I'm about to half-confess something I've never really told a soul.
There's this girl.
She loves the designers I love, in fact she loved them before I knew who they even were.
She has the job I want.
She got through school the way I wish I had, or currently was.
She associates with people I wanna associate with.
She's gorgeous.
She's brilliant.
She has amazing taste in clothes. Men. Food. Books. Music. Everything.
[And I am quite the snot when it comes to complimenting other people's taste.]
To me, she is fashion. She is living, breathing fashion.
While I think she's sort of an awful person, undeniably two-faced, a terrible friend, and ambitious to the point of throwing anyone at all under the bus, I envy her to pieces.
I want her work ethic. I want her wardrobe. I want her network.
I keep telling myself I don't want to actually be her because you know, everyone has a cross to bear, you don't know what it's like to walk in someone else's shoes, be careful what you wish for, yada yada yada.
Because, damn. I kinda wanna be her.
Or at least have all her shit.
There, I said it.
SIGH. OF. RELIEF.
♥ Lini.
