Long gone are the days of "You can't wear that, it's for girls." As society is becoming more open and accepting as a whole, the lines of feminine and masculine become more and more blurred. More and more people are questioning why it's acceptable for women to wear men's clothing, but not the other way around. Is it possible to erase the gender identity society bestowed on clothing?
I feel as though there’s some great debate around tattoos; does it have to have meaning? I’d argue that, whether intended or not, all tattoos have meaning. Each tattoo is attached to a moment, a memory, and each hold a place in the heart of the tattooee. I know people who want tattoos but don't have one because they can't decide on something important enough to have on their body forever. I know people who have important meaning in each of their tattoos. I also know people who don't understand how I can get random tattoos on a whim because they don't understand my belief behind tattoos. All of these are valid. Tattoos are permanent after all and you should be comfortable with what you get if you ever get one. I just think of tattoos more of a photo album or a journal. Little pieces of my life and moments I'd like to cherish.
The 90's had something for everyone. It was a time where, on a global scale, the trends were all over the place. You had Kurt Cobain and Courtney Love leading the grunge revolution, Cher Horowitz and Rachel Green inspiring the next generation of luxury designer lovers, pop stars literally wearing whatever they wanted; it was a truly magical time for fashion. So many of the trends that were popular then have made a strong comeback and some have managed to stay popular since the 90's. These are the best of the best.
Home. A simple word with an extremely complex meaning. A word that means something different to everyone. A word that can change its meaning at the drop of a hat.
Just the smell of this place is enough to make me nauseous. It just smells deep fried. The kind of place you walk into and immediately feel the need to wash your face. I made my way to the bathroom eyeing everyone’s food, telling myself I’m not hungry. I’ve survived the last four days on Diet Coke, gum, and Camel lights. One bite of greasy diner food would undo all that work I’ve done. One fry will inevitably lead to a whole plate which leads to a burger and, next thing you know, I’ll have ordered two large pizzas to whatever roadside motel I make home for the night. No. Head down. Bathroom. Leave.
I was having a heated discussion with my mom. It was all in my head, but I was getting my thought out regardless. I’ve started having these conversations with myself instead of with her, not because I was afraid of these conversations with her, but because I knew how they would end. In my head, I get a tearful apology and changed actions that confirmed that apology. In reality, however, it would end in a fight. I would plead my case, she would insist she’s doing absolutely nothing wrong with that tone that takes me back to her middle naming me when I was in trouble when I was young. Her brow would furrow and I would retaliate in that booming voice that frightened my brother when he was little. We wouldn’t surrender until the other walked away and then we wouldn’t speak without harsh tones for days. Eventually, sweeping the issue under the rug to fester and never again see the light of day. This is how every confrontation with my mother has gone for as long as I can remember, and I don’t have it in me to fight right now. So, I play both parts and say each line over and over until I get the result I feel I deserve. Just another item to add to the list of things I need to talk about in therapy.