tales from wild romantic's blog

That's London.for good or bad.It's really easy to be one of its people,but it's really easy to be different from them.

I'm too clean anyway for the ''London dating scene''. I shower every day, wear colourful hippy dresses, wash my hair really often, use hand cream, eat organic fruit even if 60% of my close friends are junkies. I don't wear denim shorts, ripped tights and Doc Martens, band shirts of bands I've never heard of aka me to a girl: ''Oh, you like Slayer?'' Girl: ''What's that?'', don't have black roots or short bleached hair or really really red hair and I'm not Asian. I'm just me and you can fuck off.

or

What would you be without
your famous boyfriend/girlfriend, model friends, the boys in the bands, your blog, your photography, your photo on party websites, your style, your hair, your pretty fucked up words? What would you be without the idea you give people about yourself? Without the people you had sex with, without unwashed hair, bruises and cuts? Without your willingly messy looks, your trophy record collection of must-hear and must-know bands and of course without your must-read books and must-read magazines? Without alcohol and drugs, your vanished memories, your old forgotten friends and old forgotten self, your pale skin and brushing your hair ten times a day? Your chipped nail varnish and your vintage and charity shop clothes, your stolen chanel make up and your three cameras, your designer bag, your fur, your denim shorts, ripped tights and cigarettes? High heels, tank tops and boys you're too good for? Without kissing your best friend and taking drugs on club toilets? Without guestlist and Champagne and 50p noodle soup? Without diet pills and skinny bitch and crying under your blanket? Without knowing the right people, without knowing the important people, without blackberry vs. iphone, without fashion blog, fashion week, aaa pass, festival chic, Paris Berlin London, traveling home for a week to get some rest? Without analog cameras, posters on your wall, messy rooms, dirty sex, cheap booze, model shots, little food, booking flights, missing flights, crying in cabs, endless bus rides, gay friends, friends who work in fashion, accents, dilemma, heartbreaks and being such a fucking mess?

Would there be anything left? Would you be you?

words by our youth @ wild romantic