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6.3.17

Slouch Potato

Souvenirs from my Instagram Story...


Don't let the florals and dagger toes fool you, cocooning is still very much my sartorial M.O.

Not the natural predilection most assume it is given my concave boob-area situation in a world where one Instagram Baddie is born every minute; I just live for the mystery that comes with being swathed under volumes of fabric falling away from the skin. While I wouldn't know personally, having eschewed the silhouette with a very firm hand, the body-con silhouette is certainly flattering for some but there's a certain elegance to leaving everything to the imagination. Directing all attention to one's words, actions and intellect outside intimate contexts where your conquest-to-be's mind is left to wander in anticipation, pondering what lies beneath having already been taken in by your sharp wit and dry humour, now that's sexy.*

Then again, nothing but my face and hands have seen sunlight for the past six months** so I might be biased in my usual self-serving fashion. I should also probably concern myself less with my apparent fear of potential objectification, it's putting such a damper on my Carefree Black Girl manifesto for 2017.


photography by Max Yavno; illustrations by @whatkarinasaw


*The "to me" is implied seeing as it is my blog, but (and it's not lost on me how DUFF this sounds) I am so here for physicality coming second to personality. Inject a little pansexuality into your dating game and watch the world become just that bit more beautiful. But only a little bit, let's be real.

**No, seriously. With the proliferation of high-necks in my closet, even my neck is a rare sighting outside the privacy of rooms dedicated to (un)dressing. I'm fifty shades of black now, it's a problem. Hit me with any English nudist beach recommendations, y'all.
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