Day Three
I will understand I some of you will no longer speak to me after reading this post.
Take me to the confessional, for I have sinned.
Today I have mostly been wearing pink velour and I sort of liked it.
Baby pink with heart and diamante detailing.
I will understand I some of you will no longer speak to me after reading this post.
Take me to the confessional, for I have sinned.
Today I have mostly been wearing pink velour and I sort of liked it.
Baby pink with heart and diamante detailing.
I am, according to Chapter 8 entitled ‘Girlie Girl’, ‘in touch with my inner Disney princess’. So here I am covered in synthetic velour. Stroking my leg one way I feel surprisingly reassured, like having a post-pubescent blankey. Unfortunately stroking the other way makes the polyester prickles my palms uncomfortably and makes every hair stand on end. If I had any left, that is. So to rephrase, all my arrector pili muscles contracted in an unpleasant prickling sensation. I feel a lot like Waynetta Slob.
What a psychologist would make of La Price’s love of tactile materials, sparkles and cartoon character which adorn her clothes is anyone’s guess. Over compensation for a life lead in the adult sphere? Ordering rubber dresses from sex catalogues to wear out clubbing with your mum at sixteen. Is. Not. Normal. Or perhaps it’s a way of reclaiming the innocence she lost after a sexual assault as a child. Or she jus has really bad taste. Either way, it’s pretty fucked up.
So, another layer of tan. It still doesn’t look hideous, I don’t think. Or maybe staring at pictures of bronzed Katie means that nothing other than a ‘nuked’ look is too much. And I’m sitting next to a pumpkin and can’t tell the difference.
I’ve also been wearing a stretch pink hair band with a Croydon facelift, as apparently you should wash your hair twice a week. What a scank.
I did venture out today in the car, but couldn’t face leaving the safety of my automobile. The most worrying part of this ordeal is that thus far is doesn’t seem as if I am not actually going outside the realms of how the public normally dresses. People, normal, real people (admittedly not anyone I would even be associated with) go out like this.
What a psychologist would make of La Price’s love of tactile materials, sparkles and cartoon character which adorn her clothes is anyone’s guess. Over compensation for a life lead in the adult sphere? Ordering rubber dresses from sex catalogues to wear out clubbing with your mum at sixteen. Is. Not. Normal. Or perhaps it’s a way of reclaiming the innocence she lost after a sexual assault as a child. Or she jus has really bad taste. Either way, it’s pretty fucked up.
So, another layer of tan. It still doesn’t look hideous, I don’t think. Or maybe staring at pictures of bronzed Katie means that nothing other than a ‘nuked’ look is too much. And I’m sitting next to a pumpkin and can’t tell the difference.
I’ve also been wearing a stretch pink hair band with a Croydon facelift, as apparently you should wash your hair twice a week. What a scank.
I did venture out today in the car, but couldn’t face leaving the safety of my automobile. The most worrying part of this ordeal is that thus far is doesn’t seem as if I am not actually going outside the realms of how the public normally dresses. People, normal, real people (admittedly not anyone I would even be associated with) go out like this.
Perhaps KP’s success it due to her just being, albeit extreme, version of a huge number of the population.
Worrying.
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