GIRLS just wanna...

Holy good lord. 

Lena really killed it last night. 

No, I may not have loved her dress. 

Or, quite frankly, the tattoo plastered across her back. 

And, if I'm being honest, I can't say that I was a huge fan of her haircut, either. 

But that's what's so great about it. 

That I respect her and admire her, regardless. 

She sticks with what she knows - with strangely prom-tastic gowns and unabashed ink - which sits better with me than any "on-trend" fashion choice ever could. 

 

And so I wonder, once again, and for the 50 thousandth time in the past year, about the definition of "style".

I'd never say that Lena Dunham has no "style". She exudes personality. She exudes originality and independence and an overall sense of self that is absolutely contagious and invigorating and which I understandably can't ignore. 

So, Lena

when I pair stripes with polka dots, black with blue, green with orange - I'll think of you. When I wear a scarf with more oomph than a winter jacket - pants with faux pearls and an arrow to my crotch - hoof-like shoes with crooked heels, 

I'll think of you. 

jeans: Urban Outfitters (similar), shirt: Zara, shoes: Cheap Monday, watch: La Mer

I'll think of how in Tiny Furniture, you made me OK with my less-than-perfect post-graduate life, and how, by flaunting your deriere with unabashed ease, you incited my acceptance of cellulite. 

And um, not to get all mushy-gushy or anything, 

but, I think I might love you. 

Cheers.