they hate eachothers guts, but they love to jive.
when i grow up…
i want to be emma watson, florence welch and paloma faith, all rolled up into one high-waisted ruffle-edged style bomb. i will only wear clothes featured in the sunday times fashion supplement. most mornings i will still be in the eyeliner from the night before, but nobody will mind. i will do frump-chic, vintage tees, and floral printed tea dresses with fuckoff work boots.
i will NEVER dress appropriately for the place i'm going (never ever), and if i see somebody else in the same skirt as me I WILL attack. (its like, in girl code, or something.)
backcombing, pastels, tulle, lace-socks, channel lips and cheap jewels.
i will zoom about wherever it is that i happen to live on my pushbike in breton stripes, probably carrying a baguette, i imagine. my laptop will be on at all times, but assuming i am somewhere with no internet i will have my paperchase notebook handy too.
there will be charming boys in button-down shirts, and plenty of beer.
if i'm honest, i haven't really given an awful lot of thought to how i will fund this idealised, oh-so-stylish lifestyle, but i'm sure whatever job it is it'll be lovely.
everyone has an image of their perfect life. i know its not that simple, but even if it never comes true (more-than-likely scenario) its nice to have it in your head