GOD I LOVE SHOPPING

okay so tell me WHY every time i decide i am emotionally prepared to shop, singapore decides to be like: “here. another beige linen set. you’re welcome.” 😐

no offense to linen but i am TWENTY-FIRST-CENTURY Y2K BRAINROT PERSONIFIED. where are the baby tees with insane slogans. where are the skirts that look like they’d ruin my life a little. why is everything either office-core or “i’m going to brunch with my aunt.”

i want to shop so bad it’s almost embarrassing. like i open my banking app and it laughs at me. she is BROKE broke. spiritual broke. artistic broke. “do i eat or do i buy a tank top with rhinestones that says ANGEL” broke. and yet!!! the desire persists!!! the yearning!!! the vision!!!

and before anyone says “just thrift <3” babe. singapore thrifting is a contact sport. it’s 90% uniqlo ghosts and 10% something cute that is somehow $45. i walk in hopeful and walk out a changed woman (poorer, disappointed, holding nothing but resentment).

so now i’m spiralling into the idea that maybe… maybe making my own clothes is not a bad idea?? like hello?? scissors?? fabric glue?? delusions of grandeur?? suddenly i’m like yes i could simply manifest a top that fits me perfectly and looks like it came from a defunct 2003 brand with a butterfly logo. project runway but make it bedroom floor at 2am.

BUT.

what am i wearing to my judge + audition thing.

because yes. i am a Playwright. (not to brag HEH) (i am bragging a little.) and i need to look like i am:

artistic

intelligent

not trying too hard

but also extremely hot in a mysterious “she reads books” way

which is IMPOSSIBLE because if i dress too cool i look unserious and if i dress too serious i look like i’m attending a parent-teacher meeting. do i wear black? always safe. do i wear something quirky? what if they think i’m annoying. do i wear heels? my cough will take me out mid-strut.

Which beings me to the god awful COUGH

i have been BEDRIDDEN. dramatic? maybe. but tell me why my body chose NOW to be like “actually let’s collapse.” i’ve been coughing like a frail victorian child staring out a rainy window, dreaming of silk scarves and better health. and yet tomorrow i must rise. i must get up. i must SERVE LOOKS 9–5. sickness will not stop the fit.

so here i am. sick. broke. overdressed in my mind. underdressed in reality. typing this like it’s a 2007 blogspot entry with a playlist on the side 

if anyone has fashion advice that says “i am creative, competent, and serving cunt" PLEASE beam it into my brain. Until then im going to gaslight myself into thinking that coughing adds character.

xoxo

currently plotting a slay ✧(≧∀≦)ノ