I will not rest until I walk around wearing all of this at once: Tie-up shoes with a block heel, net tights (I'm late to the party but it was way too cold for them, wasn't it) and a denim pinafore dress. That's the March call.

It's time for spring, lovelies! I'm so excited about every bit of sunlight I can get these days; there's few things better than not being uncomfortably freezing everytime you leave a building and being able to wear one pair of tights instead of three, don't you think so? And wearing sunglasses finally makes sense again; I love to slip them on not only to cover my eyes from the sun but also to look like I am on some kind of important fashion business-y mission, which I'm essentially not (unless you call snatching the last frozen Latte at the Deli a mission).

Break has been over for a month now and my calendar has started to fill up with assignments and things to do again and while some of them I could do without, I actually sorta like the main event this semester, which is to put together our own version of a known fashion trade magazine. My function includes chasing people down if they miss their deadlines and that is something that suits me well, I feel like. Also, I'm taking lots of notes which is what I do all the time anyways so it's not too much trouble. I still need to find a story to cover, though.

The internship thing is moving forward quite a bit but I'm pretending that it's not so I don't get freaked out about the job/ the move / the feeding-myself part before it's absolutely necessary. But we'll get back on that  - It's always nice to have something to look forward to!

What else? I have watched PS: I Love You yesterday for the first time in eleven years, and my friend and I noted a couple things; Firstly, we never seem to meet hot guys while disorientedly standing around in the midst of gorgeous landscape, let alone guys that are so enchanted by said disorientation that they propose to marry us at 19 (well, that ship has sailed already anyway, I'd say). Secondly, why is everyone so pushy on Holly to go and get over it already? Have some empathy, people. Especially you, Daniel. Hitting on her at her husbands funeral service, for crying out loud.
Oh and I have finally read Michael Ende's The NeverEnding Story (I've been meaning to since, like, fourteen years) and I loved it. It's a thoroughly good story, and those are scaringly rare. It's a children's book that also works for adults because it's just, it's so full of imagination, made-up things from scratch, and that reminded me that that is actually what makes books and fiction so marvelous, the fact that they can be a place in this world that has absolutely nothing to do with it.

Be all happy and jumpy in April, lovelies. That's what I'm planning on.

Love,

Rosy Smith

I actually haven't been to that many big concerts in my life yet which is something I need to change, because I absolutely adore everything about them: The mess of wires and obscure constructions on the ceiling (I know they all do stuff but I like being oblivious), the lights, the people-filled floor, the adrenaline radiating from the people on stage....I went to one of my favorite nostalgic artists this friday; my loveliest friend and I discovered a long time ago that we shared an undying passion for a certain singer since, like, primary school, and we vowed to go see her in concert someday and unlike many "somedays", this one actually worked out! 

What to note before entering a concert: "Okay everyone LISTEN If one of us gets lost...." "Yeah?" "....we'll have to find each other"

Unexpected downer: When you don't realize that there's a no-food policy (why oh why?) and your loveliest friend has to throw her chocolate rolls away at the door and feels bad about the food waste and general world hunger for the rest of the night ("I told you we should have just stuffed them in our mouth right before we went in! Dare them to touch us!)


Unexpected upper (in the most literal sense): The DJ who supported the opening act was either supposed to be a pantomime and illustrate the songs or his,um, strong body movement was the result of a couple colorful coins....at one point he was so estatically waving, I was scared he might put out a shoulder joint. And the whole time he had the enchanted smile of one of these bald monks from Asia. It was awesome.

Obviously we managed to stand behind two of the tallest people I've ever seen, but good for them that they each found a partner their height. I could still see fine, though, and that brings us to the next point:

I crush way too easily on people on stages. The opening act would probably also look nice if you met him on the street, but as I saw him up there, he had the most incredible cheekbones, his squinty eyed expression was a sign of concentrated passion and his comfy clothes expressed not his laziness but the nonchalance of a true artist. I don't know, I can't help myself. The guitarist of the actual act didn't fail to make me swoon, as well, because of his serious skill - later, I saw a picture of him that didn't impress me at all. Maybe it's cause I see them all a bit slurry from far away. You know, airbrushed.

The main event itself, seeing that singer live, was just wonderful: She has such an amazing,jazzy voice and still manages to be all bubbly and jumpy and sweet. Kinda wanns go again.

Love,

Rosy Smith

When I was graduating and supposed to be studying for my final, final exams, I once procrastinated by sketching out my dream loft in New York City. I have the draft somewhere but it's not exactly gonna win me an architecture prize; still, I can tell you exactly what I pictured drawing that. You're supposed to come into the main part of the loft, a wide space with windows to the floor all across the wall and wooden tiles. There is nothing in it, except for long, fluffy white curtains and a concert piano in the center, with a single rose on it (judging from experience, that rose is probably dead and there are about a million pieces of sheetmusic clattered around). As you turn left, you realize I actually thought of living amenities and have a sofa (no leather 'cause that's cold and slippery), a coffee table and some cupboards with a TV set. Oh and by the window, I have my desk to sit and write at. The kitchen is a bit hidden by a half-wall (what a word). In it, there's a free standing counter as well as a long table for dinners with other people, and everything will look sparkling new because I can't cook. On the right side of the main part, there is a more cozy corner with armchairs and a fuzzy rug where you sink in, and lots of bookshelves and a side window. In that corner, there also is the only door of the room that leads to the bedroom. Inside, there is a vanity table and one of these sunk-in window seats and a really high four poster bed and more shelves with personal things. Another door opens to the bathroom and the door next to that will get you to the heart of everything: The closet.
When I discovered the New York based storage service MakeSpace (they pick up everything you'd like to store, provide the storage location and bring your items back to you if you wish; all in all, it costs less than self-storage, I hear) I got the idea to describe that place in more detail, and since talking about myself and clothes is obviously a pleasure for me, here we go:

First of all, my dream closet takes up a whole room, about 24 square yards big. There's cream colored, soft carpet on the floor and a cream leather chaiselounge as well as one of these leather bean bags but formed like a cylinder (get it?) to lounge on while picking out what to wear: I always sit down in front of my closet because it can take me a while to scan everything. There is a small coffee table in here as well, with a glass top and sort of vintage-y legs, to scatter magazines and pictures onto.

On the wall across from the door, there is a huge mirror covering the whole middle part of the wall. On each side of it, there are lightly polished wooden racks (they might even be soft white) where all of my shoes, which will hopefully be plenty and luxurious, have a place. There are small glass doors every two lines, though, to avoid all that dusting.

All images are from Pinterest, none of them are mine (sadly)

Okay, onto the side walls of the room. On the left one, there are two grand wardrobes out of the same wood as the shoe racks. Between them, there is a rack of the same kind but with handbags instead (I'm not that into bags so one rack will do). Inside the left wardrobe there is a row of pants, a row of shirts and sweaters and tops and blouses and a long row of dresses and skirts (I'd say that 66% of the time I wear thights).

The right wardrobe is reserved for evening gowns, jackets and coats (those things tend to take up much room, hence the own closet). Turning to the right wall of the room, there are two cupboards. Above them, there are framed magazines and artsy ballet and fashion pictures. The cupboards hold drawers full of thights, lingerie, dance wear and lounge stuff such as teddy pants and fuzzy socks. When you go through the door and take a sharp turn right, there is a piece of wall leaving just enough space for a third wardrobe but with drawers instead of double doors. When it's summer, the winter clothes are kept there, and when the seasons start changing I gradually exchange the wardrobe's contents, too.

Oh, and there's a mini fridge as well for when my friends and I dress up together in my closet before going to a fancy event: I'll put sparkling wine and Oreos (cookies don't smudge) in there. And some loudspeakers need to be installed onto the walls and connected to the stereo in the living room area; Dressing is way more fun with good music to prance around to in front of the mirror.

Goodness, now I want to live in my hypothetical closet right away.

What would yours look like? Just imagining it could make you happy!

Also, check out MakeSpace's website
and their nationwide locations
for more info on their service as well as dream closets!

Love,

Rosy Smith

....as you probably guessed by my waffling on about imaginary scenarios and the likes, I fantasize a lot. About everything. Going out for dinner tonight, dressing for parties - I even imagined the way I'd flick my eyeliner up the day before I met up with my ride or die. It's either an OCD or an overboarding fantasy induced by reading countless novels since forever. I like to think it's the latter.

Anyways, I actually experienced one of those scenarios yesterday, on my way to meeting her - I ran into a guy from high school at the station whom I used to think was cute. He still is; I just don't think about him anymore. So the situation turned up a little too late for me and instead of trying to convince him of my fabulous self, I was kinda distracted and "hm"d and "ah"d in reaction to him telling me news probably worth more than the occasional mouth sound and beaming smile. It was mainly because he'd blogged about the whole "year abroad gone wrong" thing and I'd read it because that's what I do, I read other people's blogs, too. Didn't mention that to him, though, 'cause this isn't the time to make him think I like him and it would be just my luck to give that impression now, when I have other people, I mean things, on my mind.

And now I've told everyone important about that, which is something I usually put off until I don't need to do so anymore, and it's such a weird feeling to actually be a grown-up, actively-taking-things-in-hands-person for once. It's nice, I feel like. It opens up so many more possibilities. And so many more "could-be"s. It could work out. It could be amazing. It could also be terribly disappointing. But I guess you'll have to take that risk in order to find out what exactly it will be.

Well, if that wasn't a perfectly philosophical start of February then I don't know what is. Don't worry, we'll still have a ball this month.

Let's see what we come up with.

Love,

Rosy Smith

....and there's me on the street listening to Sparks Fly VERY loudly and pretending to walk down a T-stage, only that it's 8 am and way too dark to see anything resembling a spark.

I swear, I was on lovesong-level zero a few nights ago, seeing as somebody changing his hair can make me loose all interest I ever had in being the love of their lives (proving once again my unbelievable personal depth). At least I thought so for about three hours, and the worst thing is, I was actually fine with it. Usually, as you might know, I get seriously disappointed when I realize that my latest affections were given to the way somebody carries their jeans and quickly disappear as soon as they change into a bermuda. It's always a little sad to find out it obviously wasn't the real deal, once again. However, this time I just thought: Alright, saves me some complications during finals (what have they done to me, here I am, being reasonable).

I mean, it's not okay that your hair grows longer than mine does within three months. (Relative to one another of course. I can't tolerate long long hair, that's just....no.) It's not only unfair, it's against the rules. The rules, if you're wondering, include not getting a tattoo, nose job, or new haircut while I'm crushing on you, 'cause that's interfering with my imaginary feelings. Sorry if this isn't very comprehensible, but it all made sense to me around 4 am that night.

The thing is - and here goes my issue - that I actually think I got over the hair. Devastating, isn't it? Me, the girl who will scratch your name from her diary if you blow your nose in her presence. I know. My loveliest friend suggested that there is always some kind of backleash after you've not seen somebody for a while and went totally crazy for them in your head. Because after the first shock, you remember why you sorta kinda liked them in the first place, and remember how sweet they were, looking down at you and making sure you find a seat and smiling that little smile that can keep you up for hours wondering if they're an annoyingly, adorably polite person or if they like you just a little, little bit in a way that makes them, too, go....

....well, damn.

Not much to add here.

Love,

Rosy Smith

I got up quite early, actually, but it goes to show that it's not about how you start your day, it's about how sleepy you get by noon and how good your YouTube feed's looking this morning. There. Life lesson. Ha.

I printed out about a hundred pages of lecture and decided that I couldn't possibly go on printing ALL of my subjects in one day so I made a very subtle effort to get dressed and rushed downtown to buy some Christmas presents- I love the feeling of being out there with all those busy people running around looking for something, be it pretty things or the right ingredients for something or love or a bench to sit on....and I'm in the middle of it all, having a mission (can't tell you what or I'll ruin the surprise). I even made a nail appointment; if that's not proof of me being fully organized, I don't know what is.

Just so that you can picture it, on my little spontanous trip I wore a grey cozy sweater with a simple black skirt and tights (see, minimal thought went into this - if you want to be on the save side, wear a skirt and no colors, you'll do fine), but actually all one could see were my legs peeking out from underneath my furry coat (fake, if you must ask) and ending in some heeled boots. All of this was supposed to distract from the fact that my hair's on its third day. Gladly, the one person I talked to was the clerk in an interior store who didn't seem to mind. Guys don't notice chipped nail polish. Another lesson, but I guess deep down we all know that - nobody wears their polish for guys, though, so it doesn't really make a difference, does it, lovelies?

The good kind of yearning
Kind of changing attitudes here, but I felt that today, maybe in the middle of a piano session or during dinner; Missing someone or something but not being frustrated over not seeing them, just kind of looking forward to seeing them again, one day, you know, hopefully soon of course, but that's not the point of this feeling. The point is that you might be waiting for something, but you're still happy in the process of doing so. Well, at least content. If you've been in this state, hold on to it, before you walk down the dark lane of chocolate marathons and annoying your best friend with nonsense about how you thought this could be something. Not that chocolate marathons are a bad thing. But you get me in this context, right?

Dang it. I always end up losing track of time after dinner and around 11 pm I remember that I need to shower and I'd wanted to watch a movie in peace for once and oh, I have to get that chipped polish off. Then again, I'm getting cold and tired.

Well. I don't want to spend half of Sunday in the shower, so I guess hair is the winning prority here. Screw the rest. After all, I already planned to get things done tomorrow!

Love,

Rosy Smith

Oh, August, you've been good to me. Starting of with that beautiful Sunday I described as "joie de vivre" (my favorite phrase this month), my calendar was filled with nice and pretty things such as meeting friends, doing Ballet, shopping, going to the movies, getting a haircut....and with this summer of freedom, a certain sense of nostalgia came upon us, especially after rewatching "High School Musical 3- Senior Year" and lying under the stars, reminiscing. Not of the bad kind, though - don't worry, lovelies, we'll continue to be fabulous together. Life will just get even more exciting (even if it means getting up at a certain time and going out will be for weekends again):

Since I am starting Fashion School this fall (you'll find out more soon. But I like how omniscient it sounds) I am currently preparing for it, both mentally (meaning imaginary scenarios of either a fabulous bunch of girls and academic as well as everything-else-success or, on days I'm clinging to my sweet life of independence, terrifying visions of rainy days spent studying alone on the train) as well as materalisticly. I've been shopping for a bag to fit my laptop in (as well as my filofax, make-up supply as I'll probably be doing my make up on the ride cause I don't know if I'll be able to get ready this early, hand sanitizer and other life savers) and I finally decided on one after irritating the sales assistants at every single store with a ruler my mom and I bought after getting the paranoia that the bag might not be big enough. In fact, they were so happy to check us out that they apparently forgot to undo the bulky security thing, which is why we caused the alarm system to angrily beep at us as we went out  - that has happened to me only recently, and it was a mistake back then, so I urged my mom to "just keep on walking", which, looking back, will probably make us look even more suspicious on the security tape.



Hence the occasion, I'm really into the song "International Smile" by Katy Perry, because it's the vibe I wanna radiate when I'm out and about - You know, since a lot of strangers are going to see me every day (on the above mentioned train; you might have realized by now that I'm not sure how I feel about that yet and cope by inserting it into all my sentences), I've been thinking about the way I'd like to be noticed and these lyrics just came in handy (always would have, actually):




Style-goals: Hard to say since I feel like taking a late summer spin on Lana Del Reys 60's lady/pin-up vibe right now, but for fall, I'm picturing myself in a sorta glamorous, sorta easy-breezy (can't believe I wrote that, but it's late, so bear with me) stack of clothes in colors such as tan, grey, the never disappointing black, deep red, berry red (there's a difference), maybe some emerald, oh, and beige, but only pieces which don't have a beigey attitude. Well, the usual fall colors- for shapes think pencils skirts, cropped sweaters with 3/4 length sleeves, vintagy camis with cozy cardigans, short shift dresses and some really finely knitted, nicely fitting shirts, because they go with anything and look like you actually groomed yourself. That might even be the point of all these items which, even if only randomly thrown together, speak for themselves. The gist of it all, I guess, is to look like I'm busy but elegant with a personal spin. Since that sounds a little obscure on its own, a fashion post might be coming your way....

My current obsession: The Meaning of Sunglasses: A Guide to (Almost) All Things Fashionable by Hadley Freeman. “Logos are the bleating of the insecure, desperate for acceptance by the chronically shallow. ” - What I've been trying to tell my high school class mates for four years straight in one phrase. The part about clutches?  Had me in stitches. The part about Fashionspeak? Made me feel like I was geniuely prepared for fashion school. In fact, the whole book gave me a more cheerful attitude towards starting soon because it reminded me of why I love fashion journalism so much (It's got a lot to do with being able to use pretty words and sarcasm in one sentence).

Anyways, what about boys? Summer's been pretty good in that respect, 'swell, and I'll tell you why exactly: Because I've not been hung-up on somebody so badly I couldn't think of anything else. Of course, I have thought about one or another of them for their respective share of time, but right now, I'm in that state in which anything could happen but I'm quite alright imagining it all. Who knows how long I'll be this content, so I'll treasure my carefreeness while it lasts.

I hope your August was as gorgeous as mine was. And keep in mind, it's not over yet.

Love,

Rosy Smith

....So, it's summer, the days are hot and the nights are long and perfect for going out. This is why this time of the year is also called dating season (not sure that's official, but it should be). But, as it is a cruel, cruel world which is so unlike The Notebook most of the time, it's not all fun and games. In fact, my loveliest friend and I came to the conclusion that in between all the horrible scenarios and faux-pas that could happen, it is a very rare phenomenom if a date actually isn't bad. However, a girl can dream, right? That's why I am going to tell you about a truly perfect date and you are going to sit back and relax and enjoy the story like a nice little fairytale and imagine that you're the main character....

It starts with him calling you unexpectedly. You have met before, but he didn't say he was gonna call, and you didn't really think he was gonna call, and you were perfectly fine with having spent some time with such a nice person without having to wonder when he is gonna call or if he is ever going to do so or if he just said it to be polite or if you shouldn't dare to think somebody's actually gonna call you. No, you are contently sitting at home doing something irrelevant, when the phone rings and he's there and he says that he was wondering if you wanted to go out with him some time. He knows this lovely small restaurant down by the river you've never been to and you say that you'd like that, because of course, you're very happy that he asks 'cause honestly, deep down you have hoped that he'd call- you do want to see him again, as soon as possible. Tomorrow?, he asks, which is flattering. You pretend to check your calender, though ("never be needy" has basically been etched into your brain forever) and he says he'll pick you up in his car (I'm warning you, I'm a sucker for the old-school act) and that he's looking forward to it and after you hang up, you call your best friend, because duh. Let the outfit choosing begin....

Cut to the next day. You're looking effortlessly pretty in your favorite new red summer dress (choose your own color) and some light heeled sandals. Your hair has been totally cooporative and smoothly flows past your shoulders, you have not put out your eyeball with the mascara wand and your lipstick doesn't make you look like a total slut. He's there at 6 sharp and you're ready on time (this is the point where it gets utopic), so you just grab your bag and float out the door. If he's a real gentleman, he's brought some simple white flowers, but that's not a must seeing as it might be a bit too much thought for a first date with somebody you haven't known for long. Anyways, to speed it up a little, you have a fun drive out of the city and the restaurant lies next to a sparkling river and has a terrasse with a table for two under a scenic pavillon and there's fresh flowers in simple glass vases and candles on the table, but they don't get in the way while you're eating your rice which doesn't get everywhere and is easy to swallow and you are having a truly inspiring conversation about literature highlighted with some funny anectodes from your childhoods, but not the emberrassing ones which involve nudity, but the cute ones which show how bright you've always been. The topic of food is not being brought up (see, N?) and when the check comes, he takes it before you can even think about the right way to ask who is gonna pay how much.

You leave the restaurant but it's still so beautiful outside what with the obligatory sunset and everything and you both still want to enjoy each other's company (although none of you has to ask if the other one would rather go home, that would be too awkward) so you take a stroll along the river and talk about really existential things, but so jolly and freely that it isn't too weird and involves a lot of laughter, and somehow, he takes your hand without you even really noticing. Scratch that, you obviously notice and get way too excited about it, but no sweaty hands occur, you just smile up at him in that "I know you like  me but I'll pretend I don't know but just so you know, I know, and I like it, I might even like you too"- way, and you'll both be confident in your mutual affection and able to relax and have fun. Then, you'll drive home in some kind of giddily tenseness, because when you're home, the well-known question is going to come up....Is he going to kiss you?

But since this is THE perfect date, you're not fussing over it, you simply let him walk you up to your front door, there'll be an epicilly romantic/funny, whatever you prefer, two-liner and he'll lean in to kiss you, and it'll be awesome and lovely and passionate but not slobbery, heaven forbid. After you finally untangel, he'll ask you when he might see you again and you say, soon, and he'll say he'll call you and he will, this time expectedly, and you'll go to sleep in a daze of amazement, bearing the knowledge you just experienced a honestly perfect date.

Sweet dating dreams, lovelies,

Love,

Rosy Smith