Some choose to listen to the idea of Love Hurts their entire life. I’ve just paid attention to the lyrics and, now, I know why I haven’t listened to it in such a long time, hallelujah. But by this point, the fabulous news is that the idea of these lyrics, in particular, doesn’t affect me anymore. The spiralling into whatever doesn’t feel right. True. The mere existence of the word love, in the song, must’ve done the trick and launched me into dreaming – I didn’t hear hurts. The serene atmosphere we were in, before falling asleep, was part of the trick. Of course the cassette, still, gives me goosebumps. Of course!

You know best what feels authentic to you.

A conversation with bestie, on the phone, this last Saturday night – Saturday night night, 00.00 my time, 22.00 her time, me at my home, her at her home – had me laughing like I knew I was in the mood of, but I was caught by surprise, regardless. Life! Life caught me by surprise and life made me laugh.

I’m proud of her when she’s the most her and I know she’s proud of me when I’m my most me. In the moment. Proud of the smallest achievements, in the meantime, too, certo. So, she’d gone out the night before, got a little tipsy – we both like to get loose and feel good, feel safe – and let herself be carried away so much that she just didn’t stop from simply being happy. Herself. Lovely. Loving with the – attention – ladies friends she was out and about. The night flew, as Friday nights do, and when the time came for her and her ladies friends to say goodbye, hug, kiss and all the candy stuff (as you’d imagine), one of the ladies told her – quote – Oh, f*ck off, you’re so full of s*it, you’re so happy, I don’t like you – end of quote. I couldn’t stop from laughing, while strolling through my apartment, in my frilly blush pink knickers. Her voice, as I was listening to the story, and her face, in my imagination, while listening to the aforementioned lady, didn’t leave my sight. Her amazement didn’t leave her mind, either. I immediately thought of you, she told me. Welcome to my world, I told her. She’d obviously been there, already, but we needed to, officially, tchin-tchin for it, in both of our imaginations, at once. For forever.

For You can’t blame a fly for not knowing honey is better than s*it. You can’t blame them, that’s what they know. The bees are over there like ‘The honey is so much better over here, homie’, but flies simply like s*it. 

Earlier in the evening, my brother called. We hadn’t talked-talked, in a while. Hey, him, heeey, me, what’s up, him, good, home, me, whose home, imagine the tone, mine, I smile, ooh, with whom, him, we both laugh, just me, I carelessly, but surely, reply and continue. Did you just call to ask me something or anything and that’s it or is this a longer thing?, me. It’s Saturday night, this is as long as we want it to be, him, good, wait, let me put my airpods in and turn the music on, me. It’s 22.00 my time, 20.00 his time. And, so, we begin. So, how come you’re at home, alone, on Saturday night? We went from how we treat every hour of every day (it sounds more serious than it was, it was pretty serious, at times, but we’re used to a certain sort of rhythm we enjoy and when there’s joy, there’s truth, I could go on and on and on with this bracket and I, most definitely, will outside of it), to his daughters (I’m hugging in my heart, as we speak), to holidays, to how we can not have light without the dark, and to we all have good and bad within us, everything that good stands for and everything that bad stands for, it’s how we balance the scales that‘s creating our lives. It’s a choice, ta-da!

It’s nothing but a choice and it doesn’t take anything or anyone other than ourselves to choose the side we’re, basically, launching the rockets from. 

At some point – I’d just been warming up and, trust me, I’d talked really fast, it’s how I, usually, talk with my brother, out of the eagerness, I guess, to communicate, as much as possible, everything that crosses my mind, every detail is crucial, obviously, and you never know when he needs to hang up or something – he says – in the middle of my banter – Sis, listen… What, is that it, I question marked and exclamation marked the s*it out of it. He couldn’t stop from laughing and told Gema – who’d just come down from putting their baby boy to sleep – the What, is that it, question mark, exclamation mark, yes, part. Listen, it’s our only twenty minutes we’ve got today to have an ice cream and hold hands, before actually going to bed, him. It’s the first time he’s ever said it like that, that’s how exhausted he must’ve been. In a good way. We’d laughed about it just before. Laugh at the exhaustion, I don’t see a better option, anyway. Laugh and, then, sleep. It’s the honesty he knows I’m mad about, one, he is, too, two, and the honesty he knows makes me happy, also, whooh. Well, I can’t argue with that, I’m happy to know that, me. See, that’s why we should be able to see each other as much as we want to, me. Love you, love you, too, mwa!. It’s the time that makes you fly.

All these lines and brackets feel too natural not to be here. It’s why they are here.

If I was listening to someone singing that, now, and I knew that they’d written it, produced it, and sung it, I wouldn’t be taking the piss out of them because they wore terrible clothes. D’you know what I’m saying? For a f*cking 20-year-old. Why the f*ck would they be taking the piss out of me?, said George Michael in the Wham! latest documentary. And George Michael is a style icon. Amen! I’ve, always, believed that style is not ever just about clothes and that clothes are not just clothes. Plus, it was none other than – drumroll – Emmanuelle Alt – drumroll – herself, 20 years or so into Wham!, that – dazzlingly – covered the Wake Me Up Before You Go Go thingy. Love all over the place! Be the light, anyway! Love and only f*ck extraordinarily (off is so passé), is there any other way? Hell no. Just an effervescent, unspoken, but felt ‘yes’, in perfect timing, d’you know what I’m saying?

Oh la la la la la la la laaaaa

x

Authenticity only hurts someone who might find it hard to be authentic – we all might’ve been there, sister, it’s alright, don’t panic – or who might not even be familiar with the term itself. I’m sure, however, that everyone, everyone knows what love is. At least, as a metaphor. Rocket. Rocket. Rocket. Real. We’re all born with it, newsflash, we all are it, it’s why life is non stop poking us to be it. But hey, you choose whether you are or not it. Metaphooor. It’s why we’re all on the phone, right now, choosing to just be. It. It’s why we’re all at home. Metaphoooor.

On the morning of the Saturday following the Friday above, bestie sent me a song. Have been listening to it non stop, listen to it, she texted me. Oh, I know it, I love it, am going to listen to it now, I texted back. It’s us, her. We high five in our texts. Sometimes, next to a heart. It’s next to the ever growing pink heart, this time around. The song came in perfectly. The song comes in perfectly, right now, as I’m walking to the McDonald’s I can see the sign of from my apartment. I’ve just, recently, realised this was the only one in the city that used to be called McDonald’s Rock and Roll, aw, isn’t that cool. Adorned with guitars and everything. The rhythm of the song is walking hand in hand with you. Noise cancelation on. It’s Electric Love – Børns.

Love is, really, the one thing each and every one of us wants, so chillax, we’re all together in the same boat, look fear in the eyes and do it anyway. 

It’s when your cheeks and belly hurt from so much laughing that authenticity “hurts” and it’s the best! Just like love does. Yes!

The post A Metaphor appeared first on OZ in Paris.

!!!

x

As the chords strike a chord with you, deeper and deeper, finer and finer, you catch Mariah’s eyes and you connect with the feeling. A feeling of some kind of pain. Ideally, it’s a love story. That starts with a self love story. Mixed with some kind of pain, of longing, belonging. I miss being in love. Man, I do really miss love!

I just wrote the title and am smiling, grinning, as we speak. It feels good to put it out there, in the air, regardless of who, when, why and another w word reads this. Please observe the transition from the second person to the first. The heart had burst. Spontaneously. Sometimes, we try to flower power stuff, but, at other times, something just comes through. The truth.

And you totally feel Mariah’s interpretation of the song. It’s on repeat, by now. It must be the 13th time. They should invent a repeat button for geeks like us. Or super melancholic, anyway, people, who, on a cold Friday night, should be partying or something, yet can’t or don’t want to escape this somewhat precious loop they’re in and start to, actually, enjoy it rather than escape from it. One best friend once advised me – while I must’ve been dealing with some sort of heart ache over some sort of thing in life – to just go deeper into it and f*cking live it. Rather than escape from it. I don’t know about that. It can be better, it might not – it’s different all the time, when it’s not the same lesson you’re learning, thank goodness – and you know best. Your best.

He sent me a thing on millennials from The New York Times, earlier this week:

Technology has certainly played a role in popularizing the hermit trend. Writing for the New York Times in 2016, Molly Young suggests that services like Tinder, Netflix, Seamless, and Postmates have enabled today’s young people to abandon themselves to the comforts of convenience. “It’s like pouring your money into a savings account,” she writes of the choice to stay in over going out. “You’ll grow marginally; you’ll stay safe; your expectations will be met and never exceeded.” Heading out to a party or an art opening, Young writes, is more of a gamble. Maybe you’ll have an amazing night you’ll always remember, but more likely you’ll just stand around awkwardly and blow $60 on cocktails. Young’s theory suggests that Netflix and its ilk are facilitating our desire to stay in, rather than compelling us to do so.

Which is rather sad for someone like me, who likes to pick up on the energy in the room, club, when everyone’s dancing, who likes to have a great time, to the best music, in the most fun atmosphere eveeer. I love that s*it! But here comes the tricky part. I love it just as much as I love the cozy mood you can only have within the family. It’s about the energy.

THE LOVE!

I’m the happiest when I’m in the fam and I’ve, always, dreamed of mine. So, when Mariah sings at the top of her lungs, I can’t help but enjoy losing myself in the feeling. I know what it feels like, I know exactly what I’ve always dreamed about. That feeling of putting your hands up in the air. Your feet banging hard against the floor. You almost can’t sing, that’s how much something inside hurt, but you, obviously, knew and know you’re not giving up. On that. You’re not trading that for any kind of substitutions you have in front of you. You did that in the past, knowingly, unknowingly, but no more, I can’t give anymore!

An open heart is pretty… Uhm… Open. I’m not afraid of the one reading this, right now, and feeling like it’s too much, because, for the one, this wouldn’t be too much, anyway. He knows exactly what I mean. Anyone who reads this and is scared is not the one, so, it’s fine. And you just know when you know. I mean, I do, now. I might need to rephrase this, at some point, but I’m on a train of thought here.

There have been trials and tribulations. There has been happiness. I’m grateful for all of it. It’s not perfection that I’m talking here about. I’ve learned, the hard way, that perfection is not the way, or is it, and that’s OK. I want something real. Real doesn’t exclude perfection. My perfection. What feels perfect to me. And him. Our kind of real. Not from the movies, not from music. Ours. I stopped for a second. Stared some more. I get it why people I admire put things like this, out into the world. Here. When you’re in it, you feel it, and it just pours through you.

With Mariah in the background, still. It feels good. My spirit gets high, I feel it coming, as the song by The Weeknd and Daft Punk says, in my mind, with Without You, in a loop. It turns from sorrow to so delicately sweet.

It might also strike a chord with the kid in me, standing in front of the tv, and discreetly, banging my feet against the floor, every time the live recording of the song was playing on VH1, I think, or MTV. Singing. Staring. I remember my brother being in the room with me. He must’ve smiled with the smile that wasn’t supposed to be caught by anyone, but, you know, we love each other and he was a teenager, at the time. It was one of our moments. This kind of moments. Life is beautiful. And I’m so happy. Sometimes sad. But so happy.

On this note, I hug you real tight and wish you a very good night. A friend comes over and we’re not going out to meet people, just as The New York Times says, so I guess it’s family time. We’re having wine. And maybe some pizza. This millennial stuff, man. I hope it goes familial. That would be cool. Bye!

So f*ck it, I might, just as well, enjoy it, until it does. Now bye! Or hiii. Bye, bye.

Shoe do do do do do doo 
Shoe do do do do do dooo 

x

The post I Am So In Love With Love appeared first on OZ in Paris.

It was early in the morning that I left home
when
Lovesick
was playing
in my headphones.

x

Who would’ve thought that I’d become a Kenzo lover? Our romance started with the Kenzo collection for h&m, three years ago, and (and!) the five (!) pieces I got for myself (and mom, obviously) have, somehow, stuck with me. Against all odds. Because, in fashion, this kind of collection is only fashionable for a month. But not in style. These pieces seem to, actually, get better with time, because they just do. It was love at first sight and I didn’t even care about the collaboration “everyone was talking about”. I didn’t even know Kenzo was Paris based or anything.

– So what if it is?

– Mais, je ne sais pas, c’est Paris, c’est tout.

– Quoi?

I just loved how they were made; the fabric, the colours, the textures, the nature, the animals, the volumes, everything. I even got a men’s sweater. For myself. It’s that good!

Créme glacée à la vanille avec noix de pécan and stuff…

Kenzo is a French luxury fashion house founded in 1970 by Japanese designer Kenzo Takada. Kenzo Takada was born in Japan and moved to Paris in 1964 to start his fashion career. He then became known for using Asian influenced style with the construction of European fashion. He began with handmade women’s clothing; reportedly, he made his first collection with $200 worth of fabrics bought at a large discount house in Montmartre. He started with a ‘Jungle Jap’ boutique, decorated in jungle inspired interior.

These pants in particular, ooh. The joy! It’s not that often that I wear them, but I would daily! It’s something in their movement. Aaand they are plush and… Smooth! While being pretty flashy, yet so down to earth. Literally. A teddy bear is hugging each of my feet. Imagine. Hugging, grabbing. I used to grab my brother’s feet, one at a time, with my entire body, each time (1) he wouldn’t do something with me or (2) I just wanted to have fun with him. When I was seven, let’s say, and he was 17. He would, apparently annoyed, carry me on one of his feet through the house and I remember I kind of used to enjoy it. Jees.

Anyway. Ouias!

By 11am,
Lucky started to play between my ears.

I felt lucky throughout the day.

And danced between my ears.

You feel me?
What do you feel?

x

The Adidas (some special sort of collection by Adi Dassler, one of the Adidas founders) hoodie is an item I, literally, feel like home in. Like carrying my home with me all around, with my music, scent, everything. I might be walking tall and all, but inside I’m snuggling af.

A crisp (off) white t-shirt is ALWAYS forever. Quoi?

The Hugo jacket I got for my mom, as a Christmas present, years ago, is an exchange for a jacket of mine. I smile whenever I remember about the subtle deal my mom and I made. The prints would not, theoretically, work together, yet there’s something about their shapes and colours that make them ride the same wave.

The Nikes are some of the most tender (yup) shoes I’ve been indulging (yup) in, lately. There’s just something about this particular model and they feel like FOREVER always.

The suede Mango bag is… suede. The Nikes are, too, and they communicate in a magical way. Moreover, its colour – nature’s sort of brown – feels like some sort of playground for the zebra pants.

I have to admit that a high bun means a lot to this combo. So does a high spirit.

I can not (do not want to) ever (have to) decide between vanilla or chocolate ice-cream. It’s vanilla today, it might as well be chocolate tomorrow. Or raspberries. Or salted caramel. What? Oui!

This outfit is one of the reasons I love winter, too. Winter challenges us and makes us fall in love with snow. When it snows. When it doesn’t… Well… Find yourself some va-va-voom pants and you’ll not only feel lovesick, but lucky, too. 

Or vice versa. Or have some ice-cream. Have some ice-cream after having found your va-va-voom. Ouias!

The post One Of My Favourite (!) Combos Lately And Ever appeared first on OZ in Paris.

Or the day that the Universe winks at you. Or a night that you wink back at the Universe. Wink, wink. And you remember it forever.

The days that are so full of electricity that you even can’t tell anyone about, immediately after, are the days that stick with you. Not even your parents who you’re with, on holiday, at your brother’s. Cristina, you haven’t yet told me how was it last night, at the U2 concert!, mom. Wait, wait, it’s too soon to get into it, I wide open my eyes, throw my hands up in the air, put them on my cheekbones, then through my hair, look up, pull out a Whooh! and get out of my brother’s kitchen. It has big windows and an island.