the designer girl

dedicated to the designer girl who “has to have issues” because she lives a designer life.

they don’t see me like they see everyone else.

because i love my louis, my gucci, my fendi, my cavalli, but mostly my prada. they’re my most prized possessions and i handle them with care, as if they would burst like a bubble.

i don’t shop in the high street because i like my things exclusive. even the hair on my hair is coloured by exclusive hands, and lengthened with premium brazilian hair.

it’s not because i’m a snob, but because i’m a designer girl.

i fills my time on my mac, surfing through fashion blogs, and making plans with socialites. i love to browse through vogue italia while i wait for my friends in harvey nichols, and i make plans to purchase the latest burberry trench in my mind.

people brand me as insecure, and they say i hide behind my chanel frames to cover up the pain, but they dont know how much sunshine i have in my life. so much sunshine i have to shade my eyes.

i know i seem superficial and materialistic. i know the feel good mainstream pop, and radio friendly emo-rock on my ipod doesn’t make great conversation starters, but they are the soundtrack to my versace dreams.

i know i clothe my world with the expensive and the seemingly superficial but that doesnt make me shallow. i may be a material girl, but didn’t aristotle argue that the material world was the real?

so allow me to float around and spread the scent of my issey miyake, or my dior poison, but don’t prescribe issues to to cure my designer life. i don’t need a cure, just a pair of miu-miu to strut my designer stuff in my designer world.



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