Leandra Medine's Blog, page 675

What Thing Did You Think You’d Love Forever?

I like to think of myself as a loyal person — as stalwart in my love of cashmere and Mindy Kaling and Brussels sprouts as I am in my devotion to my (real) friends. Given that, I am sort of mortified to admit this most recent development. After years of unwavering commitment, my riding boots and I have decided to separate. The seven-year itch is a cliché, but it fits the narrative.

I got my first pair of tall boots when I was 15. While I assume I had experienced some kind of leather footwear before them, these shoes were a particular revelation. Like statement jewelry and leopard print and the absurd patent leather motorcycle jacket I wear just about once a year, they could transform even the most mundane separates into an “outfit.” They made leggings look polished and oxford shirts look intentional. They made me look more like Charlotte Casiraghi — an enduring fantasy. Each time I yanked them on in the morning or before I left for dinner, I rewrote myself a little bit. I stood taller and strode with purpose. I imagined I had a prize-winning horse named Bernie. It was all very romantic.

But then, about a year ago, I moved to England for five months. It did not take me long to acclimate. During the time I spent on Maple Street and in the depths of Kensington, I learned to like milky tea and crumbly biscuits and the fundamental English disdain for physical exertion. I learned to imitate the way my new friends got dressed each morning: flouncy printed mini-skirt, slouchy sweatshirt, combat boots, and a swipe of the sexiest lipstick you ever laid eyes on. It was easy. In fact, I was so enamored of the aesthetic that I sort of forgot about the (Loeffler Randall, jet black, would-be perfect) riding boots. Here was the cultural immersion I had been promised, and I loved it.

I guess I expected there would be some grand reconciliation after I ended things in London. I would return to New York and fall for the boots all over again. It seemed only fair. I have, after all, spent the past five years in pursuit of the timeless wardrobe. The reason I buy “the classics” is that they’re never supposed to go out of style. Leather accents are infinite. Fisherman sweaters are eternal. Audrey Hepburn wore riding boots. And yet in October — as the season for thick socks and obscured ankles rolled around, the truth was undeniable: I hated them. They seemed tired and juvenile. They seemed…suburban. There is no worse crime.

“Everything has an expiration date,” my mother maintained in the face of my despair.

“Like Greek yogurt. Or Advil.”

“So untrue,” I countered. “Some relationships last forever.”

She agreed. But then she stated the obvious: “You are not in a relationship with your boots.”

I swear I know this. The boots and the sweaters and that inky pair of jeans I wore on every single first date last year are not people. They do not protest neglect. You cannot hurt their feelings. And yet whatever it is between us seems real. The clothing I like best has taken me places and seen great things and witnessed several terrible dinners. Maybe that explains why I mourned the riding boots — just a little bit. Maybe that explains why I’ve held on to them. You know how it is with old flames.

What was the thing you thought you’d love forever?

Image shot by Mario Testino for Stuart Weitzman SS13

In 2015, Thou Shalt Not

Discuss the following:

– How big the iPhone 6+ is

– Why you would rather chew your salad than drink your green juice

– That girl with the bad energy

– But maybe it’s not bad energy — maybe Mercury is just in retrograde

– What app you would build if you had time and access to those, like, developers or whatever

– Whether the defendant from Serial is innocent or not

– Wait, was 2014 the year of the podcast?

– Wanting to see Tulum or Stockholm or Tokyo

– How you stopped going to SoulCycle because it was bulking up your thighs

– How you’re never going back to Coachella

– Or Art Basel, which is now just totally a fashion party

– Why brunch can’t just be food at a certain hour

– Why it’s basic when girls brunch but just food when guys do

– Sriracha and its competitive adversaries

– Mezcal — which is so much better than Tequila because its smoky (no, really, I’m saying this and it’s true)

– Non dairy milk and other food intolerances

– How Instagram only galvanizes the happy moments in the documented relationships but never, ever “when she was crying because he called her by the name of his ex-girlfriend.”

– Tinder

Your turn.

Culled in part from fractures of conversations overheard at a restaurant in TriBeCa by my friend Elyse. Feature images by Venetia Scott for Interview Magazine, Jamie Nelson

Resuming Play: What Are Your Hobbies?

I often find myself in precarious positions. Not socially or emotionally precarious positions, per se — although those do come along, too — but physically precarious positions. I’ll be unloading the dishwasher when I find my body forming more of a choreographed grand plié than a squat. Then there are the times I pirouette into the bathroom, knuckles involuntarily slamming into the towel rack. The thing is, I miss dance. I stopped ballet when I was thirteen. The rigidity and intensity wore on my hormonal soul, and I longed to escape the escalating pressures imposed by the studio environment.

But there was a part of the equation I got fundamentally wrong. It wasn’t so much that my body grew tired of the movements, it was more a matter of my inability to cope with my peers. At the time, I had mistakenly muddled those two components and in doing so convinced myself that ballet was something my body would never crave again.

Now I am 18. The past four months have lent themselves to major changes, one of which includes moving away to college in another country. In my daily interactions with new people I’ve become hyperaware to the repeated conversations about “things-I-used-to-do-then-stopped-but-want-to-resume.” X really would like to take up watercoloring again; Y just wishes he had more fucking time to skate.

There’s something about humans that makes us constantly want to shed the skins of our past — until we don’t. Suddenly, the fear of potentially losing touch with certain places and memories wears on the psyche, creating an urgency for resuming the hobbies and pastimes that brought us some rush or pleasure in an entirely different headspace. We then go on to blame our failure to resume these hobbies and pastimes on the ever-present menace: time.

But life goes on, and it’s arguably nothing more than a chess game of priority. A bunch of little humans out there, readjusting (or not) their pawns in both satisfactory and unsatisfactory layouts. Simply put, there is time if you make it, and there isn’t if you don’t. We are creatures of habit, and if we miss doing something that once gave us pleasure then we should prioritize rediscovering that something. Maybe it’s painting, or dancing, or hiking, or reading. There’s a certain comfort in familiar things, and suppressing such tendencies to revert to earlier modes seems, well, a waste of that ever-present menace: Time.

*Googles adult ballet classes.*

Written by Emma Hager

Image on the left shot by Annabel Mehran for Purple Magazine, Image on the right shot by Alfred Eisenstaedt for LIFE magazine, 1936.

Kanye West Drops Single ft. Paul McCartney

YOU HAVE GOT IT TAAAA-WISTED IF YOU COULD UPRIGHTLY THINK, that on the first morning of a year so fresh it gets a prime number to close it out, that North West’s father wouldn’t have already achieved a viral “broken Internet.”

Last night while New York dropped a ball to commemorate its status as a city of boys becoming men (I will continue to make this joke until you confirm that you’re having it carved into your tombstone), Mr. West dropped a single that features the ineffable Paul McCartney, which has thus far acutely reminded my plebeian ears, (which also happen to contain exactly zero knowledge of precisely what constitutes “good music,”) how delightful the former’s voice is.

Stream the song via West’s website here.

Makes me wanna slow dance with the cactus to my left, you know? Because it looks soft, but it’s also deep, you know, and can prick you, even through its salient beauty, if you get too close.

I’m sorry, what?

Goals.

Why Do We Make Resolutions?

1. Practice French for 15 minutes every day

2. Read non-news or work-related prose for 20 minutes a day

3. Be more kind

These are my resolutions. I make them every year. In 2012, I said I’d dance more in 2013. In 2013, I said I’d learn how to cook one dish in 2014. (Between us, I over-achieved and learned two.) For next year, I’ll get better French, I’ll have a more imaginative purview and I’ll be a better person

Unless I don’t, you know, do any of those things because the thing about resolutions is that under the tinsel, the bells, the whistles and the bubbles, the popular and public year-end ritual, a conversation piece to pass by the time between Christmas and New Year’s, is just an exposed look at our goals. Our defenseless ambitions and vulnerable wishes for a better future, a rewritten narrative.

But we know this, right? We’ve been saying it for years. Resolutions are so plastic. Unused gym memberships are a physical proof of concept.

And yet, we make them.

As conversational fodder? Because we mean it? Because we take pleasure in masochistically agreeing to let ourselves down annually? Oh! Maybe resolutions are the cyclical band-aids that heal our previous year’s failures with the hope of next year’s aspiration. Or maybe we see them as a framework. One that provides a definitive deadline for the collective consciousness to activate change. Then again, though, this method of self-correcting extends rather acutely beyond December 31st.

The diet always starts Monday.

And rabbit, rabbit, it’s a new month. Align your corporate ducks.

So maybe what we’re really compelled toward is a set of clean slates but if that’s the case, we’re missing a vital ingredient in order to set these slates in motion. There is an argument* that suggests that New Year’s resolutions are the product of the self-help boom of the late ’80s and early ’90s. If this is true, the supposition is that we’re aware that the concept of self-help is one that is interminable. One that can’t be defined by a particular start or end date and might need tweaking on the 24th of July or 15th of October. If we really do wish to change, it’s not quite as straightforward as jotting down a list on the first of the month, or the week, or December 31st and marching forth.

Of course, though, with that argument comes another one. Maybe we don’t really want to change and resolutions have just become another portal through we self-brand. By saying we want to look, or act, or be better, we acknowledge, with the same fractured veracity with which we filter photos of our victories, the public perception’s involvement in our avocations. Ghandi said that we should be the change we want to see in the world, but maybe what we’re putting out, in true, millennially narcissistic fashion, is precisely what we want to see. Or maybe we’re just building our dialogues.

If Joan Didion was right and we tell ourselves stories in order to live, maybe we give ourselves resolutions in order to tell these stories. Maybe that’s life — or in the name of 2015, la vie.

The Year Remixed

2014 was the year of the meddle; the year where nothing with a past was left alone. Original states were no longer good enough. Everything was remixed.

First came the Disney Princesses. Belle, Esmerelda, Jasmine, Cinderella. Up until recently they were either regarded with nostalgia or forgotten in our adulthood — until, of course, someone had a brilliant idea.

“Hey, I know,” said this person who was probably high and inspired by her childhood bedsheets. “I’m gonna re-imagine Disney Princesses as the cast of High School Musical.” After that, all bets were off.

Disney Princesses quickly found themselves in a whole variety of situations: recreating scenes from Mean Girls and Homeland, having their heads replaced with Nicolas Cage’s, being digitally manipulated to look like real humans, redrawn in the style of Anime. Pick a scenario — literally any scenario (someone once rei-magined Disney Princesses as piles of rocks) — and these long-haired heroines have been there, done that.

Not too shabby for a bunch of cartoon characters whose original claims to fame were attending balls.

Then came the Art Renaissance renaissance. People suddenly remembered that once upon a time they received an art history minor, and they’d be damned if they didn’t make use of their very expensive education. They realized that oil paintings and Ikea furniture go together like fine wine and aged cheese, that today’s lexicon far better summarizes a masterpiece than whatever a museum’s audio tour could tell you, and that Renaissance babies were kind of ugly.

Nothing was sacred. Wes Anderson was affixed to Kanye West. Law & Order became one with food. The poetry of Pablo Neruda accompanied photos of stoic cats, and even we outfitted Joan Didion in today’s clothes. Every song got a remix. If it didn’t get remix, it was synched with an unrelated video. Careers required backslashes, animals got agents, parodies were parodied and Tumblr memes were reenacted on Vine.

Leandra noted that we’re witnessing it in fashion, too. The whole ’90s redux is hardly a redux seeing as those chokers (which were adopted from the Victorian era) are being worn today in earnest. Flared jeans that hit right at the ankle, paired with training sneakers a la School House Rock are no more ironic now than they were when they belonged to Marsha Brady. Yet the modern iteration isn’t really a “take on the ’70s,” either. It’s not an interpretation. It’s…confusing.

2014 wasn’t the first time these “meddlings” occurred. Kanye Wes Anderson is old. The ’20s have come in stylistically before; so have the ’40s, ’50s. And ’60s. Creative property became fair game as soon as the Internet was made public, and Disney Princesses were going through sex changes before we were aware that Tumblr existed. But it was the year that we craved these renderings with such insatiability that new takes on the old classics began to blur timelines and beg the question, “What is actually defining right now?”

If nothing else, 2014 solidified what we already knew: that everything old becomes new again, that trends are cyclical, and that we’re creatures of nostalgic habit. But it also makes you wonder: what will a college party look like in the year 2055 where instead of “The ’80s,” the popular theme is “2015”?

Probably like a Disney movie. Set in the Renaissance age, scored by Justin Bieber and directed by the Coen brothers.

If You’re Thinking About NYE, Think About Jeans

Every year I tell myself that I will not fall into the trap that is New Year’s Eve sequins. Why?

Because I like them.

Because I want to know that on the other 364 days of the Gregorian year, I can wear them without feeling like a stale disco ball that is beginning to grow mold between its fractured, sparkling elements. Especially now — on the heels of Raf Simons’ Pre-Fall show for Christian Dior, which took place in Tokyo earlier this month and featured so many sequined turtlenecks worn under not-quite-plebeian knits, one was left to ponder what came first: the sparkle or the disc.

Invariably, though, every year on December 31st, like an instinctive reflex as poignant as that of a female bird hovering over her nest replete with baby chicks, I jerk from the left end of my closet a sequined blazer with satin lapels I’ve never not worn on New Years. With it, I pair a velvet (another fabric doomed for the plague of holiday-season-typecasting) mini dress and jewel encrusted Chloé pumps that will now never see the light of day. And every year, at exactly 12:03, feet aching, legs uncomfortable and arms frustrated by glitter-fostered immobility, I go home and say to myself: why didn’t I just wear jeans?

Why didn’t I just wear “me”?

For 2015, Pandora Sykes of the namesake blog makes a solid case for “me”-in-the-form-of-jeans and sequins, in the year’s favorite form of sartorial foreskin: a turtleneck, topped off by flat boots that say nothing and everything (so, something like “I’m going to dance the night away and laugh in the name of your heel-fostered stork-walk”) in tandem.

Image via Pandora Sykes

A Year in Review

It is a universal truth worth acknowledging at the turn of a Gregorian year that to recapitulate the events of the previous 365 days is an activity about as commonplace as dental work. But through its never feeling new almost always emerges a sense that it’s never old, either.

Call this an important step in a program dedicated to moving forth with hatches buried and loose ends tied or simply a hedonistic look at the acute photo album that is life-as-told-by-the-past-year.

Either way, as Dickens so famously put it, purportedly to summate the end of every year: it was the best of times, it was the worst of times. Here’s a synopsis of 2014 written in superlatives.

Best Accessory of the Year: The sock. And why? Because they were worn under everything from sandals and slides to sneakers and boots and even through the abandonment of shoes at large. Some had cats on them, others were camp-y, some were fuzzy and a great deal were lost in the abyss that is a laundry machine. If we had to predict a forthcoming it-accessory, the bobby pin has a sustainable chance.

Most Annoying Language Affectation: The singularization of popularly plural nouns (see item 1). Socks, pants and lips have historically come in pairs, but in 2014, perhaps at the fault of fashion editors country-wide, such articles were divorced from their twins and highlighted using the prefix, “the” to create a new genus of pretentious speak, calling to action the sock, the pant, and the bold red lip, and leaving behind their beloved siblings.

Best Clothing Item: The foreskin of the garment district, or in other words: turtlenecks — sorry, since we’re still in 2014, so that’s actually “the turtleneck.” They were worn under button downs, sweaters, v-necks, t-shirts, favored predominately by such pioneering designers at Nicolas Ghesquiere and Phoebe Philo, and harmed absolutely zero livestock through their rise to fame.

Coolest Hairy Body Part: Eyebrows. Call this the work of one Cara Delevingne or simply a resuscitation that takes into account the forehead of Brooke Shields but in 2014, threading and waxing took a backseat to allowing facial caterpillars to crawl as they’re wont to.

Most Narcissist Pinky Finger: Jay Z’s. Hear me out on this one — the man is always holding his microphone ahead of his mouth and swinging his opposite shoulder from side to side, while his pinky finger, positioned hierarchically above the rest of his fingers sways side to side. Do also bear in mind a condition that existed previous to 2014: HOVA. (Addendum: Mr. Z always gets an award for being the most selfless proprietor of an appendage.)

True Internet Breaker: Serial. Kim’s ass was close but as far as 2014 could have told, there was no murder mystery tethered to those supple mountains.

Style of The Year: Normcore, which may or may not elicit a normsnore right now but after New York Magazine‘s The Cut coined the term, it usurped the fortuitous thrones of kale and Birkenstocks as most credible viral sensation to bourgeon without the aid of a de facto publicist.

Shoe of The Year: Clogs. Well, maybe not technically yet but as far as the Man Repeller Crystal Ball is concerned (which is a hefty distance, make no mistake), they will be. You’ll see.

Most Frustrating Way to Garner Viral Success: Click bait captions (as in, “you’ll never guess who said this indiscriminate thing to this remote person”) that worked every time but never, ever satisfied reader expectations. Out of darkness, though, always emerges light, and click bait captions and content produced for the sole purpose of virality spawned the birth of majestic parody website, Clickhole.

Best Comeback of 2014: Tumblr — because the publishing service is responsible for the emergence of memes and those memes can amount for the success of such prolific Instagram accounts as The Fat Jewish, Official Sean Penn and Fuck Jerry.

Speaking of Instagram, The Most Delightful Downfall of The Year was the one propelled by Instagram’s deleting spam accounts and causing a stalk market plummet that left several Wolfs of Instagram naked and with single digit followings.

Biggest Device of The Year: The iPhone 95, which still seems to be masquerading itself as an iPhone 6+ and requires the aid of a baby bjorn to be taken around.

It Animal: “All of the” animals, which also touches upon a huge frustration imbued with another form of inflection popularized by social media-savvy Americans-and-beyond in 2014. What is meant by “all of the x?” Why not just “all”? If I had to guess, a foreign exchange student (or my mom) came here, said something, and in a series of subsequent events that are vaguely fuzzy, this “something” was recorded and went viral as recorded comments are wont to. Now we speak as though English is our second language.

Finally, The Occupation of The Year had nothing at all to do with Wall Street or the various pursuits of justice that followed, rather, it was a vocation defined by the suffix, “enthusiast.” Indeed, in 2014, it seems as though half the population quit their day jobs to pursue entrepreneurial efforts which have heretofore been identified primarily via various social media bios as such jobs as “pancake enthusiast,” “hand written notes enthusiast,” “box cutter enthusiast,” and so forth. God bless the American economy.

14 For 15

There are two and change days left before 2014 is almost entirely abandoned and we’re left to find ourselves pacing back mentally as though manually jerking the flip-book that is 2014’s Year in Review. We’ll remember the hardships, declare them “not that bad,” and finally promise to infiltrate the following year with an attitude that understands this: nothing is ever really “that bad.”

Not even your worst outfit.

In fact, some might argue that your worst becomes your best, it just takes a decade or two. But in this era of waiting a minute to spot WiFi feeling like a century-long pause, who has the time, really? Antidotally, consider the above images (and their captions) a creative analeptic to take with you what you loved this year into next year.

Or something like that.

The 14 Words of 2014

We all know the story of the Tower of Babel, right? Once upon a time the world had only one language, then something happened (please allow for vagueness/add your own interpretation here because I fell asleep in school a lot), so the tower came on down and made the kind of mess that Triscuit dust everywhere makes. Moms threatened their offspring, saying they’d be grounded if they didn’t clean this crap up ASAP and so, in the haste, things got jumbled and separate languages were formed.

Billions of years later, humans finally ungrounded, Internet privilege came into existence. This meant Blogspot, and then Tumblr, which meant memes, which trickled into viral Twitter and Instagram accounts, and thus, a new kind of language reunited all: social media slang.

This year in particular was a speakeasy doozy, so whether you love them or hate them, here are the top 14 words of 2014.

1. Fleek

Definition: on point.

Usage: Your nostrils are on fleek today. Did you just have them waxed?

Vote: Best of.

2. Goals

Definition: a literal use of the word. If you’ve never heard the word “goals” before, Wikifreakia defines goals as “a desired result a person or a system envisions, plans and commits to achieve a personal or organizational desired end-point in some sort of assumed development.”

Usage: Online, with the help of a visual image. One posts a photo (ironic or not) that indicates who they’d like to be or what they’d like to be doing, accompanied by the word, “Goals.”

Vote: Best of.

3. Mood

Definition: similar to “Goals,” mood is a literal use of the word. A mood ring or one of those curling paper fish can help you determine your emotions if you’re having trouble and your therapist is on vacation.

Usage: Online, with the help of a visual. Again, as with “goals,” one posts a photo (ironic or not) that best describes their mood, accompanied by the text, “Mood.”

Vote: Best of.

4. The return of the letter “u”

Definition: the letter “u” has been allowed back into the typed lexicon to replace the word “you” after an AIM and Blackberry-induced “u” overdose, followed by a hiatus.

Usage: Previously, the use of “u” was seen as immature and lazy. Now, it’s been reclaimed by efficient captioners, commenters and those restricted by a 140-character limit. Examples: “Literally u.” “When u wake up in the morning but stare at the wall for 5 hours.” “When u hungry but the bae is mad and won’t give u the Seamless pw.” Etc.

Vote: Best of. It’s economical.

5. When You [insert relatable action here] Like…

Definition: Best defined in context, see below.

Usage: As with “mood” and “goals,” this phrase is best-paired with an image that acts as your visual punchline. For example, I might post a gif of a sleeping cat who actually looks dead, accompanied with the text, “When you take too much Nyquil like…”

Vote: Best of. It has become impossible to describe oneself without a visual now.

6. Turnt up/ down

Definition: See here.

Usage: When referring to someone’s hyper-level. Frequently used in music. Often associated with alcohol, OR OTHER STUFF WE DON’T CONDONE.

Vote: On its way out, still hard to shake, though. Let’s call it best-of-the-worst.

To Review:

The below is my “current mood.” It also depicts my “friendship goals.” If I posted it to Instagram, I might caption it with, “Me when I’m secretely bad at something I said I was good at like…”

Both Mary and Mavis’ sweaters are “on fleek.” These women are also clearly “turnt up.” Finally, if a stranger posted this but Leandra found it, she’d “@” me and simply comment, “Literally u.”

Great job!!! Now you’re getting it! Continuing on with the words that need to STAY in 2014.

7. Bae

Definition: Crush/significant other/Danish for poop.

Usage: Frequently occurs when “bae” is late, though it’s also prevalent any time Bae does something cute or un-cute — like taking too long to text back.

Vote: It was fun for 2014, but the first person to use “bae” in 2015 will be voted off the island.

8. Dat ___

Definition: Slang for “that.”

Usage: Singles out a #blessed body part, typically followed with the words “tho,” or “doe.”

Vote: Ugh.

9. Tho/Doe

Definition: Slang for “though.”

Usage: The bookend to “Dat ____.” Common example, “Dat ass, tho.” Note: when alliteration takes form courtesy of both a “dat” and a “doe” in the same sentence, the user sounds like they have a deviated septum. “Dat stuffed nose, doe.”

Vote: Worst. It was humorous for a second, then as with most Internet things it was exhausted to the grave.

11. The Struggle

Definition: Struggle, verb. To make forceful or violent efforts to get free of restraint or constriction. The Struggle, however, is a hyperbolic noun referring to the state wherein one “can’t even.”

Usage: Typically in regards to a hangover, that is very much real. Example, “I drank all of the leftover eggnog last night, mixed with a fifth of Fireball and seasoned with extra cinnamon. Today, the struggle is real.”

Vote: Shut up.

11. All of us

Definition: The unselfish version of John Legend’s popular song.

Usage: “This blob fish is all of us.”

Vote: The worst, partially because it’s overused but mostly because it’s scientifically impossible to prove. Stay in 2014.

12. Bye Felicia

Origin: “Bye Felicia” came from this scene in the movie Friday.

Usage: To dismiss someone who is bugging the shit out of you.

Vote: I’m torn here. It’s extremely satisfying to let a bothersome person know they can exit to the left with a sassy, “Bye Felicia.” At the same time, the joke got old fast so the punch doesn’t pack quite like it used to. Felicia will carry into 2015 regardless, but let’s pray for the saying to eventually dismiss itself.

13. Yaaaaas

Definition: A very emphatic, “yes.”

Usage: When you agree with someone and have forgotten your wits completely.

Vote: The Worst. Again, as with “tho,” it was great at first, like, 2 years ago. The Internet overdid it.

14. All the Things

Definition: I don’t even know how to describe this one because it’s so dumb. It literally means “all the things.”

Usage: If someone has on an outfit, you want to wear “all the things.” If someone posts a really awesome looking sandwich with chips and pickles and condiments, you want to eat, “all the things.” If something’s really sad, it gives you “all the feelings.” I just threw up “all the stomach acid” after typing those three sentences.

Vote: NO.

To Review:

If I posted this picture and was an idiot I’d say, “So bored, waiting 4 the bae and the struggle is real.”

Then people who I should probably de-friend would write:

“Yaaaaaas.”

“Dat hoola hoop doe.”

“This horse is all of us.”

“Man, 2014 was all the things.”

“Wow…Bye Felicia.”

Left image via Elle Italia, right image via The Telegraph