....another one of my totally irrational yet totally impacting pet-peeves? Great, here we go....

Frankly spoken, I hate scarves.
I don't like to wear them; I own about three and they rarely see the light of day. If I uncommonly decide to put one on, in case of a deathly hypothermia or something, I'll rip it off within the first ten minutes of sitting down and scrunch it into a little ball on my lap. Scarves, same as turtlenecks, suffocate and annoy me. I feel like I'm carrying way too much unnecessary fabric. Also, I can't adapt to the thought that I should cover my neck for some reason; isn't that one of the most elegant body parts you're supposed to accentuate rather than hide? Why would one want to look as if one doesn't even have a neck?

Now, you'd think that it's okay if I feel that way, since nobody is forcing me to ever bother wearing a scarf, and that it's all good, right?
I'm afraid it's not.

In fact, my dislike towards these innocent pieces of clothing goes so far as that I physically struggle not to hassle strangers and pull the darn thing off them (not at all sounding like a lunatic ). I don't care for girl's wearing them. But a boy, I'm sad to say, becomes about 99 percent less attractive to me the moment they choose to put on a scarf.

Let me explain it to you with a Katy Perry song: "I hope you hang yourself with your H&M scarf....you're so gay and you don't even like boys".....or, this one's good too: "You're not a man/you're just a mannequin". Not that I'd want anyone to hang themselves (my points aren't that obvious), or that I wanna degrade gay people to being scarf-wearing people - it's just that I can't take a guy seriously, romance-wise, if he needs to throw on something silky. Sue me for that.

The worst thing is when they're doing it inside. It makes me all itchy to watch that shame go down. Who, I ask you, who on earth told the world that it's a thing now to wear your snow equipment inside a house with central heating? It objectively doesn't compliment any body part or outfit at all, so that couldn't have been the motivation. Does anyone even know why people do this or is the whole disaster resembling a cult based on words so ancient, no one remembers what the hell they actually said?

I shouldn't get so worked up over this - you never want to scare people - especially since, if I should set my mind on a guy who's picked up this outrageous habit, I reckon it wouldn't be that hard to talk him out of it. He obviously doesn't care much for his appearance, anyways.

Nothing to worry about then, is there, lovelies?

Love,

Rosy Smith

....I have absolutely horrendous nails. It's not that mother nature carelessly made them inferior - they can be perfectly fine, but I'm not very good at keeping them that way. I fiddle on them when I need to keep my fingers occupied, which is the case most of the time. Taking care of cuticles? What? And if I try to be good and file them and put nail polish on myself, I'll be walking around happily for about three days, and then be too stressed to look for my remover, so I'd rather have scruffy, partly polished nails for three weeks straight until I get around to have them done. So, today was the big day!
The numbing yet comforting smell of chemicals welcomed me as I entered the salon. I dutifully held out my hands and tried not not take the sigh of the manicurist personally- at least she didn't laugh at me, like the man working there always does. I suspect him to gossip about my irregular nail lenghth  in Chinese whenever he's taking care of me. "Some long, some short" he says, and I'm like, yeah, why do you think I'm coming if not because I'm helpless? Very rude. However, I was assigned to the nice young girl who doesn't say much at all but at least doesn't make fun of me. I bravely held my breath while she pulled back the cuticles (but I'm crying with pain on the inside) and didn't say a word when she filed my left thumb nail which is so short that I didn't think it was possible to put a file under there. Anyways, now I'm feeling clean and proper again, no longer having to cringe as I put my change on counters and things like that.


 I believe it's CND's Copa Color shellac BUT I can't find it on the internet, which is weird. Also, I'm supposed to learn Photoshop in college and I can't even remove this shadow.
Today I also re-discovered Human by Christina Perri, which I imagine to be a great song for dramatically singing your heart out at a karaoke bar. Theme song of the day: But I'm only human....and I bleed when I bite my nails....I'm only human....and I break them using zippers....

Love,

Rosy Smith

 ....not a single button, but two straps I can provide with this little number here. This slip dress, I dare say, is exactly the kind of thing I am most comfortable in - you literally just slip it on and may consider yourself nicely dressed. I even took the trouble of putting on a belt, since this one is actually to big for me, since it's technically not mine but a vintagy thing; it's probably too young to officially be considered that, but  it gives off a real sixties vibe, don't you think? I feel so relaxed and pretty in this ('cause it's neither awfully tight nor does it look like a sack and drowns me) that I get very bubbly and sassy - too polished to get into any real trouble, but having fun anyways. I might even start singing "Good Morning Baltimore", that's just the kind of situation this dress puts me in.

And would you look at the details: The belt is fake leather but who cares these days, from a place I don't remember, but so old you wouldn't find it there anyways. Red nails as usual, this time even neccessary to go with the whole sixties thing. So are the shoes: Vintage ankle straps from a brand called Caroline, with a medium heel that makes 'em unbelievably great to walk in - I've developed an obsession for this style of shoes (but I'd take them high as well) because of their classic yet slightly sexy chic (showdance, anyone?).



Here I go again, trying for some make-up shots without the slightest idea of photography, which is why you probably can't see the actual make-up. Anyways, I've gone for a light red lip (Covergirl's Very Cherry) and very light smokey eyes using bronze and black from the Wet'n'Wild Comfort Zone palette. Simple but sweet.

A little Sunday night inspiration / mood swing from me.

Have a lovely week (Good morning Baltimoooore....Every day's like an oooopen doooor....Every night is a faaaantasyyyy....etc.)

Love,

Rosy Smith

Ps: Lyrics are sadly not by me but by Marc Shaiman and Scott Wittman. Funny that both their names end with -man. I should sleep.

My teacher brought up the subject of culottes yesterday. Flared pants in general. You must know about them supposedly making a comeback, even if you're not in fashion school and your teacher is this absolutely cool lady who gossips about celebrities with you because that, in fact, is on the curriculum (or at least kind of). She asked us for our opinion on them, if we think they are a one-season thing or living on through next year's summer - and I had to hold myself back on that one. See, technically I know that they are on trend right now and probably going to survive into SS16: They can look pretty cool on tall women (or paired with some heels), since they show off the waist which serves for the femininity of the look, and they give off that cool, relaxed seventies vibe, kinda as in "I'm a grown woman, I don't need to wear a skirt to look hot and I can run around all day and sit however I want 'cause I'm freaking comfortable in these pants (except that I have to hold my breath at all times after I've had lunch)" In summer, this style is going to work perfectly fine in light fabrics such as linen and silk, being all flowy and airy so that one is able to survive working in business attire even if it's a hundred degrees outside. Also a great thing for everyone who doesn't like to / shouldn't show off their bare legs in a skirt due to whatever reason people have for that (eg. rashes, scratches, a bad tattoo).

But (and here comes my uprofessional but, as always), I'm not gonna hop on on that trend-train (had to work the bad word in here somehow) no matter how fashion and feminism foward it might be. I have left my desire for flare pants back around 2005.

In kindergarden, I desperately wanted to own some, as it was the new thing all the cool kids were wearing those days. I still remember my first two pairs: One of them was known as the "rose pants" (obvously having some roses stitched to their hemline, you can imagine why) and the other one as the "fringe pants" (duh). I still own them, and I treasure them dearly. But I have moved on: After going through all kinds of colors, patterns and styles of flare pants, I saw the future, and the future was tight.
A whole new world of tucking pants into boots, pants not crinkling on the knees, pants not crinkling where they hit the shoe, pants not making me look like a five year old, opened up right in front of me, and there is NO WAY I am going back, ever again. It's probably the fact that I connect flared pants either with me being a three year old or alternatively being eleven and yearning for some skinny jeans so, so badly, that makes them so unattractive to me.
Getting to wear skinny jeans was a key experience on the way to being mature and attractive for me, the ultimate goal of bottomwear and probably something my parents thought I was too young for (please), so I'll faithfully stick to them. And why not? They show off my legs. Why would I want to throw a loose-fitting piece of fabric over them? Somebody in my class suggested, quote "you can wear high heels and nobody sees them" - I really don't care if anybody sees my heels. Most of them are so pretty, people should definitely see them, they're expensive enough.

As you may gather, lovelies, due to childhood experiences as well as a need to enhance my features wherever I can, just because I can, I'll continue to fight for my beloved skinnies forever.
Everything, from a blouse over a crop top to a wide sweater, from a sandal over a ballet flat to a knee-high, looks good with skinnies. You've made my life so much chicer, even on comfortable days. If that's not a word, it should be.

Love,

Rosy Smith

I think it's not vain of me to say that I have pretty nice lashes. See, I do have dark hair and brown/green eyes (is that hazel or not? I deem that expression to be very confusing), so dark lashes just suit my type. That being sad, I remember how all of my friends who started out with make-up a few years ago began by using some concealer (or rather, these sticks to smear over red pimples to make them look like skin-colored pimples instead), lightly tinted lipbalm and, you'll guess, mascara. I went in on the pimple sticks, but I didn't really feel the need to darken my lashes, so I didn't. I was more intruiged by putting on lots and lots of pink and soon enough red lipgloss. Black lashes I had, but lips can't be red enough, can they?

Of course I own mascara. I'm not one to withstand material wealth. I'm on my third one (you may gather I don't exactly observe expiration dates); I've had a very cheap one for Halloween, a KIKO one afterwards 'cause I heard they were good, and right now I'm the proud possessor of the Roller Lash Mascara by Benefit. Proud, because it really does make my lashes look lovely, if I do say so myself. But, ugh, I just hate the fuss neccessary to take it off at night! To come home late, go to the bathroom and rub around on my eyes with some remover pads for what feels like hours, and yet it never fully vanishes and I get all paranoid about my lashes breaking at the tips or falling out for good and I either don't rest until there's not a particle of mascara left and my eyes are all red and irritated or I resignate and wake up the next day looking like I'm still in full make-up, with black-rimmed eyes like a groupie on the day after. It can be a good look at times, but I live in deathly fear of wrinkles. I shudder at the thought of them at this very moment.

Moreover, no matter what quality, as the day goes by I always freak out over lashes sticking together or itching or anything like that and I just want it off me. I'm not able to rub my eyes without having half of my face in a black mark on my hand afterwards and I don't always remember not to. So charming.

I also have this horrible fear of waking up one day and refusing to leave the house without mascara on. I know people whom I honestly wouldn't recognize without it and that's scary, don't you think? For once, it's a shame that people get so dependent and insecure, and secondly, who has the patience to apply mascara every single time they step in front of their door? It's so stressful. And probably gets expensive, going through so much product. I guess it's the same with cigarettes. The amount of times I've heard "of course I could live without it"....

Actually, no, no one ever says that. You don't joke about mascara.

Love,

Rosy Smith

So, recently, in the far away empire of Sweden, a little girl's dream has become reality. Well, for one girl at least: Sofia Hellqvist married Prince Carl Philip of Sweden and became a princess (as well as Duchess of Värmland, but let's leave that aside). The personally arranged wedding ceremony was perfect, the looks the couple exchanged were so loving and rawly emotional one had to hold back tears of joy (and jealousy), the bride looked gorgeous, just like a princess is supposed to- and the Prince?

His Royalty was a hot topic between my loveliest friend and me, mostly concerned with his hotness. As you may or may not know, I have a serious problem with curls and longer hair on men. The Prince, while having a very nicely shaped face, had his dark hair slicked back with lots of gel or something, and that's a definite deal-breaker to me. Also, he's 36 years old, and while I do go for older guys, that's a tad bit too old for me to find him attractive. However, I would use the term "good-looking". My friend, though, would use the term "insanely hot" and just couldn't wrap her mind around the fact that there were people who didn't see anything in him.
To confirm this phenomenon, she even collected statistical data, and I proudly present the results:

I think the Prince is:
Super hot: 5
Really attractive but not my type: 2
Alright: 2
Rather good- than bad-looking: 1
Ew: 2

See how different the opinions on hotness are? Now, what are we to believe in when it comes to judging looks? How are we to pick out a blind date for a friend ever again, when nothing is valid and everything goes? Would our friends still frown upon our new boyfriend even though we presented them a certified royal heartbreaker?

This dilemma is sort of a sequel to the moccasin-problem I mentioned here.
There are certain standards which commonly define a good-looking man, but they do not seem to guarantee attractiveness. Which is sad, of course, because imagine you're a guy who's got all the good things, such as a jawline, toned body, nice hands, black lashes, sparkling eyes.... And half of the girls don't even care 'cause he simply doesn't do it for them. Or worse, his dream girl only loves him for his great personality. That sounds like a twisted, superficial take on the topic of love, since it's usually the other way around, but trust me, that probably wouldn't feel too great either.

So, let's hope that Princess Sofia  is completely and hopelessly in love with both the air and personality of her fairytale Prince - from what one could see, it certainly seems so.

And now that they are happy ever after, where are the real princes of my generation? I'd like to marry royal too, pretty please....

Love,
Rosy Smith

Ps: Many thanks to my loveliest friend and all participants for the statistics!