TW: blah, blah, blah.
have you ever woken up and felt like you've just suffered through Theresa May lecturing u for about 29k years on how she's #Girlpower?
yup. that was me a couple weeks back. rocking up to my 'Critically Queer' seminar, a class that was tightly focusing on one of the more rawer, sore words in the english language rn; sex.
they h9 them. that's more than h8, woah.
i'll be frank about Frank Ocean, i honestly couldn't name any of his songs.
tracking back all my interactions with music, i've just never been all that stoked about music, tbh. back in my secondary school days when my situation was v much the whole "UHM ok, what can i do today to get ppl to like me pls and thx", i'd viscously force myself to care about the top 40 charts. knowing what was making waves in the charts was, to me, the secret to social superstar success.
touching base with my blog after 72 years.
i've never been the kind of guy to declare that, at the end of a relationship, "ugh, what a waste of my time. a year wasted on him, and now what?"
i try and think: "what did i gain and learn from that relationship? what could i have done better? heck, what did i do good in?"
it's been well over a year since i last dropped a post on my blog. during our break from one another, me and this site have been on a strictly professional level. clipping some of my work on other sites here and there, but never getting intimate. making posts all night long like we used to.
i cheated a lot. i've been writing for about 12 sites since breaking up with my blog. so why have i come crawling back? i've lost my voice.
I very clearly remember the first time I met Nik Thakkar. I caught his eye, timidly gazing at him from across the room, then skipped on over. Pulling me in for a raspy hug, his smile flecked with alcohol, his body bopping up and down; "I'm in such a good mood!" he shouted.
He was drunk. His chill was probably sold off to pay for the leather jackets. A black vest. A simple choice. A complex collection. Half of the night had been spent chatting to people - even a brief conversation with a woman who later turned out to be Ada Zandition's mother - whilst a division of brooding models with polished skin posed in the background, boots denting the black ashes, littered with leathery rose petals.
"It's great to see you here, man! I'm so happy you made it!" he said to me. Nik scurried off, combing his hand through his metallic mane, and honestly just looked so happy to be where he was today. And he had every reason to be. At the presentation of the Ada + Nik SS16 collection, there was certainly a lot to be celebrating about.
"Whenever I feel like I'm about to faint, I eat a cube of cheese."
My friend always makes a joke that the only reason the events I attend have catering is that I'm going to be there, and quite frankly, never has a more accurate statement been said. Entering the park of the palatial Selfridges department store; its historic legacy as a beacon of consumerism fills the air, yet, another scent lingers. Burgers. Sausage rolls. I feel like I've entered a Fish n' Chip store somewhere in Manchester. The single most attractive man I've ever seen, a waiter, hands me a pink drink, but I'd take any sort of liquid from him in my mouth.
I'm strolling around the airy space, there's fast food, attractive men and fashion. Is it a dream? No, it's the House of Holland SS16 presentation, specially for his debut menswear collection.