I'm watching a video by Safiya Nygaard about the ZozoSuit and I wrote about that thing in my trend forecasting class this year and now I feel really advanced.

Anyways, there's one thing on my mind basically at all times these days, and to the surprise of many, it's not a hopeless scheme to get a guy to text me back but something of way more existential substance: My hair.

It's new, I bought it about two months ago, and I'm still absolutely fascinated by it. As you can probably see, it's not like I got a full-on Baywatch weave now, but it's the little things about it that make me so happy:

I can feel it in other places than my face. Recently, I used to only ever really consciously notice my hair when a) it was so windy it clung to my face like a climbing plant or b) when I breathed in too powerfully and almost choked on a strand being vacuumed into my mouth with the air. At all other times, it was just floating around my head like a lightweight ball of cotton candy. Now, right this moment as I am writing this, some of it is stuck in the back of my sweater, covering my neck and the place between my shoulder blades, while some of it - yes, there is so much that there is still something left - hangs down over my shoulders and upper arms. When I wore a sleeveless top the other day for the first time in a while, I could feel it graze my back and elbows constantly. I remember that sensation from back when I was a child, leaning forward with my knees pulled to my chest and covering my legs with my hair. This probably reads really creepily, but you have to understand that I almost forgot what that feels like.

Consequently, I don't freeze my head off anymore. One fun fact about having really thin hair that gets lifted off into space as soon as there is the echo of a breeze is that it does not have any warming function whatsoever, and that is actually the whole purpose of having hair on your body. Now, I don't get a burning pain in my ear everytime I have to spend time in the cold anymore, which is lovely. However, I've been out dancing the other day and I gotta say this is gonna be interesting when it gets hot outside, because I can't just throw all this up in a bun as casually as I could - I have to flip the tapes over and try to hide them with my own material because there's nothing less attractive than what looks like ten sticky tapes exposed all over your scalp. Oh well, you pay a price for everything.

When it gets tangled (and it likes to do that a lot), I can brush it thoroughly and feel like a princess. Do you know what happens when you brush my natural hair? It basically blow up into a cloud of nothingness that goes absolutely electric as soon as touched. New hair? Falls into soft, big waves that fan out over my shoulders. I still can't quite grasp the magic here.

When I wear a hoodie, (which I don't, but think early Nicole Scherzinger in PCD) I can actually pull out some hair from underneath it. When I look at pictures, I'm not shocked by the ends of my hair resembling a frayed carpet. When I lean forward, it actually hides my face (like in that scene in Twilight when Bella watched Edward in Biology class in secret, the book, not the movie, don't ask why that's on my mind). If a guy was ever to romantically tuck a strand of my hair back, he could do so without suddenly holding half of it (by the way, I have a lot to say about the whole "living with extentions while talking to guys"-topic so let me know if you'd like to hear it).

What I'm saying is, it gives me so much and asks for so little (leave-in conditioner, half an hour of blowdrying, some gorgeously smooth oil and a ponytail to bed, what a sacrifice. Oh and money, right, almost forgot about that) - what's not to love?

Love,

Rosy Smith

I found a pair of berry colored velvet shoes that I find really pretty everytime I brush by them when I'm at the train station and go into my happy place (aka the shoe store) to keep warm. They are on sale in that very store and I got all excited and contemplated to purchase them as a gift to myself after I finished my last exam, but I couldn't be that spontaneous and now, I miss the enthusiasm I had for these boots . You know, sleepless nights, telephoning around, sending family members outside in the pouring rain in order to get them onto my feet. So I ask myself, should I be looking for something that makes my heart ache that way instead of just buying them for the hell of it? Help a girl out here.

I just researched vitamin b6 which I'm obviously lacking 'cause my hair is like, gone (I'm not balding but it's still bad) and supposedly the symptoms of a shortage only show up after four to five years, so I'm mad at my past self for not consuming enough fish and avocado (I love avocado but they go rotten so easily) when I was 15.

So I was at this party saturday night where all the guys wore bows and were serious about playing a grand poker tournament and since I love every reason to wear a twirling dress that's exactly the kind of place I like to be. Some guests were doing inappropriate things in the kitchen, though - I had to look twice until I realized that that one couple was not only fondling each other but also another guy and gal who weren't each other. Um. I was hissing "Look at that! Are they doing what I think they're doing?" at my friend who really didn't want to look at that, because I was so freaked out by how no one else was freaking out - maybe it's a reoccuring situation among that crowd. A lot of orchestra musicians, and someone told me they were often playing each other's instruments, you know, so maybe I just got to see an open rehearsal.

Advice for guys: Play poker. It can look pretty hot, sitting back all concentrated and then shuffling the cards and leaning forward, throwing the chips onto the table and announcing stuff like "Check" in that matter-of-factly voice. Also, if you gift me a red rose while getting down on one knee, I will be likely to get very fond of you. I'll also be losing the game pretty fast (I had bad hands all the time! I swear!) but sit back smiling because well, I got given flowers that match my dress while the others might have gotten some plastic chips.


Even though the game stretched out until 6am (okay, so after about eight hours, it can get a bit boring to watch, no matter how hot a guy), everybody was still chipper when they left - the swinging couple (oh gosh I'm so blowing this out of proportion here) was practicing some interesting contemporary moves in the middle of the room, for instance. After everyone left, me and him sunk onto the couch and took in the situation. It was a balanced mess: Wine was spilled, chips (plastic and edible alike) were scattered everywhere, glasses and bottles in multiple states of emptiness were left on all horizontal surfaces, but at least no one puked or lost other body fluids in weird places, neither was anything broken. "That's what it should look like after a good bash", I told him. Of course, I wasn't the one of us who had to clean up the next day, but it was supposed to be a compliment, I swear.

Hope you had a fabulous party, too.

Love,

Rosy Smith

In relationships - define relaionship however you like at this point - there are lots of things not to worry about. See, the whole point of a relationship is that you won't need to worry about anything but the shaving status of your legs. However, there are so many rules in this world that don't work out the way they're supposed to that I simply can't help but remind you of the crucial matters that come with your first weekend trip away together.

Bathrooms. I'm that far gone with my habit of pretending that human needs do not exist and therefore needn't ever be mentioned that I'll just say the following: Use the foyer bathroom for everything except for showers and makeup applications. It's just more stressfree. You might not always be able to send your company to the balcony, because they might not want to go outside when it's 30 degrees and freezing. I know. Incosiderate of them, isn't it.

Your inexplainable problems with things most people don't have problems with. I for one experience such pure ickiness whenever I have to sleep in sheets that aren't mine. I always keep a special pillow with me that my head doesn't stray from all night long, just so it doesn't touch a piece of strange fabric. I catch colds from the AC 'cause I don't pull the covers up over my shoulders so they don't come near my face. And that's when I'm in those perfectly anonymous hotel sheets. When I'm in an apartment and the linnens are patterned, or crincly, or both - I'd rather not think about how uncomfortable those nights will be. I know they're all clean, I still find it revolting. Now I've told my company about that - he still got us an apartment and I'm praying for white linnens or I already see myself freezing without any cover at all, clutching that pillow I've had forever.

The check question lasts three days long. I rarely get out my purse fast enough to credibly assure him that I do want to pay for myself, but that doesn't have anything to do with me not really wanting it - I'm just not always listening to the waiter/waitress so I don't catch what's going on fast enough to yell "I'll take my share!" before he mutters softly (like a real gentleman who doesn't talk about money) "It's okay". Also, he always pays for both of us or just himself, but I never take it all on me 'cause I'm a bad person. That might be okay for a dinner or a movie, but I definitely won't be ripping him off for every breakfast, lunch, dinner, coffee, cocktail and museum. I need to work out a plan, like, letting him get dinner because that's romantic and share lunch and breakfast because no one needs that and take the drinks on me because "Thank you for dinner". Gosh, I know why no one likes to talk about that kind of thing: Not because it's obscene, but because it gives you a headache.

The food routine in general. Are we gonna go out for everything? Cause I would like that. There's something about imagining us sitting around a breakfast table full of food that makes me sick that is seriously disturbing to me. Homely scenes only appeal to me at nighttime. You know, sitting in front of the fireplace with a bottle of wine, watching a movie with a bottle of wine, the likes. Does he even eat all of the meals I need to have in order to survive/be satisfied? I know he's one of those admirable people who can wait for lunch until 3 pm when nothing comes up before that - I'm not. Except for when I'm really happy (strange but true). In conclusion, he better keep my spirits up!

His reaction to the absolutely ridiculous amount of stuff you turn up with. He might have thought I'm a pretty reasonable person, but that illusion is gonna be a fargone memory as soon as he sees the five pairs of shoes and the three kinds of jackets I am bringing for two nights away. Not to mention the content of my carry-on suitcase. I started off by laying out outfits on my bed and color coordinating skirts with cardigans and following all those packing advises and ended up throwing everything in that I saw in my closet and that looked like it could be worn under a coat. Which is a lot, if you ever wondered. Oh, well.

I bet there's something I didn't even think of yet. Please don't tell me - I'm relatively calm as of now, and that's irritating enough as it is. Until Sunday....

Love,

Rosy Smith

....and I find myself in the store with a heap of clothes over my arm, none of which bear any similarity whatsoever to a white cardigan.

I'm not always this successful while shopping, but sometimes, once I pull out one item, they just keep on coming. I was walking through Zara (a place destined to satisfy my sudden clothes cravings) with my oldest friend, and she wanted to find a nice blouse, so out of solidarity (because you don't let friends face the struggle of changing rooms alone) I grabbed a sweater from the sales hanger. And a cardigan (black) because it was soft and sparkly. Oh, and another sweater that seemed a bit nicer than the first one. It had a turtleneck, which I normally despise, but it looked so cute along with its 3/4 lenghth sleeves....and right before we entered the changing room section, I spotted a grey sirt and pulled it off the rack just to have something to try on with the shirts I had. I felt like my dark jeans didn't do the trick; I prefer to see myself head to toe in something new, for the effect. However, though I only took it for the illusion, this skirt happened to be an absolutely great find; midi length, really tight and with a slit down the side.
I don't know if everyone does this, but I have an imaginary wardrobe full of pieces I wish I had, and this skirt has basically taken from there and flung into my way past the ten dollar racket.

So, in the end, I bought a fully new, classy outfit (turns out the turtleneck goes great with the skirt and the cardigan is one of these items who make everything look like you tried and dressed up, 'cause sparkles tend to give that impression). The well-known rush of happiness (and I am a material girl, living in a material world....) overcame me.

Then I went home and realized, once again, that I still don't have a white cardigan and I still need one in my life.

Love,

Rosy Smith

....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

 ....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.

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

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

....Tomorrow I'll start fashion school and I still have to

• put together a decent outfit
• use that gorgeous body scrub
• blow-out my hair so that I can curl it tomorrow
• lay out my make-up (in case I'll be running late, because otherwise I'd have to skip on that and I'm not going to do so on the 1# day)
• throw things in my bag that make me feel prepared, such as cereal bars
• and then I'll go lie down and binge-watch Gilmore Girls to distract myself. 

It's hard to say goodbye to the days when all I ever had to do was grooming myself and doing something fun, starting at about 12 o'clock and sleeping ten hours a day, but we saw that coming, didn't we? And I'm sure (or at least being told so by all of my friends and telling myself, so that I feel better) that:

• my train won't be late
• the others will be a bunch of sweet, interesting people (as long as they're sweet they don't even have to be that interesting but of course that's always a bonus) 
• my hair won't get all frizzy on the way there. 

....because it's part of my personality and it would be a shame to hide, don't you think?
So, let's get to know my idea of style....

I have been fascinated by the magical powers of appearance for such a long time that I honestly can't remember how it started or if there was anything in particular that made me be so conscious about it. Generally, I think that it's the same thing that lead me to love dressing up as aristocratic when I was a child: The need to establish myself as something I would like to be or like to think I already am and want people to know about. However, I found out that it is seemingly not socially accepted to wear long ballgowns and little white lace gloves on a daily basis (but why?) and so I searched for substitutional meanings of expression and found fashion. Now I am stacking magazines and shopping bags everywhere and I'll slam you with a Lagerfeld quote anytime the subject of sweatpants comes up.

Hence, I thought I'd generously share this passion (ain't I graceful) and start off by presenting a rough outline of my usual way of dressing and styling, so here we go.

While I try to specifically look for new colors to wear because I'm a little scared people might think I practice witchcraft (how come?) judging from my tendency to wear black, I still mostly end up in a white/black/grey scheme. I can't help it, and I feel like it's a pretty easy way to put together classic looks. Here, I'm wearing a vintage button up-top with a flowy skaterskirt from PacSun (I believe). I LOVE skirts and dresses- they instantly make me feel prettier and more confident 'cause they suit my personality: Very feminine and a little old-school. It's the same with heels, actually, though in this heat, I also trust in some lovely Aldo ballet flats. All in all, this is one of my favorite downtime summer looks at the moment.

As for make-up, I'm a red-lip fanatic: Bright, vampy, matte, I don't care, but I need it to be red. It's a lifestyle, lovelies. Along those lines, I tend to go for bronzy eyes by day and smokey eyes by night, both alternatively topped with a classic black liner and/or mascara, depending on my mood and the occasion. Fun fact, I actually don't really like wearing mascara.

Don't mind whatever the hell my mouth is doing here, just look at the color on my lids, that's what I mean by bronzy eyes.

So, I hope my fashion sense and you get along; I would love to know about yours.

Love,

Rosy Smith