Diagnosed: High Style Esteem
After months of hiatus, much of which I spent pretending to work and visiting several brain shrinks, I came to find the reason to my shyness. I hadn't lost my voice, it's still here. I hadn't lost something to write about, I'm still complaining. But I did however, lose the HSE I was suffering from all of 2012. For those of you not in a medical profession, I was suffering from High style esteem. Basically I thought I was like bomb dot com until I noticed how realz high I rated my self on the style-dar. Like why would Karl's intern's assistant be thinking of me when he sketched this collection? And why would Phoebe Philo care how I hold her creations? Or in worst cases, (this is when I was suffering from Low Weight Esteem) try to fit my entire body into a tote. It's time we discuss and re-asses the idea of any style-esteem...if only I knew where to start. Well, let's start with evidence. HSE ends when you realized you popped the arm-button off your Skaist Taylor jumpsuit from eating a gelato for an entire week (see image). Yeah, like how cute are you walking all around a southern italian town in cherry pop red playsuit from Katia, but um how un-cute to be the fat kid in it. I might have been pastry shop hopping on this street. Shhh.
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