I’ve been rather hush-hush on the Resort collections. There’s been a lot grabbing my attention (looking at you Gucci and Valentino), but I just wasn’t ready to jump on my blow horn. Then one of my low-key favourites wowed me with some crazy prints, fish skins, and sustainable fashion. Osklen, you have my heart.
Roughly 400 years ago, I discovered a little brand called Black Milk. They’re Australian nylon whisperers who might be just as nerdy as me. If you haven’t jumped on board their train of cool, you’ve been missing out on some of the coolest things ever.
Yeah, yeah, yeah. Self-proclaimed hipster, Molly, goes to Starbucks. Ask me if I care. I’m pretty snobby when it comes to coffee, but I will always have mad love for Starbucks. Especially when a strawberry milk of sorts came to play in the form of the #PINKDRINK.
You know when a news story comes around that just makes your stomach fall out of your body? The more you read about it, the more ice cubes fall into your heart. To say I am disgusted by the Brock Turner rape case, is a drastic understatement.
At this point, I think everyone with internet access knows who Brock Turner is, what happened at a Stanford party in 2015, and more importantly, what Judge Aaron Persky did to women everywhere. I am never a person to climb on a soapbox, but this was just incredible to me.
Before starting this blog, I was a photographer. I can, will, and often do take portraits, but there is something so cathartic in nature. People disappoint far more often than a flower or mountain ever will, and they require no direction. They just are. I’m not saying you can simply go out and snap pictures without a thought for f-stops or ISO settings, definitely not. It’s just wonderful to get lost in your camera without having anyone around save for a pretty little flower.
As I mentioned in my previous post, my health has been far from spectacular. In order to heal myself, I’ve retreated to my parents’ house where the flowers reign supreme. I have a few potted succulents and a spunky orchid, but I can’t even dream of comparing to the botanical heavyweights that are my parents. They’re the kind of people that mess with the acidity of soil to achieve a hydrangea in shocking hues. It’s impressive to say the least. I just graduated from killing cacti on a somewhat professional level, so I have a long way to go.