Those of you who've been reading this blog for a while know that I have a "thing" with road trips... specifically ones in which I drive out to Los Angeles. No, I don't have a license so I'm never actually the one behind the wheel, and while not being able to plan my own exodus on my own terms is inconvenient, getting to put my feet up on the dash in the passenger's seat of someone else's car makes up for it tenfold. I haven't traveled in a while because my (not so) recent breakup 1) spurned an irrational intimidation of LA (and of everything in general, I now realize... heartbreak is unnecessarily humbling) and 2) sent me careening into aforementioned "quarter life crisis" in which I am essentially too crippled by perennial cliches (WHO AM I?!?!) to satisfy my sequestered wanderlust. Every day I wake up and wonder "is it over yet?" -- can I go back to being my comfortable, collected self? My sister says that you can't force personal harmony. You'll know that you're 'healed' when you feel your proverbial chakras align. Neither of us really buys into the 'new age anatomy' idea, but it doesn't matter -- something within really does 'click into place' after enough time has passed. And it is my understanding of (stupid, idiot) love that nobody gets to decide how much time that is.
I'm hoping that sporting a look that reminds me of traveling West will get me back in the vagabond groove. You learn so much more about yourself when you're on the road, in between two cities, meditative with your forehead pressed against the window glass. No time at 70 miles an hour to concentrate on the canyons and cacti that pass you by, and too much solar glare through the dash to see the horizon in focus. You're stuck in your own head, but you're in motion. Having a novel destination means that something 'important' by virtue of being unexpected will happen whether you anticipate it or not. That confidence, that trust in the literally illuminated unknown, is the most incredible sensation in the world. It is an unspoken flavor that will save my life. I'll always have the road, even if I have no one waiting for me at the other end.
FROM TOP TO BOTTOM:
Hat - Zara
Headchain - Funny People Co.
Fringe sweater - CHICWISH
Ladder necklace - Vanessa Mooney
Leopard leggings - Wholesale Orders
"Funky Booties" - Pink & Pepper
Fringe bag - CHICWISH
Many thanks to Funny People. Co (the makers of my beloved turquoise headchain) and Vanessa Mooney who understand the need for jewelry to compliment a look to compliment a Mach 1 Mustang to compliment a restless lifestyle. Not sure where the idea to pair a headchain with a wide-brim hat came from, but it came, and I acted on it instantly. Praying that I'll have a chance to debut the couple - and maybe even a similar leopard and leatherette fringe ensemble - on a trip West sometime this spring.
I've written about my love affair with travel before... In Love With Dusk.
Still my favorite photo of a random LA sunset in a random LA Walgreens parking lot.
Everything is infinite,
Bebe Zeva
It’s been a rough winter for all of us, some more than
others. ‘Seasonal depression’ is a pretty common phenomenon among us lot of
uber sensitive, unnecessarily emotional creatives. We need the physical comfort
of warmth to remind us that life is real. We need long, summer days to trick us
into believing that we’re not running out of time. We need barbecues and pool
parties to distract us from the imminence of death and other stupid
melodramatic existential shit (things that only privileged people have the free
time to think about). Winter, obviously, is an overt threat to our sanity. We
whine, mope, weep, deck ourselves out in monochrome and refuse to remove our
circle sunglasses in public, flattering ourselves with the masturbatory
paranoia that other people will want to make eye contact with our sorry asses.
We’re perfectly sad. Pristinely depressed. Depreston.
FROM TOP TO BOTTOM:
Hat – Secondhand
Silver cuff necklace - OASAP
Many thanks to OASAP for the necklace, dress, and coat! I’d
be naked and unaccessorized without you. These are the material wonders that
keep me alive and inspired in the treacherous emotional valleys of winter
gloom… I will survive. And look like a very posh, very tortured soul while
doing it.
I guess I'm in that embarrassing "quarter life crisis" phase where - with no tinge of irony - I don't know who I am or what I want to do, all I know is that my current routine is NOT working. I find myself toting textbook knowledge like a trendy handbag, and subconsciously it's trivialized everything I know because I am too eager to share it with other people. I can't outsmart my unspoken ulterior motives - that "knowingness" will help me gain membership into some community founded on chic theories and artistic revolution. Maybe I'll find peace this Spring. I want to live every day not thinking about the future. I think I've sort of been through this before... a sadness onset by "competitive culture." Only people who are winning are happy; the rest of us are made to feel worthless and doomed. We can either join our oppressors in the Elite Climb, or we can find happiness elsewhere. Like in a beam of light.
Everything is infinite,
Bebe Zeva
...Figured that since I have intense dark roots now, I should go hard with the Kurt Cobain look. I couldn't bring myself to wear low-top black Converse so I opted for my favorite Skechers work boots instead. I might look super 'grunge-derivative' but ultimately my outfit isn't meant to be a costume. The love for an oversize flannel, boyfriend jeans, and a striped tee is real. And I rock hair grease like an accessory.
FROM TOP TO BOTTOM:
Sunglasses - Buffalo Exchange
Oversize flannel - YES STYLE
Striped tee - American Apparel
Boyfriend jeans - YES STYLE
Boots - Skechers
I don't usually tote Kurt Cobain as an 'aesthetic inspiration' because I feel like, ironically, people fetishize Nirvana, the grunge movement, and clothing style in a way that is actually offensive to its anti-mainstream principles. So out of respect, I try to keep it offline. Sorry for breaking my streak today, Kurt. I'm sure you understand because you know that at the core we're the same fucking person. Love ya bud.
Everything is infinite,
Bebe Zeva