Boater Hat: Forever 21
Coat: Forever 21
Sweater: Urban Outfitters
Scarf: Urban Outfitters
Plaid Culottes: Vintage
Knee-High Socks: Urban Outfitters
Oxfords: Urban Outfitters
Backpack: Vintage
I sneakily (cheekily?) asked Nicholas Coleridge, President of Conde Nast International, if I could write about one of his stories on my blog and he said yes so here's a comical anecdote before I launch into my London adventures. One day, one of Nicholas Coleridge's (I am going to continue to refer to him using his first and last name because he is a v important man) friends asked if his son's girlfriend could talk to Nicholas Coleridge about the publishing industry. Nicholas Coleridge said yes so the girl went to his office and he asked her what magazine she wanted to write for. To his surprise, she said GQ instead of Vogue or Tatler. Then, he asked what she wanted to write about for GQ and she said she wanted to write about bondage for the sex column. In utter tea-shaking shock, Nicholas Coleridge asked if she was an expert (lolz) and she said yes she was indeed. Apparently, bondage was her sex topic of choice because she discovered that she couldn't physically enjoy the experience of sex (euphemism) unless she was tied up. In bemusement and maybe even terror (?) Nicholas Coleridge sent her to the editor of GQ, they talked for two hours, and she's been the GQ sex columnist for the past three years. What a happily-ever-after straight from Disney, no?
In all seriousness, this inspiring/unorthodox/laugh out loud tale taught me a great life lesson. And that is to unabashedly and boldly follow your passions. Especially if your passion is to write about sex for GQ cuz it leads to an immediate job for a hearty duration of time.
That being said, I've been wildly chasing my passions in London by making it my goal to see everything and anything of interest-- art, shows, shops, restaurants, people, I want it all. I mean, living in a city with so much life feels like a waste if you're not out and about thriving in the electricity and verve, right? Right.
This past weekend, I was all about exploring old stomping grounds. I loved walking along South Bank and strolling through Portobello Road last time I was here, so I visited those old haunts last Friday and Saturday.
After furiously writing random words in a Cafe Nero along South Bank on Friday, I went to Tate Modern in attempts to find the Bruce Nauman room and the Richter room. The last time I was there, I quickly breezed through the museum because I had to go grocery shopping for yogurt so I figured I missed my favorite rooms the first time around. I WAS WRONG THEY GOT RID OF THE ROOMS AND REPLACED THEM WITH NOT AS INTERESTING ART. Ok, so I feel a bit bad belittling the replacement art but the Nauman and the Richter rooms were the best rooms in the house. I took a disposable photo in the Richter room, which came out quite shitty (as in Ronnie and I were literally shadows and most of the photo was this weird red color and you couldn't even see the Richters), but that's how much I loved that room. I could have just taken a photo with my phone (which I did), but my strong affections for that room drove me to use a roll of film on it. I also took a photo in the Bruce Nauman room, which came out beautifully and was my Facebook profile picture for a while. Now, I can't take any more disposable photos BECAUSE THE ROOMS HAVE BEEN EXTERMINATED. I am probably gonna write a strongly worded letter to the Tate Modern about this because in Ronnie's sage words, "WHAT ARE THEY DOING?!!"
Anyways, after angrily texting Ronnie about the disappearance of our favorite rooms, I went on a calming stroll along South Bank. The nighttime cityscape glittered in the River Thames, soft blue lights sparkled in the trees, delicious aromas emanated from nearby food stands, and a quirky-looking street performer played an unidentifiable but soothing song on his saxophone. As I meandered through these sights and sounds, I was alone but not lonely. And that's the magic of London. I can go on all these adventures by myself and never feel lonely. Perhaps I'm a bit of an exception because I've always had this terrible itch for solitude. I'm one of those weird aliens that enjoy embarking on excursions alone, but in London it's different. Something about the atmosphere makes everything I'm doing so enchantingly surreal in an at-home kind of way. London, for me, is fantasy in reality. It's a cotton-candy-cloud-dreamland over here but it's all pinch-me-I'm-dreaming real. This is exactly why I'll never lose my child-like wonder and awe when it comes to this city. This is my Oz.
Sorry. When it comes to London I'm prone to these lovey dovey ramblings and I literally cannot stop. But after wandering around South Bank and salivating over the bruschettas at the food market, I went back, talked to Georges on the phone, went to sleep, and then woke up the next morning for NOTTING HILL.
I adore Notting Hill because of the movie (yes I'm a sappy romantic) and Portobello Road. Portobello Road has this market (aptly called Portobello Market) filled with vintage knick knacks (Film cameras! Antique books! Rusty keys!), ridiculously cheap clothes (leather jackets for 2 pounds #wut), and mouth-watering savory foods (da paella doe). Portobello Road is also dotted with adorable pastel buildings and I almost got ran over by a car trying to take a photo of some light pink/blue/green homes. But what's life without a little risk, no? Jk, I was absolutely terrified and will no longer take photos in the middle of the street. I suggest you do the same because #safety. Anyways, if you're in London, you should definitely visit Notting Hill because um, duh, who doesn't want a 5 pound oversized incredibly comfortable jumper? And then you can tell some rando that you're just a girl (or boy) standing front of a boy (or girl) asking him (or her) to love her (or him) and then sprint away (!!) because everyone deserves a shot at love, even celebrities. And especially you.
Music
The Longer I Run by Peter Bradley Adams
Retrograde by James Blake
Build Me Up From Bones by Sarah Jarosz
Songs For The Rich by Tristan Prettyman
Cigarettes & Loneliness by Chet Faker
xx
