I have a dream, a dream that one day, I will be able to travel to an exotic location and spend the rest of my days shopping to my heart’s desire without paying a single dime.
Louis Vuitton offers just that, besides the last part of course (I’m still on the hunt for a working money tree).
Maybe I’ve been living under a rock for the past 19 years but up until this point, I was under the impression that mustaches were definitely not cool. Unless found on the upper lip of Robert Downey Jr. or Brad Pitt (and even that is pushing it), mustaches are not stylish in any way, shape or form.
Or so I thought.
In a world where Facebook holds 10,000 times more photos than the Library of Congress and the amount of pictures we take in two minutes surpasses the number of photos the whole of humanity took in the 1800s, it’s hard to say that the meaning of a photograph isn’t changing. With applications like Instagram and Picnik growing at an unstoppable rate, the art of photography is transforming rapidly (and not for the better, some may say). Telephones. Sunglasses. Latte foam. Practically everything is being photographed these days, leaving many to wonder if the very significance behind “good” photography is deteriorating.
That’s where Abstract Photography steps in.
When I was growing up, my mom had this rule that I couldn’t paint my nails until I was 16. So naturally when the time came, I went crazy. I bought bottles of nail polish left and right, of all colors. Red. Blue. Yellow. Glitter. I was the queen of nail painting.
Since I had no experience painting my nails, I was also terrible at it. Absolutely horrible. The coats weren’t even, the colors were off and in the end, my fingers had their own coats of polish. It just didn’t look good. So it was settled: I couldn’t paint my nails. But I was 16 and it was finally time! I refused to give up so easily. Thus began my longest relationship ever, the only one that never brings heartache and disappointment, between my manicurist and me.
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I have a secret: I love crafts. I love arranging necklaces and organizing scrapbooks and painting various assortments of ceramic jungle creatures that will be placed on a shelf and never used for anything productive ever. I’m not ashamed of my passion, per say. Rather, I have no outlets to pursue it with. Take Plaster Fun Time, for example. What adult goes to Plaster Fun Time alone? Doing so would be social suicide, like wearing gym sneakers with skinny jeans or not finding online kitten videos cute. As a result, older craft lovers like myself are driven into seclusion, forced to purchase craft materials at cheap home-goods stores and construct scrapbooks in private.
But not anymore.
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