hard in the paint

In an alternate universe where I'm an elementary school art teacher and actually have the patience to deal with children and their vulgar, senseless tastes (jk), this paint-splattered hacky-sack-inspired outfit is my uniform. Glasses included. A part of me has this "leadership complex" I feel compelled to fulfill... although I'm not sure how it will manifest in my career. I don't think I could ever maintain my sanity and work in an institution at the same time. Nonetheless I feel a duty to lead/educate/inspire... maybe not in the form of teaching kids primary colors, perhaps in critique or politics or something else completely that hasn't hit me in a stroke of genius yet. In the interim, my art school persona suffices the fantasy. 




Blackfive color palletes top, Blackmilk hackysack leggings, Missguided heels, Rings & Tings necklace, Zero UV shades

Everything is infinite,

Bebe

tropic blues

"Tropic blues" is a geographically inaccurate but nonetheless beautiful description of the kind of syndrome that comes with living in Las Vegas. To distract you from the desolate landscape are resplendent signs in more shades of neon than Pantone could catalog in a century... and the hotel interiors are decorated in as much maximalist glitz as their counterpart curb appeal advertises. There is little aesthetic or sensory distinction between standing outside on the boulevard or inside the casinos' marble annals. Either way, you're awestruck by the obvious wealth that went into building this place. It's so impressive that it actually inspires you to rescind your cynicism and vest trust in whatever well-insured system is responsible for the whole damn fortress. Whatever it is, it's working! Right?

But then you realize that the infallible size and grandeur of this paradise can only exist given the premise that its visitors always put more money into it than they aspire to take away in jackpot winnings and lucky bets. This city is financially unsustainable without the constant influx of cash from travelers seeking respite. American boredom is exploited by the Vegas big wigs who can offer you a temporary escape in exchange for most of your savings. This city is a business -- no paid representative here will ever encourage you to explore the free activities offered. (Because that doesn't benefit the casinos and also free activities don't exist here.)

There's nothing inherently wrong with vacation. But what's inherently wrong with Vegas vacation is its deceptive agenda. Vegas wants you to believe that this is your chance to finally win big and go home rich. It wows you with size, space, lights, glitter, artificial beauty. It seduces you into trusting that it actually cares about your experience, when the city only 'cares' (requires) that you spend. It's simple psychology: illusion of reciprocity.

You think Vegas is giving you something amazing - opportunities! Sights! Entertainment! The possibility of millions. So you feel inclined to spend more money there to reciprocate the hospitality. But you don't owe Vegas anything. It's impressing you not so that you'll feel more relaxed- it's impressing you so that you'll trust it more. This process of securing your trust exists to compensate for how much corruption and greed it has to hide. How clever. The best hiding place is in clear sight, swathed in a feather boa and rhinestones to the gills.

The power Vegas has over its residents and travelers is physically manifested in gorgeous billion dollar real estate. All of us are individually too small to take it down. That kind of helpless surrender to the mathematical fact that is "The House Always Wins" just might be the foremost symptom of Tropic Blues.



Holes eyewear, Lashes of London bomber jacket, Blackmilk Hex color code dress, O-Mighty skirt, secondhand heels

Everything is infinite^3,

Bebe