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Holding Chloé’s invitation card while blinking hard against the strobe lights. Everyone here looks like they were carved out of marble and exclusively fed on clean air with old money, cream silk.. amber suede.. all at once. It’s a bit too much to handle but I’m loving it, anyways. I slipped out into the night after the show ended. Sitting on a stone curb by the seine, chewing on nice-smelling pastries wrapped in grease-stained paper while the city still busy inside their hustle. I pull my suit tighter around my shoulders. Here’s a little piece of myself to share: always let the lace tear. Let your hands stay stained with ink, no matter how many polished mirrors they put in front of your face to make you forget where you came from. It’s all about being what you are now, right, Ilyes? So do I. My heels are quite ruined and my hair, thankfully, still as good as the first breath I took after I came out the room this morning. I’ll probably live long enough to step into every unknown cities I could name.
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Oh, and, a little surprise! Proper apology from me since it’s been a while from the last time I ever posted something here. Enjoy a bit of my camera roll as I visited Paris, my outfit, my looks, my everything with a very-honorable-mention of my boyfriend, who took all the pictures and accompanying me all along. Enjoy your weekend, Ilyes. ♡
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There’s a heavy platter of garlic-soaked escargot steams in the center of the table. I, excitedly, lifted a chocolate cake up like an offering, the sweet is too much to refuse! A glass bottle tilted straight back against my teeth, chugged in one-go like I’m sitting on a curb rather than under brass chandeliers. Which one would you love to try first, Ilyes? Have a seat with me and let’s talk a bit. The little voice inside that wants to tear everything apart tries to make a joke of how completely out of place we are in all this lace and velvet, but it always loops back around something softer. Everyone carries some kind of ugly weight and stitches of their own, and being human in a room that demands silence is kind of clumsy. But as long as we could gamble for another night, it’ll be perfectly content to stay alive in the middle of it.
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I hope that the way I keep showing here doesn’t bore anybody.. but, really, it’ll be such a waste if I’m keeping them pictures buried, right? So, here it was again: some well-spent day before the chaos of fashion week, I got the opportunity to stroll around Paris street and visited the store. Dry autumn leaves drifting in from the boulevard with the buttery tang of treated leather that lingering in the air, one shot and I must’ve been dare my own life to stay for a little longer. In fact, I am enjoying it a bit too much. Tucked in my arms, the signature, the black leather, the Chloe Paddington bag with its chunky brass padlock that sits cold and heavy against my blouse. And again, the cream-colored shearling Paddington pocket edition with winter fleece I clutched dear life my hands seemed to refuse to go—just perfect, for me. Well, if you could pick, which one would you take between the two, Ilyes?
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                𝇘 𝅄 ⠀⪩✫⪨ ⠀ 𝅄 𝇘
           𝐅𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐲 𝐆𝐨𝐝𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐜
           𝐑𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥 𝐁𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦.

the attic rang at bewitching hours, rousing the masses who were blackballed. 𝒂 𝒃𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒚 𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒂𝒄𝒍𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒆𝒅 𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔, where the gallant and the whole caboodle 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗁â𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗎. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

ྀི‿︵𓏲 ࣪₊ #CinderIanAt17₊࣪ 𓏲‿︵ྀི

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ with the alchemy of neat
‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ fairies 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 through
‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ the lucidity a brittle
‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ moccasin lay cramped
‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ beneath the elegant dash of
‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ her sleeves and lanky
‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ gown, clasping every eye. 𓏲ꪆ
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