A 21st Century Fox's Epoch

But she’s no drag, just watch the way she walks. She’s a twentieth century fox. Got the world locked up inside a plastic box. She’s a twentieth century fox.
— The Doors

Those are song lyrics from one of my fav songs by The Doors. Being that I only listen slash know four songs by The Doors, deciding all four would be my favorite was not a strenuous decision making process. I must say, if I had my way, the lyrics would go something along the lines of being a fox (the slang word for "attractive", not the animal) in a 21st century epoch, because, we are living in the strangest of times! (Trust me I have been around for a v long time to know) And if you're not *wowed* by our worlds current events, you may want to turn on the "news" notifications on your smart phone. And if you do not have a smart phone, the old fashioned option of the morning show is always available.

Moving on. 

Speaking of epochs, my junior year, specifically my spring semester, was a v interesting epoch of my college career. A time which a growth spurt of my self-confidence, before my narcissism and my insecurities cohabited, ending with my confidence somehow prevailing, and now fully morphed into utter vanity. But, obviously, a healthy amount of vanity. 

Right above are a few pictures of me, on a specific day, during aforementioned third year in college, which my self-absorbtion is excellently exhibited (I mean, cmon, I was practically ready to pounce on myself during said "photoshoot"). It's almost as if I am your mail (wo)man, delivering you (and everyone else in the world) a reminder of human evolution in its peak. I am like, your sunshine on a rainy day. Like the four-leaf clover you never thought you would find in a patch of brown, half-decayed three-leaf clovers. Like the last tube of Better Than Sex mascara at Sephora that you found hidden behind Sephora's off-brand mascara, which an employee was clearly hiding to buy after her shift ended and covet for the rest of her life. Or even the golden ticket found in that kids chocolate bar in Willy Wonka. You get the point. Basically, I am rare. And what better way to celebrate my superior genes than to recruit a good friend to take hundreds of photographs of myself wearing minimal clothing in the middle of my bum fuck college town. 

As luck would have it, the fortunate amiga of mine who I enlisted to collaborate on my narcissism, was roommates with a russian-born-amaetur-photographer, whose self beliefs aligned with taking serious photographs with a heavy artillery camera, which costs as much as one of my Louis Vuitton bags, and weighed more than my head. Without her, we would of had to resort to the option of our measly iPhone 7's, like true amateurs. So thank you so much @ Amanda's roommate, even though I cannot pronounce your name!

I picked out my outfits, which included two One Teaspoon bralettes, my roommates shortalls (because I could never pull myself to invest in a pair of my own, which would seriously offend the rest of my closet), a pair of jeans (featuring a butt rip to tease all the boys ;), and yep, nothing else. Oh, and some alcohol to consume whilst we narcissism-ed around town, because, why not?

My best friend turned photographer picked me up and I shared my seat with a gallon of champagne en route our set location. We would go on to blast More Life the duration of the car ride to really get our head in the game. 

We deemed it impossible to locate an endearing backdrop (since my college town is rather fugly and subaverage) and settled to a part of town representative of the rest - anticlimactic and furthest from imperialistic. We uncorked the champagne bottle and would drink to non distracting back drops. It would not steal attention, I guess?

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Me* - being a masterpiece. 

Celebrate me, I beg you. 

*I was definitely holding onto that pole to prevent my intoxicated self (who lacked balance and basic control of her motor functions) from toppling over. Who would have known less I disclosed my alcohol levels. I am so inconspicuous, I know. 

Here are the photographs, outlining our disaster of a "photoshoot" below. This is also when I decided I would NEVER be a fashion blogger, my blog would never exhibit me flaunting my physical self, instead I'd utilize this space to my unleash the inner workings of my deranged mind! Besides, I am way hotter fully clothed working behind my laptop screen, vigorously typing lord-knows-what for hours while downing cappuccinos like they are water!


know ya worth, know ya perfect
— me



Carly Messina