DTLA

I want to tell you the names of places so alien I believe they exist only on paper: 

Auckland 

Oshkosh 

Tibet 

Brixton 

Brighton 

Kerry 

Odessa 

Santa Fe 

Kiev 

Brittany 

Osaka 

Kun’lun 

Tyrol 

Trieste 

Zanzibar 

Big Sur 

The sum of my feelings about each of these places begins and ends within its name; the few pictures thart name gives-off. Kent: mint sprig over the back of a fast horse heading toward the gravesite of her rider in fog. Dover: when the air tasted the way blue paint does licked off a bleached seashell.

My best friend recently sent me a collection of poems by a brilliant man named Marco Maisto. The above excerpt is one of my faves from the series because of the way Maisto masterfully manages to juxtapose nothing against everything. He opens with a list of places that have no meaning to him followed by sentences that further highlight his apathy and then he turns the tables on you and presents two places that have more meaning than you can ever grasp. You know this because of the very specific/quirky/enigmatic way he writes about these places. He wants to show you his ghosts but only in a way that you'll never 100% understand because can anyone truly understand someone else's ghosts? Do you want anyone to truly understand yours? Plus, they're not on the list. I had to go back and double check, which is why I love Maisto so much; reading his words is like walking through a maze of hidden gems, you're constantly backtracking to make sure you didn't miss something spectacular and when you go back you always find something mind-blowing. 

After reading these lines, I was hurled into my own haunts. Into my own Kents and Dovers. 

Carlsbad. Chicago. London.  

It is beautiful and it is tragic. The way a place can haunt you. For a while I was scared to go back to some of my places because it's hard to confront the memories you still want to live in. But recently I've learned to embrace the haunts. The places my subconscious self and my physical self always end up going back to. There's something poetic about it or maybe I'm just an emotional masochist. Who knows these things. As a cosmophage, however, I'm also voraciously exploring new places. Places that will perhaps, one day, serve as sources of ghostly memories themselves. See above for photos of me in those places. All shot by photographer extraordinaire Nicole Toczauer. 

Oh, and here's a list of songs that haunt me. 

Ordinary Girl by Rebelution

River Flows In You by Yiruma

Realize by Colbie Caillat 

Come Together by The Beatles 

Don't Worry Be Happy by Bobby McFerrin

xx

On the Run

Beret: Vintage

Dress: Zara

Socks: Betsey Johnson

Shoes: Target 

Sunglasses: H&M 

I drove from Los Angeles to Yuma with nothing but a beret, a pair of sunglasses and a copy of Virgin Suicides. I drove for miles and miles and miles until I reached nothing but sand and sky. The kind of place where you find eternity in endless hills of gold and the deepest blue. Remember when we were 17 and you weren't ready to leave the familiarity of our small town and I was ready to be everywhere but Carlsbad? Now it's the opposite. Well, at least for me. I don't know what you think anymore. But I always end up returning to familiarity even when I'm running. 

I drove from Los Angeles to Yuma in an attempt to forget you. I drove from Los Angeles to Yuma because there are ghosts in Carlsbad. I drove from Los Angeles to Yuma and came here. Where no memories exist. Where you can walk forever and ever and ever and still be in the same place. Because that's the thing about places. You can drive for miles and miles and miles and still feel haunted. 

I still remember everything.

Man Repeller

Turtleneck: Zara

Trousers: Zara

Shoes: Target 

I'm never not in a turtleneck these days and this one's my favorite. Its blend of classic stripes with playful patches perfectly captures my new sartorial aesthetic. I decided to team this top with these mustard yellow, wide-leg trousers for an extra pop of color and '70s feel. Then, I tucked my hair in to give turtleneck hair a go. Felt v Man Repeller in this getup aka style goals achieved for the day woop woop! 

On the cultural side of things, my dear friend Davina Catt aka the UK editor of Interview Magazine slash Vogue writer slash filmmaker slash all-around creative girl boss is speaking to leading actress Olga Kurylenko about working with director Terrence Malick and other cinematic glories. If you're in London and enjoy arty, soul-feeding experiences, I recommend popping into the V&A on February 12. The event takes places in The Lydia & Manfred Gorvy Lecture Theatre and starts at 6:30 PM. Tickets are 10 pounds. For more info, click here. 

If you go, take pictures but don't tag me on Instagram because I will bitterly bawl over the fact that you're in London doing ultra-cool London things and I'm not. Sigh, distance makes the heartbreak stronger. I'll be back one day. Oki bye I'm gonna watch the new Pretty Little Liars episode now because it's a Saturday night, baby, and I'm alive. (Also it's my guilty pleasure. I know.) 

xx

Toying Somewhere Between Love & Abuse

Top: Express

Pants: Zara

Booties: River Island 

I recently discovered that I live next to Zara, which resulted in the purchase of wide-leg pants. This is why I can't live next to shopping centers. But these polka-dot pants are v much in line with my new Man-Repeller-meets-French-girl-cool style and I don't already own chic voluminous pants, so no buyer's remorse from me. (At least that's how I justify it to myself.)

Since it's 97 degrees in Southern California, I decided to team the pants with a ruffled tank top. To elevate my look a bit further, I slipped into a pair of pointy-toe booties. Then, I swiped on bright pink lipstick for an extra pop of color. 

If you're currently melting under the summer sun, I definitely recommend wearing wide-leg pants (of chiffon construction) with a dressy tank top. It keeps you well-ventilated and sophisticated at the same time. 

Music

Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene by Hozier

Lay Me Down (Lollapalooza) by Sam Smith

Isn't Just by Danke

P.S. Can we talk about the location power of Sam Smith singing "Lay Me Down" in Grant Park under all the Downtown Chicago lights and emotion? Ugh, my heart is breaking. 

xx