![]() Left-over makeup glistens as she sips her coffee. ![]() She'll shave her head when she gets home. Stream out behind her as she boards the subway, rhinestone heels clicking, silk jacket over her hair, long and tangled. She wears giant ruffled skirts, pastel capes, and satin ribbons bound around her wrists. But who? She does not know. She has never even known to ask, She knows it at school, or at parties, a few martinis later staring into the crowd looking for It haunts her- first thing in the morning, waking, old mattress on the floor, soft light pouring through pinkĬurtains in her warehouse loft. Ok, yes she knows she is different, she can feel it even today as she struts across 2nd ave, allĮyes on her. ![]() Selkie, I'm Alive ss23 Fashion Week WATCH THE SHOW What a whirlwind! We already cannot wait until next year. It was produced by Emily Bungert and cast by Julia Show was styled by Alisha Silverstein with Kimberley Gordon and Justine Babb. ![]() This year we were so lucky to have the lead makeup artist Danessa Myricks, and our talented friend Linh Nguyen leading hair. This was an incrediblyĮxciting moment for our entire team! We brought our first ever handbags, a plethora of pastels and original jewelry like theĮffervescenent unicorn crowns and butterfly bustiers, made in collaboration with Stonehart. We are so proud to have shown for a second time in NY, and this year we were officially listed on NYFW. Her mother made sure this city will know her. The twinkle of something sharp, a spear? A.horn? No, she is not the last, and she is not the first. She sees herself in the water, too, but her image is unlike the one known to the world. Sun rippled on the water, red in its wet reflection. Others who watch the sunrise alone from the bridge, feet dangling barefoot over the edge, crystals sparkling from ankles, munching sandwiches and sipping champagne from flasks. Others who are filling their closets with gowns, making purses out of antique pillows, and decorating their faces with shimmering war paint. She does not know, not yet, that there are in fact many others in this big city, trotting to the beat of its pulsing heart, dressed up “crazy” kissing strangers, and dancing their feet raw in endless nights. She stays out late, eats up history books, would rather run than walk, and searches for others who feel the same. She laughs loudly and moves quickly, knowing that this human body is not quite right for her. She thinks of the night before, she drinks too much in an effort to push away the feelings, she blasts dubstep wearing big headphones to silence these circular thoughts in her head. Maybe she'll shave her head when she gets home. They stream out behind her as she boards the subway, rhinestone heels clicking, silk jacket over her hair, long and tangled. She knows it at school, or at parties, a few martinis later staring into the crowd looking for something or someone else. It haunts her- first thing in the morning, waking, old mattress on the floor, soft light pouring through pink curtains in her warehouse loft. Ok, yes she knows she is different, she can feel it even today as she struts across 2nd ave, all eyes on her.
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