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Email:
strain.tessa@gmail.com
Twitter:
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Essays about the San Fernando Valley:
http://valblog.tumblr.com/
Art:
http://number1pennumber2thoughts.blogspot.com/
Photo reblogged from because im addicted with 52 notes
I usually don’t post very much about fashion for whatever reason (the reason is not that I don’t think about outfits all the time, because good god, I think about them far too much), but I felt it was important to point out that this is the perfect jacket for going on an adventure in space. And it’s really important to look good in space because you just don’t know WHO you’ll run into.
Source: becauseimaddicted
Photo reblogged from novaya zemlya with 487 notes
Wealthy people who dress sloppily—what exactly is your excuse? There are many (many) reasons I hate driving through Beverly Hills, but the one that really sticks in my craw is that there are all these grotesquely affluent people walking around in sweatpants and the like. Obscenely rich people have so much going for them that I think lazy dressing just shouldn’t be their prerogative. There needs to be a sacrifice somewhere.
Source: burnafterblogging
Hoping to make a bunch of people really jealous of me for having an awesome sweater.
Quote with 2 notes
My look right now is, quite literally ‘sweatpants, hair tied, chillin’ with no makeup on.’ If Drake were here, I’d have to fight him off with a stick.
Unwelcome opinions I have received regarding the minimal color in my wardrobe
- “I don’t know, it’s just depressing, I guess. It makes you seem unhappy.”
- “It looks like you’re not making an effort or you don’t take pride in your appearance or something.”
- “People who wear a lot of neutrals just don’t know what colors look good on them.”
- “Do you hate colors or something?”
- “I think you’ll come around on the color thing.”
Photo reblogged from Fuck Yeah Menswear with 689 notes
Woah, woah, woah.
Hold up, son.
You go to a public university?
The fuck is that?
Seriously.
What does that even mean?
Is that one of those places with tuition cheaper than my high school?
Is that one of those places founded after my family already made their fortune?
Is that one of those places that make you wear socks to class?
Is that one of those places that doesn’t have any pics in the Life Archives?
If it doesn’t have a school boy at JP.
It doesn’t count.
Scarves or it didn’t happen.
Is your roommate some fucking townie?
Who wears sweatpants to parties?
BoO?
And carries ID on lanyard?
Corter?
And rocks Adido’s slip-ons in public?
Havi’s by Basty?
What’s his nickname?
Fucking, J-Bone?
I wear cream Wallows to the weightroom.
Squash in 2-inch cuffs.
And talk to bitches about my full-ride blogarship.
But seriously.
The fuck is a public university?
This is probably my current favorite tumblr, for what I think are obvious reasons.
Source: fuckyeahmenswear
Photo reblogged from Let's not. with 13 notes
Edith Head just doesn’t give a damn.
Source: catwalkfashion.co.uk
Photo reblogged from novaya zemlya with 8,030 notes
(via clsblg, jessicawiedle)
I wouldn’t mind having 1900, 1920, and 1960 in my rolodex.
Source: jnwiedle
I’m human here, here can I be!
Goethe’s Faust, Part I on a page I opened to at random during last night’s Walpurgisnacht festivities.
I may or may not have been dressed like a Sabertooth Tiger at the time.
Okay I totally was.
On Bein’ Fancy
Some of you are no doubt aware that if there’s one thing I like, it’s being fancy.
Well, some of the time. Other times I am in the privacy of my own home, and I’ll be damned if I’m wearing pants!
But other times, fancy.
It started a couple of years ago, when most of the parties I was going to were theatre parties. There are two possible dress codes for non-costumed theatre events: “I just got here from rehearsal” (read: sweatpants) and “I will destroy you by the sheer force of my snazz!” The sad fact of the matter is that it can be hard to know which one the majority of people are going to go with, and so you are almost always risking being either underdressed or overdressed.
When I was a kid (up until my mid-teens, actually), being overdressed was the worst thing in the world to me. I hated dresses, ironed clothes, and looking nice in general. It was a pretty big chore, even when I was certain that everyone else was going to look the same. So imagine my horror when I was the most dressed-up person in the room. My rage and embarrassment: palpable as hell. As I got older though, I got more into dressing up, and hence found the alternative far more distressing. If I overdressed, at least I would know I looked good, and done with the right amount of bravado, I wouldn’t even appear to know that I was overdressed (this the key to overdressing with conviction—you need to just think of it as dressing).
For me, a lot of my swagger comes from fashion. I didn’t exactly realize why until I was having a conversation with my last boyfriend, who referred to my outfits as “costumes”.
Well there you go.
The minute I put on my outrageous faux-fur coat to go to a casual get-together, or wear my lucky audition heels (which always get compliments, even when my acting doesn’t), or red lipstick, or my giant necklace with a portrait of Norma Desmond on it (high school graduation present from my parents, who know me well) I am living life on my terms, and I couldn’t care less if I look silly doing it. There’s a reason superheroes don’t fight crime in jeans (and it sure as hell ain’t pragmatism). Sometimes you just feel more powerful when you look really fly.
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