The story of a lonely boy

what happens in a lonely boy's life

Password

I’ve created this blog almost exactly a year ago when doubting not only myself but also my choices. Once the long warm evenings and sunny days were replaced with dark cold nights and falling leaves I have abandoned it not because I did not have what to write about or suddenly became incredibly happy but because I had to get back to the harsh reality of the second year student’s life.

And so I did up until last week when I sticked the last picture in my sketchbook and printed out the last page of my portfolio. Days later I decided to crawl back into my safe cyber space to realise that I have forgotten all about it: the email address used to create the account, the account name and the passwords for the above. After a million tries I still could not get in and it got me thinking about the idea of a ‘password’.

As the English dictionary may suggest pass·word  /ˈpasˌwərd/ is a secret word or phrase that must be used to gain admission to something. As somebody who’s got three email accounts, two tumblr blogs, profiles on facebook, twitter and instagram and not to even start with online banking and another million websites that I have signed up to and got a password for every single one of them I couldn’t help but wonder whether having a password really helps or does it just make our lives harder? And do we by creating a password only try to protect our privacy online or do we bring it in our real lives?

I for once most probably have a few if not many passwords in my personal life- that little action or a sentence that is needed to unlock the protected from the people that surround me.

 

LFW

And Antoni & Alison show was followed by the design spotting vauxhall fashion scout presentation- Graduate Showcase

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LFW

Three little letters meaning three huge words in the fashion industry. As every September we are once again greeted by the most fashionable and stylish of all in London. Can one not enjoy this?!

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Birthday Boy

Birthday- the one day in a year where you are either the happiest or the saddest person. No matter what happens on the day and what thoughts go behind the ageing forehead one will at some point feel flattered because of the attention they get: the text messages, the Facebook posts, calls from old friend, tweets from the people they don’t know and a few postcards in their post box all wishing a happy birthday! And of course all of that is followed by a big fat birthday bash exclusive to the best and only friends of theirs.

We are all so fast to put the glamozon on in some club in Mayfair or Soho whilst maxing the credit card to buy the best birthday outfit and eat that cake that’s meant to wash the sours of the a higher number on our age if not the move to the next age box but do we actually stop for at least a minute and consider the outcome of yet another year that has just passed away? Nevertheless the birthday is a mark of getting older just in a much more celebratory way.

So when it comes to birthdays I couldn’t help myself but wonder do we only get old or do we actually become wiser? Is it the life experience that we receive or just few wrinkles there and there? And when it comes to people wishing one a happy birthday is it the sincerity or the pity that’s the real happy birthday message?

Nowadays we tend to set objectives that often regards the age. We keep repeating by the age of 25 I want a real job, by 30 I want my own apartment and by 35 a big rock on my finger. But what if our objectives don’t come in a way we wish they would. What if it only stays as a big dream or worse carries over to the next and the following year. Can we ever be happy without what we have wished for when we were younger and carefree? When there were no reality checks and when it seemed like you’ll never grow out of this teenage life?

Maybe we, well at least I, should stop holding on to the past dreams and start thinking about maybe not so dreamy reality- the presence. And wish I’d only stay wrinkle free and attractively young for as long as I can because the age box will only move up and the life won’t unless you do something about it.

Entitled

Spending a lazy Sunday afternoon with nothing else but the rain outside and a couple of fashion magazines inside I came across an article in the latest issue of i-D. Well an interview to be precise. The star of the ‘The Amazing Spider-Man’: Andrew Garfield was interviewed by Jonathan Crocker for their ‘The lights, camera, action issue’.

After a little trip downtown, a lunch catch up and a few phone calls later I still couldn’t get that interview out of my head and just for the record it wasn’t the only interview I’ve read that morning. You may think I am either a big fan of the actor or the movie but truth to be told I am not a fan of either, well not yet at least as I haven’t seen his performance or the movie. What kept repeating in my head were these three sentences that almost felt like an itching scarf: You have to work for things. I think our generation has a real problem with working for things. We feel entitled.’

As the day kept passing and the word ‘entitled’ kept echoing in my mind I couldn’t help myself but wonder whether we really do feel that way? Have we forgotten what it really takes to get to the top or have we just come up with a different way to get there? And do our expectations “to be” exceed our willingness “to do”?

As a fashion student I keep hearing these phrases coming out of others as well as myself (no excuse here): I could have shot this spread; I could have written this article; I could have been the chosen person to contribute for this magazine. I, I and once again I. We are all fast to call ourselves designers, stylists, PR pros and I won’t even mention the bloggers but are we all so fast to work for it the same way we are to act like ones? Is it really that easy or is it the 21st century’s youth myth? I wish it would be as easy as ‘poof you are a stylist’ but isn’t that a bit too much of a fairy tale. Where did the idea of hard work, unpaid internships and disappointment get lost? Everyone seems to have the tricks to get into fashion shows, after parties and somehow get in touch with the well-known and respected. But after all do all of those count or is it just another illusion of being somebody important?

Photo diary #2

Jacket, jeans, shirt: Topman, Clutch: Topman Design, Shoes: Converse, Watch: Marc by Marc Jacobs

Photo diary

jumper: cos, raincout: zara, jeans: topman, shoes: reiss, watch: marc by marc jacobs

close up

starter at wagamama’s

main at wagamama’s


Take your broke ass home

Savings one little one word but one huge and effort consuming idea. I remember the long gone days of carefree thinking where there was no tomorrow, no next week and better off no next year. Where the holidays were pre-paid and the “must have” items didn’t exist or at least didn’t have a meaning.

I as somebody who’s living in London and gets 7 pounds per hour always thought of it as an action far beyond the bounds of possibility. And so I never cared if I had that extra “in case of emergency” money as my income always had the same expiration date on it: use by the next pay-day.

So when it comes to savings I couldn’t help but wonder whether it is something that one may start once his salary reaches more than three zeros or is it really for the ordinary people like me? And more importantly what do we prioritize to cut in order to save? After all isn’t the money better off at exactly where I can see it – my wardrobe?

I always religiously believed in that idea and that is how I prefered to spend or shall I say save my money. It was all good fun when my wishlist was limited to Topman clothes but as I am getting older I star to wonder whether I will always be happy with buying into the same old high street brand or will I want to grow out of it. And how will I manage that. I am starting to realise that more and more often my eyes catch designer goods that people carrying it pass me every day. You may think I just want quality but what I really want is to own some Veblen goods, well at least a couple, like a Mulberry bag. I just think it would make me feel special every day when I would carry it even though for the next year after purchasing it every day I would probably have to carry a £2.5 lunch from tesco’s in it.

So as off today I am saving until I can afford something that will last me years probably equivalent amount of years that i will spend saving for it.

When you feel so tired but you can’t sleep

When your life turns into a one big dilemma and when questions in your head keep spinning around and around almost making you feel dizzy you can easily find yourself spending a sleepless Saturday night as I do right now.

I truly believe that questioning your choices that you’ve made earlier on in your life is probably the hardest bit of being a grown up, if I can call that myself, after all I am still only a twenty year old. Sometimes I wonder if I would have been better of by listening to my parents, by asking for their advice and carrying about their opinions. We all say that the best part of being young and carefree is the drive and passion for the things that one wants to perceive. But when it comes to the so unwanted reality check are we willing to take the punishment for the wrong turns we took in life? And after all what if that drive or passion evaporates as soon as you bump into a rock?

Sometimes I wonder whether I expect too much from life at this particular stage or whether I just haven’t made enough out of it to celebrate it in a way I’d like to. I am still a student doing my BA course with two more years to go and from what I’ve heard my life should be surrounded by the books and my food agenda should only include toasts with beans. But as a fashion student I have always imagined even my university days to be much more fabulous: sample sale shopping of the high-end designers, new exhibition openings and the ever biggest sales splurges in the three biggest department stores. I know that for all that you have to earn first but it’s not like I am not earning anything. I have a full-time job to support myself throughout the summer in an almost high-end english retailer but somehow this is not even close to enough.

I really cannot even guess what’s up with me whether I am disappointed at myself, my choices or whether I am just jealous for all the rich and fabulous twenty year olds out there but somehow not even the purest 100% silk scarf from Alexander McQueen can pull me out of my misery.

(Not that long after this post has been published the writer has returned the A. McQueen scarf and happily accepted the cash in return.)

Gay and the city

I know a lot of people (who) assume that if you are gay and living in London your life is like a dream come true filled with studded Christian Louboutin shoes, Prada clutch bags, Burberry coats and of course surrounded by the best looking guys. In other words most of them believe that you are a gay version of Carrie Bradshaw looking for the two L’s but just in London.

I, on the other hand, somebody who’s gay and living in London, can only prove the opposite. Even though many of you could argue how exciting London is for the gay people as there’s soho where the number of gay clubs is probably equivalent to the number of casinos in Las Vegas and the amount of retailers merchandising and indirectly targeting to this specific homosexual men’s audience exceeds anyone’s expectations. When I moved here, or even before when I used to pop down to London whilst studying in a college, I always thought that this place is the heaven on Earth. And I still do from time to time just much more rarely now.

It’s strange because it feels like I used to see London with its exciting and glamorous mask on and now the real face underneath it has been revealed almost explicitly showing the unknown and before unseen gay men’s casualties. To me it looks like London is a place where gay men lose their dignity, run away from the word “relationship” or “strings” and are looking for nothing else than just pure, mostly dirty, sex. Bitching about other people, partying till dawn and taking drugs whilst in the queue  for the toilet in such places like Low Profile becomes their daily agenda.

And I want my exciting glamorous London back. Sometimes it just looks to me like I may be too innocent for this even though I really doubt it.

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