MEXICO CITY: le flâneur

My Spanish skills don’t come from laundry, they come from obsessively watching episodes of “La Reina del Sur.” If you want to talk about smuggling hashish to Spain from North Africa, I’m you guy. If you want to talk about the prison system, look no further. If you want to talk about the early hours of morning when the sunlight casts everything in a grey pall and it’s the moment that at some point in your life you’re sure you will pass on, well, I’m you guy. But if you want to talk about the different treatments for rayon….look elsewhere.

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MEXICO CITY: With the Prophet

If you’ve read more than one of these blog posts you’ll know my deep and true desire to be a hay farmer in rural Romania. (Don’t worry, there’s more on that coming up!) Oh there would be nothing more joyful than baling hay all day and thinking of nothing but hay. Hay, hay, hay! It’s not to be, but one of these summers I swear to you I’ll vanish into the night, turn up in Brașov, and then make my way to the countryside to train as a hay farmer. I’m quite serious.

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THINGS I LOVED/HATED THIS WEEK #240

The theme of this year’s gala was CAMP, and I don’t think I could have been more excited. Unlike the straights, I know that camp does not refer to gallivanting around the woods with a tent and a s’more, camp is an aesthetic that is near and dear to my heart. It is a celebration of excess and decadence and of the absurd. I know I’m camp. When I wear my silk florals and golden boots and ridiculous glasses, I’m part of the camp aesthetic.

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