I received my first bikini wax when I was 16, when I was young, naive, and easily corrupted. My teenage-hood wasn’t one that caused my parents headaches or involved nightly escapades to drink beer acquired from bums outside the local 7/11. I was relatively calm, confused, and enthralled by things most teenagers paid no mind to (holler in classic rock, magical realism literature, and British TV shows). But I did get my first bikini wax when I was 16.
I can’t remember the exact reasons why, but it probably had to do with the media molding me into looking a very unreachable idyllic way, one that I still fight with today (I’m winning the battle I promise!).
Continue reading ➞ Thought #9: Bush, no bush, your choice
‘Breaking’ hearts is no beautiful thing, either you read a verb or an adjective.
– written by Dorianne Young
I have been a tremendous fan of Nomadic Habit ever since I stumbled upon her subtly evocative photographs sheered with softness but with an underlying strength. And either it’s because of her nature of being a consistent traveler or her seemingly grounded self, I feel that in the many influences we are exposed daily, there is an elemental understanding I have with the artist. This video was recently posted on her blog, a video I felt a connection to my Latin American roots. Please watch and definitely, I HIGHLY encourage for you to check out her blog, Instagram, and Vimeo.
For as long as I’ve been on this earth, I have been a hopeless romantic, and the worst kind too. My entire teenage-hood was enveloped in countless imaginative encounters with “The One” and quite literally running off to be happily together. In my mind, there wasn’t anything love couldn’t resolve or mend. And it was pure, my creations were simply filled with happiness and connecting with another human on a level that was so palpable it oozed out of a lover’s stare; the sort of connection strangers envy when they notice the uncontrollable longing gaze and drunken smiles. Ohhh to be in love.
My thoughts were constantly solidifying and shifting. When I visited Paris, I immediately imagined a life in which we would discuss culture, linger by the Seine and make love in an apartment riddled with history and a balcony opened to the cacophony of the French language and streets.
Continue reading ➞ Evolving Hopeless Romantic