Mariano Fortuny exhibit at Mitsubishi Ichigokan Museum with @bububun on a hot summer day. We ended up matching~
I skipped all my other summer outfits, but since Laura just posted her own outfit, I thought now would be the best moment to post this one.
Dreamy guestroom in interior designer Howard Slatkin’s Fifth Avenue apartment [x]
“Fiction teaches us that the sorrows of living are meaningful. Fiction restores the meaning. The experience which is being lived day by day may seem futile, destructive because the vision of totality is lacking. In the novel it acquires a pattern. It is fiction. It reaches beyond pain to the pattern of meaningfulness which consoles us for all the agonies, and uncovers elevations.”
Anaïs Nin, from The Diary of Anaïs Nin: Volume Five 1947-1955
This facelift begins with pastel blush for the walls. An old chest, painted with romantic flowers and ribbons, teams with a flowered sink and mirror for unabashed romance. The dressing table? It’s a junk store find clad in a lacy new “dress”.
The New Decorating Book, 1997
➵ 𝒴𝑜𝓊𝓇 *𝒶𝓃𝑔𝑒𝓁 𝒱𝒶𝓁𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑒* 𝒽𝒶𝓈 𝒶𝓇𝓇𝒾𝓋𝑒𝒹... ❤️
IG: iridessence | Photo, lingerie embellishment, no-heat hair, makeup and set par moi.
Tired of people talking about sex like Whatevvverrr get your head shrunken and attach it to a keychain
you wear an ancestor's face. you look like a woman you'll never meet. in that mirror, there's thousands of you. and in the bath, when you look down, she looks back, shaking and deforming in the ripples as she lies beneath the surface.
before blaming others, think: whats the 1 constant in all your failed relationships? its that cursed egyptian amulet why do u even have that
tell me why this budgetless gay youtube series made for fun by a group of friends has the best editing and writing of anything i’ve watched in a year.
also tell me how this single scene can contain every single one of the top three most iconic lines in history.
Sometimes I feel like a caretaker of a museum — a huge, empty museum where no one ever comes, and I’m watching over it for no one but myself.
Haruki Murakami, Pinball, 1973 (via larmoyante)