The new look is envy

If I wear some light wash jeans and some black platforms people will think I’m cool enough, y’know? Strap on my expensive uncomfortable platforms (90s style), stuff my “New Yorker” tote with my $26 dollar strawberry lip balm and the poetry and prose novella I never finished. (even though I never read the fuckin’ New Yorker). Waking up at 9 AM with enough time for the morning routine of my dreams. Before leaving my stylish east side apartment I’ll be sure to cover my arms in a velvet overcoat that passes my knees but, is slim around my hips. I’ll have that artistlook. That sleek look. The “my parents saved enough money for me to live the next 30 years comfortably look.” I protest and protect the lives of minorities in America instead of sitting in silence, allowing them to have their voices heard, FOR ONCE!!!! The hip freelancing professional that finds art in reoccurring trash but swears it’s NEW it’s HIP.

A day job? What? Never heard that, never felt that, never experienced that…

Color me green with envy but, one of the reasons I love living in New York is also one of the reasons why I find it so dull. The artist aesthetic.

You all look the same to me
You all look the same to me
You all look insane to me.

While riding the subway to work I’ve been listening to a mix of Mazzy Star, “Happyness”, Will Smith and my new weekly favorite Smiths song. I’ll post all my playlists and their vulgar titles eventually. 

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