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Tuesday , December 14, 2010
Style Icon: "It's A Rainy Day, Sunshine Girl" by Faust
This is Laura Jane Faulds at 4:31 PM on Wednesday, May 19th, 2010. I am quite sure that, at this exact moment, I look the best I've ever looked in my life.
For one thing, I'm wearing steel-toed ballet flats, which are these. I bought them because I showed up for an overnight shift wearing flip-flops, which violated dress code, because if something fell on my bare feet, I could sue the company I work for, and the company I work for doesn't want that to happen. The company I work for is smart. As such, I had to run around a shopping mall like a maniac ten minutes before it closed looking for some shoes to buy; I went to Aldo because it seemed like a safe bet, and then I found these, and they're the greatest shoes I've ever had. I'm going to buy up like twenty-five pairs of them, and wear them forever. Conceptually, the idea of "steel-toed ballet flats" is just so perfectly "Wild Honey Pie" sweetheart/badass Laura Jane I can barely even stand it.
Okay, so I'm also wearing no make-up, but I have a bit of a tan, so that's awesome for me. Everybody always looks their personal best with a tan. I'm not wearing my gold aviator sunglasses, but only because I'm sitting in my bedroom, and it's pretty dumb to wear sunglasses while you're sitting in your own bedroom blogging. I am, however, drinking a Campari & soda, so that's got to count for something. I also have Beatles tattoos, and a Kinks tattoo on my foot.
I'm wearing a grey, cream, and black Missoni-style skirt that my old roommate gave me several thousand years ago; it also functions as a tube top, so that's pretty great. It's a short skirt. My legs are basically muscle machines. I'm wearing a gnarly, baggy grey t-shirt that I mostly wear to the gym, but it looks classier than usual today, because I'm also wearing this slinky sort of snakey fake-gold necklace. I wear it most days of the week, to fool people into thinking I put more effort into my outfit than I actually did. My hair is pulled into messy pigtails, which is the only "hair look" I've been able to brainiac up that makes my awkward "I'm growing my hair out!" just-above-shoulder-length non-haircut look like anything but total shit; actually, it's really fucking charming, though I'm turning twenty-five in a month, and I'm beginning to wonder if maybe twenty-five is too old for pigtails. Probably not, according to Elizabeth Barker. I'm sparing her the trouble of leaving a comment telling me that twenty-five is not too old for pigtails, by writing this sentence.
When I was fifteen years old, I decided that every Wednesday should be "Pigtail Wednesday," and it's weird to me, how often I've ended up wearing my hair in pigtails on Wednesdays ever since. I really love that kind of thing, things like Pigtail Wednesdays happening by accident, and the moon, astrology, "cosmic soul transference," and etc.
I like clothes, but mostly by accident. I'm too cool to think about outfits and fashion concepts (she said facetiously)- my take on "cool" is that you're either cool or you're not, and if you're cool, everything you do is cool. So that's why I don't try very hard- the same thing happens either way. I look cool. My wardrobe at this point is basically just a random assortment of whatever happens to fit me after recovering from anorexia, some cheap crap from Value Village, and then some things I buy with my employee discount, from my job at a popular uncool clothing store that I will never tell the Internet the name of. Oh, and let's not forget that I smoke Gauloises, which taste like you just sucked on a penny. Actually, I'm going to go smoke one, at this exact second.
It was pretty good, I guess. I'm really in love with my cat. If today had been a year ago, I guess I would have taken a cute picture of myself looking real cute in my super-cute outfit, but I find that digital camera self-portraits are highly inaccurate representations of the, I mean, myself. In real life, I don't stand pigeon-toed with my hands on my hips in contrived positions that I know make my awesomely non-emaciated body look its skinniest. In real life, I rarely suck in my cheekbones and pout. Most of the time, I'm laughing really hard, or else I'm half-smiling derisively, or sometimes I'm zoning out and staring vacantly/disinterestedly afar over at nothing in a thinly-veiled attempt at disguising the fact that I'm not listening.
If you want to know what I look like for real, you're probably best off listening to
which says more about the way I present myself to the world than does whatever outfit I happen to be wearing on any old day upon which I happen to be doing whatever I happen to be doing on. It's scratchy and scrappy and chill and lazy and loud; if I were in charge of John Lennon, I would have made him join Faust after the Beatles broke up. I'm, like, the Sunshine Girl. Every single day of my life is metaphorically "rainy": I hate my shitty retail job and more-or-less the city I live in and 98% of people I meet are retarded and I have no money. And such will be the case for a bit longer, until that fateful day the world owns up to the glaring truth of the situation, which is that Laura Jane Faulds is a person who has no responsibility doing anything but writing and writing and writing coolly and forever.
I thank you all for your continued readership and support.
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