sequestrian

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

spring persueded

Paisley. Velvet. Suede. Spring. Spring. By the look and feel of things, this season won't be any peppier than the others (which is not at all if you're me). But I'm hoping that great weather will bring greater incentives to walk outside and soak up some vitamin D for an extra 'happy kick' here and there. Maybe this time of year will change me in more ways than sun exposure... after all I am turning 22 in May (the 7th to be exact, just in case any of you wonderful people are considering throwing me a *surprise birthday party* wink wink). I don't really know how to go about processing my age because it doesn't match my lifestyle or attitude or expectation. As a kid, the '20s' seemed pretty old, sophisticated, fun, sexy. I imagined myself in a maxi skirt attending college in Boston, already working on my second or third novel in the courtyard grass. I thought I'd already be published, well-known, independent enough to live in a dorm room, disciplined enough to even get into an ivy league at all. Instead I'm wearing yoga pants, living with my mom, bitter about my academic failure and nowhere near publishing anything except this blog post. My net worth is even identical to what it was in sixth grade when my only expenses were Starburst and Orbit gum. I know life is full of surprises but I didn't realize they'd all be this... unflattering. My only solace, my constant respite, is clothes. They make me feel good about myself even when my track record doesn't.

My mom and I arranged this outfit together. I find that including my mom in the process of arranging a look, choosing complementary locations, and photographing the whole shabang is SO much more gratifying than riding solo. I might be bossy but lord knows I could use a reality check every once in a while from mama-knows-best. ;)



Romwe sunglasses, Etro paisley and velvet scarf, vintage turtleneck and suede miniskirt, Jimmy Choo Rhea purse, Missguided platform boots

Everything is infinite,

Bebe Zeva