You should know, that since I've been very stressed with finishing school these last few weeks (through my own fault for starting late, but still), I haven't exactly kept my room in presentable condition, and I am not one of those people who say that and mean that they did not pick up a book from their dresser. I mean that you are going to trip over a pile of books instead, hit your knee on an unpacked suitcase and land face down in a heap of clothes. I heard myself promise that I'd deal with that in December, but so far I've only sorted out the laundry and patted myself on the back for that.

However, apart from that unfaced quest, I've been a very good girl today, preparing a presentation in my soft office (I learned that expression from Louise Pentland on YouTube; it is so important to my daily life) writing note cards and everything. I even used one of those graphics that Power Point gives you. I am so pulling through to a path of success.


Then, on my way to an actual university lecture (not the one I studied at, but still, aren't I academic today), I sat down to wait for my transportation and a little girl with short curls and big brown eyes randomly approached me and apparently decided to become my friend. Don't get me wrong, I think it's cute and I'm glad my resting facial expression is nice enough for a kid to not get scared, but she just got so close- prepping herself up on my knees like I was Santa's wife and stroking my jewellry and laughing really explosively in between telling me to hold her dolly so she could take an imagined photograph. It does sound quite cute, but I'm not exactly used to kids, so I probably had a fearful look in my eyes while I thought about all the germs on those little fingers (to be fair, I caught hand foot and mouth disease last year in Hamburg and it was SO ITCHY)

Oh and the lecture was really good! I always feel a bit out of place at the "real" university because I'm used to the same ten people wearing artistic black and talking about online shopping finds to me (not that they're all not intelligent, but that's the kind of thing we talk about. In an intelligent way), but it's actually quite fun to roam the dusty hallways and feel like an bohème art student in the sixties, or a first wave feminist studying sociology and history. I bet the people who really go there do not get that giddy vibe every day, though. Anyways, I dressed in half-vintage for the occasion, wearing a soft black wool sweater and a soft grey skirt with a bold pink belt for a bookish-but-fashion-forward look. The prof holding the lecture was a pretty black woman with only one amethyst colored earring and a matching wool sweater (ha) and she used lovely terms such as "epistemic" and talked about fugitive archives in the context of remembering colonialisation and I feel like I did a work-out for my mind, which is very refreshing and should be done more often.

Shameful lecture hall outfit picture

Then I went home and had more of the devilish birthday cake.

Love,

Rosy Smith

(everybody now!) BUT I'M FEELING 22!

Well, lovelies, every age has its advantages, and one of this' is certainly the opportunity to shout out that Taylor Swift bop all. year. long! It has a line for every occasion, doesn't it?

I've spent last night ringing in my birthday with some of my bestest friends (those who aren't in Europe right now - which is, by the way, a fun thing I have planned to be doing soon!), eating pizza and drinking cosmos ( I know someone who didn't know what those were and I am still recovering from my sheer bafflement. Satc wasn't a thing for them, either. Like, you gotta know that to understand half of what I'm saying) and serving a mud cake that, if I do say so myself, is chocolate heaven (but you should refrain from eating anything else for two hours to let your body rest). I got the recipe from a blog called  Sweetest Menu if you wanna experience the rush!

Oh my, I just had a coughing fit from eating a chocolate foam thingie.

Anyways, I got a few more hours of being a birthday gal and having the prerogative to be surrounded by balloons and presents so I'm gonna proceed to shake my flapper dress now!

Love,

Rosy Smith

It's been a while, my lovelies! But here I am, and so much has happened, and so much WILL happen that I am very very excited to totally blow out of proportion and share with you in my usual biased way....

I kinda sorta somehow graduated fashion college! Have not gotten my diploma yet because honestly, the administration is not exactly known for speed, but it's done, it's over and I will never ever have to worry about my pictures not being 300 dpi or a font I like seeming not modern enough to my professor's sacred taste. I am ecstatic. Even though it means that....

I kinda sorta somehow have to get a job this coming year. I'm still studying for my bachelor's degree until June for my own academic satisfaction but meanwhile, I'd like to change out of my sweats and get off my study sofa, put on some pretty shoes and earn some money writing (oh, I sound so goshdarn optimistic about that, it's lovely). Let's hope this time the magazine doesn't shut down as soon as I get there like the last one did (better not mention that coincidence on my resume, I guess)!

I kinda sorta somehow make up texting games that only I know the rules to, so I'm not sure if it's working or if I should lay out the rules more openly. Don't get it? See, me neither!

I kinda sorta somehow turn another year older tomorrow! I'm having my 22nd birthday party tonight and it'll be a blur of silver, Cosmos and cake. I got myself a flippin' flapper dress and I intend to shake it all night long. I gotta run and do my make-up, so this is a short one, but it feels good to be back!

See you tomorrow,

Love,

Rosy Smith

 
It's been a while, hasn't it? I blinked a little too much into the sun and now it is September, New York Fashion Week came and went and I still refuse to transfer into fall. Mainly because that would mean that I would have to get working on my various deadlines (for those who haven't been counting along with me for the last three years, I am graduating fashion school this fall - man, I can still remember those exhausted, ice-cream-craving Gilmore-Girls-binging winter nights in freshman year when I literally had no work to do except showing up and feeling sorry for myself), but also because I love summer and feel like I haven't spent enough time outside showing off all the pairs of sandals I keep buying (four pairs of shoes in a month, a personal record I think).

I have a thing for dots at the moment, is what I'm trying to say

But alas, in a series of coincidences I have already aquired tons of fall-appropriate clothes, so that's something to look forward to! And my Gosh have I been living sustainability or what: I dug up smart jacket-and-pencil-skirt-sets and oversized cardigans from my mom (she has a magical closet, seeing how I seem to have only just discovered a whole decade of power-dressing in there that I never laid eyes on before), got gifted a series of leather skirts and Parisian silk as a hand-me-down from a whirlwind socialite who went a bit overboard with her shopping recently and I got beautiful, dark bordeaux-colored pumps a size too big for me so they don't kill my heels (each summer I forget to tape my feet before walking around the city for hours in tight strappy sandals and each summer I am astonished how many blisters you can get on top of each other). And if that wasn't enough to make all my fellow materialists go mmh with label-lust, please sit down for the approaching:

Prom-dress-shopping! 'tis a little early for me to fully indulge in that, considering that I should whip up some sort of creative wisdom to be graded on before I think about getting a certificate. But my oldest friend is shipping off to nine months in Cambridge in a week, and we had to get her equipped with some fancy European cocktail gowns. The one we found the other day has an absolute charming 20s vibe to it, and it is such a specific color that we had to lounge it around with us to hunt down some shoes, and it just so happened that we found a match so perfect that the employees cheered for us with tears in their eyes. One of them threw in an anectode about a well-known TV presenter whom he had "literally just sold a pair to", as if we needed any more convincing. Ah, the high of handing out your credit card in exchange for something so pretty. I've never felt this good after working out, certainly. Well, at least not due to the physical activity.

By the way, I dared to try something out of some random online mag article recently. The tip went a little like "to get close to him, just pretend to brush something of his face and lean in, then let your fingers linger a bit". Those writers surely never tried this while being excited about that person. Because if they had, they would know that you'd be too scared to actually touch his face - like, who does that, it's so unsanitary - and instead opt for his neck, and hesitate to get out the sentence, and then you don't linger smoothly with your hand on his shoulder but kinda draw circles with the tip of your finger, and when you say "you've got something there" he steps aside and says "no I don't", 'causing you to fall over (because you were leaning in like the stupid article told you to do) and very non-seductively grabbing onto his arm to keep from collapsing onto his feet. And then you realize that he is probably self-conscious about the little fuzz that he has on his neck and which he thinks is what you meant, not getting that you straight-up lied in order to awkwardly touch him. So you drop the plan and proceed to drum onto his (very hard, I should mention) stomach, and honestly I wouldn't vow on that being a turn-on, but then again what do I know, I tried brushing away fuzz. The moral of the story is, if you're in gym clothes, don't try to pull any moves, because it is very hard to get your message across if it is not a hundred percent obvious to the guy already.

Now go out and get some sun before we're snowed in again!

Love,

Rosy Smith

Even in this day and age of so-called communication, I often times encounter great misunderstandings, especially between the different sexes. It is generally assumed that women use secret girl code and are therefore impossible to be attended to since men are not genetically equipped to understand said code. However, I know way more men who seem to encrypt their true intention, and other than girls, they don't have a code pattern. They just do.

Before I get accused of bashing boys, let's bring in an example, shall we?

A guy who is obsessed with his girlfriend's birth control habits. Does she take the pill? Why won't she take the pill? Why is she getting annoyed when he's asking her if she's changed her mind about the pill? Firstly, none of this is his business. Obviously, he has a right to know if and what form of birth control she uses, so he knows what risk they're dealing with exactly (but they're all risks, aren't they?). But since it is her body and her hormonal messup, the final decision really does not include him. If he is not comfortable with the unwanted birth rate of anything other than the pill, then he may proceed not to have sex with her. So now we agreed that he does not have a real point, which is something he must know, what could be the reason for his behaviour? The only valid thing I can come up with is that he thinks she does not want to commit to taking a long-term contraceptive because she does not see them being a long-term couple. And that, lovelies, would be much easier to find out by simply asking the damn question.

Now onto the topic of coffee. I'll admit that I've asked someone out for a coffee before and imagined the situation to turn into a much more romantic one. But that was more or less understandable seeing that I already did all sorts of intimate things with that guy (like puking in hearing distance to him and wiping my snot on his shoulder. Using my grossest examples so that this does not get emotional). Okay and now that I think about it, our first date was also him asking me out if I wanted to get coffee sometime, BUT, and here I am thinking I'm right again, we ended up going for dinner and a movie, which is totally a date, and the coffee-question was just the opener for the conversation that led to the date, so technically, I'm totally right.

Just realized I didn't mention what I'm explaining to be right about.

I'm saying that, if you as a stranger ask me if I'd like to go out with you, and I say we can go for coffee "sometime", I am downgrading the situation from you asking me out on a date in the near foreseeable future to us grabbing a paper cup at our local Starbucks in the endless dust of "sometime". Because I'm not using a code phrase to let you know I like you, I'm stating facts: I only like you enough to encounter you in broad daylight, with other people being there, with you not spending more than five bucks on me (scratch that, I'll pay for myself), for a limited amount of time.

However, I fear that that might not be so clear to everyone out there.

Love,

Rosy Smith