I am not a model.
|SHIELD YOUR EYES FROM THE WHITE LIGHT!|
That's something that's become very clear to me over the course of this wee blog.
But every once in a while, an outfit comes along that allows me to pretend - if only for a moment - that I am, in fact, a part of the Karlie clan.
The Coco crew.
It's a tricky situation; Negotiating the fine line between my temporarily supermodel psyche and my actual in-reality appearance - An awkward one, at that.
I don't feel as if my stomach is projecting, or my teeth are bucking - but feelings don't affect photographs, and photographers aren't mad about over-eager beaver-esque faux-models taking up their harddrive space.
So once again, this blog has forced me to confront an issue to which I'd never given much thought: The difference between how you see yourself and how the world sees you ((and to which image we should give more weight??)).
I guess I'd previously assumed that one unified person existed - but that's hardly the case. I'm an amalgamation of my self-perceptions and the outside opinions of others. Which is obvious, I suppose, until I consider to which identity I should adhere?
If a cropped swim top makes my heart happy, but not the eye of the beholder, should I bow to social norms and cover myself up? Placate the public?
Or make like a 60-year-old-mini-skirt-wearing grandmother and screw stigmas?
|check those battle scars|
leather skirt: H&M (similar) (latest obsession), top: Derek Lam x Kohls, boots: Zara (similar & here) (I dream of these every night)
The answer seems obvious -
listen to your heart,
but at what point does this stop being a charming acknowledgment of our inner self and become a naive symptom of denial?
If I don't look like Gisele, should I really be dressing like her?
If you're not a 16-year-old, should you make believe you're one?
I don't know. I'm conflicted.
PS: This song is awesome. Fitting? Kind of.
photos by Shoaib
photos by Shoaib