I'm from Sydney. I'm learning to be a shoemaker.
My shoe blog.
…that really pretty girl in your class that you really want to talk to but she’s always adorably late (not too late, but late enough to make small chitchat impossible). And that the way she ties her hair in a messy buns on days she’s running late makes you daydream the whole class away, imagining how impressed she’ll be with your french toast (and not just any french toast, but french toast made with cinnamon challa bread from Zingerman’s, which means you love her, and aren’t just awkwardly giving her food in return for the boner jams the two of you had together after you swept her off her feet with a witty reference that combined Van Gogh’s Ear, ASAP Rocky, and Walter Benjamin all in one)
But, after planning the best way to strike up a chat with her, something that’s been building the whole semester, you walk into class on the last day before finals, your Filson tote in hand, and realize that it’s too late. She skipped that day and you don’t know her name or where she lives or who her friends are. And you’re just left with the haunting feeling of the endless love you two could have had together.
So don’t sleep on your cutaway collars, or else you run the risk of living the rest of your life with the burden of unrequited and unrealized love.
I like that this was an analogy for something rather mundane.
(via howtotalktogirlsatparties)
(Source: tinaratedtinaapproved)
tinaratedtinaapproved )
I be that one eared motherfucker, Mechanical Reproduction’s what I’m repping.