on transcendental meditation, a love story

Dollar bills as a cocktail waitress aren’t near as fun as those from 1000 words, so I present more freelance, via an essay I wrote for Refinery29 about my lifelong practice of Transcendental Meditation, because pure consciousness, diving within the depths of my being, is the most beautiful, powerful thing I have ever experienced- and I get to do it twice a day. Read it here, and learn more about the technique here. Photo by...

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doll parts

This Halloween I realized a bizarre style evolution, in which my choice of clothing is currently based off of a high-ranking macabre level and worn only when I’ve fully imagined the creepy character a look can recall, see: serial killing school girl, shipwrecked prostitute, turn-of-the-century ghost nurse, dead clown bride, pervy ’70s teacher- all recent looks in my stable of Instagram #ootds. Naturally, I simultaneously attribute this to a lifelong love affair with the October...

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being combative, defending headwear

In today’s edition of “Show and Tell: Freelancers ‘R’ Us,” I present to you last week’s piece on awkward hats for the Style Con, in which I fetishize fashion headgear and argue against self-proclaimed fashion experimentalists who insist on odd hats’ triviality (cough cough Man Repeller cough), because I like to be divisive, but, like, hello, you guys already knew that. A little taste, below: “Ladies of style from here to Wetumpka are aware of...

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how to scare children and dress like a monster, without actually trying

An excerpt from my latest piece for the Style Con, re: Halloween, “Ahhh! Real Monsters,” via a how-to guide from this creep who dresses like one 365 days of the year. “For when you consider that you might actually be possessed and nothing but the unusually macabre will suit you before you quench your blood lust:┬áBecause in your dreams you are A) a demented orphan school girl, B) a morbid Civil War nurse, C) a...

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under construction // bondage and bustles

Blame it on the eternal spirit of Halloween, of the freaky and otherworldly that live on in my bewitched heart year round, or just my penchant for sartorially shocking my mother (hi Mom!), but as autumn’s progressed, and as my layers continue to multiply, I’ve become attached- rather, glued- to my small collection of Zana Bayne harnesses, enamored by the transformative power of fashion’s iteration of bondage wear. The subversion of fetish-wear denotes a certain...

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