I wear black


Glamover – It’s like a hangover, but glam by hallaek

No better time than as the holidays approach to relax, spend time with friends, and (if one is of legal age, of course) partake in an alcoholic beverage, or eight. You’re not like all the rest, though. When you go to a holiday party, heads turn. As you weave through the room various people grab your arm, asking where you got that and how you thought to pair velvet with sneakers — you’re just too fabulous, perhaps even for life itself.

So the night ends and you won the eggnog chugging contest, which was easy as you were the sole participant, but what does this tell of the future? Surely the morning after tossing back festive liquor won’t be a nice one, in fact it’ll likely be a naughty one, but either way this is you and you will not partake in this hangover nonsense. There is hope for you, oh breathtakingly cool one, as hangover’s got a new friend: her name is ‘Glamover’ and she is fierce, just like you.

Glam-o-ver (noun):

  1. Ill effects caused by drinking an excess of alcohol whilst being fabulous.
  2. A fabulous thing that has survived from the past.

Google definitions don’t lie.

The curse of glamover sufferers is that outsiders assume our morning-after pain is lesser than theirs, which is not true, it just looks better aesthetically. Underneath the sunnies, fur, and jewelry are the deafening moans of a very hungover person.

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Make your hangover fab. Make it a glamover.



I wear black by hallaek
April 5, 2011, 5:48 pm
Filed under: Fashion | Tags: , , , , , ,

I do. And lots of it. In my last packing installment I had all my clothes laid out on my bed and besides the two tan items and one gray item, the entire spectrum was black. For Miami. Black skirt, black bikini, black oversized/drapey thing numbers 1, 2, 3 (and 4); it was all black down to my first ‘cool person’ sun hat. But aside from packing, and if you know me even a bit, you know that the colour black is as essential to me as my puffer. That’s right, I have a puffer. Besides I was tired of speaking my pretentious french every time someone asked me what my blog is called. I have to defend myself most days for my faux-goth ways, so why not save myself some breath and name the blog after what is most obvious about my fashion choices: I wear black.

Back to business: did you see my last post? I don’t care either way, just look at this! Yup, those are my hands. And my ring. And my bedazzled phone. To think it all started with much picture-taking of the AWANG shoes (Cat can vouch for me, we were just sitting and talking as the photographer, Lewis Mirrett, snapped away) and now my digits are making their name in the world.

It’s actually not the first time my supreme phone-holding-fake-texting skills have helped me make a name for myself. Who watches CTV at 6am over the summer?

The original picture that made my hands famous.




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