Feather Rib Tattoos are My Generation’s Tramp Stamp

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The following is an excerpt from a piece originally featured on The Style Con.

Two months ago, I was very much in a market for a tattoo. Not that I’m not still in the market for one, but there’s nothing quite like the masochist draw of the tattoo parlor when you’re feeling particularly sour and mean, dreaming of needles and blood and permanent self-expression. Unfortunately for my lazy quest in being cooler, I didn’t pull the trigger fast enough to coincide with my hate bender, and in the amount of time I hummed and hawed, dawdled in indecision, my perspective on life changed and my confidence to brand myself with it—which is probably a good thing, because “THERE IS NOTHING” was a strong contender for a lifelong cameo on my forearm. Tattooing while having an existential crisis is like driving while drunk; I don’t recommend it.

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Breaking News: Man Buns No Longer Reliable Indicator of Hotness

LEONARDO-DICAPRIO

The following is an excerpt of a piece originally seen on The Style Con.

It seems like just yesterday when I came across my first man bun. Not, like, ever. That honor goes to Brad Pitt circa Legends of the Fall, though his might not have been so much of a man bun as it was a man ponytail, with the added visual benefit of a cascade of straight blonde hair over his perfect, perfect face. Particulars be damned–man pony or man bun–the seed was planted: Men could be far better looking than me, especially if their hairstyle rivaled that of my own.

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6 Things I Will Absolutely Not Miss About Modeling

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The following is an excerpt of a piece featured on xojane.com

There is, somewhere in the NoMad district of New York City, a modeling office with my card still on the wall, even though I know and my bookers know and everyone in accounting knows that I’m not modeling anymore. 

Like a relationship that both parties have let fade off into oblivion instead of directly cutting the cord, we’ve both chosen to phase each other out, quietly and with mutual disinterest. After 10 years as a walking coat hanger, all the phone calls and bookings and flights are over. Fin, done, kaput.

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