b-a-n-a-n-a-s

Do you ever look through someone's tagged photos on Facebook and feel frustrated? Like, in your mind you can't reconcile how someone functions independently in society, or how they could possibly be able to get away with such a publicly reckless lifestyle while still supported by their parents? I feel like this is a crucial stage in 'becoming adult;' trying to map out the sustainability of a complete stranger's lifestyle. Part of the process is accepting that it's totally possible to 'get on in the world' without having your shit together. It seems affirming because it ensures survival despite disorder, but it's also terrifying because it ensures survival despite disorder. It is totally possible to get on in the world without having your shit together. So what if you become one of those people? How will you know your universe isn't an alienated mess if you're blissfully living in it? Acceptance of that axiom probably happens when you exit 'becoming' and actually become. You admit to the reality of imposing your own image of order and alienation onto others. And your frustration dissolves into a calm... the reliable knowingness of permanently imperfect judgment. I know what you're thinking. This shit is bananas. 



OASAP banana print dress, Rings & Tings necklace, vintage bomber jacket, Zero UV sunglasses, Romwe timberland inspired platforms

Everything is infinite,

Bebe

caliguluxe

Posh geometry, ancient luxury, Grecian excess, Italian glamour... I'm back bitch!!!!!!!!!!! Been waiting since the fall of Rome to debut this Vertigo Paris blazer my mom scored while voyaging for vintage. So... besides Caesar's Palace, where have I been for the past month?? I'm not really sure either. But like the Greeks, I've left behind a lengthy written record of my indulgent exploits. I recently traveled to Newport Beach on a complete and utter whim, and before that spent my birthday weekend in San Francisco. I flirted with the Las Vegas 'party scene' for several weeks, but like most great moments in history, that too was just a conquest. For a minute I was even rich! I purchased many satin gowns, colonial undergarments, Pepsi max and a portable notebook 'for my opinions.' My little empire thrived. My little empire fell. Now I find myself alone in history... wealthy with experience, impoverished in resource. A carnal Collosseum, crumbling, atrophied, all the while resilient in my charming torpor. Not photographed: the unforgiving violence of time.



Forever 21 hat, Chanel earrings + bangle, Vertigo Paris blazer, OASAP geometric print skirt, vintage Chanel chain belt, Burberry bag, Missguided heels

Everything is infinite,

Bebe

out of the bloom

Driving through downtown LV with my mom (both photographer and chauffeur), there wasn't a specific location I had in mind to background this technicolor jester look. Until we spotted The Wall. A shade of blue that perfectly, eerily, downright paranormally matched the hues in my vinyl cap and floral bomber. The alley was deserted, just as I like it, so I was free to ham and cheese it up in my platform Timb knockoffs and chainlink hula hoop earrings. There's physically no way to 'keep it together' in an outfit like this. So if you expect me to play it cool the next we're seen in public together, remind me to specifically leave the checkered harem pants at home. Although it will be hard, as they have a mind and a mouth of their own.



Choies floral print snapback, Pink Brix rainbow chain hoops, Butterface Vintage "Whatever" choker, OASAP rose print bomber jacket, Romwe platform boots

Everything is infinite,

Bebe

holla graphic

When you hang out with me, you're also hanging out with my outfit. Bringing this up because the coat I posted about yesterday reminded me of an old friend (male, of course) who almost always felt uncomfortable being seen with me in my opulent faux furs, animal prints, and sequined hats. For obvious reasons; the fashionably unacquainted man assumes all lavishly dressed women are looking for the attention of 'potential buyers.' First of all, that is a myth, as most sex workers are undetectable and dress like anyone else. They don't have the privilege of looking too conspicuous. Second of all, insinuating that I look like a sex worker doesn't offend me or make me want to change my clothes. 'Sex worker' isn't, or at least shouldn't be, a pejorative. I know many very intimately, and the crazy thing is, so did my uncomfortable male friend. He simply didn't know because he didn't ask. So for future reference, I don't have time for the implicitly classist comments about my look, even if they are delivered in jest.

Unapologetically, this is me. Thriving in flashy metallics, plush whites, and Bruce Jenner's beautiful aviator aura.




24 HRS holographic snapback, OASAP crop sweater, Style Moi holographic wrap skirt, Alexander Wang bag, PinkBrix rings

Everything is infinite,

Bebe

avant garden

This look is hazy and pastel, glazed in a milky winter dew reflecting spring hints in bulbs of morning condensation. The synesthete in me distinctly tastes 7 AM in shades of lavender and makes me wish I had woken up even earlier today. Can't understand why I feel so disappointed thinking of the approaching noon. Maybe it's that there's no mystique in moments of clarity.

Hard to believe my mom snapped these shots but I better get used to it -- she's becoming très professional behind the lens, and even gung ho about driving to special locations for more unique backdrops. That's something I'll never take for granted; I'm used to settling for a white wall. ;)




MeeMee pastel fluff bomb knitted jacket, OASAP jersey top + floral pants, Missguided heels

Everything is infinite,

Bebe