up, but in the meantime my desire for cocktails and Sass and Bide is way out of balance with my desire to be ‘a financially independent adult’ (Mums words, not mine) who pays rent and doesn’t run out of money on a weekly basis.

I keep wondering if Optus will forget about my phone bill if I leave it long enough, but somehow I don’t think that is highly likely…

I also have no time.

Well, no actual time. Never mind that I keep re-watching old episodes of Gossip Girl and reading A Game of Thrones… I am still soooooo busy.

Between catching up with my billion and one friends who are conveniently from 20 different social groups, trying to appease my family by spending the occasional night at home for a family dinner and watching of The Project (it’s journalism homework, no?), and managing to keep my room in a state where the carpet is semi visible, I am booked out.

Oh and Uni work and all that jazz.

Then there is the commute. The nasty, dirty little commute where the train station is nothing like it appears in the movies. It smells, and is filled with questionable people who look me up and down, likely thinking ‘WTF is that girl wearing?!!’.

Hey, they are called wedges and they rock.

But even high heels are getting boring. The ferry might be good for my soul, but it ain’t good for my tootsies (or my bank account). All that teetering from my house to Manly Wharf, and from Circular Quay to the station, and from Central to UTS….

I have blisters on my blisters.

And then there are the results.

I am sorry, dear tutor, but giving me a Credit is NOT INSPIRING OR MOTIVATING AT ALL!!

I dislike the word ‘Proficient’ more than I dislike socks and sandals. And that’s saying something.

Chuck us a HD and I’ll slave away at my computer, high on the thrill of success.

But starting feedback with: ‘Bella. The main problem I have is…’ makes me want to sleep, do tequila shots and have brunch. Not necessarily in that order.

Did you know that Steve Jobs, Bill Gates and Mark Zuckerberg all dropped out of Uni? (Well, they call it College, but same difference)

Yes, one could gather that the key to becoming a billionaire is: don’t waste three years of your life writing about Foucault and instead invent the next technological fad.

But what do I know?

I am still trying to work out how to find the lecture slides online.

I have never had this before.

School was brilliant. I liked to study. I never skipped class (okay, maybe once).

I spent free periods at the library, finishing off my homework.

I practiced equations for hours, even though they made me want to cry.

I didn’t feel the need to fall asleep at 5pm after a hard day of classes. I just drank some coffee and I churned out essays like Thoreau.

But now ‘studying’ is akin to sitting at my computer and staring blankly at a word document until I get an email from ASOS to distract me (dude, how often do they send those damn things?!!!).

Now, going to lectures is kinda optional, especially those 9am ones.

And a three hour break in the middle of the day means long lunch and gossips with girlfriends.

Where has my motivation gone? That spark? Where is the commitment to my education and drive to achieve?

Is this a lazy, Generation Y ideology that everything is just going to fall in my lap, or is it just a phase?

Please tell me it is a phase.

Ok. Rant over. Getting back to ‘studying’. Until dinner time

WTF are Swimmable Underwear?

26 Tuesday Mar 2013

Posted by Bella Westaway in Opinion, Travel

≈ Leave a Comment

Tags

blogger, bra, comfort, discount, sale, spontaneous, sweden, swimmable, swimwear, underwear, victoria secret

So excited to announce the new partnership between Bella Vista and Underwear of Sweden’s SWIMMABLE UNDERWEAR!

‘WTF is that?’ you say.

Well. Only the best thing since the push-up bra…. (if that is indeed possible).

Swimmable Underwear is basically underwear and swimwear rolled into one cute and practical little addition to your wardrobe.

We all know how bad I am at being spontaneous *insert vigorous head nodding here* and it is usually because I am so gloriously busy (read: unorganized) all the time.

So you can imagine how excited I was when I found out that there is finally a way to go spontaneous swimming in your knickers without being too umm… spontaneous!

What I love about the Swimmable Underwear is that they are multi-purpose… they feel like underwear so you can wear them comfortably every day, and they also contain all the essential properties of swimwear… quick drying, won’t turn see through when wet, retain shape…

Oh AND…. they are, like, a real BRA.

No more of this ‘my boobs are going to fall out as I jump over the waves attempting (and failing) to look like Candice Swanepoel on a Victoria’s Secret shoot’. No.

They are strapped in and pushed up. Winning.

Oh and another thing… they awesome for travelling because they dry really fast, meaning less chance of awkward ‘yes-my-underwear-IS-hanging-up-over-the-window-of-the-hostel-what-of-it?’ moments.

Yeah, okay, the nub and gist is that I love these babies. And I promise you I wasn’t paid to say that.

But I have negotiated with Underwear of Sweden for the readers of Bella Vista to get 20% off.
Feel free to thank me in coffee. Skinny Cap. No sugar.

Just click HERE and use the promo code ‘BELLAVISTA’ when you shop, and you’ll be sorted.

Love,

Bella xxx

Oh P.S…. even if you don’t need any underwear/swimwear hybrid awesomeness, click through anyway and check out the model for their Max for Men collection. I promise you will enjoy it….

Sleeping around: ‘slutty’ or ‘liberating’?

21 Thursday Feb 2013

Posted by Bella Westaway in Opinion

≈ 9 Comments

Tags

friends, girls, kissing, nightclub, sex, shaming, slut

I once kissed a boy I’d only known for fourteen seconds.

I don’t really know why.

Probably because I was at a steamy nightclub and some Rihanna song was encouraging nameless sex while a couple of my friends played tonsil hockey next to me.

And kissing was easier than dancing awkwardly by myself!!

(In my defense, the guy was sexy as hell and talked like Jude Law. And he told me his name. It was Max.)

For me ‘it was like, one time!’, but for many of my peers, random hookups (yes, multiple) are part of a great night out. They are something to aspire to.

Young Generation Y women like myself have grown up in a society that has encouraged sex. We have been taught to believe that great sex is a right, and that is awesome.

But as a result, a new notion has emerged – a belief that having multiple sexual partners or one-night stands is not being promiscuous… it is asserting your independence as a woman and being free.

And I think that’s a dangerous game for teenagers.

Firstly, I’m surprised my friends don’t all have mouth herpes. Cos we’re kissing. A LOT.

I don’t know anyone who hasn’t pashed someone they just met.

Kids as young as 13 are having competitions to see who can kiss the most people in one night.

20 is pretty standard. (Ew!)

Secondly, we aren’t dating. Boys don’t ask girls on dates anymore. Really and truly.

They say these noncommittal things like ‘let’s get coffee’, or ‘I’m having this party, you should come’. Or they say nothing and miss the opportunity completely.

Yawn. Christ, just man up and ask me for dinner already!! (hint hint?!)

Then there’s oral sex, which I had thought was super intimate until I read this unfortunate study: ‘In a survey conducted by Family Planning NSW, half the women aged 16-25 said they had been pressured to give oral sex, and many reported that young men ”expect” to receive it.

”Most people I know that are having oral sex only do it because everyone else does, and if you don’t, you’re frigid,” one 16-year-old girl told the researchers’.

Really? Frigid? Because you won’t put some guy’s penis in your mouth? That’s dicked (sorry, couldn’t help it!)

When I discussed this a few days ago at dinner with a friend, she casually told me how her fourteen year old sister sometimes went home with eighteen year old boys and gave them blowjobs.

I was horrified.

Apparently, this happened because ALL the girls told their parents they were staying at each other’s houses (when, in reality they were hanging out with older boys in a park and getting drunk) and then they had nowhere to sleep.

‘But…’ I stammered ‘what do you mean? She’s fourteen! Isn’t she supposed to be going to school discos and practicing mascara? Like, OMG. What?!’

And I wanted to scream ‘why are you so bloody ‘meh’ about this??’

I don’t want to be accused of Slut Shaming, because I am not. Nor am I being anti-feminist.

I hate the word slut and it’s sexist nature. It infuriates me that being a ‘player’ is cool, but being a ‘slut’ is bad. I want to yell at people who think it’s okay for boys to sleep around and not girls.

But when girls are downing tequila shots and flashing non-existant underwear as we teeter over on shoes resembling small buildings with studs on, we can’t really talk about feminism.

When we’ve got fake tan and foundation so thick that it can be scraped off with a long, french-tipped talon that looks anything but elegant, we can’t really talk about feminism.

And when we’re in the bushes of a house party, on our knees, with a … well… you know what in you know where… we can’t really talk about feminism.

Because I am not concerned about the awesome, sexually liberated girls who know what they are doing and are happy with their sex lives!

I am talking about the girls who aren’t.

I am talking about the teenage girls of Generation Y who are embracing their sexuality without understanding it

So many of them are having sex for all the wrong reasons… to appear cool, to validate themselves, to impress older boys, or, like my friends sister, because it gives them somewhere to sleep so they don’t get grounded!

Most of them aren’t doing it for their own pleasure, and many of them regret it afterwards.

In a survey I conducted of my Facebook friends, 38% of them admitted to having had a one-night stand. And when I asked how they felt after, they said things like ‘shit’, ‘awkward’, ‘used and dirty’ and ‘horrible, I won’t do it again’.

And that really worries me.

Our young girls, my peers, need to be educated, supported, and ingrained with an understanding of their own value.

They need to realise that men and women aren’t the same, and we aren’t looking for the same things.

They need to appreciate that saying ‘no’ isn’t going to make a guy stop wanting them. It’s going to make him want them all the more!

We need to start talking about this. We need to stop embracing sexuality to the point where liberation becomes destructive (and is just for the sake of being politically correct!!)

Because if Generation Y thinks that having casual sex is about being cool, then Slut Shaming is going to be the least of our problems.

‘I can no longer wear flats… Seriously’.

12 Tuesday Feb 2013

Posted by Bella Westaway in Uncategorized

≈ 8 Comments

Tags

blisters, fashion, heels, Paris, shoes, teenagers, valentino

High heels are my latest obsession.

Well, they’ve been my obsession for while – since age fourteen when my Mum bought me my first pair of black Zoe Wittner T-bar pumps that I wore until they fell apart – but recently, it has been a real obsession. A daily one.

When I got back from Europe, I was having major high heel withdrawal. I hadn’t worn a pair of proper shoes since one fateful night in Paris.

You can read the whole story here, but the nub and gist is this: I wore very high heels, tried to find some nightclub and ended up lost in Paris. Needless to say, shit went down and my feet almost needed to be surgically removed. Then I made some dramatic statement about never wearing high heels again. Idiot.

When I got back, I was craving something other than converse and thongs! I needed to give some TLC to my lovely shoes that had been sitting in my cupboard for too long.

And once I did, I remembered how much I loved them. In, you know, a nice safe environment free from walking and youth hostels.

Then I got a job in fashion, which is very bad for my bank account, but is doing tremendous things for my wardrobe.

Every day at work, I sit next to our fabulous graphic designer, who is basically perfection crammed into one tiny, amazing chick.

Immaculately dressed, flawless make-up, coiffed hair and amazing shoes.

I repeat, A-M-A-Z-I-N-G shoes.

Enter phase two of shoe obsession dammit.

And phase three – I am addicted.

I can no longer wear flats. I don’t like how they look. (With the exception of these Valentino Studded black and beige pointed toe ones. But they also come with a heel so why bother?)

They are just so… well… flat!

It is kinda like coffee. When I first started drinking coffee, I got this spectacular buzz after my single skinny cap. A happy, contented, warm buzz which made me burst with energy.

Now I need a double shot long black before I can even speak. Buzz comes later after I get my piccolo latte from Barefoot, and that also depends on whether or not the hot guy is working.

(Oh you know which bloody HOT ONE. The dark one with the amazing eyes. Yeahhh you got it now? Good <3)

Or like when you first start wearing mascara!! Year 7, it looks awesome. Your eyelashes become these spidery legs, bright and sparkling. Then you discover eyeliner. Even more amazing.

But what happens now when you only wear mascara now huh? SUNGLASSES HAPPEN, that’s what!!!

Now when I wear flats I feel short. And fat. And boring. I feel unexceptional. And I don’t like it.

I know heels give you blisters. My feet are permanently scarred and covered in bandaids.

I know they are giving me back problems (my masseuse told me to stop wearing them and go for soft sand runs. And here I thought massages were supposed to be ENJOYABLE!!!)

I know they sometimes make me fall over into the wall at the DVD store (no-one saw, thank fuck).

I know they are expensive, and ridiculous.

But I am ignoring that for now because I am young and reckless. Or stupid, take your pick.

Heels rock and make everything look better! And at nineteen, I can think of far more important things to be doing than being comfortable!!

Girls go to Beautiful Lengths…

06 Wednesday Feb 2013

Posted by Bella Westaway in Opinion

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

beautiful lengths, cancer, charity, hair, haircuts, pantene

Today I walked into work to find my friend Remi sitting at her desk without her hair.

Her waist length caramel locks were all gone. Poof. A thick little bob-ish helmet sat in their place.

And she looked incredible.

Older, sexier, smarter, brighter, perkier. She had a fresh new face. A new look.

And then she told me why.

She hadn’t decided to lop off her luscious golden tresses to look sexier and more sophisticated (although she did).

She cut it off to donate it to the Pantene Beautiful Lengths Foundation, to give a cancer sufferer back some hair.

“Pantene is on a mission to support women with cancer by providing free real-hair wigs to women who have lost their locks through treatment. Together with Look Good…Feel Better, we’re asking women to skip their next salon trim, grow their hair a little longer and stronger and pledge their ponytails to the Beautiful Lengths program.

With your help we can help these remarkable women feel like themselves again by giving them free real-hair wigs. Many women with cancer say that putting on a wig helps them feel like themselves again, but real-hair wigs are a luxury that few can afford”

For me, my hair is like my character. And while this may sound shallow, losing it would be unbearable.

This charity is about more than hair. It is about identity. It is about femininity. It is about emotion.

It is about giving women who are suffering from cancer something back – something to support them, not physically but emotionally, through their journey.

It is about raising awareness for this great cause. It is about helping people understand that they can do something.

It is small to you, just 20cm of dead stuff growing out of your head, but it can be transformative to someone who needs it.

And I think that deserves some attention.

Check out Remi’s beautiful video of the chop (and her sexy new look!!)

The NO FACEBOOK month: ‘I cheated already…’

06 Wednesday Feb 2013

Posted by Bella Westaway in Opinion

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

addiction, ban, cheating, depression, envy, facebook, newsfeed, underwear of sweden, youtube

Last week I went on national television and admitted I was a Facebook addict.

Watching it back, I was humiliated. I felt like a hypocrite, because I hate Facebook and all it has come to stand for.

So I made a decision to abandon my account for one month. A little social experiment.

I will document my progress on this blog, and most likely develop a new addiction to checking my blog stats. And Twitter.

But we’ll see how it goes…

Day 1:

It is 12.13am. I have been off Facebook for 13 minutes.

I am craving my newsfeed.

How will I get to sleep without my pre-snooze stalk?

Enter YouTube.

12.20am.

Watched an interview with Christian Bale and wishing he had a Welsh accent. I wonder what happened to it? This weird hybrid thing he’s got going is doing my head in.

Bored of YT. Not as addictive.

Sleep time.

11.28 am.

At work. Hanging up underwear (The new collection. It is AMAZING. Can’t wait for Spring Summer 2013!!!). Bored. Craving FB.

Had to post on Underwear of Sweden’s page and nearly logged on. SO. VERY. TEMPTING.

7.01 pm

Almost forgot. Again. May have to watch a movie or actually communicate with my family.

Okay, I am being a little dramatic. But seriously, would love to just have a peek.

Never realised how often I checked my account.

So embarrassed.

Eating chocolate now. Satisfied.

Day 2:

I cheated already.

I promise it wasn’t my fault!!!!!

It was work’s fault.

At Underwear of Sweden, we are running a Facebook competition (which, by the way, you should all enter considering I get to choose the winners. And based on how many entrants we have right now, your chances of winning are ultimately… well… perfect).

So I had to test the competition by logging on and entering in it. And I saw my notification bubble, glowing red-hot.

I got this adrenaline rush, and I saw my rationality running down the street for a latte.

It was almost manic, the swiftness in which I clicked.

AND IT WAS A FUCKING EVENT!

Man I hate those things.

I logged off quick smart after that. (May or may not have posted a status letting the world know I cheated. Cos I’m cool like that).

I almost cheated again, but my Internet cut out. Creepy.

9.00 pm.

Impressed at how much time I have.

Just had an afternoon nap on the floor of my lounge room next to my little brother. It was beautiful.

Lying there, with carpet imprinted on my face and his little arm around me, I felt so innocently spontaneous. Childlike.

The urge to Facebook was small. Just a tiny niggling in my thumbs, a gentle throb.

I resisted.

Day 3:

What’s Facebook again?

Seriously!

I had a slight desire to go on this morning to check out the profile of this guy I met, but aside from that…

Meh.

Enjoying my coffee with an un-technological serenity.

But it is only 10.30 am!!!!

On a completely unrelated note, feel free to write me a comment. I am not craving notifications, honest!

I just want you to have the opportunity to, erm, offer your opinion

‘I am sorry for being an irrational, psycho woman…’

03 Sunday Feb 2013

Posted by Bella Westaway in Opinion

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

girls, irrational, moving out, online, parents, shopping, women

Today I am just having one of those days. You know the ones where you want to snuggle under the covers and make it all go away? The kind where you keep bursting into tears for no reason? The sort when everyone is just SO FUCKING ANNOYING and you’re kinda cool to let them know through, erm, yelling at them and slamming the door.

I feel like I am in Twilight or some shit. Bella stamping her little foot and crying all the time when everyone is actually trying to help her. Bella being irrational. That’s me right now.

I blame hormones. The teenage girl ones. I only got a few months left of teenagerdom, so I guess they need to all be used up before then!

Mum doesn’t buy it.

She actually asked me to look for somewhere else to live. And I’m tempted. Moving out sounds like heaven right now.

So to cure my depression I am online shopping. Thank GOD for that. I have just discovered the high that comes from that little ‘add to cart’ button. It is like, 24/7 retail therapy. Win.

Purchasing is actually not essential. All you need to do is THINK you are going to buy something, and voila… misery cured. Kind of.

I do have a feeling that as soon as I leave my room the tears are gonna turn on like a tap, but for the time being, I am blissed out in the world of I-can’t-decide-whether-these-Isabel-Marant-wedge-sneakers-are-awesome-or-ugly, and I think I’ll stay there for a while.

Cos it’s a pretty chiller place.

This is what is in my cart today…

Wildfox jumper, J Brand Jeans, Tom Ford sunglasses, Ash sneaker wedges, Marc by Marc Jacobs watch, Dior lipstick, OPI Nailpolish in Shiny Red, Asos earrings.