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

A bit of a general mess

First of all, we're boycotting Halloween this year. Don't ask.

The second month of my internship is over and I barely managed to memorize which cost center number to use when, so I'm thinking about using different names when asked so it doesn't get too embarrassing. What I do know is how to tape a parcel together that is falling apart when you blow at it ('cause we reuse them until they start to recycle themselves) so that it still makes it to its destination. I'm also good at making prs feel like I'm considering their client called "Thunder From Down Under" (I couldn't think of a similar rhyme so I guess name's are not changed for the sake of anyone's privacy. Too bad.) which may or may not be a male strip company, for a feature when I'm

a) working in the fashion department, so guys whose thing it is to literally take off their clothes aren't the most relevant topic, and b) really not in a position to decide this, but will probably write a note to someone who won't remember to read it and there's that. It's a cruel world out there.

I have rewarded myself  - I have the ever-present need to do that, because I'm "working" nine hours a day. Which might make sense with a real job but is not the healthiest attitude when you're not being paid. Ignoring that, I got myself some home bits (including a cake stand because I might decide to serve afternoon tea someday) and some clothing bits (including a pair of baby blue velvet sandals because sometimes you just gotta have some) and a huge frozen yoghurt that I ate in a café by myself (because yes, please). Money might not buy happiness, but it does alright for a pleasant afternoon, doesn't it?


I started a gym membership and before you lose your faith, I'm not working out in a classic sense. I'm going to dance classes, and there's so many to choose from: Ballet, Zumba, Bellydance - I'm taking everything that has good music and some nice stretching. See, I think that my body is only able to excercise to music because it doesn't realize it's doing something exhausting then. Cause I went to Pilates once, almost fainted from muscle burn and couldn't think about anything else because the music was this hushed panpipe peeping I barely noticed over my brain going "why does standing on my leg hurt so badly? Don't I always do that?". So yeah. Dancing it is.


I got a couple of visitors annoucing themselves for November so I'm very excited to play the gracious hostess once more - just hoping for nice weather, because this weekend saw the second big storm since I've arrived and it's hard to really roam the city against a breeze of 30 mph.

Fingers crossed.

Love,

Rosy Smith

Being in a new city means being lost on generally all information valid to daily life whatsoever, but there's lots of advice and top-tens and tripadvisor reviews out there to make sure you stay alive and get a picture of the oldest chapel around. However, there's not so much wise words for those of you who are interested in the, um, locals, but do not wish to take the drastic measure of swiping your phone screen dirty. Well, I'm here to help y'all out with suggestions.

Of course without granting any guarantee or use from this.

Platform chat. I saw living proof of this fairytale unraveling the other morning. A security guard used his morning shift for good, flirting with a blonde college student and escorting her into the train like a public transport VIP (I wish that was a thing). He wasn't my kind of sexy, but I guess almost every guy who does not have some kind of hideous feature, strong body odor or fangs for teeth will appear attractive to some girl out there. You know, every pot has its lid and all. Is that a condescending statement, a philosophical questioning of beauty definitions or just a snarky comment? Your decision. So anyways, if you see a guard that floats your boat, linger by the tracks.
Conversation starter: "So, do you have a car?"

Deliver y guy. Don't get too excited, 'cause I don't, if you know what I mean. It's just essentially the only straight male figure showing up at the office (apart from the middle-aged lunch cashier that I paid in pennies today. Which he was actually pretty nice about) so it's all I got for you. I never did so much as uttering a "thanks" and guessing his cigarette brand from the smell while giving him crappy signatures up until now, but I guess you could seize those close-up moments to their full potential if you wanted to.

Conversation starter: "So, that your package?" (Oh no she did not)

Plane person. That guy you've chosen when you scanned the seats around you for someone you could force to help you get your carry-on down from the storage shelf. He doesn't like kids, judging from the looks he gives the toddler behind him who dares to make noises, and is a light sleeper, since he doesn't manage to actually sleep even though he has headphones in, but he holds his crotch even while not-sleeping as if he had to protect himself from all the girls that get too giddy when there's turbulences. He's not exactly your best catch, I'd say. Though he, for one, is conversatively attractive.

Conversation starter: "So, how'd you get stuck in economy?"

Try these and tell me what happened.

Love,

Rosy Smith

Face Mapping. So, according to this, I'm stressed, my digestive system is all wrong, I'm either dehydrated or an alcoholic and definitely stuffing my face with greasy food. The latter might be true as I have developed an obsession with mini mozarella balls, but stressed? Okay, I'm not used to being in an office all day long, but whenever there's not much to do for me, I'm free to browse fashion-related websites for face mapping advice and call it research. That's the life, right?
 
Speaking of websites, I just read that cords are back in style on the-pool.com. I think I'm scared. Having had to wear cord pants since childhood, I've only recently (probably about ten years ago, though. I'm old.) escaped the order to wear them to "keep warm" and got to deliberately enjoy myself getting cold in my nylons. Cords make me feel boyish (when I was little I sometimes wore hand-me-downs from my older brother. Also, in the nineties, pants were not meant to have a shape. Whoever put shapeless pants on the runway - why, oh why?) and warm (duh, they served their purpose alright. But in school, we had a thing called heating. Well, most of the time) and slightly childish later on when all the cool kids started wearing jeans. Nowadays, I have to think hard about the last time I wore those, so maybe I should take a second thought on the cords as well? I mean, I own cord skirts. They're cute and seventy-sy. And I know I have some grey pants in that style, somewhere in the back of my closet at home. I could get them shortened (nothing compares to the dread of too-long pants against my shoes) and pretend they're velour. It might work. I'll keep you posted....

Oh great, now my desktop froze and on a window that is not work stuff (work stuff - that sounds like such a weird thing out of my ink). I just hit reset, probably losing publishing data in the width of the internet in the process. Oh, well.

Anyways, I have taken a special liking to the "Parenting Honestly" posts on the-pool.com. Even though I have no reason to read about parenting experience whatsoever, I enjoy the writing styles of the authors, I like cute stories about toddlers (that sounds so bad if you wanna hear it the wrong way) and I tear up constantly when all the motherly love hits me through the lines. Oh and my other discovery is a lipstick column on there ("Sometimes it's the little things" - it's over now I think but there's loads of posts to catch up on). It's actually touching on some quite tough subjects but it does it well, y'know what I mean?

By the way, this is not a paid for advertisment for The Pool. I wish. Ha.

Last but not least, I bought new shoes. They're brown, and when I saw them in the store and they didn't have them in my size in black, I asked myself: Don't I need a pair of brown shoes? Because you see, the only ones I own are my cowboy boots, and they're not exactly everyday-wear (but I should get them out more often, thinking about it). And I am a firm believer in the theory that you should have a list of staples that you're sure you'll be needing in your life so that you won't feel bad when you splurge on them because you have valid arguments that support your decision.

Boom. Bought 'em.

Love,

Rosy Smith

Now I know that in this day and age, not everyone feels the need for an introduction like this. You yourself might be a defendant of the easy going, laissez-faire style of texting culture which implies that "it's not a big deal, you text whenever you want and answer whenever you see it. What rules?"

In that case, bless your innocent heart.

Obviously I don't know what your exact arrangment with your significant other is on that part of your relationship - it might not even be relevant. You might exchange romantic hand-written loveletters sprizzed with perfume, for all I know. However, for everyone who simply does not have a clue what their partner expects, this is how you definitely don't disappoint:

Emoticons: Do use them. It just looks more lively and lets me know you like me enough to make the effort to choose a smiley face that enhances your message for me and that's reassuring and I like to be reassured. But if you use them, do it continously. Nothing makes me more uncomfortable than a single emoticon-free message in a sea of blushy cheeks and winks. Even if it's a simple "Okay" it'll sound like "Okay! God, you're annoying/I'm not exactly okay with this but I don't want to deal with you headcase" to me, because only a "Okay :))" will give me the fuzzy feeling I need when conversing with you.

Still, you shouldn't solely and exessively use emoticons or I'll get the feeling you're either too lazy to actually phrase an answer or you don't have anything to say to me.

Timing: To be on the safe side, reply when you see it. Except when you're actually busy (driving, dying, in a million dollar conference count as "busy", for example) or need to check something in order to have an adequate answer (movie tickets, hotels, your mom's birthday). Consequently, be aware of the fact that I'm likely to re-reply again so you need to check your phone from time to time (daily would be a good minimum- so I know you're not dead/have not stopped liking me within the last 24 hours, whatever seems more likely).

Emotional Level: I get it, not everyone likes to express their undying adoration for somebody through 144 characters (need to google how many characters it really is but you get me). But a "Can't wait to see you" already makes so many of us happy and takes our mind off the fact that there were no empty seats on the train - it's not that hard. No one asks you to propose via text. No one wants you to do that, actually.

Golden Rule: Two or more days of not texting are considered rude since it's in some people's genes (mine) to start getting absolutely irrational deamings about the relationship and the meaning of life and listen to "Forever and Always" by Taylor Swift while solemny staring out of the train window and therefore your fault, not theirs. Don't be that guy.

If everyone did this the world would be a much less hysterical place.

Love,

Rosy Smith

....One of my bestest friends turns 19 today (a week ago, cause I was organized once and pre-wrote this)! So yesterday (you get it), she had her big birthday bash and it was absolutely everything a good party has to be:

There weren't enough glasses. This morning, the living room resembled a "don't step into the water" prank scene. People kept losing track of their glasses and getting new ones for every new drink and when I wanted some water by the end of the night my choice of cup consisted of some beer mug and something that looked like a tiny vase.

There was some emotional roller coaster trips. "It's my party and I cry if I want to" would have been a great gift for the lovely Birthday Girl who started to fear mortality about half an hour before her actual birthday (aren't we all a pack of drama queens. But I love her for that). 30 seconds before midnight, she went into the kitchen to get herself a drink and wouldn't listen when we told her to get herself back into our reach so we ended up trailing after her and congratulating her at the sink. Thankfully after that, she wasn't so sad anymore, because....

There was some unexpected kissing. I'm not entirely sure, but as far as I can reconstruct this night-changing event, it took place in the kitchen as well (everything important happens in the kitchen). Birthday gal was taken by surprise, but my (unqualified as usual) advice to deal with it would be: If it's fun, and he's nice (I think he is - I had my five minutes of unsolicited crushing already over with), is there really a problem? I don't think so. After we all reassured her that there was absolutely nothing to reconsider, we all sat outside, him bringing her a cup of coffee (aww) and holding her hand while she thoughtfully gazed into distance; it was very much like a scene from a music video, especially me trying to catch his attention to telepathically ask him about his intentions by meaningfully staring at him whenever she wasn't looking. Suddenly she stood up, let her hand linger in his while she did that and went on inside, facing him through the glass door. He got up immediately to follow her, which is when I realized that her getting up was meant as a sign for him to do that. I honestly thought he was just being clingy. Oh, well. I got all the insight after most people left, and us girls had locked ourselves in, yes, the kitchen: She had asked him what exactly he wanted from her and he cleverly responded "I only want you"(awww) and they'd kissed some more and he wants to see her again on Wednesday (tomorrow, as I'm writing this). That sounds good, doesn't it? I'm truly excited. He better continue doing so well or I'll be very cross with him and you know that I can be a lot more unflattering with my descriptions than I just was. But don't be disheartened, for that I'm quite fond of him as of now for making my friend smile so much that night....

Things broke. Some girl had made a special candy flavored Schnapps which the Birthday Girl accidentally dropped (on the kitchen floor, obviously). She felt so bad about it, but I took a tiny sip of it before it happened and in all kindness I have to say that it was absolutely disgusting. And the floor got unbelievably sticky. But at the same time, it was slick - so one time, when I leaned on the counter, I wanted to relieve my feet by leaning back onto my heels (to make use of the stickiness), and I slipped so badly I almost broke my back/neck/arms. Someone caught me, thankfully. Jeez.

There was dancing on tables. I didn't join in, but at some point two guys took the honors and did some weird choreography to a song that went a bit like "tadamm ta daaa tadamm dum dum tadaa", with a lot of snipping. Two grown men in dress shirts. Hitting the ceiling with their heads and snipping. I just....I don't know what to make of that, really.

There was climbing on roofs. No one actually got up there, but it sure was fun to watch them try. Oh, one of the guys who made an attempt is an IT student who fits the type, with glasses and a red tee (I once mentioned him as nice guy. He really is, just to clarify). "Look", I said to my loveliest friend, "that one's got some good abs". "Really?", she said, her eyes wide with astonishment. She clearly didn't believe me, but I know that for a fact as I've been to the beach with him a couple of weeks ago. "He does! Do you think I could ask him to lift his shirt for a second?" She shook her head. "I don't think so", she said reluctantly. I wish I'd have done it anyways, because it would've been fun to set the two of them up. Just kidding, N! I'm proud of the fact that I haven't become one of those absolutely unnerving people who need to see everyone around them in a relationship just because....

....I got to go home with the one I really wanted to see at this very occasion a year ago.   

Stay sparkly.

Love,

Rosy Smith

....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

....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

October has been documented quite well this time, since I started to actually carry around a little notebook, just like I've been meaning to forever - I feel very Princess Mia-y, scribbling into it while pretending to take notes in class, or just about everywhere. Take a look into my diary:

A woman, probably slightly older than middle-aged (ain't I so accurately descriptive), searching for a seat in the packed train and pitying not finding one. V (from my class) offered hers and ended up standing up, which I know she doesn't like at all (well, who does). Anyways, I didn't offer mine and I never intended to do so. I felt bad for V, but - am I a bad person 'cause I don't feel like I shouldn't be sitting just the same as anybody else who doesn't appear to have any medical or similary urgent condition requiring a seat? I think not. On another note, is that guy looking at me 'cause he wants to or because I looked at him first? Life's so full of questions. 

I'd really like to know if this prof had some botox done. And why exactly he feels the need to sit on the front table with such widely-spread legs. If I hear the definition of a monopol ONE more time, I'm gonna scream "I've been to school for 12 years" and leave and go out into the world.

All I can say is hooray for refrigirated food.

I have developed an unhealthy obsession with bubblegum; I almost got through an entire package of Hubba Bubba Strawberry within hours, which tastes awesomly artificial and textured at first but gets quite disgusting very quickly. Also, I had Chilli Cheese fries for lunch and I'm taking a wild guess that wasn't exactly healthy. Moreover, I'm way too hot, which is also disgusting, my phone is deadand I think I have Cheese fry dust all over me. Gorgeous.
I need a new coat.

Soo, I got one: It's greyish (slightly lighter than in this pic) and loose-fitting so oneself appears really tiny underneath it and it's super fluffy and I got lots of compliments on it, including questionable one's such as stranger's throwing me kisses through the subway windows. Fake fur, for those who are concerned, by a brand called Vero Moda - I'm always a whole new person as soon as I have a new coat.

Being this whole new person (she's very funny and joins in singing It's Getting Hot In Here on the bus with her classmates. But really, why do they heat the bus so exessively? People have coats), I went to experience actual college life with my lovely M and her cousin, having dinner and cocktails at one of these bars where they serve burgers as well as pasta as well as pizza as well as tortillas but manage it to taste good respectively. Even though the Tartufo was out, we had a great time, cozied beside the window and chatting away.
Of course, the topic of guys came up, and how it doesn't seem to simply fall into place with them after high school - 'cause the ones you meet on the train are usually just a lovely sight to pass the time.

And time passes ever so quickly these days! In exactly 31 days it's gonna be my birthday, and I've barely made plans for it! Knowing myself, I should've started on that back in March or so to not have to improvise. I haven't even put together a proper wish list yet, which I usually jot down in September. I know I'd like some perfume, I want to read A Moveable Feast by Hemingway, I'd love to have dangly earrings....A clue about my college choice....One of these train guys to actually talk to me....T-strap heels....

What else do I want? My loveliest friend to hurry up and come home and have tea with me and curl up on a sofa with a workout DVD playing in the background of our laughter (Tu me manques). But I also want her to relish every single minute of Paris!

It's been good to chat with you - now go out and have a fantastic Halloween. I sure will!

Love,

Rosy Smith

I'm bored out of my scull. I'm bored, I'm bored, I'm bored, and desperately checking my phone for something exciting to come up and get me out of here, twitching around in my room as it already gets dark outside and all I've done is do some schoolwork (not nearly as much as I should have done, also, which is getting me even more frustrated) and watch Taylor Swift music videos. My work/time managment is the worst, let me tell ya. I stretch it out throughout the whole day, so no matter how much or little I actually get done, it always takes me about twelve hours to finish. That is, if I don't really want to do it.
And even though I had something to do, I didn't like doing it at all, so I'm still bored and waiting for today's fun, nice thing to happen. I guess the word I'm looking for is "glittery".

This could be anything positive, really; Problem is, my loveliest friend is in France, visiting castles as you do in Europe, my oldest friend is either at an internship or on a concert tour in Chicago, I'm not entirely sure, and my third ride or die is recovering from her first two weeks of being a pre-med. Everyone else is also busy settling into college (as I should be doing) or having a gap year, hunting zebras or whatever. But I don't wanna settle or get all dusty, I want to do something glittery!

Def. Smth. GLITTERY: Activities which arouse a feeling of excitment and or joy, things you like to think back of, things that make you smile and laugh or cry emotionally. E.g. Dancing, movie nights, going out for dinner and drinks, going new places and roaming around, talking all night while consuming unhealthy treats, dressing up for hours before going somewhere.

Just now my loveliest friend is calling. If you'll excuse me - meanwhile, you can think of something glittery for us to do. I'd love to get some inspiration.

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

Starting of with it, since I don't want to go into the boring details of how I'm obsessing over dissecting my decision to go to fashion school for too long....I like to describe the start of September with the phrase Summertime Sadness, which I define as the intense longing to be back in a time when the days were full of (sun)light, the clothes were frilly and flowy and left lots of skin to be caressed by the heat. When one could sleep after breakfast if it pleased you, go venture about the most random places, say yes to any invitation and just do so much even though non of it has been work-related. It is such a shame, to get used to a stricter schedule than ever before after having been so carefree. I most certainly wouldn't have minded to stay that way. Naturally, every freshman suffers this particular feeling, usually in the way too early morning or the way too dark evening spent riding the stupid train to or from school. It's a tough break-up - I guess you could compare it to a Nicholas Sparks novel, perhaps The Notebook. My one true love has been this summer, and now it's not even writing me a single letter and I have to assume it's never coming back to me.
I tend to get a little dramatic these days in case you didn't notice.

On the brighter side, I actually went out every weekend this month (I probably would've gone totally nuts if I'd stayed home all the time) and I found that the worst week can end well if you know what to do (read how) - yesterday, for instance, me and my loveliest friend celebrated our last night together before she is off to France tomorrow. Isn't that positively exciting? I mean, I miss her already, but I'm sure she'll have the time of her life and come back composed like a true french girl, clad in Chanel, looking flawless and radiating a cool, laid-back chic when she tells her tales of how she got that je-ne-sais-quoi....I really, really want to visit her in Paris! We had a drink at a lovely bar yesterday, then took a stroll through the city (eg. we got kinda lost and our feet hurt like hell, but it's about the spirit) and ended the night at a known club in the early morning, still on our heels, just like truly fearless city girls do - I'd say we're ready to take on the city of lights. 



What else to do: Keep the spirits up during fall by indulging in fashion and reading Pride and Prejudice for the 100th time; Start to write my birthday wish list; join a lottery and win a trip to Fiji; apply for a job as a musician at an elegant bar and become a singer; eat more lunch and less M&Ms.

Who cares for cold if there's glitter? Top: Hollys,skirt: H&M,shoes: Steve Madden,bag: Shanghai

Question: Why do M&Ms not count as lunch? And does anybody else do their makeup on the train or is it weirding people out when I openly rub concealer over my nose? I wonder if there are any unspoken rules about that, you know, some etiquette naming that it is inappropriate for a lady to show her transformation in public. I think I remember something about french women always or possibly never powdering in public places. I'll have to look that up.

I bet October will be adventurous for all of us. And if yours isn't, stay with me.

Love,


Rosy Smith
                                                                                                                  

My loveliest friend discovered "I'm Black" by Lena and I'm so infused right now, I'd like to go dance on some tables. Since I guess it's not the right time of the day for that, seems I have to take you back to the weekends instead....

....There's been a lot of 18th birthdays recently and they've alle been very different. No.1on last Saturday has been a guy from my Lit class back in school - I like him, but we're not close or anything. Dressed in a purple-greyish lace number and heeled boots, my friend and I arrived about half an hour late as you do when you hate to be first, just to find that this thought  had also crossed other people's minds and it still felt as if it hadn't really started yet. The location is known in our neighbourhood and therefore not particulary exciting either, but they had a pizza truck - isn't that awesome - and at least one knew where to get a drink.
The most fun part of the evening was to see mildly drunk people literally dance like nobody's watching, which is the only excuse for their, let's say, outgoing style. Too bad that there were people watching- now you all know....One of the enthusiastic dancers has been a former aquaintance of my loveliest friend, who was relieved that she hadn't been present that night when I imitated his moves for her later. She probably would have either had an hysterical laughing flash or plainly left in devastation. He seemed so normal, but don't they all?
Anyways, the party was just so oblivious....it breezed by in a cluster of former classmates we realized we really didn't need to see again and mostly bad tunes. The pizza was good, though. Around half past twelve, we decided we had enough and went home to watch Beloved Jane with Anne Hathaway, wondering why we don't know any gentleman, and getting sad on account of poor Jane who didn't go through with running away with the love of her life (mind-blowingly depressing).

Flash forward to this Friday I'd been waiting for in eager anticipation this whole week: One of my loveliest friends turned 18 and had a little come together that night. I had undergone a solo shopping trip to get her a good present - I'm the worst when it comes to choosing presents. I always need to go "somewhere", looking for inspiration, since I want them to be special and meaningful. Usually, I end up buying a bunch of random things I need to explain in the birthday card in order for everyone to get the sense of them. This time, it actually worked out quite well and I was curious if she'd like it (she did. Phew.). I was there early (ha! If I'm not totally late, I arrive way to soon, just so it's inconvenient anyhow) and tried my best to help instead of standing around uselessly in my party outfit. I was doing the latter, though, when somebody I'd also been waiting for in eager anticipation arrived. He asks how I am, I say "goood" in my most unnatural voice (I wasn't prepared for more than hello) and well....it felt nice to have him around but in a room full of people, though you don't get into meaningful conversations, especially if you're both surrounded by different groups. Maybe he glanced my way a couple times, maybe he didn't mean to, maybe he lights up when we run into each other, maybe he doesn't - that's the  problem with friendly guys, they never go around moody and blow you off or ignore you, they are nice and polite to everybody so you can't tell if they give a damn more about you than about others. Maybe that's the actual reason why girls are so drawn to bad boys, because with them being rude to everybody, at least you know what it means when they're suddenly attentive to you. Deciding not to think too hard about that, I really, really enjoyed myself. I met friends from school I actually do miss having around, the music was lovely (a mixtape for the birthday girl featuring some titles which had a thirties dancing vibe to them- I adored it) and the inner circle sat talking until three in the morning, which is always a sign of a good party.

The next day, my loveliest friend and I made our way to see another birthday girl - and we drove. See, we both have a destructive attitude towards driving and it's always very fun when we are driving together, full of swearing at all the other cars which are unneccessarily annoying. We arrived alive and well, though, and had cupcakes and hot dogs at our friend's house. It was a sweet evening, one of these where you can sit at one table for five hours straight and not notice.

Now it's Sunday and I'm gonna try and capture the feeling of enjoying myself and keep it with me when I'm off to school again. Until I go out for the next time....Cause there's always some fun.

Love,

Rosy Smith

 

Right now, I'm a little confused, since I know I had second thoughts today but I can't quite place them....See, on the way back home I had a nice talk with one of my classmates and she got me all excited about tomorrow (I can't wait to show you why!), so in this particular moment I'm feeling optimistic- but is it just this one thing I'm looking forward to?

I'm the worst at decisions sometimes, as you've probably figured out by now, since I'm complaining the whole time even though I've already gotten signed up for classes and everything. But I think it's understandable: I would simply hate for this to be wrong for me, especially since I've been telling people that this is what I want for ages....which is something you shouldn't do if you're anything like me; it'll only make it so much harder to admit you're having doubts, or you don't want this at all, because you'll feel bad about yourself for being so flighty. Also, I'm not sure the fact that everybody keeps telling me that this "suits me so well" and "will be so great" doesn't partly lead to me wondering so much if that's really the case.

Anyways, I didn't really see any handsome guys (who aren't gay) around yet either! Of course that's not playing into all of this, but I'm just saying. Whatever, I'll see somebody else very soon, so shush my beating heart....

Oh, let me tell you about our last class today, in which we went into the city and then to a small, fancy gallery with contemporary popart. It was a bit too contemporary and poparty for my taste (I just can't find the joy in a canvas full of  color streaks and little newspaper sniplets) and there was some kind of weird sexual vibe to the whole exhibition which supposedly wasn't supposed to be there (would you appreciate the repetition here. Rhetorical devices for the win), but all in all, it's a cool idea, very different and cultural and all that.

I won't be able to post the last installment tomorrow, but it'll definitely appear later- it's got something to do with the thing I got all excited about, so you should be too!

Love,

Rosy Smith