Monday, May 18, 2009


Despite some written statement proving that I am qualified to be a stylist, I've never quite understand the purpose of that job. I mean, is it for real? You're paying someone to tell you what to wear daily? Despite the fact that I do somewhat judge people based on their appearance but by any mean, that doesn't give you a green light to appear as something you're not.

I would have to say I'm in the same page as Mrs. Becks in this matter. Regardless of that statement I've just made. I could still find some way around the corner to see this in a different light. I.e. when you're completely disconnected from the fashion world and have no other alternative but to hire a stylist, I would consider it a-ok.

An example of such situation would be the current situation of myself. As for approximately 6 weeks I was (and still am) completely disconnected to my second home. How I've missed the cool air I would breathe every time I step onto the fashion heaven browsing my eyes through the most extravagant clothes and gliding my hands against all the cottons shipped all the way from India. In desperation like this, by just stepping into a Zara store would be enough to satisfy my thirst for fashion.

Just so that I wouldn't be sue by the fashion police, I would kill to hire Rahcel Zoe. So that she'd remind me not to buy a late season heart shaped cross body but instead wait for the upcoming quilted chain handle heart shaped cross body which is also the it bag of the season.

Or not to buy a 3-way convertible Tommy Hilfiger tote when the upcoming 2-way convertible Tommy Hilfiger tote is twice as gorgeous and is on the shoulders of LC and Nicole Richie. To make things worse, just when I am given the green light to visit my long lost home, the green notes are fading away. If any, all that I could see is the mirage of those notes.

To bought everything you thought is it this season and to only see the new and improved version of the exact same bag (as if it is not heart throbbing already) on the rack by tomorrow would probably make the best tear jerking tale in the history of fashion sob story.

On the bright side, at least my eyes would have fulfill its satisfaction. While my heart is ripping and my body screaming to rock that whatever outfit I would think is cute but most probably be late season.

I probably suffer all this fashion retardation because I haven't got the chance to go shopping with my girlfriends. The circle which also influence my fashion sense next in line to the media. My closest, constant, instant fashion fix it reference.

Maybe its that I've drifted away from my family, I've forgotten how much they used to influence me. Before my social circle was my personal fashion police, there was my family. Now only have I realised how I've neglected their opinions.

So maybe we don't share the same ref but at least we're in the same genre. Most of all, I've inherited it from them. Though I'm actually not sure whether fashion obsession is linked by genetic trait but when your grandmother owns a classic everlasting oblong nude quilted Chanel bag, there's no doubt fashion is running through my blood.

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