Gaga over Gaga

I’m writing this on my train ride back home from the Born This Way Ball 2012. In my opinion Gaga is in the same league as Michael Jackson in terms of entertainment. In fact never since MJ have so many people filled the seats of a stadium in Korea.

It is a sensory experience of the delicious kind. Lady Gaga brings out all sorts. All Sorts of the weird, whacky, prim, proper, young, old, crazy, cool, zany monsters.

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Her message for the night was to breathe compassion and to be free. Thank you Gaga.

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When a 95 year old has more style than you

When you can wake up on a Friday morning at 11am, drink some coffee in bed and have no agenda but just to be, you kinda figure that the sun, moon and stars are all aligned and all is well in your world. That is, until you hear an awful ringing in your ears and realise your ego has just taken a right hook from Mike Tyson (that is when he could still throw one)

You see, I decided to do something useful with my time and go on to Pinterest and work on my style board. Cos you know, I’m interested in fashion and l think it’s important to have your own sense of style. Not to mention the fact, that I live in a country where how you look is more important than who or what you know.

And then just as I decided to do something useful with my time I had a run in with Mike. And this altercation with Mike has everything to do with the fact that I came across some pictures of Zelda Kaplan and realised that a 95 year old had more style than me. Yes, time stopped, and I took a moment, and then I made peace with Mike, cos you know, he can be vicious and my poor ego!

When I looked at the pictures I realised that here’s a women who understood her own sense of style, who looked confident, comfortable, classy and modern. She looked like a woman who’s style evolved with fashion but in a very age appropriate way. More impressive is the fact that at 95 she was no shrinking violet. She was bold and out there and in your face. Like I hope Kate Moss will be when she’s 95.

And so on this day with a battered ego I realised that I have not yet got a grasp on my own sense of style. Why? Well because for one I appear to have schizophrenia.

When I go out to eat I’m like a slut – wild and carefree and let’s face it happy. My mouth can’t stay shut. It devours a juicy burger like its making out with George Clooney and it demolishes a pizza like its having an orgasm with George Clooney. And while we making confessions, yes I’m an emotional eater but hey, who wouldn’t be emotional about George.

And yet, when I go shopping for clothes I’m like a prude. Everything stays shut, including my purse. There’s no emotion, no George, no fun, it’s all cold and calculated. It’s all about the budget. All very accountant like and rational and logical and make sensical. And in that came my biggest epiphany for the day, I shop according to my budget and not according to my sense of style. And as a result I haven’t fully realised what my sense of style is.

And for that, back to therapy I must go. Because when I’m 95, no not really, but for the sake of this blog let’s just imagine that, I want someone to have an almost nervous breakdown when they realise a 95 year old has more style than they do!