Alice in Wonderland like.
by the time he will be 26, I’ll be 46…hope is all I have left…until then, I’m his adopted, Cruella aunt.
If you somehow clicked and arrived on this blog more than twice you are already familiar with the fact that my absolute lifestyle highlight is not some fancy hotel or bistro, nor some concept store situated on some fashionable street but a gothic like, deserted garden. And if that garden is situated near a castle it generates the same “wow” for me as a Mary Katrantzou dress does for Anna Dello Russo.
If on top of that you add the sea in autumn, then all I can say is fuck fashion! (again). The UGG’s from the pics help me sustain that.*
I’ll always be the girl now converted into a woman who loves a good fairytale. Even if my fairy tales include decadent countesses and deserted ball rooms instead of pink outfits and white horses.
I never experienced that level of silence like I did in Balchik this past weekend. It was my first weekend in ten months when I finally had the time was forced to completely shut down any form of communication (I facebooked a little from the attic).
I always told Delia that the smartest investment she could have possibly made was buying an apartment there.
It’s the perfect place where you can let go of your constant need of validation (please do not bore me and yourself, saying that you don’t have it). It’s just a quiet place, without fancy clubs and high conceptual restaurants and cafes, also without that lack of manners and hypocrisy that surrounds us at every step in the city.
I’m not gonna start telling how extremely overwhelming were Queen’s Mary’s gardens or how much common sense and lady likeness those places inspired me. I’ll let you discover that by yourself. Just take two days off and go. I promise you that Zara and Net a Porter won’t go anywhere! ok, ok, I’ll stop posing in some anti consumerism nun.
*remind me to tell you what I think about this one day!