The model Kyle Forde courtesy of D1 Models
Good evening. I can’t front. It’s been an awfully long time. I’ve been active on Twitter. Tumblr. Facebook and whatever else is in vogue on the Internet this month. But I’ve had a bit of a block. Which tends to happen. Not sure why. Suppose it’s because I’ve been writing for a living. Literally. Clock in. Write. Clock out. Leaving room for not much else. Well, perhaps that’s false. But when you’re writing for a living, it makes writing for recreational reasons draining. But now I’m about to start writing for a living again in another way, for publications, so I may as well get this mojo back up and running. It’s been hard. I’ve dreaded it. I don’t know if I don’t like blogging. I certainly still like fashion. Love it. And I read as though I have nothing better to do (I don’t). I wax lyrical on message boards like I’m writing essays. So there’s really no excuse is there.
Lately, I’ve been bathing in buckets of male beauty. Those convincingly innocent, shallow Adonis’ to get away from the reality I dread. Normal guys. Not interested. But of course, it’s the one you’re trying to get away from that can’t get the hint. Till your forced to do and say things creating the impression that you’re an empty egg shell. But I can’t front. This is what is it.
Not like this is my mission. But what else would a Canadian come to Europe for… reality?
On Style 