Like most of the non-sociopathic individuals on this earth, I love animals, like adore! So you can understand my predicament when I get rumbly in my tumbly and decide to eat mammal of some kind, how the whole situation becomes a bit of a conflict of interest. Theres vegans, pescatarians, I consider myself a hypocritical vegetarian, love em’ to death, but I wear em’ and eat em’. It’s obtuse I know, and in my twisted psyche i actually take it seriously. I refuse to eat lobster or shrimp because at the point of ingestion they maintain the same form as they once did when alive. Where am I going with this rant you ask? I love my snakeskin boots, and hate myself for loving them. Same thing goes for fur of course, but shit get’s even more serious when god’s creatures are fluffy. Animal cruelty is primal, disgusting and makes my skin crawl no pun intended…but If this beautiful reptile already lost its life, I will honour him by making sure those boots kill, pun intended, every ensemble they are a part of. I sold my soul for Tom Ford…and I swear I just feel awful about it.
I’ll stick to Stella McCartney’s vegan leathers next time
NEW YORK DAY ONE
By the time we finally got into the city the clock was about the strike twelve. After exerting all my energy into Woodbury and trying to find a way onto this godforsaken island that didn’t involve traffic we were pretty pooped and boy were we hungry…Side note the second member of this “we” team that will be mentioned from now until forever is Peter, my fiancé, patient photographer, and Thor look-alike…he’s pretty dreamy. I digress, he’s not so charming when fucking starving, so after sending off the bell boy on the epic quest that was unloading the 50 garment bags and suitcases from our vehicle, we started the hunt. We landed on The Dutch on Sullivan, and safe to say we were satisfied. Here is the recorded footage from our search to end hunger. The pissed as fuck look is genuine and is directly correlated to the lack of food in my belly.
Mixed Patterns Work When Not Giving a Fuck