Prediction: The Forever 21 Summer Collection

-Sizeless everything. Because a small in Forever 21 sometimes looks like it could fit on somebody who is a size small, and sometimes it looks like the person who sized it has never seen sizes? Sometimes I’m a large but then I’m an extra small? Why are there so many straps and why are the armholes here?

-Stick-on bindis that contain tracking devices so you can find the person wearing it and give them a grandmotherly smack on the back of their head, okay HUDGENS?

-A shirt so heavily encrusted with skull studs that you can be a Russian Monarch Child getting shot at and still survive. We call this shirt the Anastasia. Does not come with hot cartoon dude.

-We’re still doing this with the bodysuits?

-Giant shirt that says “PIZZA-CATTITUDE-GIVE ME YOUR BOYFRIEND” and it’s actually a summoning device of the devil, who is actually the 13-year-old girl who called her mother a bitch in the makeup section at Target when I was home last weekend.

-A leather executioner’s hood with floral headband attached, for when you want to cute up your medieval cosplay.

-A light pink, floral Marauder’s Map that leads you to the section in Forever 21 with the cheap flannel that fits, the untangled necklaces and everybody is over the age of 14.

-Shorts that are so short they just go “I’m sorry, I give up” and climb straight up into your bumhole

-Graphic T-shirts that say: “Fuck it, I Guess I’ll Buy This,” “But Why is There a HOLE HERE?!?!” “This Costs 4 Dollars And This Costs 25?!” and “Oh, Awesome, Cross Detailing.”

-Jewelry that’s already green

-Skirts at Impressively Unflattering Lengths even you couldn’t imagine

-Crop Tops: Wear these and many pagan farmers believe it will keep their wheat fields going for yet another cruel and harsh summer

-A dress that seems like, maybe it will look good? Do you think this will look good? Am I too old for this? It’s not like I have any more cash than I did when I was in college.

-For the Love of All Things, Please Stop With The Elastic Waistband
-The Miley Cyrus Collection* *Girl Who Is Going To A Miley Cyrus Concert Collection

-Hey man, wanna try making a bralette for D Cups?

-A giant headband that is shaped into the Eye of Sauron, all-knowing, useful when you are searching for at least one fucking midi-ring that looks good

-A Protective Shield that just radiates Valencia Filter off you

-A cute skirt that gives you two hours of your life back in this store. God, I fucking love this store.

My no makeup look is sunshine and mascara and margarita salt

My no makeup look is sunshine and mascara and margarita salt

To Turn Down A Drink

Instead of saying “sorry, I have a boyfriend” say “thanks, I’m a feminist.”

Getting Hot In Here: Makeup Tips For Hotter Weather

Although I feel as if it’s been cold for fucking ever, which I suspect is because of our nation’s undying allegience to the movie Frozen, it’s finally warming up at long last. With the days of bundling up and screaming at the snow coming to a close and the dawn of being constantly sweaty and unhappy inches upon us, it’s time to think about changing up the foundation and skin routine. Why? I don’t know about you, but in the winter my skin is a dry fuckwad mess and in the summer it’s oily and just ready to create gigantic pimples if I’m not careful. That’s Mother Nature’s way of saying “you decided to put up Subway Sandwich Franchises where my flowers were, so screw you.” So. Here’s the jist: my skin is relatively clear so I’m comfortable minimizing my makeup in the summer, but I know plenty of you don’t feel comfortable going without foundation or a heavier makeup look…and screw everybody who makes you feel bad about that. The tips below are useful for those looking to wear any amount of makeup in the hot months.

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New York The Terrible or Beautiful

It’s never occurred to me to leave New York City.

I couldn’t. Every weekend is somebody’s birthday, every weekday is a glass of wine with a friend, a finally getting around to the gym, a trip to the store to find something useless I’ve needed for months. I don’t have the time. Sometimes, many times, I want to. I dream of places with open space, leg room, sunlight, and forgiveness.

I do not look at New York like a love and I do not look at New York like the way you look at things you blindly love. I look at New York City like something that could never love me back and more often than not, I am resentful of that. Sometimes I am jealous of the people who hold it tenderly, who look at it as a vast jungle of pizza slices and opportunity. Those people believe more strongly in baseball, in coffee, in bagels than I ever could. The distaste I feel leaves me no closer to leaving than yesterday. I tick off the reasons why not and finally, settle on “cue that skyline at sunset” and a place nearby that serves decent Bloody Marys.

New York City makes you angrier than you were before, specifically at people. People who innocently grab the subway pole near you, or take your seat, or bob their head to headphoned music, or walk slow, or block your entryway to the bodega freezer. You become immune to real things on the way to whiskey bars, you wish you could scream your name and have a flicker of recognition somewhere, and you know that you cannot. You walk past police tape on the way to grab a sandwich. You rent an apartment in areas where your presence forces people out of it. You hear stories of people getting shot, and they are a cough swept under the rug. Your only thoughts: the quickest subway route, the money in the bank, when will I go on vacation. You become a planet slowly orbiting in the middle of nowhere: if you lose your keys your friends are oh, so far away to help you. If you cry, nobody notices. You are responsible for keeping yourself in orbit, and all too many times you forget how. A weekend out in the suburbs or Massachusetts reminds you only of how you are out of place and how you dress funny and it still keeps you dreaming of someplace different. This place, you feel, might not exist.

In New York City, the elements are soot, fire, tap water. You buy expensive face cream to imitate what the sun and open air do. You believe love is in dark corners, you believe 4am is a decent time, you cannot leave your phone anywhere or it will be gone forever.

Some days, like yesterday, I pulled out Google Maps and it wasn’t working and this made me feel so critically alone I thought my chest would burst. Where would I go, I thought, and I had no answer so I just kept walking. I found where I was because I kept going, and in that moment, I remembered why I liked New York City so damn much. It kicks you, I think, and almost pats you on the back while it is doing so.

And maybe, sometimes in the spring, I love baseball a little more. I use “smear” in instructions to the bagel man. I walk on cobblestone streets and feel the sun on me and try something like a dosa or a street taco. I meet a friend who has become a room to me in the house I am trying to build. I feel greater successes, I wipe my tears, I keep going until I find the place I am looking for. New York City is not my lover but it is my toughest love. I want to leave, often, but suspect I never will.

Then again, here I am on the subway ride from Brooklyn to Manhattan, and the city skyline still feels like a miserable, beautiful beast I’m not sure I’ll ever be allowed to claim.