I live in a real REAL world. One in which cut off shorts, disposable income, leisurely afternoons, and "exhaustion" are for models. In addition to the stark reality that I don't live on a page of Vogue or exist in an episode of The Hills or Sex and the City (sadly-ish) is the fact that I'm not a size 2, 4 or 6.
The world in which I exist is one where fashion and style are a state of mind that I bring into existence via my outward appearance -- the things I put on myself.
My reality as it relates to, well, me, is that I love fashion. I love it for all the right reasons and of course, all the wrong reasons.
I look at other blogs and I see waif thin girls drenched in designer duds. I love street style; reading about it, being inspired by it and all the other goodness that comes along with being pretty and thin and (apparently) around in the middle of the day with a cigarette in one hand and an iced coffee in the other-- but beyond lusting after "that" girls amazing sunglasses or ability to not sweat in a fur vest in 100 degree weather-- I can't really relate.
So, here is my attempt to document what inspires, excites, angers and makes me crazy as it concerns taste, style and fashion.
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