The reason why I don't write much in each blog post is because I'm a boring person really.
There isn't exactly anything new when it comes to learning about my life.
Here are some insipid facts that make me "me":
  • I am currently studying English Literature, History, Art, German and Russian, and often leave the latter's lesson in a state of disarray and incertitude.
  • I find it very difficult to talk about myself.
  • I am deemed to be "baggage"
  • I currently have someone else's passport next to me.
  • I cut off the circulation to my toes earlier this evening in the name of "art", and couldn't walk for about 15 minutes.
  • I would give anything to have an eight day week (no Beatles reference intended) so that I can attempt to heal friendships.
On a slightly different note, I had an argument with one of my friends earlier. She's immature, stubborn, spoilt, sheltered, and vacuous. She refuses to believe that others may not want to do what she wants all the time, and she stamps her slipper-socked foot in fury, and her hair emanates in red waves from her head as she storms off, swinging herself from side to side, in an attempt to make as dramatic an effect as possible, forgetting that after a silence of two days she'll inevitably forget and start venting her problems through me again.
And I'll let her, even though I know that she's all of these things.
Because she's my friend.
I think I'm scared of letting go of the past.


Cats and Dogs reminded me that it's Pi day today (and like her I can't help but think why it's necessary for people to make 14/3 a day dedicated to that little symbol, especially when in England we don't even put the words round in the order for it to make sense. Syntax, I guess.)

Anyway, here are three women:


And I would upload a Luella print from a London Underground poster during last year's LFW, but Blogger is being a bitch. Guess the effort makes up the extra .14 though.


Sometimes I just want to be Alice Dellal.

She somehow manages to go against conformity yet still gets what she wants. She's wanted by everyone, but doesn't give a fuck. So what if she shaves off half a head of hair? Alexander Wang'll give her his whole collection, and she'll prance around New York in it, covering coveted cashmere in clouds of smoke as she stomps past peoples' houses in her DMs.

It'd be nice to just put my arms in the air, close my eyes and ignore the world, but there's always something to just ground you and bring you back to mundanity.

Hello, I'm Rebecca: social media exec, new-ish coffee drinker and loafer-wearer.
Want to get in touch? Email me.
Want to find out more? Read my about me.



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