Some days, the idiots win.

I had drinks w/ a friend of a friend 

and now a friend 

the other night

(and every other night for the past 3 weeks) 

`(#frienddates)

and not only did I come away fully reassured that my schizophrenic sentiments towards this city weren't absolutely psychotic,

but with a great tool for effective self talk that I won't ever again forget.

"Some days," she said, "the city wins."'

And it's true.

Some days, you kill it. You ride the highs, the lows, the in-betweens and still come out swingin'.

You feel confident, well-connected, completely legitimate and on top of the world.

And then you get pulverized.

Smushed into a little ball of NYC nothingness. 

You go the wrong way on the subway

 twice

you get multiple rejection letters,

within minutes

people keep getting in your walking-bubble and making you want to smack them, 

your 3 random male roommates all invite girls over for the night and you feel like you're somehow being sexually abused,

you suddenly become very aware of the fact that you haven't eaten warm food in almost a month and you start to feel like an orphaned, starving child...

-- It's like an abusive relationship,

but one that benefits you in the long run.

-- So I tell myself. 

shirt: Zara, slip: vintage, boots: Theory

And as far as "fashion" plays into that (because I feel as if this blog has veered a little bit away from its initial fashion intentions and into perpetual pontifications on the city during my sudden transition to NYC), 

there is, in my mind, no crueler industry.

When something so cathartic is transformed into something so malicious and often subversively competitive,

there is a deep sadness that goes along with it. 

Kinda like how Doc Ock coulda been so good, 

but turned out so evil. 

Pretend that didn't just happen. 

Anyways- 

my point is that I'm just going to apply the same line of thinking to this 

fashion world phenomenon as I do to life in the city, 

but with a wee twist:

"Some days," I say to myself, 

"the idiots win." 

It keeps me going to know that, in the long run, that's what it is.
The loss of a battle- not a war. 

I mean, us cool kids gotta let the idiots have a few, right?

Cheers. 

Photography by Hans Alcindor.