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 A couple of days ago after our groceries were left on our doorstep, I came to the realization that something was really wrong. Not only because they forgot my fresh pasta among other things. But because my boyfriend reminded me that I forgot fresh veggies for our weekly healthy, well kinda, tortillas. As he realized my mistakes, he added "You'll have to order it tomorrow".

Funny enough, this isn't about the fact that I purposely forgot about the veggies but the fact that he was expecting me to place the order. No worries, my boyfriend of almost 7 years isn't the kind of man that will expect a woman to do everything, well not on purpose. He didn't wait for me to respond before adding "sorry I meant we'll have to order it tomorrow." Although he realized his mistake, the damage was already done and it led me to think 'how did we come to this?' 

Growing up as the last child of a family of five and three children, I was a late bloomer on a lot of different levels, but this story's for another time. What I meant is apart from cleaning the table after dinner and putting my dishes in the sink or dishwasher after breakfast, I didn't learn how to do my laundry before leaving for a two weeks vacation abroad when I was 17 years old. I didn't know how to use the vacuum cleaner, let alone know how to clean my own bathroom until I was close to leaving the house for a year of studying in Dublin and living on my own.

Although for some people I might be right on time and even for some ahead of my time, for me and myself only, and probably to the liking of my family, I was definitely late to the party. Because my parents had a very clear idea of adult life, they expected us to be out of the family house before turning 25. Imagine my parent's concern when my 25 years old sister was still fully leaving at home with no intent to leave anytime soon... Let's say that on her 25th birthday, my dad came home from work with a really ugly and embarrassing hat for her to wear to celebrate her not intent to move. Fortunately, I escaped my not-so-funny father's rit of passage by having the keys to my first real apartment a day after my 25th birthday. To be fair I had already left at 20 years old for Ireland, only to come back 9 months later, not with a baby but with six suitcases after way too much shopping in lovely Dublin. By the time I moved into my new and not-so-shiny apartment with my boyfriend, I was independent, I did my cleaning, my dishes, my laundry, my grocery shopping. My boyfriend on the other hand... Was on a whole different level.

Being the daughter of a very Jewish mother, my mom always wanted me to follow along with traditions and learn how to cook very typical, traditional, Jewish dishes for the Shabbat diner. I did not learn how to cook but I did catch the love for cooking and spending time in the kitchen. By the time I celebrated my 16th years old birthday, my mom was sick and my dad was the one having to cook for the three of us every day. When I turned 18 I decided it was time for me to help out, and from time to time I managed to cook a lovely meal for the two of us. For my boyfriend, on the other hand, it's another story. I grew up with a very privileged and coddled brother, who was the prince of the house, protected by my loving mother. So let me start my writhing that with this experience with growing up with a boy at home, I expected all men to be this way. I might be wrong but my boyfriend's upbringing proved to me I was not, in his case.

I re-encountered my boyfriend while leaving abroad in Dublin. The two of us met on an exchange student trip in London when we were 16 years old. Oddly, we ended up in the same city 4 and a half years later although we had completely lost contact. He messaged me on my 20 years old birthday after he saw on my Facebook page that I was leaving for Dublin a few months later. 'I guess I'll see you in Dublin', he had typed in. 4 months later we met on a corner of a busy street in the city center of Dublin and ended up spending the whole day together. After this first date, we didn't leave each other sight and spend most of our time walking and talking. I quickly realized we didn't live the same lifestyle when he started describing one of the three meals they cooked in the dorm he was sharing with two other students. Let's say, that he didn't cook for me for about 4 years after this. The first day I went to his dorm, the small apartment was not feeling very lovely. The whole place was dark, cluttered, and small. In his room, piles of clothes and empty shopping bags, and rolls of toilet papers were laying on the floor. The bed was not made. While dishes were piling up in the sink, an almost empty orange juice bottle was having a party with pasta's leftover and a pack of beer in the fridge. I did not set a foot in the bathroom.

When we got back to France, we were splitting our time between my parent's house and his family's apartment. While at his place, I realized how things were easy for him. His mother was doing most of the meals, while his dad was taking care of the laundry. His small room was a continuous mess. You would expect a 21 years old boy to have a sense of organization, he did not. Every time I stepped into his room, I thought to myself "boy, living with you is not gonna be easy". I was not wrong.

When we finally moved in together after 5 years, our relationship took a turn I didn't expect. We were now sharing a living space while being two completely different individuals. The first time we argued in the apartment, the unmade bed was to blame. The second time the dishes got in the middle of it. The third time, it was the vacuum. It took a year for us to find a balance and a routine where we each had our share of chores. After two years of living together, I cannot say it's perfect. By adding a new member of our family, still not a baby but a dog, things took another turn because now new chores were adding up. While my boyfriend does most of the walking, I do most of the feeding and we share the cleaning and playing, there are still things that fall on my hand regarding the house chore. Especially when it comes to thinking about it. While my boyfriend knows when our fridge is empty, I'll have to remind him that we need to go shopping. When clothes are piling up in the laundry basket, I'll think to load the machine and ask him to unload him. And it goes on and on. Why is it that women always have to do the thinking?

In old movies, women often ask their screen male partner "What are we going to do?". In reality, my boyfriend asks me this question daily. While I'm not complaining, well actually I am, I wonder why, when it comes to chores, men are ofter the ones falling behing. Should we still pin this on the patriarchy, when does it all end? In the 60s women were expected to stay at home and take care of the house and the children while men were out making the money. 70 years later, most men are still expecting women to be in charge of the household may they be aware of it or not. Is it going to take another 70 years to create a new reality for the household? Just the time for new parents to teach their sons and daughters to be equal when it comes to taking care of the house.

Just some thought on the question...



The Wonder Woman Syndrome : The benefits of a Power Outfit

The power of a good outfit is striking.

I’ve never felt more powerful than when wearing a blazer. I put one on and "tada" I look like this girl who knows what she wants. I’m like a superwoman, minus the whole saving the world thing. Okay more like a businesswoman who doesn’t have time to look up to make sure she’s not running into a moving vehicle. 

No, forget about that, I’m a French woman. The authentic, the original, the unbelievable French woman. And people are looking at me like « damn who is that girl ». And I feel so good. That is... until I walk into dog poo. 

Well, that's actually just storytelling. Don't get me wrong, I do feel powerful in a blazer, but for the whole 'walking into dog poo' part, that actually never happened to me. Yet. But it is funny, isn't it? The way a simple clothing item can give you the confidence and the power you never knew you needed to start the day. 

The fun fact is I've never really liked a blazer until I reached a certain age where wearing a blazer was the other way to show how professional I was, that is, the day I started interning. Even at that stage, wearing a blazer was an image of working, I couldn't wear a blazer outside of work, it felt uncanny, strange, deeply uncomfortable. The reality was far from it, I simply hadn't found the right jacket! 

So here I was, a couple of years later, wearing a blazer and heading out to work. As I was walking, I realized how good I felt. The lines I wrote to start this article, I actually wrote two years ago. To this day, the feeling hasn't changed. The only thing that did change is my habit of wearing a blazer. 

What has changed? You may ask. I found the right jacket, the right fit, the right feeling. 


I may be a fashion addict, but believe it or not, my collection of workwear jackets was quite limited. Not being a fan of blazers for many years, I had maybe one grey checked print blazer, fitted, bad quality, and uncomfortable. The funniest thing? I only wore it when I had a job interview, or when I graduated from college. 

I put blazers aside, keeping my small collections for special occasions. But on a sunny day in Paris, walking through the Marais with a good friend, trying to find the entrance for the Vintage fair we were attending, something unusual happened. On the crowded alley of second-hand clothes, between tons of Levis 501, and flowery dresses, there it was, the vintage blazer I never knew I'll fell in love with. But the deal wasn't set from the get-go. If the brown checked pattern was screaming for my attention, the man fit, added to the XL size, was intriguing. As my friend was trying to convince me to try it on, I slipped the large jacket on my shoulder over my badly chosen dress of the day. Though my snake printed dress is a statement piece on its own, the no-name blazer couldn't care less. It was there to stay and make a statement on its own. 

It didn't take long for me to decide if I would take this good looking guy home. Swiping my card on the machine, I didn't think twice. And to this day, I still feel lucky I came across this second-hand item. 


As my love for blazers grew, my collection expanded, and my desire to wear them outside of a work environment changed. Slipping a blazer on my shoulder is now a synonym f empowerment for me. Maybe it's the large padded shoulders or the whole meaning behind this workwear piece, blazers give me the confidence, the power, the desire for greater things. They turn me into a Wonder Woman on my own. 

So that's my power outfit, what's yours? 



The Slut Shaming is back! Better than ever...

What a great way to start the week. Ophelie telling me that I should put the list of my past relationships online and see how it goes for me. 

This morning as I was getting ready to start a great week at work, I came across a sad, heartbreaking, devastating realization. The Slut-Shaming is back, and better than ever! This concept that was so 2018, is still there to shake our (already) bad year. 

Last week, as part of my day job as a fashion and entertainment journalist for french media Les Éclaireuses, I wrote a piece on the timeline of Selena Gomez's past relationships. What was supposed to be a liberating article about how a woman can have as many relationships as she wishes to, turned into a satire, an insult, a picture of how a woman can be, please stay seated, a slut... 

As I opened my laptop this morning, I was glad to know that the piece I wrote last week had reached a significant amount of readers and views. Nothing could prepare me for the sad reality I was about to face as I was opening the comment section. Selena Gomez, a free spirit, an inspiring and empowering woman of 28 years of age, was not seen as the great person she is. Far from it, she was defined by the amount of relationship she had in her life. 

'Slut', 'she didn't waste any time', 'she's a home-wrecker', 'nothing can stop her from getting a man'... The list goes on. Speechless, I went through the comments section trying to understand what had happened. 

What really shocked me wasn't only the fact that every opinion was unambiguous, but the fact that when it comes to a man, the rules don't apply. While a single, free, sexually active, and unapologetic woman is, to the general opinion, a whore; a single, free, sexually active and, unapologetic man is just the sexiest man alive. Why? When women have to apologize for their behaviors, men just have to be themselves. The example is simple. Leonard Dicaprio, serial lover, notorious bachelor, and respectable owner of one Oscar has had not less than 14 relationships. No need to add that the actor is known not only for his dedication for the future of our planet, but also for his passion for Victoria's Secret models, and young women half his age. On the other end, Selena Gomez, singer, actress, committed and accessible, has shared the life of 10 men and has been single for two years. On one side, there's a bachelor, not even bashed once for dating girls way younger than the actor; on the other side, there's a younger girl, that keeps getting headlines for starting a new relationship when she was supposed to stay with the Biebs. What the actual f*ck? 

Who actually cares? 

The idea was not to compare, nor highlight the fact that the singer has had quite the numbers of conquests. It was just a picture of how Selena Gomez had found love more than once, and how beautiful it is. 

But then, there it was, the only comment that was determined to set my heart, and my anger, on fire. From a wave of insults, Ophelie typed: 'Why don't we ask the editor of the page to list her relationships as well, so she can see how it goes?'. Was she talking about me? She was. 

So as I typed my answers to Manon, Camille, Martine, Josephine, and then Ophelie... I couldn't help but wonder: 'why is it acceptable to judge a woman based on her past relationships when we swoon in front of a man relationships?'. No one was bitching about Leo, Brad, Zac, or Ryan's former flames. No. Every eye was turned to Miley, Ariana, Selena, and Taylor. 

The reality was brutal. Never have I ever, in my 26 years of living, been confronted to the concept of slut-shaming. I had heard about it, sure, but did I think that in 2020, people were still slut-shaming women for the way they dressed, the way they behaved, or the person they loved? No way. But there it was, the frightening signs that our society is run by a 90 years old man, who believes that women are forever pure, virgin, and respectable. The most disturbing thoughts arrived when I realized that modern females were commenting on this article, insulting one of theirs. How is slut-shaming still a thing? In a world where this is our bodies, our choice, where women's rights are human rights, where we demand equality, where black lives matter, and he for her, how does slut-shaming can have its place? It doesn't. But as long as a right-minded person will believe that the values of our society are still the same as the 1960s, slut-shaming is always going to be there. It is our job, and the job of future generations, to believe in new values, to believe in freedom, equality, and to believe that everyone is free to live his/her life as he/she wants. 

So please, Ophelie, if you're reading this, I would be more than happy to share the very very very very very short list of my past relationships, only if it shows how every person I've been with has changed my life for the better or the worst, and not translate as a picture of how prude or how slutty I am, as a woman.


Talk to you later. 


We share everything! But do we really?

Earlier this year, as I was having dinner with my boyfriend, I told him about how proud I was to have lasted 27 days without spending any money (on clothes at least...). I couldn't keep up the good work for 3 more days because as a fashion editor, let's face it, it's a miracle to spend a week without buying something you've put on five 'must-have' selections.
Anyway, Zara had revealed yet a new collection, and I had my eyes on a pair of pants, that I already own in two different colors. Let's say, that I couldn't let those white ones go. But I was able to last 27 days, without buying anything, clothes-wise, and I was proud, to say the least. But my boyfriend surprisingly wasn't impressed with my capacity to not draw my credit card for a whole month. 

As I was explaining to him the great joy I was feeling, literally liberated and more aware of my spendings, and after being able to choose wisely what I wanted to spend my money on this month, he corrected me. 
'Our money', he said. 
When did my money become our money? Does it just grow into 'our money' whenever you are a proud participant of a long-term relationship? 

Historically speaking, to say one's woman money is her partner, would make us go back to the 60s. It wasn't until 1965, that women, finally, at least in France, were allowed to open to their own bank accounts without the approval of their husband. This law voted in France marked the beginning of freedom for women, who didn't have to rely on their husbands. 

In a relationship for over 5 years now, my boyfriend and I have always joked about the fact that we shared everything, including money. Of course, this was particularly valid, when we shared money as long as it affected his bank account, rather than mine. In fact, for the first couple of years, our relationship relied on his ability to work and get paid, while I was still at school, not financially independent. When I first started to work, our dates and other outgoings still relied on him, since he was making more than I did, three times more, to be exact. 
Being a young, financially dependent women, money was a surreal concept for me. Although I didn't grow up with loaded parents, throwing money at me like a spoiled child, my parents reasonably responded positively to my shopping demands, when needed. I wasn't spoiled nor wasn't to pity, I was the normality. A kid that could ask for something to her parents, that would grant or not her wishes. You could be sure that if my mother sensed that my wish to have yet another Barbie doll was unreasonable and absurd, she'll just let me cry my eyeballs out until I moved on and realized she was actually right. 
I didn't fully understand it, not until I had to pay for my own expenses, taxes, and charges. So of course, it was easy for me to attribute someone else's revenue to myself when actually it wasn't mine to have nor to spend. 

Now, as we share an actual household and have a joint account, supplied every week or so, equally from our parts, you could say that 'my money, his money, are our money'. But does my money have to be all his and the same for him? 
Getting into an argument about it, he couldn't understand how my money had to be all mine when we were supposed to share everything. When I don't lecture him about the fact that he's bought yet another pair of sneakers when our wall still needs some decoration, I couldn't figure out why he was so upset, okay upset may be a strong word, let's say, annoyed about the fact that I bought a stupid pair of pants.  At the end of the day, my money is mine first before it has to belong to anyone else. As part of my freedom and my rights as a woman, my money is mine until I decide to do whatever I want to do with it. My money and well as other sensitive topics, concern my happiness and my rules. 

Did I get this right? 



Cardigan is the new black

Remember when you would go out and your mother would always say before you'd head to the door in your cute tank top: 'did you take a jacket?', 'wear a sweater, it's cold outside', 'don't forget your cardigan, you don't want to catch a cold'?

Do you still hear her voice now as an adult whenever you step outside? Thinking how you should have listened to your mom, even though she has stopped reminding you to add layers to your look after the 258th time you rolled your eyes at her.

Well, guess what? Cardigans are back and they are in. If growing up, you thought those cute little buttoned-up jumpers were more practical than trendy, now as an adult, you can say they are definitely part of the must-have type of pieces. Who knew our grand mother's favorite piece of fashion would the number one trend that everyone is dreaming to get their hands on?

I'm not the one to judge honestly. I love and have always loved a good old cardigan. The way they fit around your bust and make a simple outfit look great. They've been my best friends for a million years, although I didn't like, and still don't like, to pair my cardigan with a dress. I'm sorry but too much of the granny looks for me.

And now more than ever, cardigans have been my favorite thing to wear. With a tank top, a matching sweater top, a t-shirt, or nothing underneath but a lacy bra, paired with jeans, or a satin skirt, they are the easiest fashion item to wear, especially when you don't feel like dressing up. Their buttoned-up looks are always so flattering for the décolleté, making it a sexy, chic, and casual piece. A must-have, as I said.

Care to try one?

If &Other Stories has undeniably the best selection when it comes to cardigans, the price range may through you off. But to the rescue, there's Zara, which has amazingly updated their collection with pastel tone and soft cardigan, with embroidery or matching cami top, bralette, or shorts. But the original trendsetter, the one behind the whole Katies Holmes street style extravaganza is the brand Khaite. Now ladies, be prepared because as trendy and beautiful this New-York based brand is, it is on the most pricy side. Paloma Wool has also a well-curated selection, perfect for those social-distancing times. Might as well call your banker right now and let him or her know that there's going to be some damage to your account.



How Staying at Home made me feel less confident

On a sunny Sunday afternoon, as I was ready to enjoy yet another day staying safe at home, scrolling through Instagram turned out to be the worst mistake I could do. Pictures of people enjoying their social-distancing quarantine, having great healthy breakfasts, wearing nothing but shorts and bras, working out every chance they get. As I was there, laying on the couch, wearing my old pajamas I hadn't left in two days, I was wondering if even during a pandemic, there was a good way to stay at home.

I wish I had read what I’m about to write. I wish someone had shared their story about how difficult it is to love and accept yourself and your body in such difficult times. But as I scrolled through the dark woods of Instagram, I realized that no one would share anything but photographs of how they’re enjoying this time of self-preservation and self-care.

As I was trying to navigate through the fact that Instagram isn't real life, I got a daily reminder that no I wasn't enjoying this quarantine like I should be. When my days were resumed to waking up, work, coffee, lunch, work, dinner, TV, I had the weird sense that I should be doing more.

If feeling bad about my lack of productivity wasn't enough, looking at myself in the mirror was not an easy task to do. The whole no-makeup look that I imposed on my face, and the lack of flat belly and slim legs, were screaming unflattering and I started to believe it.

Forcing myself to wake up early, work out, and find other activities to occupy my time off work, skipping meals, not eating when I was hungry, I was back to my old habits. After 30 days of daily yoga practice, I thought that everything was going to change. I was ready to feel better about myself, slimmer, happier, less-stressed... Better. But none of this happened, I still had this feeling of self-loathing cause all I could see was the way people were living their social-distancing, happily and positively. 

I felt heavy, empty, loathing the way I look and hating the way I felt. I refused to stay in pajamas any longer. I didn't understand how people were able to do so much while stuck at home, or how they had the energy to accomplish the simple act of getting dressed. I didn't feel depressed, I was annoyed. Annoyed to have to stay inside, negative as I've never felt before, tired and lazy. 

One evening, as I was taking a shower after my daily work-out session, I was rinsing off the sweats and the negativity. A yoga practice that teaches you self-love and gratefulness was useless if you weren't feeling good about yourself. 

I quickly realized that my staying home didn't have to be the same stay as other people. I found peace in activities that made me happy. I found happiness in small gestures and a daily routine that was respectful of me, on my own terms. I got back on the right track, and find joy in those times of social-distancing. It took me 30 days, but at least I got some kind of confidence back. 



Why I'm aiming to have the style of Zoë Kravitz in High Fidelity

Cool girl alert. I repeat. Cool-girl alert! This is me, late to the whole game, appreciating Zoë Kravitz's style in the Hulu series 'High Fidelity'. If the already made fashion icon has nothing to prove to the fashion sphere, her character in this 2020 TV show adds up to the fact that she's the true casual style queen. Let me explain.

When a global pandemic turns into a 'staying-home dream come true' situation, you have no other choice to run straight into a binge-watching session of all the new shows you've missed these past few months.

If social-distancing was the worst nightmare someone could imagine, after the first few weeks, I did realize it was the best thing that could happen for catching up on spring cleaning, reading, blogging, online not-spending-anything-shopping and TV shows everyone talked about approximately three months ago.

Apart from the undeniable fact that 'High Fidelity' is an addictive and modern reality on relationships in the 21st century, and has the sickest playlist, you'll ever listen to while watching a new series, it's also a masterpiece when it comes to casual, no brainer, trendy, cool-girl material fashion.

For the last hundred years, leave it to Carrie Bradshaw to be the cool-girl inspiration you needed, before being cruelly replaced by Blair Waldorf, Rachel Green, and more recently the whole gang from the Bold Type. Beware, girls, a new icon is in town, and she's been invading the streets of iconic style for quite some time. 
It's not new information that Zoë Kravitz, daughter of the king of music Lenny Kravitz and queen of boho-chic style, Lisa Bonet, is the true style icon. If it's in her vein to have such a trendy look, I mean, it's called heritage, Zoë keeps on giving the fashion inspiration you never knew you needed. From the streets of New York City to her discrete and private wedding in Paris, Zoë has nothing more to prove to climb up to the top of the amazing style pyramid. 

High Fidelity is the adaptation of the eponym book by author Nick Hornby, which was adapted in 2000 in a movie with legendary John Cuzak in the main role, taken by Zoë Kravitz in this series adaptation. As she goes through yet another rough break-up, Rob, music affectionado, and record shop owner, navigates through the ghost of her past-relationship to find out what went wrong. 

Modern, contemporary, edgy and yet casual, Zoë's style in the series is effortless and low-maintenance, mainly composed by vintage band t-shirts, the trusty Levi's jeans, a long leather coat, and occasionally Hawaïan inspired looking shirts. 

Melancholic, nostalgic, romantic to some extent, deeply dramatic and realistic. Words that could describe the show as well as Rob's character. Her style is classic for the cool-girl style, cute dresses, short school girl type of skirt, paired with t-shirts, cardigans that could have belonged to your grandmother, and classic loafers with sports socks as the cherry on top of classy, stylish looks. On some occasions, she'll throw a pair of sweatpants, a must-have in our times of Coronavirus, making-it the most fashionable piece we currently own. Never underestimate the power of sweatpants. Let's all thank High Fidelity for the reminder. 
When sportswear meets chic, edgy meets casual, you end with the most inspirational looks you can find during a pandemic. 
If the series is a must-watch, Zoë Kravits's wardrobe adds-up to the fact that High Fidelity must be one of the greatest shows of 2020. 



Did my jeans just make me sterile?

Did my jeans just make me sterile? Buying this perfect pair of jeans, I would never have thought that those denim pants, as incredible as they look, would be such a pain in the butt (literally) to wear.

Fitted where you expect jeans to fit, flattering as ever, and trendy and elegant as you would dream a good pair of pants would be. How could those jeans be such a pain for my crotch? Pressuring this sensible and intimate area and making me wonder if jeans have to be uncomfortable for you to look good in them?

Searching for the perfect jeans has never been an easy quest. After years of trying on every fit of jeans that were brought into the world, I was starting to think that maybe jeans were not for my silhouette. I gave up happily after trying to fit my hips into an oh-so iconic Levi's 501. Not for me. I was about to pay my respect to the end of what felt like an endless search when I found the adequate jeans for my big hips, considerable behind and small waist: the bootcut.

But the talk about the bootcut and the flared jeans would be for another time. My question is: do jeans really have to be uncomfortable to be flattering?

Trying to fit your butt in this thick all-cotton item, you would know that unless you buy a worn-out vintage pair, it is not an easy task. Trust me, I did find out the hard way. For jeans to be a total delight to wear, you would need some good old 'elastane' in it. But elastane is not good for jeans, and definitely not good for the planet. If you want your jeans to be stretchy AF after two days and one trip to the washing machine go for it. But if you want to strike for quality and sustainability, cotton is the best option to go for.

And when your figures look this good in the mirror, and your legs so perfectly highlighted, how can you question the power of good jeans?

Now with my crotch area still traumatized by this oh-so good looking jeans, I'm still wondering if this is all worth it? Does beauty really is pain? I guess it depends on how much you're ready to suffer to look good in jeans.

Talk to you soon.


To buy or not to buy : the Gucci tights dilemma

Eenie Meenie miny mo, should the Gucci tights be wrapped around my toe? Or should they just stay where they are, on the legs on everything fashionistas in town?

Well guess what, the dilemma is over cause I was weak enough to get my hands on this oh-so-trendy accessory from this brand called Gucci. For the not so influential girl, I am, it's quite frustrating to be the one to say, yes I did buy a pair of $90 tights.

I can still hear the judgemental voices of all my friends, fellow fashion addicts, and boyfriend asking 'aren't you afraid they're gonna get ripped?' or 'are you insane buying a pair of $90 tights?'. I apologize, people... And I'm sorry to say that Instagram won. And the crazy amount of posts, photos, and displays my eyes have laid on have successfully worked, to the great despair of my bank account. My money, my choice.

Now, how did those particular tights became such a trendy piece to have? Gucci tights have been around for a while now, crawling their way into the skinny legs of every fashionista out there. As soon as the frisky days arrived, and it's time to cover our legs before they turn purple or blue, the Gucci tights find their way back to the fashionable streets. 

If I've always turned a blind eye on the Gucci fuss, but this time was quite different. Because this time, after seeing the preppy Camille Charrière wearing the tights and killing them, I actually wanted to slip this trend on my legs. 

After an entire week of consideration, hours and hours spent scrolling down the Instagram hole, eyeing girls wearing the tights that screamed at me 'buy me, buy me'. And two days of the actual tights on the Guccy online shopping bag, I did give in. And I am now the proud owner of the legendary Gucci tights, which is now on my possession after a month of waiting.

And being in quarantine for another month, I can now enjoy the beauty of those crazy expensive tights in my own apartment...



Fun times

Hey there,

Growing up I wasn't very fond of amusement parks, although I grew a big love for Disneyland, land of magic and wonderfulness, I would rather sit on a bench minding the bag packs and all, than fear from my life, and my lunch on some crazy rides. I guess you could say that I was the nerd and afraid of everything kid. In fact, if you insist on going with the stereotypes and other clichés, I was the kid with glasses and braces, with absolutely no style. Anyway, what was I writing about... Amusement park! 

I now understand what I was missing out, and oh boy the high waves of regrets that come rushing through my soul and my mind... All those years in California, Massachusetts, Canada, Virginia, whatever, spent on a bench, watching people having actual fun while I was having my own fun to be fair watching people while eating my hot dogs, drinking my Diet Coke, minding as always not only my own business but also the bags of people that weren't even my friends... See? Regrets right there! Bittersweet regrets... 

As I was fully aware of all those years of missed fun, I was ready to make up for this loss, big loss, of amusement. Bring it on, people! We made our minds up for Universal Studio, a first for my boyfriend and I. Our hopes were high and we were expecting a long day of running around, excited just like kids. What we were not ready for was the sun and the fire that was in our head because it was so fricking hot. We had a lot of fun though, and the fact that we didn't take any camera with us to film, was even more resourceful if I may say. We just enjoyed the moment, we enjoyed our presence, and the fun we were having. 

We were amazed by the place in itself, so huge, amazing, we were just kids caught in the moment, running everywhere, screaming how wonderful it was to be here, and witnessing how lucky we were for being in this park. Two kids in love. We wandered around the empty streets of every neighborhood, look at every building, fake houses and just experience the magic of this place. It was out of space, just like stepping into the movies we have watched growing up (or not). We couldn't stop our surprise and the waves of emotions coming at us every time we would see a different world. 

We were wild, we were free and so in love. We were catching up on our childhood. All those things our parents wouldn't let us do when we were just children, we decided to take part in. We went on all the rides, the scariest ones, and the silly ones. The day was a day of endless fun. We ate all the foods our parents wouldn't have allowed to eat. We bought the crazies expensive stuff just for the sake of it. We weren't reasonable, we were adults behaving like kids in charge. It was messy, regrettable on the next day but so much fun. We had hot dogs for lunch and a big bag of chips, huge sugary drinks, and even had donuts for dinner. We were unstoppable. 

We made friends with fake characters, we met our idols that have passed away a long time ago. I finally got my pictures with Marilyn Monroe and stole a donut from the... I don't remember his name... We kept our mind open for fun activities even if it meant waiting an hour and a half to get soaking wet or taking part in a hit and run.

We flew over Hogwart, twice, turned into minions, saved Springfield, and ran away from the Mommy, as well as zombies, which was even scarier than what I thought it would be. In fact, I knew it was a mistake as soon as we stepped into the Walking Dead "ride", I ended up crying in the middle of the trail begging for the security to let me go through the emergency exit. We also escaped from a hungry dinosaur, obviously fake but still scary and unexpected, as we stepped out soaking wet.  I was a long day, a fun day, worth it and full of unforgettable memories. 

We fought, we made up, we laughed and we screamed, well I did. We kept our eyes closed, well I did, and we even got bored at some time. At the end of the day, we could have fallen asleep on the car. Well, actually I did. 

We went overboard with the sugar, so excited during the day, but hitting our pillows going over our days as soon as we got home. We kept our memories in our minds and memory cards, and donuts in the fridge. We were full with joy fueling our energy. Overall, we were so happy for this little getaway, a bit disappointed over the redundancy of the rides, which don't come with any surprises at the end because they're all a majority of virtual reality. 

I'll talk to you soon,



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