Verging on ridiculously-curled hair, matte lips in a frosty nude, camel or suede accessories ; essentials that became tiny wardrobe traditions for me. Anything habitual, even in the simplest of forms, such as my clothes feels like a milestone of some sort for me. I wonder about a signature style, quite often I struggle to define mine but I’ll never have one, just recurring themes in the chaotic sea of things I like to wear. You already know, stability isn’t a protagonist in most of my life, there always seems to be another city, a dozen daily moods, new men or new boys, new spots I call favourites. I’m as fickle as the wind, and I can never really decide if I am or am not in love with whatever or whoever is at hand. These shoes, will I wear them next week? And this boy, is this a heart song or just a passing spell? And my body, these limbs that move me from one place to another; do they feel light and lovely or is it one of those sad sweatpants days where I curse every pore? Oh, I miss Paris shall I switch back and call that city home? Oh no, wait, Barcelona is my city, yes, I love it here, oh but what about Rome or Provence? Shouldn’t I go see what’s it like to live in those? Yes, or no, no….yes, wait, I don’t know. My lips, are they big enough? And my back, shall I spend more time on those muscles at the gym? And, these other men I quite like, how do I say no? I am too old for bright bikinis but maybe that’s me, acting prematurely old? Every decision, every whim, every mundane little, pointless thing is defined by a question mark. So they all grow from silly, passing things to big somethings, a something I wonder and doubt until I cycle through to the same conclusion: I just don’t know.