Yes, I know, I have been terribly neglective, but I think I might (almost) have reasonable excuses. Also, Blogmas is starting on Friday, so by the end of December you'll have heard every thought that ever entered my mind, and some made up ones too, and until then, we got this:

Sorting out the magazine's wardrobe for the new season turns into group therapy sometimes. Last week, I sat on my little footstool (did I mention that footstool? I'm a fashion farmer), with my pen and delivery forms and a bunch of clothes huddled on my lap, and I spent a good half an hour listening to my fellow intern explaining the struggle of trying to plan Christmas with his boyfriend and their respective families. See, he did so much of the talking and arguing himself that all I got to do was thoughtfully nod and make understanding/surprised/appalled sounds - I never knew how many variations of non-judgmental facial expressions I got until now.

Turning into the dark lanes turns out well sometimes. I don't recommend trying it by yourself and in, like, a really bad neighbourhood, but my bestest friend and I went to St. Pauli the other night and found a very cozy bar away from the cheap vodka-to-go places and the drunken old men/sixteen year old boys. There was dimmed red light, vanilla cake and strong Caipirinha and we were the loudest people in the room, which means that it had to be really quiet, which I like in bars. There were, however, no unsolicited advances (unless that one guy walking over to look at the cake display by our table twice was meant as one). I like that, too.

There's no need for room diffusers once you bake something. I did that with friends, and my whole apartment smells delicious. And I spent a day eating nothing but Christmas cookies - didn't I say I'm livin' it up? I tried to replicate the sensation by myself, but I ain't got the gift, it seems. Or a recipe, for that matter.




Oh, there is this book called Christmas In New York (I think that's its name. It would be embarrassing if it wasn't, but there you go) which looks absolutely lovely and has all these stories and recipes and pictures that make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. When I'm grown up and have a kitchen book shelf, I'm gonna put it there, and it's gonna be a triumph.

That's it for now - we'll meet again on Friday. And the day after that. And after that, and so on....

This shouldn't have sounded scary.

Love,

Rosy Smith

....I got so soaking wet, I could easily pretend to have fallen into the Hudson. My hair is at its absolute worst - there're like seven streaks of rain-curled frizz on my head right now. See, we were forced to walk practically a hundred blocks in a constant drizzle to examine current fashion (meaning we touched stuff and mumbled "Oh, velvet" in the tone of a tv cook critically tasting someone's apple pie) and I had not considered that when I chose my teddy coat (that's not supposed to get wet), my boots (that are not supposed to be worn for hours of walking) and my bag (that's giving me a reason to go to the orthopedic) this morning. After reluctantly shuffling through Barney's with our over-excited teacher, a lady in running shoes bearing a linnen bag who has no fear of sales people asking if we need help (eg "buy something or I'll throw your lot out"), total doom followed.

"Let's go to Chanel", she chirped, and we all stood there on Madison Avenue like abandonded dogs, muffled into our coats, faces frozen in a frightened mask. She was serious. We trot in behind her, and I become urgently aware of my chapped boots, my non-existing makeup and the subsequent resemblance of a traumatized twelve-year old I am and my hunchbag walk due to my bag that's feeling more and more like a sack with cobbles every minute. Still, I try to remain dignified and haughtily let my gaze wander over the sparkling items, as if I was actually contemplating what I think is desirable. Same game at Gucci. Even though the carpet there is an actual dream - I wanted to lie down and sink into it so badly but that kind of behaviour, may be acceptable in an overcrowded Forever 21, not here, obviously. However, my teacher hasn't gotten the memo (I always thought that it was sent to everyone as soon as they touched an issue of Vogue. My bad) and tucks on everything and stretches the fine Italian fabric to the core - does she mistrust the legacy of good ol' Guccio? How dare she? We blinked hectically, morsing "We don't know her" to the security people hovering behind us (Gosh, they never trust anyone, but this time I kind of understood).

For the grande finale, we all tumbled into the sterile white glass castle of Dior. This time, our baggage didn't even make it to the stairs, because a young woman clutching a walkie-talkie threw herself in front of us, called something French to another employee (probably "I got them! womenswear is secure, repeat, womenswear is secure") and very kindly informed us that we weren't supposed to disturb the customers 'cause shopping is such an intimate experience and would we like to see the men's collection (where no one would be offended by the pitiable sight we are) instead?

You know, it is a bit demeaning that no one considered us customers. That's mostly our teacher's fault, who always darted into the store yelling "Hello, we're students from fashion school and just want to look around". If that hadn't been the situation and if I had only washed my hair and put on shiny shoes, I would've gladly wandered through all the shops I plan on raiding as soon as I have an adult job/marry rich (Joking. Mostly.).

The only great thing about my rank look has been that come that day, no one there will recognize me.

Love.

Rosy Smith

....for I don't know what they're doing. They means most of this generation, possibly, and therefore most of my acquaintances, definitely. I'm talking about romantic complications, of course. Except that I am very confused about how little people seem to care about the romance part of it all.

See, I'll admit that I come from a fairytale, Jane Austen reading, Katherine Heigl movie watching mindset without much grasp on reality whatsoever which has shown a lot in my dating history. However, even given the fact that not all love stories are forever and that not every crush is mutual, let's determine a certain concept here.

Certain Concept: You meet a guy. Let's say he's in your anatomy class, or in your brother's band (still not over that), or a friend of a friend you see at social gatherings. You think he's cute. You have a conversation. He asks for your number (or you ask for his, doesn't matter, I'm not that girl but equality and all that) and you text a bit and then he says that you should check out this bar together cause you said you like jazz music and there's a live band there tonight. That's a date. The intention of this is to find out if you like each other as a person of the opposite sex (or whatever sex you're into).

Having a couple of dates, you realize you really do and vice versa and you continue to go on dates but after a while you feel comfortable enough to also meet him after classes and whine about how you hate everyone and he gets you dinner and strokes your hair. Both of you are aware of the fact that you are NOT "friends", nor are you just two people who happen to meet in the Costco checkout line. You're star crossed lovers. Okay, dramatically phrased, but at least you're dating.

Because it doesn't make sense to 

a) genuinely like a person because they're funny and kind and make you feel great about yourself and eternity
b) genuinely find that person smokin' hot and melt into a puddle when they touch you
c) be liked back in the same way by that person
d) see them regularly once a week if not more often to do the aforementioned things as well as make out

and still not get that you essentially gotchaself a mate (it is biology after all! We're meant to get together with someone else to have someone to love and not to mechanically hop in and out of contact with people we don't even like) and that you two will naturally become a couple and hope, even if only for a month, to not change that status anytime (ever) soon.

Well, that's what I thought, but it turns out that this route is too mainstream for most people these days. I mean, that one could end up actually being happy (or get torn into a million pieces like some expensive glass vase, but no risk - no fun, I'd say). How old-fashioned. Better stay away from everyone I know and like and real life (so as to not lose "friends" - who needs friends if you can have sex, ain't it so?) and poke random people under the Tinder stone with a stick and have meaningless Messenger conversations for weeks before ever meeting them. Apart from the fact that I would be scared to death of meeting up with a stranger who has my full name, I'm pretty sure it's already wrong to not physically know the person you're looking to fall in love with. I mean, I know I'm superficial, but come on. It's always a bit about the looks for sure. And then, if one does find someone through these twisted ways (what happened to meeting people at bars? Is that too 90s?), nothing's clearing up. There's movies and hooking up and texting but it's forbidden to beam at your friends when you talk about him. Because that would be too tied up and anyways, this thing is already doomed. Why? Oh, no one really knows. And that's not coming from people who are really just looking for something to spend those long cold nights with but from people who would love to be loved at the moment.

A different setting: My friend has told me that she overheard a random guy telling someone that he'd really like to, um, get close (oh we all know what I mean) to this girl he knows, but the problem is, she's actually pretty cool so he would probably like her (my bad) and he really doesn't have time for anything like that at the moment.

I'm sorry, say that again?

Since when is true love such a splendored thing that one can afford to just shrug it off and kick it under your bed and maybe find it one day when you drop your remote and think "Oh, I could call her sometime, see if she spent the last ten years waiting around for me to get in the right mood"? Who would do that? And why for God's sake? 

I'm telling you, these guys are the reason girls go "I don't like him that much anyways". Because how do you know if he is acting date-y with actual dating intentions in mind, like I would assume, or if he's acting the same way but wakes up one morning thinking "Actually I just flicked through my calendar and I really don't have time for anything like that". That's why girls act like they don't care - so they can pretend not to care about him not caring, either, and be convincing doing so.

I don't know about you but I'm getting quite confused with my own argumentation here, and those are only the facts. God knows we all know it gets way more complicated in practice. The takeaway (is that an expression or just fast food?) from my deep analysis is that everyone should stop being so damn dramatic and just accept that human beings tend to fall in love with other human beings and that they simply won't find what they're looking for without admitting they like that person one day or another.


Now let me try to remember what I actually wanted to get across and check if I did; yeah, kind of. Oh well. And for everyone who realized they're acting that way, think about if your chosen one might have a different vision than you, and if that's the case, just get yourself together and tell him/her, so they can drop you like a hot potato and move on with their lives. People are busy, after all.

Love,

Rosy Smith

....in November I didn't take any notes for this episode (as if it were some new TV show or something), so that's a good start.

Let's see, lovelies, the first thing that's always on my mind during November is my upcoming birthday. It's next Wednesday (3 days, everyone!) and I get SO psyched about it, I start a marathon of telling people about it multiple times a day on the 21st of November, precisely. That's because my oldest close friend was born ten days before me and her birthday rings in the festive season for me. Now, I get to plan out a lovely brunch, a relaxed day at home (I'm so sick of trains), a nice dinner with friends....Thinking about it, I still didn't make neither my reservations nor my nail appointment. And I have yet to pin down an outfit. Oh my....

Random Fashion Fear: If it gets way too cold outside, I will have to find some super power thighs so that I can continue to wear nothing but skirts and dresses to school and feel great about what I'm wearing and therefore myself. Also, how do you prevent your nose from getting Rudolph-Red from the cold?

I'll be repeating myself, but Christmas is right around the corner and couples do seem to go even more cozy and cuddly and cutesy and co-dependent and annoying (sorry, couldn't think of a negative word with c, except for carnage and that seemed a bit too harsh in this context). Do I sound like a crazy old cat lady (crazy wouldv'e been one I guess)? Maybe, but I can assure you I don't look like one, I just subscribe to some (just one or two) of their principles. The one with the cats. And the one with the "I don't need a man to ever be happy" thing.
Honestly, I think they're taking all of that a bit too far, 'cause once you've made that clear, it's totally fine to fall in love and spend your life with a special someone, because everyone knows you're not sacrificing your identity and all that, so why not get a nice white dress and enjoy yourself forever? Just don't be as obnoxious about it as those people who take a perfectly lovely literary quote and then completely ruin it with a duck face pic and a tagged douche who comments something illiterate such as "your mine" (It hurts to write that). Thanks.

You know what's become evident about my current college situation (having a class of 11, 'cause 3 already quit, and being away from your social circle 4 days a week)? There's rarely any gossip. I just realized it thinking about what juicy insight I could provide you with. Isn't that sad? I don't even mean scandalous, friendship-tearing gossip, just something small to blow out of proportion behind well-manicured hands. I feel like I haven't talked about anything but projects and delays and stupid booklets I have to produce without a clue on how to do that in AGES. Where is the college chatter? The spice of studies? See, I can't stop making ridiculous puns about it! Tell me something sparkly, won't you?

I bet you will.

Love,

Rosy Smith


PS: Oh, there's something exciting- not my usual style to talk about this, but this month I've had over 1000 views and that made me very very happy and I just wanted to say thanks so much and come again, it's fun here x

   

....when you're sitting in bed, all set to go to your loveliest friend's house in the morning when she'll be back from her two months abroad, and she texts you: Gosh, I hate surprise visits!! And now you have to stuff the clowns back into the van and explain to them why you won't pay.

Thankfully, I was wise enough not to arrange fireworks spelling out my loveliest friend's name or anything like that, or I seriously would've had to think about how the hell to get out of a contract. Since the plan has only been to casually drop by her house with some cookies and another friend, however, we decided to go for it anyway; after all, she couldn't possibly have included us in her declaration of hate towards surprises. Or could she?? Panic-struck screenshot sending while fearing to mix up her and my partner in crime in my contacts followed.

11 pm Another complication: My loveliest friend ominously wrote: "It's not you who's coming tomorrow, is it?" Her mom, third in our conspiracy trio, had told her in preparation to get dressed appropriately the next day and hereby lit her suspiciousness. More screenshots and nonchalant answers as in "well, at least you won't be in your PJs, so all bad parts of the surprise are gone, technically, aren't they?"
Notice how I try to subtly change her attitude towards surprises.

11:30 pm Have to hold myself back from accidentally texting her about how excited I am to surprise her. That would be pretty stupid.

Day x, 1 pm Sitting in my car across the street from her house. I had to park twice until I got a space that wasn't in front of an entrance. Now I'm eying the windows and the street, feeling like a private investigator. It's actually kind of fun.

1:10 pm Her mom quietly ushers us in. Feeling very conspirative indeed as we tip-toe up the stairs, following the music coming from her room....

Good things are from Paris

And there we are, and there she is, her hands on her hips as she's laughingly scolding us for being so secretive before all of us hug and get all unicorn fluffy....and then we sit down on the fuzzy carpet and have cake and tea, as you do, and have a very lovely time.

So, if you ever plan to surprise somebody....hit me up, I think I like it.

Love,

Rosy Smith

Def: “The table drummers, the fitting jeans-carriers, the ones with the nice haircut and headphones dangling from their shirtnecks, the ones with the guitarist wrists and lullaby voice and the kind of thoughtfulness that’s necessary to write a song but also enough self-confidence and humor to be thrilling onstage. Easy to fall for, hard to catch alone (and single).”

So, I wrote this totally validable definition of band guys for the world to treasure and teach their children back in 2013. The reason for that's been that I'd been crushing on one of them at that time....and reminiscing about it, almost all of the boys I've ever been into have been members of that species.

No.1, front man of this group which was, like, the rock band of our school. He was the designated hearthrob and I've mentioned him quite a few times 'cause hell I had it bad for him. The first time I've ever seen him, without surprise, had been on stage, when he sang his heart out to a cover version of "Through Glass" by Stone Sour. I'm still in love with that song. You should've seen how he held on to the mic holder when he hit the high notes. Isn't that what a girl's dreams are made of?

No.2, somebody who wasn't even in a band, nor was he especially attractive (putting it the nice way), but he played the piano sometimes and I was always "coincidentally" hanging around there, trying to share deep glances with him to classical music. It was so awful.

No.3, a cute boy-next-door type who was nice and thoughtful and jokey and probably wouldn't have been of any interest to me at all if he hadn't had his own band and wrote his own songs and recorded this demo and stuff. I was infatuated with - or let's call it fascinated by -  his passion for words and music, just like mine, and he had some pretty good tunes, and when he played the guitar and got all absent-minded, I thought we shared something deep.
Gosh, we would've been SO BAD together.

No.4, a lovely, lovely guy I've met this summer. He was so right about so many things. And he was not right for me in so many ways. But he had a guitar, and he had such a great taste in music, and we could talk about it for so long, and he took such great interest in my taste in music, and we made music together, and something about the way he looked at me when he played just made me very happy.

That's it so far. Let's see if there'll be more band guys crossing my path. Until then, tell me about the ones you met!

Love,

Rosy Smith

Believe me, I've tried. I checked my class schedule and figured out the day I have most classes together with the special someone of that time and planned my outfit according to this, meaning that I usually wore all of my favorite things on these particular occasions. When he didn't show up at school then, it was a very frustrating waste of a perfectly good outfit. When he did show up, he didn't even notice, so it was also a very frustrating waste of a perfectly good outfit. What I'm trying to say is, it does no good to get all dolled up and sparkling just for a particular person who might not even care  - and then feel like a trashbag on all other days because you're thinking "what for?". That's so wrong, it makes me cringe.

Let's play a little imagination game here, shall we? What if, hypothetically, you run into the guy of your dreams on a badly dressed day? Your answer now is probably, well, crap. Now you'll be all alone forever and ever. But that isn't the right conclusion, lovelies! The right conclusion here would be, well, crap, now I missed out on the chance on a love life because I didn't have the guts to talk to him because I'm not wearing my confidence-clothes because I thought I only need them on the days with A-period lunch, and that, everyone, is the fatal mistake.

The first thing we need to get straight here is that you should never, ever, choose your clothes with a view of what your crush, or your boyfriend, or the stranger on the L-train seems to like. The key is to wear something you yourself absolutely adore. If that's jeans and t-shirt, good for you. If that's low-cut and high rising everything, you do you. Because if you are aware of the fact that these clothes look damn fine on you, everybody is going to notice you differently - they will have to think you're fabulous since you leave no doubt to that fact.

So don't ever decide to wear the old shirt you don't really like because its sleeves are kinda too short and you always have to pull at them again, simply because you're not "seeing anyone important today" or to not wear the tight dress which enhances your figure because your boyfriend "doesn't like when you dress provocatively". Your wardrobe is your business and it's also your key to feeling great about the way you look and therefore a whole new attitude! Pick your favorite things every day. If you don't have enough of these, go shopping (Gosh I'm getting too materialistic again).

Everything goes, lovelies.

Love,

Rosy Smith

....oh, where do I begin. The most obvious one, I guess, are delays. I've started dreading the train announcments 'cause they usually crash all my hopes on getting home at a decent time and make me go through various stages of emotions, from hysteric rants in public to equally hysteric laughter to zen-like smiles which are, actually, hysteric as well. And that happens at least once a day.

So, when the train is finally being announced, at last, I grab my 200 pound bag from next to me on the chairs in the smoker's zone 'cause they're the only ones available, cough the smoke out of my lungs, get into an expectant position - and almost fall onto the tracks trying to catch a glimpse on the "arriving train", because it's not arriving within the next five minutes people. Zen-like smile.

If I'm lucky, I get a seat. If not, I'm blocking the hallway, feeling like I'm about to pass out on my heels in the murderous heat 'cause I can't take off my coat, drawing inapropriate comparisions between animal wagons and our current situation, praying that I smell nicely 'cause I'm holding onto the ceiling above a guy's head. What happened to the whole guys standing up for ladys tradition, anyways? I get so passive aggressive, in fact, that I have thought of a system where everybody has to hold little signs stating when they'll get off so that people like me who commute can sit down instead of those who are resting their poor body for a single stop. Like, that should be a law.

The funny thing is, most of the time, I could practically take a nice walk alongside the train, because it is SO damn slow. It's like it couldn't hold in its delay schedule if it would actually function according to its purpose, and that would be such a shame, wouldn't it.

Moreover, a couple of weeks ago, I slipped on the bus and pirouetted straight into this guy I'd been eying for the whole ride, elegantly swearing. All I remember now is that his face was basically in breathing distance to mine and he grinned weirdly and I said sorry and twirled right back into position thinking unspeakable thoughts and holding on to the grab handle like I was paid for holding on to poles (ain't I witty). The moral of the story is that you get WAY too close to random people on public transport. I have to hold on to stranger's shoulders to get off the train without falling flat on my face. I have to share a 4 seat compartment with three old men drinking beer straight out of the bottle (isn't that a violation to some sort of code?). I have to endure some pre-med student's arm brushing along my leg 'cause he genuinely doesn't mean to harass me but can't put his stupid jacket on any other way! I've developed a pretty effective technique to do so without touching anyone. I'd be happy to draw you a chart, lovelies.

I'll stop now before I use any swear words (I'm proud I've made it this far), but without a doubt there'll be more of these.

Can't wait.

Love,

Rosy Smith

....so I guess since I'm a fashion student (even though we journalists aren't expected to dress in crazy striped socks and platform everything, having to appear serious over the whole scene) I might as well mention the whole Balmain x H&M thing and pretend I've got something insider-y to say about it. Ready, lovelies?

I actually didn't know about Balmain (Shame? Or not? You tell me) until not-so-long-ago, so I wasn't immediately excited about this collab - I've never really been about any of the H&M collabs, though, because honestly, it doesn't feel as awesome to own a designer piece with an H&M tag in it as the real deal does. I mean, it is pretty cool that they do that, so that one can benefit from the unique design quality of the respective labels without having to break the bank (or maybe just a small one)....however, I don't know, I simply cannot fully get into these affairs.

But some of my classmates (here ya go, fashion college spirit and all) sure did - they were so commited, in fact, that they spent the night camping in front of the flagship on 5th, not minding the cold and the drizzle. Some of us were in awe of their determination to be early in line, some a little weirded out (I was. I mean, come on, rain. And the clothes are a bit too flashy/military/green for me to be desirable), but it was definitely the topic we were dissecting while in first period this morning, much to the astonishment (and I think despair) of our oblivious teacher. Instagram updates followed fast - #allBalmaineverything - and the whole room was silent when one girl actually got through on the hopelessly overstrained hotline to order her wishlist. "I'd like No.....that's still available? Great!" *collective breath* "And No...."*holding it in again* "Oh, your system's crashed?" *looking at each other like, can you believe that?*

I can. It's weirdly fascinating, isn't it, how people go all out and trip over their barely tied shoe laces to get  their hands on a few pieces by a big name in a store they'd usually joke about, go in to buy a tank top and come out with six new outfits which happened to block the way to the changing rooms.

At least that's how I do it.

Anyhow, I may feel like buying high fashion should be a slightly different experience than a rock concert / The Hunger Games, but whoever's a fan of Balmain might have gotten really lucky today,, and that's always lovely, don't you think?

Love,

Rosy Smith