A poppy flower printed jacquard top, wide leg trousers with floral appliqué and a top handle Gucci Dionysus bag from Spring Summer 2017 feature in Vogue Brasil’s March issue. Photographer: Zee Nunes Styling: Daniel Ueda
As a sugar baby, I personally think it’s always important to list the things that I want to do or use, with the money I acquire via sugaring. I’ll admit, I have a bad habit when it comes to spending money, but budgeting and organizing a list for purchasing things that I need versus want is pivotal. Everyone should be able to make rent or bills on time. * Monthly Allowance of 4K - 300 for rent - 70 for phone bill - 200 for makeup - 500 for clothing - 700~2000 for updated headshots - 900~2000 left over to save in a bank account
* Brand new furniture for my room including: - A bed 600~800 - A new mattress ??? - A vanity table and chair 300~400 - A side table <100 * Other accessories for my room including: - Paint <100 - Mirror 30~130 - Sheets, Shams, etc., <300
* A minimum of 5K in the bank at all times, hopefully it will be 10K instead.
* Luxury items that I will not buy myself - Bamboo Classic Blooms Top Handle ( Gucci; $2,490) - Soul Rockstud Sandal ( Valentino; $945) - Mike Sandal ( Chloe; $795) - Crystal- Embellished Satin Sandals ( Gianvitto Rossi $1,195) - Lauren leather D’orsay flats ( Chloe; $590) - Satin ankle-tie flats ( Gianvitto Rossi; $695) - Astro Couture Ankle Boots ( Valentino; $2,145) - Padlock Metallic Shoulder Bag ( Gucci; $1,750) - Pigalle pump( Louboutin; $675) - Baroque Pump ( Ralph&Russo; $1,390) - Padlock Python Shoulder Bag (Gucci; $3,800) - Lowland Boot ( Stuart Weitzman; $875) - Lilith leather Top Handle Bag ( Gucci; $3,500) - Sylvie embroidered leather top handle bag ( Gucci; $3,500) - Dionysus Arabesque shoulder bag ( Gucci; $3,290)
* An international vacation for 3-7 days at least once a year
Of course, the last half of this checklist is a goal I aim to work toward in eventually acquiring; It’s a new year, and hopefully I can accomplish all of these things.
Hopefully everyone in the sugar community can too with their own personal goals or checklists.
Airport style has always been fascinating to me; I love seeing how my favorite style stars put together comfy yet chic looks for traveling. I fly occasionally and I always feel the urge to just look 100% sloppy to achieve maximum comfort, but trust me: it’s possible to be very cozy and still look awesome! I’ve put together these outfits / collected some of my favorite celeb airport looks to prove it. Enjoy!
THE ESSENTIALS (click the title of each to shop my picks!)
simple tees + pullovers: these look really great layered underneath a moto jacket or bomber jacket. Of course they’re extra comfy too!
distressed denim: these jeans are so badass and comfy. I love how they look paired with leather boots and a top handle bag.
ankle boots: flat / low heel boots are a must period, but they’re even more important when it comes to airport style! They add a sophisticated side to the look without letting go of comfort.
baseball caps: these hats are a trend i’ve gotten into recently, they’re great for hiding messy hair and give your outfit a sporty-chic vibe.
oversized sunglasses: these are definitely a necessity if you’re stuck taking an early morning flight! I love this style of sunnies because they flatter anyone.
carry-all bag: having a bag that holds all your airport necessities is vital for a good trip.. I love the look of a structured top handle bag with a casual outfit.
sneakers: sneakers are always my go-to for casual outfits, they are the ultimate comfy shoe and can look super stylish too!
long coats + biker / bomber jackets: these outerwear pieces will take any airport outfit to the next level. long coats look amazing paired with an all black outfit, and a jacket draped over a tee + denim combination is perfection.
joggers: if you’re on an extra long flight, i’d opt for joggers. they’re the closest thing to pajamas without wearing pajamas! all comfort, all style.
sweaters: substitute a sweatshirt with one of these knits to make the look a little more polished. I love the combination of a cowl-neck sweater with a moto jacket or bomber.
A jacquard 70’s jacket and high waist flare pant from the Gucci Spring Summer 2017 collection and a top handle Gucci Sylvie bag in floral jacquard feature in the latest issue of Commons & Sense magazine. Photographer: Silja Magg Styling: Sarah Cobb
People always commented that you and Luke fit one another like a pair of skinny jeans because people who wore skinny jean knew not every pair worked on every set of legs. It was a lot like being Goldilocks in the home of three bears when shopping for the perfect pair of tight denim pants. You had to go through those that were too tight, too short, and even too elastic in order to find the right one.
You and Luke did fit well with one another and that was why it felt so off balance to be driving home with uncomfortable silence strong between you. The Foo Fighters were on the radio, but Luke wasn’t quietly singing along or drumming on the steering wheel as per usual. There were a few dozen thoughts running through your mind, but your gums weren’t flapping the way they usually did when you left a family dinner or any sort of social event. Luke liked how chatty you were since he could often be shy and needed a little coaxing and comfort in order to join a conversation. Times like right now, when you were as quiet as stone, he didn’t know what to do with himself.
“Did you see how many leftovers my mom sent us home with?” Finally, Luke spoke over Dave Grohl’s growl, looking at you through his sunglasses as the sun was setting over the coast. He managed to couch up a laugh, throwing his gaze in the mirror for a moment at the stack Ziploc containers he had belted in the backseat, in the spot where the baby seat he had bought two years ago used to sit, empty and collecting dust. “I think she thinks we don’t eat.” He carried on, hoping you would pick up quickly so he didn’t have to sit there feeling like an idiot with his piss poor attempts at fixing the atmosphere. “Or potatoes. Maybe she thinks we just really like potatoes….” He mumbled away, turning up the volume in defeat. He fixed his stare back on the white line ahead, wondering what you were thinking, worried his guess was right. After all, you two were connected and he had been thinking the same thing all throughout supper.
Luke had clocked the drive from his parent’s to your home at eighteen minutes, twenty five if the traffic was heavy, but tonight, he felt like he had been driving for hours. He sighed once he had pulled into the driveway, his stomach pushing out for a moment from the strong heave. After shutting off the car, he took out the keys and threw them between his knees along with his hands.
“Whoa. Wait.” He reached over with one and loosely drew his fingers down your arm. You had unstrapped the seatbelt from over your chest, crinkling your loose fitted jumper, and were reaching down to gather your bicolour top handle bag. “Say it, come on.” He didn’t want you to stomp into the house feeling angry still. Inside was supposed to be a getaway, a home away from the rest of the world, and Luke didn’t want you to carry your outside rage into it. You two had spent enough time sulking in the confines of your generous home about this. “It’s just me.” He looked around, checking the front yard and then the backseat, only seeing fresh cut grass and his mother’s leftovers. You two had already been facing this issue for together for a long while. You knew you could talk to him if nobody else about it. His hand wrapped around your wrist, soothingly running his thumb over the vein that ran through to your palm, his own way of letting you know that he was right there as you were staring at the front of your bag as it sat between your feet still.
“Three babies in three years?” After exhaling deeply, fighting with yourself to not be as upset as you were, you sighed loudly with disbelief evident in your voice. “Three babies in three years!? She is a machine.” Your sister-in-law, Jack’s wife, had announced that they were expecting their third child even though she had only just given birth to your niece, Isobel, ten months ago, and your nephew, Jace, a year before that. “In three years, we’ve had zero. Where is our God-damn celebration?” You said out of spite that you had just been invited to another one of her baby showers.
In three years of actively trying to start a family, you and Luke had had absolutely no success. He had gone to the doctor’s to have himself checked, but they assured him that he was fine. So, you went to have yourself examined, but they also gave you a clean bill of health and said that you were in perfect working condition. You followed your ovulation calendar as if it was the Bible, you two tangled one another up in confusing positions that people swore up and down helped them get pregnant, you drank teas and devoured spices that were supposed to promote fertility, and you had even tried in vitro, but nothing was taking. It felt like a cold slap in the face that your sister-in-law could just look at her husband and be knocked up. There had been one time when you were so sure that you were pregnant that you could practically taste morning sickness in your mouth for days, so you took a test after missing your period for a month. The two pink lines assured you it was negative, but due to wanting a baby like junkie wanted their next fix, you went to the doctor with Luke only for the physician and his assistant nurse to apologetically promise you that you were, in fact, still not with child. Sometimes you felt as if you were being punished for being a terror of a baby for your own parents years ago. When you and Luke began dating, the topic of children came up as casually as what your favorite colours are, everybody just expected you two to raise your very one family Von Trapp. You felt like a disappointment as a wife, unable to turn him into a father. In a rush, you slid one hand over your face and pushed your healthy hair back as if it was also pissing you off.
From your side, Luke pushed his lips inward and forced his dimples up. He was giving you his most hopeless smile, “I’m frustrated, too.” He shared, squeezing your hand to be assuring. Of course, he was happy for his brother as well, both of them, and loved his niece and nephews, but he wanted to be more than the fun musical uncle. He had been longing for a brood all his own, but he didn’t talk in length about his wish as he didn’t want to upset you more than the truth of the matter already did. “All we can do is keep trying.” He reminded you as he often had to, reaching your clutched hand up and holding your taut knuckles to his lips, rolling them over his plump pink pout.
“It just feels really hopeless.” Throwing your head back, hair pushed to the seat, you looked right at him and admitted, negativity taking on the best of you and winning for a moment.
“We could try in vitro again.” Luke was more than willing. He always thought you would make such a terrific mother, the two large dogs currently waiting in the kitchen proof of that, and he took on all the blame as to why you weren’t. He wondered if, maybe, despite what the doctors told him, which his sperm count was low or if he just wasn’t doing something properly. Luke lifted up his free hand, still holding yours tightly in his other over your lap, and played with your hair. You hadn’t said so in a while, but he knew you once found that to be of comfort.
“Maybe.” More than hopeless, you just felt exhausted by the whole thing. You wanted to not think about babies for a while, a break from the disappointment, but it seemed to plague your mind without your consent every day.
“What do the people on that infertility forum say?” With sincere curiosity, he asked.
Sighing, you shrugged as if you didn’t have an answer since the one you did have wasn’t very helpful to either of you. You always wished that the doctor had given you a clearer diagnosis than simply ‘unexplained fertility problems’.
“They say it could be a weight thing, but I’m neither over or under.” You rattled off. “And they’ve said environment can be a cause, but we haven’t been on the road for about seven months so I doubt this all Australia’s fault.” In practically every country and every city you two went to, you tried, but nothing ever came up positive. “They all say artificial insemination is the best route to go.” They weren’t experts, just anonymous strangers who offered you empathy when you really needed it.
Luke nodded along to your words like they were a ballad at a concert, but he allowed the silence to come in and take both you in like a blanket pressed over flames. He could tell you still needed to cool down. He leaned in and kissed you the way he did when you were younger, when you two had just met and he would practically bounce on his knees in the elevator in anticipation to kiss you. His lips buzzed over yours, pulling yours in and he allowed a loud ‘smack’ noise to boom once he pulled away.
“We’re going to be okay. It’s going to happen when it’s supposed to.” Luke wasn’t usually so wishy-washy. He had accepted that he may never actually get to be a father, but he tried to look on the bright side for your sake. His mother had been the one to remind him, almost on loop, that everything happened for a reason and there was a reason you two hadn’t had a child yet, so he tried to remind himself that now in hope that he would one day believe it to be true.
A child of five who had just been dragged out of K-Mart after a stage 5 temper tantrum, Michael had literally stormed and stomped his way back onto the tour bus. Everything was his fault, but he was still blaming the world for what was happening. He was the reason the band hadn’t hit the road for Melbourne yet, he was the one who had instigated you two starting a family of your own, and now he was why you two couldn’t have a baby. He had insisted the band leave an hour later since you two had a doctor’s appointment that couldn’t be missed as it had been scheduled for a month. He had been the one who was carried away in the moment, sliding himself in and out of you from behind, licked in sweat, and whispered what he had been keeping to himself: “I want a baby” followed by a breathy, “Make me a father”, and now he was the one who had been labeled, you were absolutely fine, and he was sterile.
Michael had never imagined himself in this position before. He had heard it was Earth shattering for women to find out they couldn’t bear children, but he never even considered he would be in a similar spot. He hadn’t been expecting to feel so full of rage, veins pumping up his arms and through his neck, his eyes shot with furious venom. He was breathing in through his nose as he charged in a straight line for the back room. He wanted to sit down, but he kept pacing in front of the vacant black couch, his fists curled as he sucked in his cheeks.
“Hi.” You bustled in after him, acknowledging the other three guys on the bus with a swift nod while swallowing the information you were also trying to digest.
Sitting next to Mike in the doctor’s office, he was holding your hand over the arm of your uncomfortable chair. You both just assumed that he would give you the blow. You were the one with the utereus after all. Michael’s thumb had been stroking your fingers tenderly, but they stopped abruptly when Dr. Koehn announced that it was actually Michael who was the defective one. Suddenly, you were the one holding his hand, but Michael pulled away, instantly sulking internally.
“Hon, sit down.” Closing the door with your back, you advised, watching him move two steps forward just to turn around and stalk in the other direction. The cab ride to the bus depot had been more than uncomfortable. He refused to look at you, his hands between his legs, knees shaking as classic punk music blared in his ears from his headphones. Usually, you would be upset that he was listening to his music when it was just the two of you, but you were understanding in this circumstance.
“Don’t – don’t.” Sharply, Michael said through clenched teeth, his eyes also closed as he kept pacing. He held up his hand, heaving an exhale strong enough to adjust the sails of boats in the ocean. “I just want to be alone.” Clearer than the water in the Evian bottle you had left behind in the back of the cab, he made himself.
You wanted to help, you wanted to be comforting, but you knew that it was best to just give him what he wanted right now. Eventually, he would come around and talk about. Slowly, you turned around to go back out, check if your bags were loaded into the underside of the bus, but the door opened as you faced it and Ashton revealed himself, his trademark grin slapped on his face like a bumper sticker.
“Hey guys, you okay?” He was the self-appointed eldest brother of the foursome, so when he felt the strong breeze of choler Mikey brought in with him, he didn’t think twice about trying to defuse whatever bomb had been set in his friend’s life.
You parted your lips to tell Ashton now wasn’t a good time, your eyes already wide and pleading, but the drummer snuck in and shut the door behind him, not realizing his feet were right on top of a landmine.
“What’s going on?” Absentmindedly, Ashton pressed while sliding his hands into the pocket of his jeans for comfort.
“I think Mike just needs a minute.” You held up one finger, reaching forward to pantomime leaving the small back room, but Ashton gladly ignored you. He loved you like a little sister, but he always thought he could handle every situation despite the obvious facts that he could not.
“Talk to me, Mikey. I’ve never seen you this upset.”
Seething, Michael actually hissed through his teeth. He had stopped pacing a minute ago, but he had his plaid covered arms folded over his chest and was still harshly gnawing at his gums, bringing his cheeks inward thinly. His nostrils were still flaring and you were sure that if you reached out to touch him, you would burn your fingers.
“Calm down, man.” Ashton continued and, almost out of reflex, brought your shoulders to your ears and tightly shut your eyes. He had just uttered two very destructive words, tossing the hand grenade joyously into the air, and not even attempting to take cover.
“Don’t tell me to fucking calm down!” Michael whipped around, his eyes squinting in order to deliver his deepest glare towards Ashton. If they could shoot lasers, there would have been a hole burning through the drummer’s temple right then and there. You could tell, from the corner of your eyes, that Ashton was stunned. In all his years of knowing and touring with Michael, he hadn’t ever had the kid directly shout at him. They had all argued and fought, but they kept it to a dull roar at most. In most cases, they just gave each other a break for a bit when they were really livid. “You don’t know what the fuck is going on.”
“Then tell me.” Swallowing nervously, Ashton tried. He wanted to keep a level head though he knew he was in a little over his own.
“I can’t do the one fucking thing I’m supposed to be able to do!” Michael shouted, his eyes burning a shade of rose you had never seen fill his young eyes before. Tears were in their corners, you only noticed now, but his lips were warbling as he shot out one arm to point to you. You could tell he was fighting what he was feeling, but it was obvious that he was losing the battle. “I can’t fucking give my wife a baby. The one thing, the one thing that I, as a man, should be able to do and I can’t!” He was thinking of all his idiot friends in high school who had knocked up girls at parties by mistake and how he had actually been trying with you, reading parenting books, focusing on both your heartbeats and rhythms, and he couldn’t make it happen. It didn’t matter if he filled you from toe to brain with his fluid, you would never be able to be pregnant with his child. He would never have his own flesh and blood on the planet.
He felt like a complete failure as a man and as a husband. He wanted to make his mark on the planet, he wanted to leave a legacy and that included a small little person made up of some of him and some of you, but he couldn’t. It was beyond his control. He had promised you a family in his proposal and every so often, he would whisper fantasies of taking trips up to Snapper Rock with you and your little ones or showing them the whole world, and now that blowing up in smoke. He felt like he should just leave you, allow you the chance for what you wanted, but he was too angry to try and think straight.
Michael broke down the way he would have if you and Ashton weren’t there, how he knew he needed to, and stepped back to drop onto the cushions of the couch. He let his arms hang down between his knees, head following suit as he closed his eyes. It wasn’t much use, tears fell freely, slipping down to the toes of his black shoes and burning down his cheeks like rubber tires on paved cement.
“Just give us a little bit.” You whispered extra softly to Ashton, patting his back, and moved over to your husband. Ashton looked absolutely heartbroken for his friend as he sluggishly left the room, closing it loudly behind him.
You curled your knees up onto the couch, tucking your bare feet behind you, and wrapped one arm around Michael in order to bring him closer to you, guiding his head against your chest and running your hand behind his head as he cried.
“I don’t…I don’t understand.” Ashton had been trying to wrap his head around what the agent, stuffed into her charcoal suit on the other side of the creaky metal desk, had just said. The turning wheels in his brain were almost visible, but he just couldn’t make it clear to himself. “We are perfect candidates.” He pronounced, adjusting himself to be sitting on the edge of the seat, holding the end of the chair’s arms as he eyed your folder on her desk and then nodded at her. He had made sure that the application was without flaw, having gone over every blank space and question multiple times before answering. He had had the house cleaned by professionals and then went around it himself when the agency sent someone for a home inspection. He had prepared himself tirelessly for all three interviews. Where could you two have possibly slipped up?
It couldn’t have been money. He was financially set due to a lucrative music and business career. You two were three months away from your fifth wedding anniversary so it couldn’t have been due to a lack of commitment. He had retired from his party hard lifestyle years ago, right around your first wedding anniversary, so there was no dirt to find and he knew your record was clean. It wasn’t as if you two were old either, you were still both considered youthful in your ages, you met the standard for age to start a family.
“We’re medically fine, our references are great,” He began to list out loud instead of inside his head. You squeezed his hand in an effort to silence him. This woman had control over whether or not you two could be adoptive parents, which you two had been talking about since before he slid the massive rock over your fourth finger, and you didn’t want Ashton’s impulses to blow it. “We didn’t lie about anything. How could we be rejected?”
“I’m sorry,” Insincerely, just out of habit, she responded with her eyes locked to her computer’s screen and her fingers already banging out an email to a different client. “This just happens sometimes.”
This just happens sometimes. She might as well have told the two of you that you were the world’s worst humans to ever roam the earth. You sucked in your stomach, catching your breath for a moment, while Ashton reached to lock his hand in yours. You could feel his top shaking, ready to hit the ceiling. He wanted to give a child a privileged life full of opportunities and love. Ashton always seemed to be so full of love to give and you knew, confidently, that any child that came into your family would be so adored by him.
“What? Are you just not a fan or something?” He snarled, his eyes thin as a whisper as he mentally imagined her being blown to pieces and covering her cramped office with her own miserable guts. You two had heard horror stories of agents just being judgmental and selective, simply overworked and tired. Ashton felt, right now, that you two were living in one of those tales. He blurted out his question again, rephrasing it, but the agent was still stunned. Her glasses reached the bottom of her nose as she stared at him, fingers paused over the home base of her keyboard. “Angelina gets a UNICEF soccer team, but not Australian punk rock drummer Ashton Irwin, keep those kiddies away him!” His mind was blank, he was just throwing out words out of the bitter disappointment that was fresh and boiling inside of him.
“Ashton – “ You tried to butt in, but he stood up with your hand in his, looking down to help you up from your seat. Even full of wrath, he kept his word of always being good to you, treating you like royalty.
“You’re going to regret it. Every time a child on your list dies of famine or is forced into slavery or disappears, I hope you think of me and my wife, and I hope you remember that you personally robbed that child of the chance of having a beautiful life. One day, we are going to adopt and we are going to be the best God damn parents in the world.” He was spewing it out, his fingers growing tighter and tighter around yours before he began to lead you from his office. You knew he meant every single word. He wanted to be a father more than he had ever wanted success for 5 Seconds of Summer. “Let’s go, love.” He grabbed the handle of the door and whipped it open. “This is on your conscience.” One finger pointed right at the woman, Ashton left her with one last remark.
The truth was, it was also now weighing on his heart and mind. He was inhaling fire and exhaling smoke as you two took the elevator to the parking lot, holding hands the entire ride. It wasn’t until he opened up the passenger side door of his car for you that he let go of his grip on you. He slammed his door shut and loudly pushed the start ignition. Ashton’s flushed hands grabbed the wheel, sliding down its leather slowly as he felt his head begin to ache, a stress migraine on its way.
“Why weren’t we good enough?” He bit his bottom lip back, rolling it towards his tongue, and asked you so softly that you didn’t realize what he said at first. His eyes were full of disappointment as he stared into the empty cup holder between you two. He brought his puppy-like gaze up to you though and took your hand tightly in his again. He instantly wished he hadn’t flipped out on the woman. He knew it probably only made things worse, but Ashton was tenacious and you were determined. You were confident that one day you two would have the child out there that was wishing for you two as much you two were wishing for them.
“Babe?” The door creaked first, Calum’s voice whispering cautiously into the bedroom you two shared. You had the covers pulled to your chin as he crept into the dim room, the only light coming through from the small space between curtains. “Hey…” He said quietly as he knelt over the bed, creeping closer and running one hand over your forehead and then down through your hair. “How are you feeling?” He checked, but by the way you just curled up tighter under the white comforter, Calum knew the answer. He laid down beside you in his jeans and Henley, laying an arm over you and finding your fist through feeling the covers, holding his over yours and keeping you tight. He was hurting as you were, but he was trying to be strong for your benefit. You couldn’t both be lying in bed miserable. Besides, you were the one in physical pain. You were the one who had to do the actual literal losing. “I have to go to the studio in a bit.” He spoke quietly, his face right behind your mess of tangled hair. “Are you going to be okay here? Do you want to come?” His mother had volunteered to come over and look after you, but he wasn’t going to give you that option until you had declined his others. “I tried to get out of it, but I have to go.” You had learned quickly when you met Calum that many things in his life were just beyond his control. However, you had wished this, right now, was something you both had full say over. “Come on, talk to me…” He hugged you tighter, just for a moment, pushing his chin onto your shoulder and snuggling his knees behind yours. “You know you can talk to me.”
After a full minute of silence, you began to cry again, face wrinkled up and eyes stinging from being so emotional for almost a full twelve hours.
“I hate my body!” You whined out. Calum had heard plenty of girls say that before, but he knew this wasn’t a complaint about cellulite, wrinkles, or any one out of shape or underdeveloped body part. “Why didn’t it work?” You had been let down by your own machine and you wanted to punish yourself as much as you wanted to feel better.
So many women got to leave the fourth floor of the hospital with a wrapped up newborn against their chests, reaching out for them as they smiled lovingly down at them like a bundle of heaven and you had to leave in a wheel chair with lower abdominal pains, breast discomfort, and a sense of emptiness so strong that it made you wonder if you had ever actually been pregnant.
Four months gone. You had felt the growth of the little life you and Calum made while vacationing in Oahu with a group of friends. Your second trimester had just begun, your belly finally growing an outward curve, and at sixteen weeks, you were coming in to find out whether you two could expect a girl or a boy. You knew that secretly Calum wanted a son even though he went on and on about how happy he would be with another lady around the house.
When the heartbeat couldn’t be detected, you tried not to panic. Calum’s eyes were glued to the monitor, his smile still evident, as he held one of your hands between both of his with excitement. Neither of you were expecting the news that your baby wasn’t there, that your body had housed a funeral without your knowledge. You were out of the first semester, your risk should have dropped substantially, you two had finally told everyone in your life, even notified the public through an announcement over the microphone at his last concert in Somerset.
“I don’t know, baby.” Quietly, a peep, Calum sighed into your shoulder and peeled back the covers just enough to see your skin, kissing down on your overheating shoulder. “I wish I could make things better.” He admitted to you, hoping that you knew how much he meant it. He let his other hand go to your hair, running his fingers through your wild hair. He didn’t even realize, but he started to sing in a whisper into your ear, a tender lullaby meant to lull you into sleep. You may have been lying in bed for hours, but he knew you weren’t getting any rest. He rocked you against him, singing as gently as he could, as you two lied there feeling more hopeless than you had known possible.
Freely, you sobbed, ugly and loud, releasing just how angry and heartbroken you were as he kept his song sweet and low and urged himself to bring you a little bit of peace.
“It’s not fair.” You choked out. “It’s not fair…"
"I know. I’m sad, too…” He interrupted himself to confess into your ear, his breath warm and clearly as broken as you felt.
Our ultimate girl crush, Amanda Seyfried, is the perfect style icon for a laid-back, casual look. When she’s not posing for VOGUE or on the red carpet, find her most comfortable in jeans, a t-shirt, sunglasses and sneakers.
Check out some of our favorite every day outfits below!
Say goodbye to oversized totes and hello to mini bags
Don’t get us wrong, a large tote is always something great to have in your closet and keep on rotation, but this season, it’s all about the mini bag. A trend that’s resurfaced from the ‘90s, miniature handbags were one of the hottest accessories recently spotted on the streets at Paris Couture Fashion Week. Of course, there’s only room for the necessities, in a bag this little, but that’s what’s so great about it - no room for fuss! Another plus, designer styles are much cheaper than the full-size versions - score! So, downsize your handbag this year and switch it out with 20 of our favorite mini handbags below.
Street Style Inspiration
Spring 2015 Couture, Tommy Ton via Style.com.
Marni bag at Spring 2015 Couture, Phil Oh via Vogue.com.
Blogger Chiara Ferragni of The Blonde Salad in Dior at Spring 2015 Couture, Phil Oh via Vogue.com.