Influence Me

Weirdos, I’m officially super bad at this whole “lifestyle blogger” thing.  And yes, I’m gonna keep it one hundo and admit that that is, in fact, a “lifestyle” blog.  I think a lot of those who live their life on the web that don’t adhere to either the millennial pink/ looking down at their shoes/ eyelash extension universe *or* the infinity scarf/ mother to-blankity blank wife to-blankity blank/ harvest table mafia, think that they don’t fall under the identity of “the lifestyle blogger”.  Well, here’s the thing bitches, you’re still trying to sell your lifestyle as the cool one, even if it’s all witchy, and sagey, and quirky, and sepia tone.


That’s actually why I started my blog in the fucking first place!!  I was super weary of only liking something because some one on Instagram with a really blurry (read: “airbrushed”) filter, a great make up artist, and 20k followers told me to.  And I like those blogs.  They’re really fun.  They’re hella vapid, and they remind me that’s it’s okay that I’ve been getting Botox since I was 23 and lip filler for the last two years.  If it weren’t for vapid, filtery, pink bullshit, I’d still be whining about my forehead seagulls (yess I named my forehead wrinkles).


But then again I also wouldn’t worry as much about I am going to look like when I’m 35.  Because it’s not okay to show signs of aging, because youth, because #aesthetic, because our generation is trademarked for keeping pace with snap trends and if we are looking older than 35, then we can’t keep pace, and that makes us….irrelevant.


ugh.  fuck that.


On the other side of influencer coin, the harvest table conglomerate shows me how I kind of want to decorate my house some day.  When I can buy a house, that is, as soon I know where I’ll be living for more than a year at a time.  I’m not into the whole “farm house chic” thing, but I am into drink ware that includes some flair and lack the name of a college bar or local sports team.  These blogs are wholesome, and fuzzy, and practical, and confirms the message: “hey miss thang, it’s okay to wear a fun flannel and ankle boots to a PTA meeting! you go girl!”.  I would be a little freaked out to take myself seriously if it weren’t for these “influencers”.  Like I can legit be a cool mom and a regular mom.


Buuuuuuut…what if I’m not this super organized and adorable and effortless shining example of a women who can “have it all”.  That’s totally not acceptable because like…look at all these women that do it! If you can’t host, AND have a curated living room, AND pull off skinny jeans after kids, AND be totally charming all the fucking time…well, you can always try Sears.




Then there are blogs like mine, and let me tell you, I apparently have not committed to my “brand”.  The “alt” girl or “witchy” image is definitely gaining steam which is awesome.  I’m really happy that being unique and weird is “in” right now.  I love that there are a billion true crime podcasts and superheros are cool and embracing your quirks are charming and celebrated.  But like, the lewk and hallmarks are as exhausting to keep up with as the other two pigeon holes.  Hats? You better be able to pull off a wide brim.  I hope you like all things mom jeans, high wasted skirts, and septum piercings!  Which… I do (not the mom jeans…idk why that even came back), buuuuuut I mostly wear leggins’ and a crew neck I got on vacay.  Is that like…weird enough? Am I doing alt weird chick correctly? Oh and also, you better have an animal, and it better be black, and you better Instagram the shit out of it, and you *better* and have a borderline co-dependent relationship with it (Her name is Sylvia, she’s my 10 year old black cat, she is my world, and her Insta is @gal_gato).


And don’t get me started on the girls online that are suddenly “goth” or “emo” and do it reaaaaally fucking well aesthetically; but 10/10 uttered the sentence “ew they’re like emo/ goth/ skater” in middle or high school.  These *actual* posers (not like how we assholes meant it about any kid in our 8th grade class that wore Vans or Chucks but didn’t know who the Ramones were) who get hyped about smudging (don’t get me started), and tarot, and vibes, and those swirly black chokers no one misses.


But I want to look like them!


And I hate myself for it.


It all circles back to coveting the perfect lewk.  But compound on that dressing in a way that I used to have to explain/ apologize for; and *still* don’t feel comfortable in my own skin because of it.  Again…I’m glad all this shit is becoming popular.  But like any other trend that you follow: hipster, Insta baddie, hippie, goth…don’t act like it was your idea.


Growing up is hard…even when you’re technically a grown up.  With social media, we’re all feeling the heat to put our best life forward 100% of the time and that’s fucking dumb.  We’re all trying to ride the right trends and act like we’re not aesthetic tourists and that’s fucking dumb.  We’re all wanting to figure out who we are but end up becoming what we think people want to see…and that’s fucking dumb.


And when I say dumb, I really mean sad as hell.


Let’s just all cut ourselves a break and enjoy what we enjoy.  Decorate our homes in a way that make us feel joy.  Not freak when those skinny jeans don’t quite fit after growing and birthing a human.  And dress is a way that makes us proud…*us* proud…and confident.


Stay Fab. Stay Weird.



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