Tuesday, March 19, 2013

jesuit juliet

my bud keerthi and i broke the silence of spring break day 1 by traversing to the bronx for a romantic getaway at the new york botanical gardens. i can't relay what keerthi had in mind, but i was envisioning photos of youthfulness of girl juxtaposed with the fresh blossoms of orchids and green all around. the whimsical waves in my hair would match the wistful shapes of leaves and flower petals. but lo and behold, the gardens were closed.

as soon as we found that out, we looked at each other, thought about what we just realized, and start laughing and cackling, our demise echoed in the form of our laughter was the only thing in the air mingled with a biting cold that made my feet feel numb and wet even though they weren't. 

however, i like to think that when something devastating occurs, magic is under the works and fate is only about lay some real good shi* down and turn things around. we considered options to visit, the library? sounds dumb. so, no.what did yelp say? apparently a hot local spot is called "ok mr. poncho" that sounded ridiculous and irrelevant, so, no. 

then i realized fordham university was right near by, so we walked over, and surprisingly easily stepped onto campus and into academic buildings without anyone questioning us. but why am i surprised, i was wearing a backpack and i'm not even five feet tall and we were coming from a trip (hypothetically) from the gardens. we brought no harm, and i'm glad people could smell that. 

in one of the buzzing academic buildings, a divine light shone upon us (pictured in above photos). so thanks to the jesuit goodness of the architecture, we found plenty of space for fruitful photo jam sessions while real fordham kids were in class. not pictured here: many awkward moments of me trying to pretend i was neither posing for photos nor wearing unusual pink floral tights as students uniform in sweatshirts and jeans walked to class. 

some background as to what i'm feeling in these photos: collegiate, worn out whimsy, maybe a modern academic juliet who feels a sense of loss and longing in her singular, isolated world. she is a little out of place, a little out of mind, and a little out of love. but still living her own individual fate.


Thursday, March 14, 2013

the m in midterms stands for miserable (but this is a happy post i promise)

my blog post titles are getting longer. i dont know what that means. you can tell me though.
this week was kind of devastating in the mentally exhausting sort of way. and it's not helping that i'm starting this blog post at 12:30am. but it's ok because tomorrow is friday and i no longer have midterms. what's really funny is i technically only had one "midterm." the rest of my work this week was basically big hunks of work that decided to pretend like small-ish assignments that were actually huge-ish--basically midterms in disguise. i also think because everyone around me is collectively distraught, that i am, for some reason, justified to be distraught. i think i actually was personally distraught though. i guess i will never know, until it happens again. ew no.

BUT WHAT'S GREAT NOW is that it's all over and what better way to celebrate than by wearing my new shoes from DC's vintage store Secondi and by taking outfit photos.

so if you'll take a moment with me to check out the shoes i'm wearing...
you can observe that they kind of kick ass. i unearthed these cole haan gems (for a very reasonable price!) on my recent visit to DC for the first time. as an "american" i am a bit surprised at my soul for never visiting america's capital location, but i can now say that i have been christened as a total america; i obviously have the cole haan oxfords to prove it. 

on TOP of terminating midterms week, wearing these shoes just made me feel STELLAR. i have been dreaming of these kind of shoes for months but never found them in my size (5 or 5.5) so naturally most of my outfit photos ended up looking like...
how to make a gif

shirt - banana republic, dress - gift, tights - jcrew, shoes - cole haan via secondi

for your personal record, here are more embarrassing photos conjoined into a gif so you can appreciate my poses in which i look like i'm either going to bust someone's ass or like i just heard the start to "don't stop til you get enough" by MJ so i'm about to bust someone's ass for playing such a glorious song. 

song of the moment
dont stop til you get enough - MJ

currently loving: a celebratory playlist

songs i've been drawn to as midterms have concluded today. i feel as though the midterms battle lasted ten years. and as if the misery isn't going to return in 1.5 months... but for now:



skip to 0:38 i really don't understand how rush hour 2 is such a good movie. 
also any song from michael jackson's "this is it," is it. 

Monday, March 4, 2013


This post all began from attending a journalism seminar at a graduate school, when a lovely man happened to sit next to me and say something kind.

I always let these opportunities go. I get so flustered. I become not myself. 

During the seminar on longform journalism, I ended up not paying attention and finding more excitement in drawing the guest speakers. I thought I was in my personal zone, by myself. But to my surprise, the well-groomed dashing blonde male graduate Journalism student next to me whispers over my right shoulder "That's nice." and I reply, digging my chin toward my chest, eyes looking somewhere I don't even remember, my mouth forming a pursed, smitten smile, "thanks." I felt my cheeks begin to blush then start to flare as I realize what just happened.


I never think I'm cool enough to associate with cool older people like that or people who think they're older and cooler or people who don't even think they themselves are cool but they are just older so they look cool. I feel like they don't appreciate me. Maybe that whole Perks of Being a Wallflower quote was right, "you love the people you think you deserve." I can't love or simply like these people even if they are just like me but happen to have a facade of cool. I can't do it, because I don't think I deserve it. So, I somehow make men who don't deserve me begin to love me instead. Like the security guard at the Met, and the regular at 30 Rock. That's what they all are. Regulars. But I know I'm not regular...


The fellow chats with the lady sitting on the other side of him. She is older than me. She wears glasses, an embroidered pencil skirt probably from Anthropologie with a nice blouse maybe from an indie version of Ann Taylor. She looks like she reads. She looks average height. She looks well-bred, appreciative of groceries at Whole Foods. She is "mature" I suppose. They talk about this discussion, exhibit their knowledge. I remain conversating through my red pen, sketching and taking notes. I am a party of one.


He quietly sneezes. I whisper bless you because I don't think it'd be awkward since he complimented my personal doodles. He takes a glance at me and hushes back thank you. We establish an official charming recreational relationship.


He goes up to the mic in the aisle to ask his question, to get his fair share of intellectual excitement. As he comes back to sit, he looks at my size 5 oxford shoes, and says he likes them, and excitedly shows me his, pointing out that our shoes are identical except his more manly. Of course, I had already noticed ten minutes ago that we were wearing similar shoes when he crossed his legs so his right foot flirted with my personal space. I laugh, "oh yeah! they're the same! Except mine are ten times smaller." He says, "yeah, they're much cuter that way." He talked to me like I was just like him. I guess if I stripped myself of my insecurities, ignored the fact that he is kind of hulkingly dashing and I am miniscule-y young, we would be equals.


As the seminar is over, she leaves. He leaves. They talk about "J school." I put on my earmuffs, feeling childish as everyone else around me envelopes themselves in stiff coats and adult jackets. I proceed to wear my powder blue gloves with gold charms. He suggests grabbing coffee with her, talking about journalism thesis. I keep packing up, as if I have somewhere to go. I pretend I don't remember our recreational relationship, just like when I feigned surprise at our twin shoes and when I realized we are alike in our honesty, in our friendship, in an aspiration for intellectualism.

We are all leaving the auditorium and he pauses at the door, probably to catch her number. I walk past, I push the door open, I have work to do. I turn left and speedwalk down the block. I am busy. I make a right at Madison Ave. I just came here for business. I turn left on 33rd. I had no meaning, no place here. I sprint down the station steps, swipe my card and ride the train home. Every step reminds me of how much further I am from him. He's lost me. I lost him. Good. He probably forgot about me as soon as he left the building, while I just thought about how I needed to write out this powerful elixir of emotions that I am so frustrated to feel yet again but this time with a vengeance.

He has more mature friends anyway. He will probably have a sophisticated coffee chat on journalism theses with the glasses girl. They will exchange mature phone numbers. They will have a mature cup of coffee. They will have a mature date. They will exchange mature glances. They will make mature love.

But I realize, I am actually that mature. I am just like him. I seem incapable of accepting the fact that my size and my penchant for patterned earmuffs does not define my maturity. I am no longer of the maturity where I need to succumb to shyness if someone flatters my doodles. I can accept that as an adult, as a...wait for it...twenty year old.

I always wonder, what kind of "dude" will end up being the guy "for me?" I scan the list of males in my age range--all of them instigating negative feedback. But maybe, a daunting graduate student is something I should no longer be afraid of. Maybe I should realize, I can deserve a lot more than what's been said is love for the stereotypical college girl. I guess this is twenty. But who am I to know about age or about love, I am so small, I could never deserve something so mature.

Friday, March 1, 2013

the birthday suit & tie (sh*t, tie, sh*t)

someone asked me on my 17th birthday, "so how does it feel to be 17?" i say, "not too different." someone asked me on my 19th birthday, "so how does it feel to be 19?" i say, "...not too different." someone asked me the all too predictable question this year, "so how does it feel to be 20?" this time, to my own surprise i say, "i feel different." or more accurately...

if you'll recall with me from a tweet by my florentine chum @h_kimpossible -> "@erinykim re: turning twenty "BUT I FEEL DIFFERENT LIKE I FEEL LIKE A KIWI LIKE IT'S KIND NEW AND TANGY"" and that's literally what i felt like. not figuratively. literally. i felt the antennas of my soul tingling and i was fruit-ily evolving inside as if a warhead was sewn into my heart--ok maybe not that literally. i am by no means "older" in the mental sense. and that's why i'm not scared of getting "old," because i know my mind is still fresh, as proven by the weird ways i wear clothes (i'm pretty confident the quirky way i dress and some function of my mind have a correlation with each other). 

to be older, to me does not mean to be a grandma, to sleep early, to eat oatmeal, to pay taxes, to knit in a rocking chair, to stay in play my queue on netflix when everyone is out. to be "old" rings in a different negative connotation: the basic idea that the mind is not open. no matter how old i turn each february 26th, i know that i'll vie to keep my thoughts expansive, mind fresh, the world curious and keep things NEW AND TANGY LIKE A KIWI. i aim to never be afraid to say yolo. (BECUASE YOLO) to me that characterizes youth. a fearless, creative vision, essential to living.

so to illustrate my teen transcendence, naturally i found myself wearing the brightest stuff in my wardrobe and sparkly loafers and a peter pan collar. i must say, i am intrigued at how i never end up wearing the same outfit despite repeating the wear of these articles. i have actually been wearing like at least one of these pieces every/other day. and i'm quite satisfied with the birthday suit. 


this pose was inspired by the gap ad campaign for the the new 1969 skimmer. gap's ads are always so agreeable. i thought me mock-modeling would be fun/funny. 

can i tell you these cords have been my favorite pants ever. my other fav leg covering apparel (i.e. stuff that's not skirts, or shorts) would be my jcrew chinos that are lax and loose. these cords in comparison, are essentially the tightest pants i own, besides jeggings which are their own breed not to be compared with. when i visited previously free people, i found myself holding five pairs of corduroy pants to try on. the sales lady called me the "cord queen." i actually only own two pairs of cords, but i will nonetheless proudly be crowned the cord queen. thank you soho free people kind sales lady.

 shirt-zara, sweater-jcrew (surprisingly not crewcuts!), cords-free people, loafers-american apparel, socks-american eagle

song of the moment 
suit & tie - justin timberlake (should be more like "cords & stripes" according to my life)

ok originally that was simply going to be like the punchline of this blog post, but i got serious and starting writing lyrics tailored to my lifestyle. if you decide to read these lyrics (i recommend it, i am mostly happy with the results. they are my fav part of this post. actually maybe not, i really like my pants.) then listen to the actual song whilst reading. here we go

"cords & stripes" 

~*~i be on my cords n' stripes, sh*t, stripes. sh*t, stripes
i be on my cords n' stripes, sh*t, stripes, sh*t
can i show you a few loooooks? x2

i can't wait til i get on my peter, pan collar. 
goin out spiffed up, jus like a blogger
i'll choke myself, but i just had to button it.
it's so fly (it's so fly) and it's all mine (and it's all mine)

hey baybeh, we don't mind all the bloggin
cause if they study close, real close
they might street photograph somethin
it aint nothin but a blog post when the sartorialist does it
she so fly (she so fly) tonight

and as long as i've got my cords and stripes
imma leave it all on my blog tonight
and you got sucked in with my beehive
let me show you a few looks

all pressed up in shirts and brights
and i'm dressed in these pants that're tight
petite style is swingin in the air midnight
lemme show you a few looks~*~

i must say so myself, this is pretty freaking brilliant. or maybe i'm just elusively excited. 
potentially to be continued...i thought this song was just a repeat of the same verses but there are actually a lot of diff verses and lines so maybe i will continue this and even parodize jay z's (i think pathetic) feature. stay tuned ya'll.