The Runway

The Runway

Cardigans, skinny jeans, v-necks, shoes and accessories. These are the things that turn my wallet on fire. Fashion is my passion, my poison and my curse. I have no control when it comes to new collections from favorite brands, red prices or anything that fits my taste. I lack of money management and responsibility when it comes to THAT pair of socks, THOSE jeans and damn boy… Look at those overpriced pair of fake glasses. I. Must. Have. Them!

I contracted this disease way back in my single digit years, thanks to my godmother and her cool presents (a frequent traveler who always brought me the cool stuff). Haribo, Ritter Sport and just the right amount of Lacoste. I had jeans in any possible color, dozens of tees, shirts, pullovers, hoodies and jackets. The closet was like a freaking pokédex. My own personal Hennes & Mauritz paradise…
Years passing, me growing, discovering deodorant and its slutty sister, perfume, putting my hands on money,  helped my so called disease to grew its roots deep into my soul, developing certain needs. One of them was the need of looking good, becoming addicted to a life of material.

Clothing, besides keeping us warm, shows a big part of our personality, social status, how much money we earn and the way we feel. Imagine wearing your favorite combination of clothes, how do you feel? Now imagine your mother dressing  you up…

Every time I put on clothes I  imagine preparing for a fashion runway. I see paparazzi checking me out, screaming my name… My life is like a movie and I’m the lead actor, the one that gloriously shines.

My body is a canvas when it comes to dressing up for a certain occasion: going out, with friends, to the nearest supermarket or, to my grandmother. Also, major part of the dressing up process — It’s crucial to hazardously take out half of my dresser to create at least two outfits as last minute options or just for fun. Imagine how the apartment looks when I’m ready to go!

Television thought me to wear different clothes every day. It’s impossible to see me in public with the same outfit two days in a row. Impossible! When it comes to traveling, the number of outfits must be bigger than the number of days away from home, making sure I won’t wear the same shit again. Even if it’s raining with mustard, ice cream trucks explode in front of me or something mysterious happens while fully suited up, I have an emergency outfit, just in case. I’m crazy!

I’m a known shopaholic, addicted to cardigans, skinny jeans and all stars. When I’m sad I tend to spend a lot of money. Money on clothes. And they never come alone, outfit or no outfit. I can’t check out from the shop with just one piece. Are you mad?! Head to toes bitch or GTFO!

Fashion, a material life. Glamour, city lights, concrete jungle, dust and polluted air. My identity, my habitat, my apocalypse. Me.

Who are you? What represents you?

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