5 Reasons Why Pretending to be Pocahontas Has Helped Me In NYC

GUYS

I've missed you. 

Seriously, though. I need the attention, 

and I miss having you tell me how hilarious I am. 

I also like when you tell me that I look like Pocahontas. 

Hence, this post: 

Which is, mind you, nearly 3 months overdue. 

But timeless, nonetheless.

These photos were shot on my birthday in July- a day on which I, more than ever, needed to connect to my childhood self for reasons likely associated with my quarter life crisis and certainly related to the fact that I am hopelessly obsessed with the notion that I might somehow in someway have a little bit of one particularly alluring Disney Princess nestled deep inside of me. 

And now, almost exactly 2 months into my adventure in NYC - quite possibly the least Pocahontasy place on Earth - I am again circling back to the psychology behind my probably-psychotic but nonetheless steadfast obsession. 

What is it, you ask, that makes me so infatuated with said ideally historical but probably mostly fictional female?

Well,  since moving to NYC, 

5 things in particular. 

1. She takes the hard way. 

I'm not gonna lie- 

here (and probably anywhere else on earth ), 

it's 100,000 times easier to take the "smoothest course".

Getting a steady job, making a good sum of money, negating the obnoxious struggle that is the attempt to be original, settling into normalcy, mimicking the behaviors of those around you - 

they're all smoother strategies than that which I'm attempting. 

Which is, I admit, nothing really except to not be like everyone else. 

Even so, I continue to play that "steady as a beating drum" line in my head and assure myself that my dreaming is not at an end. 

But actually, though. 

Multiple times a day.

Usually in the shower. 

2. She fights the power. 

Doesn't take orders from the man. 

AKA her chief father. Who I just assume is a metaphor for anyone I've ever disagreed with who's tried to tell me what to do ever.

AKA anyone who's ever told me what to do. 

AKA everyone in New York- because everyone here thinks that they're an authority figure on something. 

Which is really obnoxious. 

And also really easy to believe if you don't realize fairly quickly that most people are faking it. 

3. She don't want no scrub. 

Or not scrub. 

Or anyone, really. 

She even lets John go. Though presumably more so out of love than out of a need for independence and her own bedroom and bathroom, 

but a loner girl can dream- right?

#spinster

4. She finds answers when high. 

Elevation-wise, kids. 

#headsouttathegutter

Up on top o' grandmotha willow. 
AKA the tree still scares me
AKA bark equivalent to her bite

Some of the only places in NYC that I can breathe and regroup 

include those at which I can see the entirety of the city. 

AKA: above-ground subways,

70th floors of office buildings, 

Brooklyn rooftops, 

etc,

etc,

etc. 

Sure, I may not see "white clouds"

or sexy blonde metal chest-plated men with sharp-shooting skills and a love for small rodent-like animals,

but I'll settle for a slice of sanity. 

5. She sticks to her guns. 

Except, not guns, 

because, you know, 

#nonviolence. 

But fer realz. 

She's got this very distinct POV. Not the same as her family's, 

not the same as her friends',

not the same as her lover's,

not the same as her enemies'. 

It's distinct from everyone else's, 

and yet she maintains it with vehemence

in the face of an enormous amount of pressure from

essentially everyone. 

Also she wins. 

If the movie were about winning and not about morals n' lessons or whatever. 

Cheers.

Photos & Editing by the talented David Wilson

I like to think of them as the play between NYC Pocahontas and classic/inappropriate red dress Pocahontas,

but you can think of them as just cool if metaphors aren't your thing.

DIY

dress 1: Amanda Uprichard, dress 2 (for the lumberjack-lovers amongst you): Paul & Joe Sister, dress 3 (for the fall lovers//mohair): MSGM

fall version of coat: Carven, Whistles, By Malene Birger

sunglasses I dig: Karen Walker, Oliver Peoples, Wonderland