Hyperindustrial city livin' sure has made me a fan of garden motifs. Not because the Bellagio observatory renewed in me the sense of botanical wonder that slowly faded as I inched farther and farther from my New England homebase, but because in principle one always wants what they can't have. And I can't have plants. Okay, the occasional cactus and evening primrose on the rare chance that I'm driving through the desert. But besides that it's just artificially planted palm trees and potted shrub shit lining hotel walkways. So I compensate with flower-shaped Valentino purses, bejeweled Lanvin necklaces and vintage brooches in shades of jade and ruby. Paired with Ralph Lauren Rugby plaid, a floral halter and Armani blazer, I appear on the carefully pruned terrace a scholar of botany... vesting faith in the existence of chloroplasts and vascular stem tissues. Just philosophical axioms to me, a stranger to nature in this barren parking garage we call an entertainment capital.
Kidding -- put everything I said except "Valentino," "Lanvin," "Armani" and "Ralph Lauren" under erasure. GOTTA GO.
Lanvin necklace, Plein Sud halter top, Armani blazer, Ralph Lauren skirt and heels, Valentino bag
Sous rature,
Bebe Zeva
I was never on any sports leagues growing up and usually sat out of group activities in gym class, preferring to take a zero than one for the team. But for that I consider myself an athlete. See, I'm an olympian loner. I train all year for tournaments that no one knows exist because they don't. And I always come in first place. Isolation, solitude, withdrawal, social indifference... they're not games so much as they are tests of strength. They measure all the same qualities a traditional sport would: willpower, determination, passion, and for all intents and purposes cooperation - because who's to say the Self is one agent and not many working for and against each other at the same time? I don't need teammates to prove that I can make compromises or set up a winning play. For that I have states of mind; sovereign and nebulous, simultaneous and independent. In most cases I don't even play for the same team during the same competition... I play for both, all three, every and none at all. No hoops or hurdles necessary, no bridles, no bats, no balls. Only a court -- the one I inevitably take with me, that inevitably takes me with it. I don't really have a choice when it comes to participation. My only goal is to come out a champion -- by not ever coming out at all.
Forever 21 hat, Etro scarf, Sugarlips blouse, equestrian riding pants, Gucci pumps, Lanvin purse
Everything is infinite,
Bebe Zeva
I'm starting to wonder if I'll ever revisit these blog posts and refer to them as diary entries. The thought alone has sparked some anxiety that I'm not being forthcoming enough in my copy... I'm talking too much about peripheral details -- weather, vague emotional patterns, the act of blogging itself. Maybe I keep so much hidden because there truly isn't much to reveal. Unlike most people my age I'm both unemployed and not actively seeking a job (or a career for that matter). Even more uncharacteristically, my social life... simply isn't one. If I have to talk to another person, it's either by text or email or social media, on the elevator, in the lobby while making coffee, at the concierge desk asking for packages, while purchasing a pepsi max at the gas station next door, while greeting the bellmen, engineers, valet drivers and janitorial staff on my way in or out of the condo I now consider a safe marble cave. I'm Rapunzel in my prison tower, except I have hair extensions and Stockholm Syndrome. I choose this life. I invite no prince. Despite perversely loving my electively doorless cell, it's difficult to find pleasure anywhere. Music doesn't sound as good as it used to. Movies make me impatient. Narratives delivered through any artistic medium feel superfluous as I'm already surrounded by them by virtue of using language. So I'm frustrated. And distrustful. All in all I guess if I were to treat this blog as an honest diary to accompany my honest images, the only events I'd have to describe are my feelings. Sooooo...
Dear Diary, I like this outfit.
Zara hat, Vionnet fringe scarf, Member's Only jacket, Missguided leather top, J Brand leather cuff jeans, Etro bag
(Thank you for the lovely pics, Mama!)
Everything is infinite,
Bebe Zeva
