Finals Preview

So as I'm slaving away on finals (aka running around in confined circles trying to figure my life out), you can look at this silly collage of two of my looks with a mishmashed homage to Hayley Williams in the background.

my true loves in life:
Monster
Hayley Williams
Small Sweaters
Lack of Dignity

Now I'm One of Those Crazy Girls

I've always thought of myself as a pretty self confident person, sometimes verging on egotistical and narcissistic. However I find my inner-self doesn't quite come across the same when I interact with others, and I become incredibly conscious of this when I'm around the opposite sex. I suppose I want to come off as vulnerable, and sometimes I even fall for my own self-consciousness.

It's funny. Recently I've gone on dates and been complimented more than I've been complimented in my lifetime and I still walk away feeling like shit because, well, it just doesn't penetrate. We're taught from a young age that a man's approval is a very important standard to gauging our self worth; yet we're also taught to not trust a word one says when he has that "one thought" on his mind. No matter how conscious I am of this conflict it's not an easy thing to brush off, and no matter how many men I do or don't sleep with I don't think I'll ever work through this paradigm. I'm know many, many women are on this same boat.

I suppose this also leads into how conscious I've become of my evolving humor, or lack there of. I think the best way to describe my breed is as a "tumblr feminist." The website has really helped evolve my views a bit, which is rather awkward because I feel like I was way late to the ladyparty (my fault alone, I've always had access to the information but have chosen ignorance) and micoposts don't do the ideologies justice. I'm the generation of TL;DR.

I was hanging out with a likeinterest and his friend and they were joking about the friend picking up a couple chicks. I'm lucky in many respects in that I can come off as a pseudo-intellectual and can almost be "one of the guys", something I contribute to having a very socially awkward brother and a former /b/ lurking best friend--I've been exposed to and can bond over nerdboy humor.

"Send her a dick pic" my likeinterest joked. I laughed along. The joke continued for a few more minutes and I could feel myself disagreeing with these jokes more and more even if they did not have any imminent impact on the girls' lives, I was consciously quelling the urge to voice opinions that I knew would make things uncomfortable. I felt like I was that girl who was waiting expectantly at my phone for a text back. I have been and probably will be again and again. I have and will be the butt of those jokes. The fact that I was feeling uncomfortable voicing my opinions on something I know better than any guy--being a girl and being hit on--is kind of messed up. I feel myself moving away from that boy's club that I once thought I was tiptoeing the perimeter of.

(Please excuse any typos, I'm on Monster #3. Finals week has commenced!)

Make Up or Break Up

I think I've finally gotten my makeup routine to 10 minutes. Yes, my friends, I can look like a glorified shuck of a human being in a sixth of an hour, flat. No, I'm really not worthy of your applause, really!!

In other news, I'm reuniting with my Italian roots and am exploring the Futurists in context with the state of Italy pre-World War I. It may seem really lame, but nothing gets me more excited than Boccioni's paintings. I suppose it's probably a blessing and a curse that he passed so young during the war; as a friend once said after I had showed her a picture of him chumming with his fellow Futurists, "I love it when they die young".

"Will you still love me when I'm no longer young and beautiful?"
Y.

Behold the Bratz Dolls

These were the sketches I presented at my first panel crit. I'm the kind who likes to develop a collection as I drape so many of these are going to go through a lot of changes, but they're a starting point!

I am.

I am depressed.

Not because I want attention. It's not because I feel ugly, it's not because I feel worthless, it's not even because I absolutely hate many of the people and departments that run my school and my life. I'm not depressed because of my family life nor am I depressed because I'm compensating for my lack of exciting familial backstory. I am not depressed because I am white or privileged or female or dumb or young or self-conscious. My depression does not stem from my lack of faith or my abundance of questionable knowledge. It's not because I listen to Hawthorne Heights or Fall Out Boy. I am not depressed because I drink too much or because of my addiction to coffee or sex or sugar or mayonnaise. It's not technology's fault and it has nothing to do with world news. It's not a production of my imagination. And it's not my fault. But it is my responsibility to hide it.


As I've delved into my senior thesis head-first, I've been trying to develop a vocabulary to deal with my symptoms. I'm transposing my feelings into this collection by making lingerie and underthings that represent the "darkness" that I feel when I am approaching a low, and then making overcoats, jackets, and dresses that represent the mask that I wear overtop my feelings. It represents my overcompensation and how I personally deal with what an estimated 1 in 10 Americans deal with.

I hate pity. I am not doing this as a cry for help or as a PSA. I'd have done that years ago. I'm doing this because I've learned to relatively deal with myself. It's nothing I'll ever just "snap" out of and it's not an illness that anyone should ever say "sorry" to (I mean, would you say "sorry" to me telling you I'm a natural blond? Or would you say "I'm sorry" to a friend who has come out of the closet?). The pain has dulled considerably since it's onset, but it's still not something I'll ever get used to. Art is an expression and I can't devote a year to absolute bullshit. This collection will be me in this current state of being, as imperfect as that may be.

A-muse-ing

a sketch for my
portfolio development class

When developing my concept for my senior collection, I've found myself relying on a few of the same influences for inspiration again and again as if they were a watering hole.

Hayley Williams of Paramore
idol.

Seeing as I began my process while in Italy I had to connect myself back to the comforts of home in order to feel sane and healthy. Music has always been an extreme influence on me (even though I can't play) and was a medium that has always solaced me through the toughest times. In high school, oftentimes, being able to point to a calendar date for the next time I could find a spirit of happiness would keep me content enough to keep living.

That being said, in Italy there were two major albums that came out and helped me through my brief loneliness: Paramore by Paramore and Siberia Acoustic by Lights. Listening to "Still Into You" and watching the music video could so easily plaster a real smile on my sullen face. I definitely needed the lift.

Even now, I keep finding myself scribbling lyrics from Paramore across every piece of paper my pen comes in contact with. They are just so applicable and are one of the few things right now that can make me want to really get my hands dirty.

Lights
picture by Matt Barnes

I guess I'm going through my pop-punk-loving second-wind. My music tastes made a turn off the grid after entering college and discovering my favorite bands were a bit too mainstream.

I guess its the correlation in that I'm finding me again. I have no reason to act cool. I'm a cheesey fashion design senior and nothing can take that away from me.

Except Pratt...

Say "hey" to the Phoenix

As life is returning back to the gritty streets of Bed Stuy and the beautiful jail that is Pratt Institute, my idea of "normal", I find myself to have changed a bit and yet not at all. I am by no means a worldly person but I feel as if something inside me has been triggered: a rebirth.

Process Sketches

I feel strangely invigorated but at the same time a bit timid. I suppose that's how most school years start. It's officially week 4 of the school year, which is amazing because it definitely hasn't felt like time passed so quickly. And I suppose a lot has happened in the past 28 days but it feels like nothing short of a few days.

In the past few days alone I felt like the only moments worth mentioning have happened. My first real critique of the year, my interview for an internship and subsequent offer, a few days spent at Lincoln Center for New York Fashion Week, and a few casual dates...I constantly hear myself thinking "can it get any cooler?".

 I guess we'll find out.

Ain't It Fun

When I was younger, I never wanted to let go of anything; I would have to say goodbye to every single part of a hotel before I left, from the bed to the pool to the bathtub to those stupid plastic hanger bags nestled in the closets. I think being in a more innocent state of mind, the world is clearer (or perhaps it's more like one of those neato instagram filters...?) and you can appreciate life to a completely different extent. Awareness of evil really hinders one's ability to appreciate.

As I walk down the roads here in Istanbul, I've covered my body--wearing my uncomfortably hot winter clothes--, I made sure to put on my cold, hard New Yorker persona, and I have kept a firm awareness of my peripheries. When I came to Turkey as a child, I didn't have to pat my pockets every few minutes, I didn't have to squint my eyes at passing "strange" men, I didn't have the memory of 9/11 in my mind, and I had no awareness of what made me any different from these beautiful people. The wonder of my first trip outside America took hold and there was so much that made this land magical, wonderful, and absolutely enchanting.

I hate how jaded I've become and I really wonder when it started to take root. Although the abolition of innocence is by far very beneficial for avoiding trouble (for example: I have never felt the need to hug a homeless person or walk around Brooklyn barefoot), it also relinquishes feelings that are spontaneous and, dare I say, fun.

I remember entering Milan and thinking, "when can I go back to NYC?" My benevolence for change has definitely been in some ways acquired in the Big Apple. When you live in debatably the best city in the world, traveling just isn't the same. I remember a friend at Pratt saying she wouldn't consider studying abroad because "NYC is pretty much like studying abroad...it's like it's own country", and indeed it is. And I guess growing up really leaves you feeling like you need to find permanent shelter. Now that we have the choice to move on from the stability of our parents' homes, we need search out our own stability. Change is scary. New things are scary. New people are scary. And not looking like the people around you sure as hell is a lot scarier now then it was when the worst someone could do to you was steal your new box of crayons.

Ain't it fun living in the real world?

Saying Goodbye

I left June 16, 2013 at 6:00pm.

It's weird to think, but I've completely eradicated Italy of my presence. After a total of 104 days, I can safely say that I've lived in another country. Probably not for long enough, but I lived, and I survived. I'll be returning to life as usual on Thursday, which is the weirdest part of all. I can't say I loved every moment of my trip, but I think it has become an invaluable experience that I'll be able to reference for the rest of my life. It has become a part of me.

I haven't cried except for a close call two times when I was talking to a close friend on the phone the day before I left and again when he came to say goodbye in person. I've been very good about crying, I suppose.

I feel like I'm usually quite the sentimental person, but leaving didn't really feel like saying "goodbye." Years ago I'm sure it would have felt more permanent, but with the prevalence of facebook and free texting apps I feel like I will being seeing many of my friends again, Milan or elsewhere. We live in such a connected world and I'm lucky to live in one of the prime destinations for international and business travel so I'm sure I will be seeing plenty of these friendly faces very soon.

Men

Let's talk about men.

I've strolled into the land of "Latin Lovers" and I've very much had it. I hate men kissing my hands, I hate men telling me they love me after our first broken conversation of hand gestures, I hate having to take the tram in the wrong direction so I don't get followed home, I hate having to hide in my house for days because I don't want to accidentally run into someone in this little city. I'm by no means a slut, not like it would matter if I were, but I do not have the energy to take care of people who I barely know yet alone can barely hold a conversation with. OR WANT TO HOLD A CONVERSATION WITH. Like, if I wander off, it does not mean "follow me." NO. It means I don't want to be in your presence however I do not think I should be forced away from a public place that I have every right to be in alone. And throwing up the middle finger just leaves them thirsty for more. It's called a hint. Take it.

Funny Story: What's written on this hoodie
actually translates into "Rape Me" in Italian
OH WAIT
NO, it FUCKING doesn't!

I leave my house for one reason: because I feel bad burdening my roommate with my presence. I throw on a men’s hoodie, pop my ear buds in, bring my book, and sit where there is plenty of people watching to be had. I do not need more male admirers, especially when you don’t have any redeeming qualities besides a brother that makes a fine pizza (this is not a racist joke, this is a real example). I have some guys I like here, they treat me quite well for what I seem to be (a slab of meat?) and I’m really ok with not being your mother or third girlfriend. I don’t need to nurse you to health when I’m the one feeling homesick. Don’t act like I have time. I don’t. That’s why I don’t have makeup on. I DON’T HAVE TIME. Unless I like you, which, chances are, unless your name starts with an L or an F or a vagina, I don’t.

But speaking of men, let’s turn back to look at New York City. They could learn a few things from the guys here. Like, you know, to have a fucking soul. New York men are so self-sufficient and simply don’t have time for this shit called romance, nor anything else besides humping and dumping.

If the goal for both cities’ men is to get it in, you’d think that there would be some middle ground. I suppose that’s what the middle of the US is for. Maybe. What even exists there? Are there even women there? I don’t know.

All in all, I hate going outside.

I'm in a Hairy Situation

As a fashion design student, I know how important one’s outward appearance is. It’s pretty obvious that the kind of person that takes on this major has a sick and almost perverse relationship with clothing, fabric, style, and art. And I suppose all of us can be described as strong characters.

While in high school, I always felt incredibly uncomfortable in my own skin. I would reinvent myself every year and adjust the way I dressed to try and suit who I wanted to be. Now, although I probably am not as over-styled as I would like (high heels? Hell no!), I’ve found a weird peace with my wardrobe. I know what I like to wear. And I know that I’m safe wearing anything at my school (something I was not comfortable with at my high school).

“It’s hard to find an intern – especially one from a fashion school – that has good style” – Adam Lippes  

“It’s hard to find a poorly dressed male fashion designer that doesn’t say offensive shit about their interns (and probably females too but whatev)” –Leah Trojan #SORRYNOTSORRY #WeWorkForFree

One of the ways I’ve been able to channel some of the negative energy started in late September 2011, after a traumatic experience (though lets be honest, living in Brooklyn is a traumatic experience all on its own) and while I was in the midst of a weird non-relationship; I made a commitment that I wasn’t able to make before I left home: I dyed my hair pink!

then red (so I could be Ariel for Halloween!!) ...with black tips

then back to my natural color for a bit (boring!) underdyed with green and blue

then full on green (ok, this was not the best hair color I've ever opted for)

then blue so I could transition to purple

then I came full circle back to pink and now an orangey-red that's ombre-ing with my natural strawberry blond hair.

My suite mates and I would joke about my subsequent hair-dying ritual. I would joke “I dye my hair every time I enter or leave a relationship.” My suitemate and fellow fashion major made another observation: she knew I was procrastinating when I had dye smeared all over my head. I guess my hair to me is a coping mechanism, it has helped me feel better when I felt unhappy much of sophomore year.

It’s true, sometimes I feel depressed. Or I suppose it’s something that happens quite often: I’m clinically depressed. I’m taking medicine to help me with it and I’ve gotten to resume a “normal” life (I say that because, like many others, I have been coping with depression ever since I can remember) since I was prescribed it last year. However, sometimes it hits me, cripples me, and ultimately leaves a devastating impact in my path toward living. Though, I suppose if you’ve ever asked me my life goals, I often just say “I want to be happy”. That can either be taken as the most or least ambitious goal you’ve ever heard, but it’s the only goal I can imagine worth living toward. If I didn’t have that light then I would have probably already taken my own life; I never expected to live past high school graduation. Somehow, I did. And somehow the façade I put on was able to get me accepted to both Parsons and Pratt (which were my top schools) and somehow I managed to convince my unraveled parents to allow me to escape to the US' fashion mecca. And after all of that I'm already approaching my senior year of uni.

Alright, well how does this all pertain to me right now in this moment? I’m in Milan. I’m alone. I’m feelin sad. AND I can’t find any goddamn hairdye. It’s like a firstworld problems shipwreck over here!!

…and then I found a package of hair pigmented treatment and I think I’m regaining my composure, or at least enough to continue on with another month (almost exactly!!) in Milano.

A Voyage

I'm on a Boat
...don't ask

I’ve been staring at my computer for hours now. Just staring. It seems like I’d be brimming with millions of blog ideas, and perhaps I am, but the fatigue of life often clouds my ability to accurately articulate my thoughts. In the past week I’ve found myself struggling with falling in and out of like, eating far too much, and have been reminded of my inability to manage time well. But I suppose those are the simple joys of life, huh?

My aunt, her husband, and her brother (so my uncles) are visiting this week so I’ve been seeing the city in a different perspective: a very tourist-y perspective. From my uncle adding an “o” to the end of words to make them seem more Italian (which probably confuses servers more than if he just spoke English) to my aunt’s need to photograph everything, it has finally felt almost ok to not know Italian, it’s felt almost ok to ask questions and to wonder. It’s been nice. Besides exploring Milan in a different light, I was also given the opportunity to visit Venice as a tourist. Last month I was able to spend some time with a good friend from NABA whose father lives right outside Venice. Although it was an amazing time and I did get to see more of the city than I could ever dream of, I was also a poser among locals; my friend and his high school comrades were seasoned in their ability to navigate the Venetian alleyways. With my family, although we rarely left the confines of St. Marco Square (or rather Tourist-Trap Central), I was able to view Venice in a new light: probably a little brighter than the dim bulb that my jaded friend sees, but also a little gaudier like the disgustingly endearing Venetian glass chandeliers that hung in every room of our 4-star hotel. I suppose I still need some time to reflect, and to digest all this goddamn food. And I'll get back to you when I'm ready!

He's sexy...and he knows it

United We Can't Stand

Milan's got a frog epidemic on it's hands...Real world problems

Although I am an ocean away from home, I’m more connected than ever. Between the Boston Marathon bombing and the reappearance of a person from my past, I’ve found myself a nervous wreck. It’s strange but it’s nearly impossible to distance myself from America when we all are so inter-connected. As much as I appreciate Facebook for all the amazing people I can stay connected to, I’m also connected to people that I am socially obligated but not necessarily voluntarily friends with. As for the events in Boston, my classmates all are able to access the news with their cellphones so they’re just as up-to-date I am (if not more so). Thus I’ve been having many conversations concerning the way in which America is responding to this tragedy, as well as trying to reconcile the reasoning behind why there are so many shootings and violence that seem to spatter the news. Trying to summarize the US is hard because the ignorance within our population is intolerable by those more informed, yet it is what my international classmates pick up on the most. And, honestly, who wouldn't when we can't even differentiate between Czechoslovakia, the Czech Republic, Chechnya, and our own assholes.

On this day exactly 14 years ago, I was parked in front of my TV at home as I watched in horror as grainy videos from the Columbine Shooting played on the news in an incessant loop. The school itself lying only a stone-throw away from my parents' business, one could say hit very close to home for me...literally. Although it was terrifying then, I had a support group of friends and family that forced me to continue on with normal life. The same happened the night last summer when I found myself having a wonderful night clubbing as a movie theater a short drive away was shot up. But now being so far away, I don't have quite the same structure in my life. Not to mention, there's not the same kind of unsulliable evidence I've seen that points directly to the bomber(s) like in many other incited acts of terror that have taken place in the past few decades. With the insane amount of misinformation the news has been embarrassingly spewing, I'm not quite sure how I feel about celebrating quite yet. Especially when I'm the designated American here. It's hard having the answers when even I have questions.

(I feel like I'm starting to make this blog into a public gripefest on what it's like being a faux-intellectual, extremely privileged, white, female American. For that, I am truly sorry...back to life in Milan!)

images I'm gluing into my sketch book
Can I please just do collection based on my love for
Hayley Williams? PLEASE? 

After two and a half weeks off for Easter and Salone Internazionale del Mobile (which, if you've been following my tumblr, you would know was a big furniture design fair that I even put on lipstick for), I finally got back into the swing of school. I feel like no matter what, Fashion Design class will always be the most perplexing, difficult, and oxymoronic class I’ll ever suffer through, whether it’s at Pratt or at NABA. Finally when I start to understand Pratt’s way of doing things (and Pratt starts to understand me), I subject myself to a different methodology. Not to mention my teacher is of British decent yet her English seems like cryptic alien messages-we are on different wavelengths and no matter what, she will change her opinion of my project every time I see her.

I'm finally getting back into the habit of sketching

I suppose, also, the most difficult thing for me is that we’re not given much direction in the assignment (S/S2014 capsule collection for H&M or Zara or etc...that's it) yet when we attempt to personify our personal aesthetic, it is too fall/winter, too dark, too commercial, too experimental, too boring, too crazy, etc. I suppose that’s how the real world is, though? I sure hope that I come out with a cool project, though. We are linking our Pattern Making, Textile Design, and Fashion Design classes so hopefully I’ll have a coherent collection or inter-related projects to show in my portfolio. I'll update with progress as soon as I have something interesting to show. As for now, you can look at my pinboard of "inspiration images". My concept is definitely undergoing a lot of change so I can't really explain it now (it'll probably just end up being a dress collection based soley on cotton candy or some shit...aka everything I've ever designed ever). We'll see what comes out...haha!

Can't Stop, Won't Stop

Here, in a land far far away, I find myself having many vices. I’ve been wasting my money at the speed of light on a select few things and I wanted to clue you all in on the crazy shit I buy here besides the obvious (pizza, pasta, cappuccinos...). Be jealous of my oh so glamorous life!

Books

Fabio introduced me to the American Book Store as well as pointed out many other bookstores within the vicinity. I scoffed to myself “lol, me reading?! When I have so much else to do here?!” ….boy was I wrong! So far I’ve finished off Silver Lining’s Playbook, The Devil Wears Prada, and The Demon Catchers of Milan (yeah, what is my life), and am midway through Sex and theCity. I also have Sherlock Holmes, The Great Gatsby, and Perfume lying in wait.

Chocolate

I’ve eaten at least a dozen chocolate bunnies since I got here (don't worry, I stocked up!), not to mention tasted every Kinder bar known to man. It’s a problem and I’m noteven on my period.

The New York Times: Sunday Edition

Coming in at a whopping €12.50 an issue, I’ve got myself in quite the predicament. I feel like I’m conditioning myself to become an asshole, but I really quite like it. I enjoy looking like an old man as I foldback pages of a good, ole’ fashioned newspaper. Cheers!

Crack

lol jk
....I mean cocaine.

Aperitivo

This is what they call happy hour here and, holy shit, is it amazing. For the low, low price of your drink (usually €7-10…yeah, no wonder I’m broke!) you get an all-you-can-eat buffet of everything that’ll make you look unappealing in a swimsuit: pretty worth it for my one-meal-a-day regimen.

Yup, I'm ageing quickly...please don't judge.

Italian Men and Other Whorror Stories

I feel the same way, Lion-Dude

So, if you know me, you've probably heard me complaining about my life here. Even though it's pretty awesome...if you consider gray skies and constant rain awesome.

Anyway, recently I've run into a bit of drama which I find HI-LAR-I-OUS because dating is somewhat different in Europe in general. American girls are assumed to be easy here, which is ironic because back in America we are probably the most confusing creatures to the male population. "Easy" is definitely not a thing when you take the "friend zoning" epidemic into consideration. And in America, being "exclusive" is an extremely important principle. Here, it seems to only be important to when the girlfriend, OR WIFE, is within earshot.

Anyway, a few weeks ago I met a guy on the side of the street. We talked, he bought me food and drinks, and we wandered around aimlessly enjoying Milano at night. A few days later I was itchin for some McDonalds so, of course, I went. Guess who was behind the counter. Yeah. So I bolted. Perhaps this is the best way to keep a diet; I won't get my Big Mac if there's an old conquest behind the counter. After standing up the guy at a later date (I mean, I can't go out with a guy that works at McDonalds...jk, he had a wife apparently  kind of a turn off), we met up again so he could assure me they were separated 6 months-which was not true-and so he could admit to me he worked at "a small restaurant"...AKA McDonalds. I let him buy me dinner again. Whatever. Girl's gotta eat.

A few days later I get a cryptic text from a new guy. "Hi, remember me, we met at Duomo?" NO. So I chatted with him because what else is there to do on a drab day? Turns out he also worked at McDonalds. Not fishy...at all.

Then shit went down with guy #1 because I "made plans" (to stand up) guy #2. It was crazy and I'm sure my ego was really hurt by guy #1's broken English insults. Anyway, eventually I did meet up with guy #2 and he told me ALLLL about how he and guy #1 trade girls' phone numbers and "share" girls, in a sense. Even though guy #1 has a wife (who he felt he needed to point out was black...what? ok? and?) and guy #2 has a girlfriend. I mean, cool, good for them, they're living what every man in the US dreams of, but it was one of the funniest experiences I've ever encountered.

All in all, what the fuck.
I love Italy.

[Derogatory Term]s in Firenze

Pretty much our reaction to the entire trip

This past week has been an insane one. Although I am a great distance from Pratt, there is still a strong connection made stronger still with a visit from a close friend. As I slowly make my way into the rabbit hole of studying abroad, Clarissa is emerging—her program in England started in January so she’s over two-thirds of the way finished with her trip. It’s rather intimidating talking to her about her experiences. I definitely believe we’ll have a different outlook on our trips when we return to the States, but there’s an odd aura of jadedness that clouds both our visions.

Going on exchange is by no means a comfortable experience. We’ve attended Pratt for 2 ½ years so moving away is like pressing the restart button on university, only in a strange new country. I’ve been coping by staying in touch with the important people in my life as well as buying the Sunday New York Times every week to satisfy my hunger for American normality. I’ve never been much of a newspaper reader—being in America, I feel like I heard the news through osmosis—but it’s become like one of those blankets that I cling to in order to hold a connection with my past: a security blanket.

holy shit holy shit holy shit omg
The Baptistery, Cathedral, and Campanile!

Anyway, besides having a short-lived pity party and exploring the extent of Milan (I can’t believe how apathetic I feel toward this place sometimes!), we decided to take a last-minute adventure to Pisa and Florence. Although getting there was rough (boarding a 6:45 train, misinformation from the service desk, dead cellphones, a $65 fine, and almost getting escorted to the police…all before 9 in the morning!) we were able to find some solace in the amazement we felt when exploring each city. Taking a train in and out of Pisa was much cheaper than the Florence trains so we decided to quickly explore Pisa before jetting to Florence, where we would spend the night. “The Leaning Tower can’t be too hard to find” we joked as we wandered into the abyss of the small town…and indeed it wasn’t. After about half an hour wandering the streets, we saw the Tower and Cathedral sandwiched between streets. It was one of the single most exciting moments of my life—I felt like I found Carmen San Diego.

After marveling at the complex, buying a ticket to the top of the tower for the following day, and drinking the appropriate amount of coffee, we made our way back to the train station to escape to Firenze—and in the process incurred another fine for our ignorance toward Italian ticketing protocol.

In Florence, we misidentified a dome as Brunelleschi’s (embarrassingggg), fake prayed in order to break into a church, found Brunelleschi’s dome, got flirted up by a few high school seniors, and bumped into nearly every historical monument encased within the one-mile radius of the city center. By the time we found the apartment we were staying at, we were exhausted, grumpy, and in need of a drink. The next day was much of the same. We tried to backtrack through the monuments, cried about not going and seeing the David on the inside (that was just me, though…), searched for wifi, and made ourselves broke off of our gelato-addictions. It was pretty devastating.

We also got in contact with Monique, an old buddy from Pratt, whom is now attending FIT and is doing their Florence program for the year…which is INSANE. She was our personal tour guide until we had to make our way back to Pisa for our ascent to the top of the world’s best known fun house. The Tower of Pisa was terrifying. TERRIFYING. We sat inside the base for about 5 minutes where we acclimated to the feel of the insane tilt. We then walked up to the top of the tower—not taking a break to breathe—and found ourselves taking an insane amount of pictures in order to make the 18 Euro ticket worth it. I felt insane vertigo on top, and especially walking around the circumference at the top near the bells made me feel very uneasy. I suppose heights aren’t my strong suit when it comes to fears.

Monique, Clarissa, and me
Oh look, Brunelleschi's dome!!

We then ate a quick dinner and left for Milan. It was an amazing trip. Florence is beautiful, almost too beautiful, and I was so happy to escape the hazy grayness of Milan for a couple days. I’m hoping to take a few more trips before classes resume in two weeks. It was kind of sad saying my goodbyes to Clarissa as she left for the airport for London today, but I’m excited to spend a little alone time trying to figure out the best plan of action for the next few weeks.

Pisa at sunset

"Hi, I'm American"

Even in Italy, I can't escape Uncle Sam

So, today concluded my trudge through the first week of classes here in Milan. Every day this week has seemed far more than 24 hours long; I'm amazed by the amount of utter shit I've been able to pack into the semester so far. I've found myself at so many cultural crossroads; trying to connect with people is so much more difficult than I thought. Language really is a barrier that is very difficult to surpass when a good majority of my vernacular is slang that makes little to no literal sense. My classmates come from all over the world: Thailand, Lebanon, Egypt, El Salvador, Italy, Tukey, Sweden...and to think, I even have trouble communicating with the girls from the UK. But it's funny because some of these girls have an even better grasp of American pop culture than I really do. The world seems to have an odd love-hate relationship with the US which makes it hard for me to determine if being the token American is something to take pride in or to mask in shame. On one hand we brought to the table Michael Jackson and Madonna (why the fuck do people love those two so much?), and on the other we eat hamburgers all day and are insane war-mongers.

(I keep wanting to quote this line from Yu-Gi-Oh: The Abridged Series but I don't think it'd come off as funny as it would ignorant...'MERICA, FUCK YEAH)

As for what I actually did this week besides try to embody every American stereotype ever (I'm currently working on picking up a southern accent), I had a lot of fun. I even woke up in a strange Italian guy's bed the other morning...the story isn't so exciting because the strange Italian guy is a very good friend that was on exchange last semester at Pratt, he wasn't in the bed, and I was there because I was probably a bit too tipsy to walk home alone the night before. It's somewhat comical to me that Milan's version of Thirsty Thursdays are Wednesdays at an oddly placed row of Corinthian columns. I had culture shock the other day when I saw a nice pair of well-dressed men walking down the street with Heinekens in hand; if you do that in NYC, chances are you're extremely drunk, extremely homeless, and extremely smelly. The casualness about drinking here is somewhat refreshing, even though I now am legally allowed to drink even in the US. There's even a bar (as in hard liquor) served in the school's cafeteria. I fully support restrictions on alcohol use and have grown up knowing that it is not ok to drink before a certain age, but I think the taboo-ness of it made it more desirable for those younger than 21 to be irresponsible with booze-I mean, they have nothing to lose because  consuming one milliliter or one handle carry the same consequences. It was funny to me hearing a classmate begrudge the fact she's turning 21 when in America, that is the age to be.

When I arrived in Milan I was scared shitless and kept asking myself "when can I go back to New York City?", but now I'm starting to worry about the fact that I won't be here long enough. I don't think I can blend as seamlessly in here as I do in NY and I definitely would not consider living here for the rest of my life, but the isolation is becoming a welcome friend to me here. I picked up the Sunday New York Times yesterday to have something to re-connect me to the American news and although I miss the constant contact I had with my friends back home, I think I'll get some much needed relaxation here. Each interaction here is new and extraordinary. I went to happy hour alone last night (free buffets, WADDUP) and the interaction with the bartender was enlightening; I never thought that I would be touched so much by the sound of the words "thank you" as I did then. I've really learned to appreciate my own language here, which is so ignorant it hurts. But that's me. The American. Fuck Yeah.

Ciao, Bella

N-A-B-A pretty much spells Pratt, right?

After a month spent in New York (which, I believe the proper greeting there is "fuck you"), I've finally made my way to Milan early on Monday morning. When I applied to study here, I'm not sure how serious I was about it. I knew I needed to get away from Pratt--sophomore year was no easy feat--but I guess I applied to NABA on a whim. I had a very pivotal point in my Pratt career during the application process, the chair of my department gave me a wake up call in terms of my attitude and I had more doubt in myself than I ever had before. Luckily, I somehow rebounded and I wouldn't say it's been smooth sailing since but it hasn't been awful either. Last semester was my best semester at Pratt so far, debatably because I knew I had an outlet this Spring, but also because I was able to really explore what I wanted to do artistically. I'm very much hoping that this semester will also help foster my creative side and if not, I'm sure Milan will inspire me to some extent...I mean, I'm in freakin Milan!!

#1 disappointment so far: the canals do not have water in them
#2 disappointment: I can't escape that "Thrift Shop" song

My stay so far has been nice. I'm an incredibly shy person so I starved at the beginning because of my unwillingness to enter a restaurant. I don't think Americans realize what it's really like to be a foreigner. We complain so much about them being in our country and how they should "learn English", but we really take very little initiative to learn another language ourselves, let alone one as complex as English. Anyway, I haven't starved to death yet. YET.

There are two other students from Pratt here so I've gotten the chance to bond with some chicks I would never have found in my friend group back home. I am so thankful that I am not here completely alone. Pratt's exchange program is a complete clusterfuck (I mean, our supervisor quit midway through the year and WHAT IS EVEN HAPPENING) and I'm the last fashion student to attend NABA from Pratt due to the fashion design chair cutting off ties with the school, but the other two Prattsters and I have made it this far (amazingly) so I am insanely optimistic. Today alone we all went and applied for Taxpayer numbers, Permits to Stay, and Unlimited Subway Passes ($17/month!)...we're doing well. And I would not be doing as well without them.

As far as being a tourist goes, I was able to wander aimlessly my first sleepy day in Milan. It's a bit confusing because the city is in a circular formation (I'm so used to dealing with grids in NYC) so getting a sense of direction so far has been a bit of a struggle. But when you have no place to be, you never know what you may stumble upon!! I somehow menuvered my way to the Duomo, which is a beautiful, intricate marble cathedral standing in the cental part of Milan. It's an absolutely breathtaking building and I am really looking forward to going inside one day. Facing the Duomo is another of Milan's major landmarks: Prada. Just kidding, but Prada is housed in the Galleria perpandicular to the Duomo. I really regret missing Milan Fashion Week because, although Milan is still swarming with fashion, I'm sure the street fashions would be a real sight to behold. A couple days after my initial decent, I returned to the Duomo. I feel like I might end up seeing it as much as I see Time's Square, I'm like a tourist bug drawn to the light of the perfect trap. Ahh.

How it Began

Backstage at Rachel Comey

This past fashion week, I played many roles: I was a freelance writer for fashionotes, a street style photographer for socialbliss, a backstage dresser, kind of a gatecrasher (not to proud of this one), a style blogger, a New Yorker, a fashion design student, and, inevitably, a little out of place.

oh, look at me getting my hair done...pic from the Glam gals!

I think the first few days of fashion week are always the most spirited. February 6th, the day before Mercedes Benz Fashion Week officially started, was absolutely crazy. I was invited to a Glam event to represent Fashionotes. The DAY OF GLAM was AWESOME but at the same time exhausting. I think I am quite possibly the worst social networker in the world. The other attendees were some of the most popular chicks in the blogosphere today so it was insanely intimidating to me; I mean, I'm too young to buy a drink while some of these girls sit front row at fashion week...insane! But I did get a free blowout (which was a first for me) from the dry bar and manicure at 10 over 10 nails and a giftbag full of goodies that have made it into my daily routine...oh, and a practically private Zulu class. AMAZING. Not to mention the gals from Glam are the sweetest, prettiest, most well dressed gals I probably had the pleasure of meeting all week. I felt like I was sneaking into an event, it was just so amazing.

Some of my favorite looks, images from style.com

That same day I switched from that relaxing experience to dressing the models at Rachel Comey. I had to duck out of the Glam event a bit early in order to run to Peir 59 on the west side to snack on catering and wait for my services to be needed. I snuck around and took some photos with my Canon (first time using it in real life...EEEE!!) The model I was dressing was from Seattle (originally Ukraine) and it was her first time at NYFW so I had a pretty alright experience-my model last year had a language barrier. I even made friends with a few Rhode Island School of Design students. I felt so much more in control than I did last season--Rachel was the first show I ever dressed!--so I was much more comfortable waiting around and observing everybody. And I definitely loved the clothing of this show much more than I did last season. It was so badass. The set was badass. The wigs were badass. The exploding flowers print was badass. Rachel Comey was badass. BADASS.

By the time I left the Pier, it was dark out and I was ready to go home. Between the jetlag I was facing from redeye-ing it the night before and the extreme social anxiety I overcame throughout the day, I felt exhaused but at the same time insanely delighted. If every day of fashion week was going to be this involved, I would have the perfect week...and honestly, I would not have wanted to start the week off on any other foot. (though, shoe on the other hand, maybe...my Doc Martins were no match for the towering heels of the bloggers I was surrounded by)

New York Fashion Week...

I kinda met Cara Delevingne....AHHHH (I wasn't creepy enough to ask for a pic, though)

....was crazy

at the Betsey show, internally freaking out

In all, I went to 10 shows and 2 presentations (and somehow ended up backstage at Anna Sui), which is pretty awesome considering that I wasn't really expecting any of this. I am only a student, after all, and this is the second fashion week I've really attempted to get involved in. Anyway, I'm hoping to make posts detailing my favorite parts of fashion week, but so far I'm just trying to recover.

Betsey Johnson!!

I can't believe the week is over but I'm very happy it is because now I can really relax before I jet to Milan in 15 days! (I feel so pretentious...I need school to start) Oh! AND this week, while I was not kissing my own ass and oogling beautiful clothes, I also applied for and received my Italian visa! I am SO prepared for this!

Ramblings from a Far Off Place

ready for my close up?

Twenty-seven days until my birthday. It's crazy how quickly this break has flown by! I'm still incredibly unoccupied due to the Italian school year being staggered a bit differently than the US's. I haven't been busy at all and I think that hasn't been doing me any good so I'm going to attempt to delve back into what I love best: fashion.

I've been pining to sew recently and I suppose that demonstrates my utter lack of time occupation. I want to find myself back in the garment district, sifting through yards of yellow fabric, searching for the perfect "pencil yellow." I want to be with my friends in classes, stressing over homework, and procrastinating stressing. And I guess I will be back in NYC come February 5th...just in time for fashion week. I feel like such a novice when it comes to the industry that New York Fashion Week still seems so magical to me. I was never one to drool over runway photos as soon as they appeared online; style.com just recently came into my vernacular. But after what I personally have experienced, now that I know the difference between the garments made for high fashion and the trash that has become fast fashion it's hard to unglue myself from browsing runway images.

I can't say it enough, but I am so blessed to be able to live in New York. Thinking "oh, I'm going home to NYC" isn't just, like, "oh, I'm going home", it's "I'M GOING TO THE BIGGEST, CRAZIEST CITY IN THE WHOLE US AND IT IS MY HOME". When I was in high school I definitely felt a huge disconnect from the whole fashion scene and until recently I definitely have as well. Last fashion week was my "coming out" of sorts--I dressed two shows and got photographed a few times in Lincoln Center. But I want this season to be a complete emersion in fashion; this is the first time that I've been in NY and I have no obligations (NO classes, NO job, NO stress, and NO inhibitions) the week of fashion week and this'll probably be the last/only time I'll be this lucky. Oh, and I just bought a DSLR and business cards so I'm set to look official enough to be sniping pictures of people.

THIS FEBRUARY IS GONNA BE THE BEST MONTH EVER....but, like, seriously.