The 9.6 million followers who tune in to watch Miranda Kerr having her hair done on Instagram — for this is how models spend most of their time — were treated to a rather more interesting sight last Thursday: a black and white photograph of a whacking great diamond ring.

Across it was the caption “Marry me!” and a twee animation of the tech mogul Evan Spiegel on bended knee. Underneath Kerr had typed “I said yes!!!” and an explosion of heart emojis.

A spokesman for Spiegel, founder of the Snapchat mobile app, who is 26 to Kerr’s 33 and worth $US 2.1 billion to her $US 42.5 million , revealed “they are very happy”.

At first, the marriage seems an unlikely combination: a man so bright he founded Snapchat while still at Stanford University, becoming one of the world’s youngest self-made billionaires by 22, and a Victoria’s Secret model who was previously married to the Pirates of the Caribbean star Orlando Bloom (she allegedly had a fling with pop brat Justin Bieber, leading Bloom to punch Beebs in a posh Ibiza restaurant).

Perhaps the union indicates that there is more to Kerr than we thought. More likely, it reveals something about Spiegel — and the way the social status of “geeks” has changed.

Since Steve Jobs made computers cool and Millennials started living online, nerds are king. Even coding is **** enough for the model Karlie Kloss, singer will.i.am and actor Ashton Kutcher to learn it. Silicon Valley has become the new Hollywood, as moguls and social media barons take over from film stars and sportsmen not just on rich lists, but as alpha men.

Being a co-founder of a company is this decade’s equivalent to being a rock star or a chef. And, if their attractiveness to models and actresses proves anything, then being a Twag — tech wife or girlfriend — is a “thing”. Sources tell me Twags are also known as “founder-hounders” because they like to date the creators of start-up companies.

Actress Talulah Riley was an early adopter. She started dating the PayPal founder Elon Musk in 2008. Riley, then fresh from starring in the St Trinian’s film, met Musk in London’s Whisky Mist nightclub after he had delivered a lecture at the Royal Aeronautical Society. I interviewed her shortly afterwards and she told me they had spent the evening talking about “quantum physics”. A month later they were engaged. Their on-again-off-again marriage lasted six years before she filed for divorce again in March. Currently Musk, worth an estimated $US 12.7 billion and focused on Tesla cars, is said to be “spending a lot of time” with Johnny Depp’s estranged wife, Amber Heard.

Model Lily Cole dated the Twitter founder Jack Dorsey in 2013. Later she had a son with Kwame Ferreira, founder of the digital innovation agency Kwamecorp. Actress Emma Watson is going out with William Knight, an “adventurer” who has an incredibly boringly sounding job as a senior manager at Medallia, a software company. Allison Williams, Marnie in the HBO television show Girls, is married to Ricky Van Veen, co-founder of College Humor website.

Could it be that these women are onto something? Dating a bro certainly has its appeal. They are innovative: how else would they invent apps that deliver cheese toasties or match singles based on their haircuts? They are risk-takers who must be charismatic enough to inspire investors and attract crowd-funding. They may not be gym-fit, but they are mathletes who can do your tax bill. They are animal lovers: every start-up is dog friendly. And they are fun: who would not want to date somebody with a ball pool in their office?

There is a saying about dating in Silicon Valley: the odds are good but the goods are odd. Nerds are notorious for peculiar chat-up lines and normcore clothes. Still, if geeks can be awkward, that is part of their charm. Keira Knightley, complaining that Silicon Valley was all men in hoodies and Crocs, described how one gave her his card, saying she should get in touch if she wanted to see a spaceship.

One Vogue writer recalled a Silicon Valley man messaging her via a dating app, in which he noted: “In 50 per cent of your photos you’re holding an iPhone. It may interest you to find out that I invented the iPhone. More accurately I was an engineer on the original iPhone . . .”

Most promisingly, some guys are astoundingly rich. It is suggested Kerr’s engagement ring is a 2.5-carat diamond worth around dollars 55,000. She has already moved into Spiegel’s dollars 12m LA pad. Between his money and her Victoria’s Secrets bridesmaids, no wonder sources claim they are planning an “extravagant wedding”.

It might rival even the Napster founder Sean Parker’s $US10m performance-art bash. He married songwriter Alexandra Lenas in a canopy among Big Sur’s redwoods decorated to look like an enchanted forest. Some 350 guests wore Tolkienesque costumes created by The Lord of the Rings costume designer Ngila Dickson. They sat on white fur rugs and were given bunnies to pet. Presumably rabbit babysitters were on hand when the disco started.

If such fantasies inspire you to become a Twag, the great news is you do not have to be a supermodel to be in with a chance. Such is the dearth of single women in Silicon Valley that one dating site, Dating Ring, crowdfunded a plane to fly single women to Palo Alto from New York.

Be warned, though: guys are single because they are married to the job.

No wonder most meet their partners at college or work — the Facebook chief executive Mark Zuckerberg met his wife, Priscilla Chan, at Harvard.

The Instagram co-founder Kevin Systrom met girlfriend Nicole Schuetz at Stanford. Melinda met Bill Gates when, in 1987, they sat next to each other at an Expo trade-fair dinner. “He was funnier than I expected him to be,” she said.

Kerr began dating Spiegel in 2014 after meeting him at a Louis Vuitton dinner in New York. You can bet he was networking. Shortly after Louis Vuitton showcased their cruise collection in a Snapchat story. Last season Snapchat went on to become the biggest new name at NY fashion week.

If you want to meet tech guys, you might catch them at Silicon Valley parties, which is how the Uber chief executive Travis Kalanick met his partner, Gabi Holzwarth, a violinist hired to play. Or they might be schmoozing clients downtown in a swanky Noe Valley club in San Francisco or a boring Union Square hotel in New York. In London you find them around Old Street, aka Silicon Roundabout, in bars, at hackathons, or start-up meet-ups. In the day they are coding at Google Campus or practising their pitching in a co-working space.

Some tech boys date the old-fashioned way: on Tinder. Airbnb founder Brian Chesky met his girlfriend of three years, Elissa Patel, through the app. When I interviewed Instagram co-founder Systrom he admitted that when he had been single he had signed up.

Dating agency Linx — presumably a play on operating system Linux — is dedicated to making Silicon Valley matches. Amy Andersen set it up in 2003 after moving to Palo Alto and being “flabbergasted” by the number of eligible men. She claims her clients are “extremely dynamic and successful individuals’’: tech founders, tech chief executives, financier founding partners of large institutions and “tons of entrepreneurs”.

Andersen says tech guys make “fabulous partners”. Romantic and chivalrous, they write love letters, plan dates, “even proposing on Snapchat!” If you want to marry a tech billionaire, she says, “you need to bring your A game.” Her clients look “for women who are equally, if not more, dynamic and interesting than he is!”

There are drawbacks to dating tech guys. Before Google buys your amore’s business, he will be living on *** Noodles waiting for the next round of funding — and workaholics are dull.

Kerr says Spiegel is “25, but he acts like he’s 50. He’s not out partying. He goes to work in Venice [Beach], he comes home. We don’t go out. We’d rather be at home and have dinner, go to bed early.” Which might suit Kerr, but is not my idea of a fun.

You had also better be prepared to share your life. When Priscilla Chan miscarried three times, Mark Zuckerberg wrote about it on Facebook, while Chesky used a romantic trip with his girlfriend to promote Airbnb - uploading a picture of her in bed, with a note saying “f* hotels”. Besides all of which is the notorious issue of Silicon Valley sexism.

It has a chief exec-bro culture that puts pick-up artist/comedian Dapper Laughs to shame. Ninety per cent of women working in the Valley say they have witnessed sexist behaviour, 60 per cent have experienced unwanted ****** advances at work, two thirds of them from their boss. Whitney Wolfe, a co-founder of Tinder, took Justin Mateen to court for ****** harassment. Her lawsuit against the company alleged that Mateen, her former partner, sent text messages calling her a “*****”.

Spiegel has tech bro form. He apologised after emails from his days at Stanford emerged: missives about stripper poles, getting black-out drunk, shooting lasers at “fat chicks”, and promising to “roll a blunt for whoever sees the most **** tonight (Sunday)”. After one fraternity Hawaiian luau party, he signed off emails “f*bitchesgetleid”.

No wonder some women are not inspired to become Twags. Especially when you could be a tech billionaire yourself. Would you not rather be Sheryl Sandberg, chief operating officer of Facebook, than married to the boss?Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/evening-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/black-formal-dresses

Shortly after 3pm on September 29, 31-year-old Olivier Rousteing strode through the shimmering, fleshy backstage area at Balmain's Spring 2017 Paris Fashion Week show. Along the marble hallway of a hôtel particulier in the 8th arrondissement, long-limbed clusters of supermodels were gamely tolerating final applications of leg-moisturiser, make-up touch-ups and minutely precise hair interventions from squads of specialists as fast and accurate as any Formula 1 pit-stop team. The crowd parted as Rousteing swept through.

Wearing a belted, black silk tuxedo and a focused expression that accentuated his razor-sharp cheekbones, Rousteing resembled a sensuous hit man. Target identified, he led us to the board upon which photographs of every outfit were tacked.

We asked him to tell us about the collection (for that's what fashion editors always ask). "There is no theme," said Rou­steing in his fast, French-accented lilt. "No inspiration from travel or time. The inspiration is what I feel, and what I feel now is peace, light and serenity. I feel like in my six years here before this, I have tried to fight so many battles. Because there is no point anymore in fighting about boundaries and limits in fashion. Balmain has its place in fashion."

And the clothes? "There is a lot of fluidity. A lot of knitwear, lightness, ponchos. No body-con dresses. But whatever I do, even if I cover up my girls, it is like people can say I am ******. So this is what it is. I think there is nothing ******. I think it is really chic. I think it is really French. It is how I see Paris. And I have had too many haters during the last three years to defend myself again. So, this is Balmain." And then the show began.

Star endorsements

Under Rousteing, Balmain has become the most controversial fashion house in Paris. Rousteing has attracted (but not bought, as other, far bigger houses do) patronage from contemporary culture's most significant influencers. Rihanna, all the Kardashians, Kanye West, Taylor Swift, Miley Cyrus, Beyoncé, Justin Bieber – a royal flush of modern celebrity aristocracy – all champion him.

Immediately after this show, in that backstage hubbub, Kim Kardashian told me: "I thought it was very powerful…I loved the sequins, and I loved all the big chain mail belts – that was probably my favourite."

Yet for every famous fan there is a member of the fashion establishment who will sniff over coffee in Le Castiglione that Rousteing's crowd is declassé and his aesthetic best described by that V-word. The New York Times' fashion critic Vanessa Friedman reckoned this collection appropriate for "dressing for the captain's dinners on a cruise ship to Fantasy Island". At least she did not use the V-word. When I once deployed it – as a compliment – in a 2015 Vogue menswear review that declared "Rousteing is confidently negotiating a fine line between extravagance and vulgarity", I was told that Rous­teing was aggrieved.

The fashion world's ambivalence towards Rousteing is a measure of its conflicted feelings towards much in contemporary culture. Last year Robin Givhan of the Washington Post wrote of Balmain: "The French fashion house is always ostentatious and sometimes ******. It feeds a voracious appetite for attention. It is anti-intellectual. Antagonistic. Emotional. It is shocking. It is perfect for this era of social media, which means it is powerfully, undeniably relevant."

Since joining Instagram four years ago Rousteing has posted 4000 images and won 4 million followers. The combined reach of his audience members and models at this Balmain show was greater than the population of Britain and France combined. Balmain was the first French fashion house to gain more than 1 million followers, and currently has 5.5 million of them.

Loving his haters

As digital technology disrupts fashion, Balmain's seemingly effortless mastery of the medium galls some. Last year, the designer posted an image of a comment from a ****** follower to his feed. It read: "Olivier Rousteing spends more times taking selfies for Instagram than designing clothes for Balmain." Underneath, in block capitals, he commented "i love my haters".

Rousteing can be funny and flip – doing a video interview after the show, I opened by asking, tritely, how he felt. He replied: "Now I feel like some Chicken McNuggets with barbecue sauce, and then some M&M;'s ice cream."

When at work, however, that flipness flips to entirely unflip. The previous evening, at a final fitting for the collection, Rousteing had paced his studio, his face a scowl of concentration, applying final edits to the outfits to be worn by models Doutzen Kroes and Alessandra Ambrosio. The 30-strong team of couturiers working in the adjoining atelier delivered a steady stream of altered dresses.

"We are ready," he said from behind a glass desk in a rare moment of downtime. "This a big show – 80 looks – and I want a collection that is full of both the commercial and couture. But it's smooth too. All of the girls are excited about the after-party and interested in the music. And eating pizza." In the corridor outside Gigi Hadid – this season's apex supermodel – was indeed eating pizza, with gusto.

The fitting went on until far beyond midnight; Rousteing, fiercely focused, demonstrated the work ethic for which he is famous. When he was studio manager for Christophe Decarnin, his predecessor at Balmain, the young then-unknown was always the first in and last out of the studio. Emmanuel Diemoz, who joined Balmain as finance controller in 2001 and became chief executive in 2011, says that his hard graft was one of the reasons he was chosen to succeed Decarnin.

"For sure it was quite a gamble," says Diemoz. "But we could see the talent of Olivier. Plus he understood the work of Christophe – who had helped the brand recover – so he represented continuity. He was a hard worker, clearly a leader, with a lot of creativity. Plus the size of the turnover at that time was not so huge. So we were able to take the risk."

Clear leader

Which is why, aged 24, Rousteing became the creative director of one of Paris's best known – but indubitably faded – fashion houses. In 2004 it had been close to bankruptcy. In 2012, Rousteing's first full year in charge, Balmain's sales were €30.4 million and its profit €3.1 million. In 2015, sales were €121.5 million and its profit €33 million. Vulgarity is subjective; numbers are not.

Rousteing, who is of mixed race, was adopted at five months by white parents and enjoyed an affluent and loving upbringing in Bordeaux. "My mum is an optician and my dad was running the port. They are both really scientific – not artistic. So I had that kind of life. Bordeaux is really bourgeois and really conservative, I have to say."

After an ill-starred three-month stint at law school – "I was doing international law. And I was like, 'oh my God, that is so boring'" – he did a fashion course that he managed to tolerate for five months.

"I found that really boring as well. I just don't like actually people who are trying to **** your dream. And I felt that is what my teachers were trying to do."

Obsessed with Gucci

Following a three-month internship in Rome – "also boring" – Rousteing became fascinated with Tom Ford's work at Gucci. "I was obsessed, obsessed, obsessed. Sometimes the press did not get it but I thought 'this is like genius, the new **** chic'. Obsessed, full stop."

He wanted to work there – "that was my dream" – but applied to every fashion house he could, and found an opportunity to intern at Roberto Cavalli. "They took me in from the beginning. I met Peter Dundas [then womenswear designer at the brand] and he said you are going to be my right hand – and start in four days."

Rousteing counts his five years in Italy as formative both creatively and commercially, but when the opportunity came to return to France in 2009 he leapt at it. "Christophe said he liked my work and that he needed someone to manage the studio. So two weeks later I was here. I loved Balmain at the time, when Christophe was in charge. It was all about rock 'n' roll chic, ****, Parisian. And he was appealing to a younger generation. You can see when brands become old but Balmain was touching this new audience. I always say Christophe's Balmain was Kate Moss but mine is Rihanna."

When Decarnin left and Rousteing replaced him, the response was a resounding "who?". His youth prompted some to anticipate failure.

"It was not easy at all. Every season I had the same questions." Furthermore, Rousteing (who has said he thinks of himself as neither black nor white) was the only non-white chief designer at a Parisian couture house. In a nation in which very few people of colour hold senior positions, his race may have contributed both to the establishment's suspicion of him and to his powerful sense of being an outsider.

'Beautiful spirit'

As he began to build a personal vernacular of close-fitted, heavily jewelled, gleefully grandiose menswear – fantastical uniform for a Rousteing-imagined gilded age – for both women and men, that V-word loomed.

"They asked, 'But is it luxury? Is it chic? Is it modern?' All those kinds of words. But you know there is no one definition [of fashion] even if people in Paris think there is. And, I'm sorry, but I think the crowd in fashion are those who understand the least what is avant-garde today."

In 2013 Rihanna visited the studio, met Rousteing, and reported all with multiple Instagram posts. "You are the most beautiful spirit, so down to earth and kind! @olivier_rousteing I think I'm in love!!! #Balmain." :')"

Rousteing met Kim Kardashian at a party in New York – they were drawn together, he recalls, because they were both shy – and was promptly invited to lunch with her family in Los Angeles.

An outsider in the firmament of old-guard Paris fashion, Rousteing was earning insider status within a new, and much more influential, supranational elite. He points out that Valentino, Saint Laurent and Pierre Balmain himself "were close to the jet set of their time. What I have on my front row is the people who inspire my generation".

From them, he learned a new way of doing business. "I think it was Rihanna and the music industry that first understood how Instagram can be part of the business world as well as the personal. But in fashion? When we started it was 'why do you post selfies? Why do we need to know your life, see you waking up, see you working? Why don't you keep it private'. And I was like 'you will see'."

Rousteing cheerfully declares his love for Facetune – "I don't have Botox but I do have digital Botox!" – an app that helps him airbrush his selfies and tweak those ski-***** cheekbones.

Reaching new population

From his office around the corner from Rousteing's, Diemoz adds: "When Olivier first proposed Balmain use social media, our investment in traditional media was costing a lot. Here was an alternative costing less but bringing huge visibility. It has been successful, quite rapidly…we decided to be less Parisian in a way but to speak to a new population. A brand has to be built around its heritage but we are proposing a new form of communication dedicated to a wider group of customers."

The impact of that strategy became apparent in 2015, when Rousteing and Balmain were invited to design a collection for the Swedish fast-fashion retailer H&M.; Within minutes of going on sale – and this is not hyperbole – the collection, available at vastly cheaper prices than Balmain-proper, had completely sold out. In London, customers fought on the pavement outside H&M;'s Regent Street branch. "Balmainia!" blared the headlines.

You have to move fast to get backstage after a Balmain show. I was out of my seat and trotting with purpose even before the string-heavy orchestra at the end of the catwalk had quite stopped playing Adele.

Rousteing had taken his bow merely seconds before. Still, too slow: I ended up in a clot of Rousteing well-wishers stuck in a corridor blocked by security guards. A Middle Eastern woman against whom I was indelicately jammed looked at me, laughed, shook her head, then said: "We pay millions for a fashion house – and then this happens!"

In June, Balmain was bought for a reported €485 million by Mayhoola, a Qatar-based wealth fund said to be controlled by the nation's ruling family. As so often with Rousteing-related revelations, some declared themselves nonplussed. "Why Would Mayhoola Pay Such a High Price for Balmain?", one headline asked. Yet Mayhoola, which acquired Valentino four years previously for $US858 million, might have scored a bargain.

Clothes key to revenue

Despite its huge, Instagram-enhanc­ed footprint, Balmain is a small, lean and relatively undeveloped business. Most luxury fashion houses today – Chanel, Burberry, Dior, et al – will emphasise their catwalk collections for marketing purposes but make most of their money from the sale of accessories, fragrances and small leather goods like handbags and shoes. One of the big fashion companies makes a mere 5 per cent from its catwalk clothes.

At Balmain, by contrast, clothes bring in almost all the revenues. If Balmain had the same clothes-to-accessories ratio as its competitors, its overall annual income could be more than €1 billion ($1.4 billion).

The company is moving in that direction. New accessory lines are in the pipeline. "Now we have to transform that desire into business activity," said Diemoz. "Sunglasses, belts, fragrances, the kind of products that can be more affordable."

The first bags should be available in January, as will a wider range of shoes, and then more, more, more.

Six days after his show, on the last day of Paris Fashion Week, I returned to the Balmain atelier. Apart from two assistants, Rousteing was the only person there – everybody else had gone on holiday to recover from the frenzy of preparing the show, or was busy selling the collection at the showroom around the corner.

Rousteing sat behind his desk in the empty room, wearing slingback leopard-print slippers, sweatpants and shades. "I am not even tired! I am excited. Because there are so many things happening – and I can't wait."Read more at:www.marieaustralia.com/red-carpet-celebrity-dresses | http://www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-adelaide

She’s a dark elf supermodel,
kills werewolves for fun
with daggers, arrows, kicks to the throat.

She’s a dark elf supermodel!
She makes monsters run,
Strikes, poised to run down a foe.

She’s slaying it nightly,                                
She’s badass, she’s art,
My mind is seduced.
She is the only                                          
dark elf of my heart.

I don't want
a *******
a *** slave
a *****

I don't need
a housekeeper
a nurse
a cook

I don't want
a supermodel
a CEO
a politician

I don't need
an introvert
an extrovert
a pervert


I just want
someone to hold me
and do my laundry
(from time to time)

Men stop in their tracks when they see me
Become tongue-tied, try but cannot speak
We supermodels are paid for our looks, and very handsomely
They see me at an airport, make an approach,
Chat me up, stilted conversation ensues
Oh well, confidentially, I don't mind as I'm just killing time, on my way to the next shoot in Ibiza, then Italy.

Vanisa is the name; I made it up, keeps me sane
Running down the highway of fashion
In the body that is mine
I cannot help if I was born this way
Sublime, the money I make but, look,
It's not that great to hold a bottle of perfume
Or pretend to eat steak

But, Oh, the attention from the men who cross my path
They dream of me, they say, that's a laugh
If they only knew what a B I can be, they'd think twice about
Their fantasy

Look, I'm a nice person, got a family back home
Minnesota is my hideout from the mishigas I've known
And I read books, really I do
Want to talk politics? That would be cool

Here comes another candidate
Lets see what he has to say
Yes I was on the cover of Sports Illustrated
Yay, he says, then comes his big smile
It's so nice everyone loves me
Makes it all worthwhile.

We are a global society
When we want oranges in the fruit bowl,
When we want out of our rut
Just long enough
To brown in a patch of Spanish sun.
We are a global society
When the Japanese car breaks down
And we are in need of a cheap fix
To keep food on the table,
Some Latvian mechanic
Who helps us find our way home.

We are our own nation,
An island nation,
When the zeroes run low
And there are spaces,
Foreign faces,
To which we can point
And blame.

We are a global society
With our sweat-shop chic,
American coffee chains
Selling Colombian ground beans,
Frappuccinos in plastic cups-
Made in China
And served by a Romanian barista
In Italian heels.
We are a global society
When the demand is high
And the payment is low.

We are our own nation,
An island nation,
When hands reach out for help
And our pockets are too shallow,
Our time, too brief
To commit to a unity
We feel is dragging us down.

We are a global society
When the football is on,
When the lager is Belgian
And the supermodel, Greek.
When we cradle that bag of Cheetos
After smoking too much ****.
We are a global society
When oppression is overt,
Caricatured in bulletin posters,
Threatening to land
Upon our own front door.

We are our own nation,
An island nation,
When poverty seems contagious,
When we have to clean up
Someone else’s mess,
Still we scar the Middle East
Only half-interested in an exit.

We are a global society
When we get sick,
When we borrow another doctor
For our ailing NHS.
When cities of white people burn,
We are a global society,
When Africa is divided,
We are nowhere to be seen.
Prime mover of the commonwealth
Yet we fall beneath the breadline
And living easy is so rare.

We are our own nation,
An island nation,
Under the false flag
Of a golden age
We were conned to believe in.
Our nation, our island nation,
Lost amongst a sea of misinformation.

She’s one girl no guy can get out of their mind
The one girl that’ll make any boy step out of line
Just by looking at her I can tell she’s different from any mortal
She has the power to go up and turn a cold heart really fertile
She strips on exotic clothing everytime she goes out
You know she’s the woman that all the guys talk about
Recently I found her name, it’s Tiffany
You can tell she dosen’t need sympathy
She looks like a bad girl by the way she smokes a blunt
The way she seduces men, gonna make you struck dumb
She’s a ***** woman but plays innocent when she’s with men
You can easily see why many boys want her as a girlfriend


If I had a shot at her I’d ask for romance
While most guys want to get in her pants
She’ll make your skin shiver by the touch of her flesh
The most exotic and permiscious girl that I ever met
The kind of girl that will make your heart stop
Just being in her presence will mean a whole lot
You see her hang out with more men than girls
As girls get mad when she really rocks men’s world
To a lot of girls here, she’s only known as a ***** or a ****
In reality they’re jealous because they wish they had her ****
So their man will actually charish them all day
Instead of worrying about taking their man away
Her bright blue eyes are hypnotizing wheels
She’s an ****** princess that’s how I feel
Any guy can fall victim to her intense lust
The desire to know who she is is a must


No doubt her looks can attract any man
A fact that most girls can’t understand
In pictures she actually reminds me of a supermodel
Even when she constantly chugs down beer bottles
Constantly showing off her g-string to please guys
She’s even got me hooked on her I’m not gonna lie
Rumor is she sleeps with ten guys a night
As men will just **** to have her in their sight
Just win her affection they will go and fight
It’s hard to ignore that she dresses real naughty
Every night she always has a guy inside her body
She says she’s not a ***** but she only dresses like one
But the way she shows her breast gets a lot of guys stunned


A little coconut as she only stands at five foot four
She gave you action in bed you’d begging for more
**** straight she loves to party, she don’t want you to judge her
A true statement that nothing in this world can be taken from her
She’s a total sucker for R&B; and hip-hop
There’s no way you can get her to stop
Well it’s true almost any guy can get a shot at her
Just hope your attempts don’t send her to laughter
Sometimes she’ll go by the nickname “Baby Girl”
The moment she touches you your blood will curl
Don’t let her pretty face fool ya’ she rolls like the boss
Guys will say that in the bedroom she dosen’t play soft


If you give her some liquor she’ll go off the wall
She’s so energetic she won’t leave you appauled
She’ll turn the dance floor in the club into her own nasty world
She’ll give you so much action it’ll be too much for you to endure
She loves Spongebob and Marilyn Monroe
And yet she denies that she’s ever a **’
On myspace she has five thousand friends
And most of them on that friend list are men
Blue eyed bombshell taking over the room
A blonde ******* bunny is what you assume
Four out of five doctors say that she’s insane
So you can say that she’s far away from lame


She’s every guy’s new obsession
She can get you out of depression
Her upper legs will easily remind you of thunder thighs
Can’t take your eyes off them you know you can’t lie
You can never wake up without an overdoes of her
It’s pratically impossible for anybody to just shun her
Anyone can get lost in her eyes
Finding no exit inside her sight
You don’t know but she’s got you on lock
Not being in her presence is really a frock
Makes your heart fizzle when she calls you honey
She says to every guy dosen’t that sound funny?


She can easily lead you on
And give you what you want
But don’t expect to keep her because she’ll just slip away
Not that hard to tell girls like her will go and not actually stay
So charish the moment while it last
Chances are that she’ll move on fast
Everyday she’s with a different guy
Had tweleve boyfirends, not a lie
She’s like a bomb getting ready to explode
As the most exotic girl that is ever known
Guys will just **** all to feel her sweet kisses
But no one wants to be a victim of her disses
Having her is like having a trophy that’s hard to find
No doubt that she’s gonna stuck inside a guy’s mind


She can easily be mistaken for a member of *******
Boys are struck dumb by the way that she shows her smile
No man alive can resist her temptations
She turns you down you’ll feel devastation
Some guys just want her for the respect
Other guys just want her for her ***
Hotter than a stripper what do you expect?


It wasn’t too long before she met her perfect match
Soon she found a man who gave her the right romance
A man who will love her for who she was
Turns out she really did find her only one
She ended up marrying him at a wedding chapel
The fact that she was taken left many guys baffled
The girl of their dreams was swept away
This caused a lot of guys a lot of pain
Now all they can do is imagine being with her
While her man’s able to go up and kiss her
Other guys consider her man the luckiest man on earth
Because she left other guys who want her really hurt


Then she gives birth to his child and they became a family
Now you know her and her man will be forever happy and dandy
She loves him to death what do you expect?
From her he’s the only guy that’ll recieve ***
Now men have to find another girl to chase after
As her life is forever away from any type of disater

'Kabali' and 'Badlapur' actor Radhika Apte will be the show-stopper in the upcoming Lakme Fashion Week in the ‘Gulzar’ collections of a prominent Kolkata-based fashion designer.

“We have been working with Radhika since 'Majhi the Mountain Man' days (2015) and she will be flaunting our fabrics as show-stopper in India’s premier fashion show which is keenly followed by Bollywood," the well-known city-based woman fashion designer told media after a fashion show in a city hotel last Friday night.

The Lakme Fashion Week is a bi-annual fashion event with the summer-resort show taking place in April while the winter-festive show is held in August.

This year the winter-festive show will be held from August 24 to 28.

Radhika will be wearing bright-colored lehenga since the show will be focused on beautiful India, it’s colours and contours, choreographed with the poetry of nature by Amir Khusro, the designer said.

“It can also be termed our tribute to a great name like Gulzar saab who has brought our lyrics and poems to a new level,” the designer Saroj Jalan said.

The signature style of the designer, whose works adorn Bollywood actors like Radhika beside well known models Lisa Sharma and former Miss Universe India winner Ushoshi Sengupta, is delicate floral patterns along with the use of Zardozi and array of hand-woven tusser silk and velvet enhancing the experience of the garments and “we will project the same in the Lakme week where the accent is on ethnicity,” designer Saroj Jalan said.

Supermodel Ushoshi, having recently debuted in the Bengali film 'Egoler Chokh', said “Lakme show reflects the different tastes of all leading Indian fashion designers who are still rooted to Indian heritage.”Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/red-carpet-celebrity-dresses

Weaknesses
My weakness is sweets, but don’t get it twisted, no food is found to weaken me. But a sweet personality can, so can a sweet smile, or a sweet touch. Basically sweet people are like sweet candies  of different cultures, and I shall be a proud cultural culinary taste-tester, moving races like NASCAR in motion.
My weakness is money. The all mighty dollar isn’t so almighty to me, but what it can do is. I long for the materialistics of life that money can bring, and the attention it can get you from supermodel brides or low-key bed warmers. I like the feeling of being wanted and tolerated regardless of what I’d do and how I’d do it.
My weakness is power, for, if I held the power of a man’s life and spared him, he’d be loyal indefinitely, and that would be enough to satisfy my needs to feel loved. I’d have a friend who felt indebt to me, and that feeling of needing to accommodate would change my view on what was real and what wasn’t.
My weakness is attire, for you see, when I walk into a room, I want to draw the eyes of those watching, hateration rising in their veins and jealousy shown on there face. I want the Black haired beauty with the short red skirt and open-toed stilettoes with the dark purple toe nails and thick hips to come my way and think lustfully of me, is it a crime to desire such reactions?
My weakness is body, for I love a girl who can take care of herself. Long hair, manicured nails, teeth that aren’t begging to be drilled, it’s a weakness I have and can’t seem to fix. But then again, why would I desire to fix it? I’m not asking for perfect like a conceited rejectionist, or wanting more than what I can give like I was lying to myself, I want someone who can keep up with themselves before even attempting to keep up with someone else.
My weakness is *** appeal, because whenever she bites her lip and looks in my eyes, I can see rockets shooting through her glass lenses and aiming at me. But once I smile back, determined face, cute features and as much appeal as I can muster, explosions happen in her body that causes goosebumps to pepper her flesh like shrapnel in a war-zone.
My weakness is skin to skin, after all, it’s my right to want to be loved, why not demonstrate it by holding hands? Why not live past the edge and on the tip of existence like birds on a powerline? I am careful enough and she’d be loving enough that no vibes of failing would even cross our way.

In the 1970s there was a wave of soft pop that struck America
one band at the crest of that wave was The Carpenters
formed by Richard and Karen Carpenter
they were wildly successful
their song We’ve Only Just Begun is still a ubiquitous wedding song
Karen’s smooth and pure voice drew giant crowds
but despite how timeless her music is
it is equally contrasted by the briefness of her life.

Karen captivated a worldwide audience with her music
but some people just can’t be reached
indoctrinated by our superficial society
thinking every celebrity should be a supermodel
critics made snide comments about her being Richard’s chubby sister
even though she wasn’t overweight
and Richard was addicted to Quaaludes
but even more important than the public was Karen’s own mother
who worried of the public’s feelings more than her own daughter’s.

Karen felt pushed to lose weight
so she hired a nutritionist
who loaded her down with carbohydrates
which obviously made her fatter
crushing her faith in nutrition
turning her towards unhealthy methods
...which worked...at first...
but unfortunately it kept working
and she refused to change, unlike her body.

Fans who once cheered for her
now gasped when they saw her emaciated skeleton take the stage
they thought she might’ve had cancer
and were concerned about her weight
but to her it was the same crowd telling her to lose weight
now telling her to gain weight
she was done hearing it
and stuck in her ways.

Her friends were worried about her
and pleaded for her to seek help
but her mother’s profession was repression
so Karen hid her depression
while her mother told her psychiatrists were for crazy people.

Karen tried using a man to make her problems disappear
and married Tom Burris two months after meeting him in 1980
he would verbally abuse her; calling her a bag of bones
then he’d *** money off her; amounts up to $50,000 at a time
needless to say the relationship was ill fated
and they divorced in 1981.

Finally Karen’s friends convinced her to see a therapist
who brought her family into a counseling session
and urged them to tell Karen they love her
of course Richard was willing to say so, they were always really close
especially after Karen had helped him with his own addiction issues
but Karen’s mother refused
berating the therapist for using her first name; Agnes
and informing him that wasn’t how their family did things.

Karen Carpenter passed away February 4, 1982 at the age of 32
she died from ipecac poisoning
she used the substance to induce vomiting every day
and it slowly dissolved her heart.

Richard was devastated.

There’s not much I can add
I guess Karen’s story speaks for itself
it just ****** me off critics jeer with impunity and without empathy
they’re free to cajole great artists while having no value themselves
driving artists away until we’re only left with negativity
it makes me want to cut out all the demons’ razor sharp tongues
before they get a taste of another angel’s wings
but would that really protect those angels
if they’re born to demons?

Look in the mirror
What do you see?

Imperfection
As you reach left for
The tan crumbs to cover your uneven skin
And reaching right for
The black
Toxic
Goo
To give the impression that your stubby eyelashes
Aren't incapable of growing

You step back and look at yourself once more
Its not enough

You rummage for the crayon to
Smear across your eyelids
In hopes that it will make your
Dull
Brown eyes
Pop

Your face feels pounds heavier
Yet, are you really done so soon?
Aren't you forgetting something

You dig deep into the drawer
To find a
Burning
Red paint to drown your thin pale lips in
Longing for the look of that
Photoshopped
Supermodel you saw in that magazine

You come downstairs
Dad says you look like a clown
Mom says you're still a kid
Society says its not enough

What do you say

I dream of a lot of things lately.
Sometimes good dreams like:
Me being 6 foot tall and
Being the top supermodel,
Being best friends with
Cara Delevingne and
Always partying.

But, then my nightmares surface:
Me looking down at the toilet and
Not caring about anything in the
World except being so, so
Skinny.

I keep thinking that maybe my
Nightmares are actually trying to
Help me by giving me some
"Friendly" advice.
Maybe throwing up
Might be an
Option for
Me.

-R.A.

So many conflicting images
society tells us exactly how we should look
but I’m still supposed to love myself exactly as I am.
Supermodel tall and athletic
but still petite enough that no man feels intimidated.
No extra rolls or bulges anywhere in sight
but not skinny enough to appear sickly.
Never cover yourself up too much as to appear prudish
but showing too much skin equates with promiscuity.
Don’t be too in touch with your sexuality else you should be labeled a *****
but don’t deny too many men else you should be labeled a tease.
Never not be aware of your surroundings as danger lurks in every shadow at night
but don’t seem too hyper vigilant unless you should appear paranoid.
Don’t dare wear too much makeup
but never let them see your flaws.
Beauty comes before all else, including pain
but never let them see how you achieve your beauty in danger of being labeled vain or sick.
Girls should be driven to excel
but only in activities deemed suitably feminine.
Society’s views dictate from birth how we should act, feel, and look as women,
but the molds they attempt to force us into are not designed to contained all the magnificence we are born with.

She is known to stand out from the crowd.

And Jessica Hart made sure all eyes were on her in a shimmering golden gown as she attended the God’s Love We Deliver, Golden Heart Awards at Spring Studio in New York on Thursday night.

The 29-year-old Australian beauty turned heads in the dazzling sequined mini dress as she oozed Hollywood glamour for the star studded event.

The former Victoria's Secret model showcased her trim and tanned pins in the shift dress which boasted long sleeves which Jessica rolled up to her elbows.

The dress featured a number of metallic hues including silver and bronze which perfectly matched her strappy silver high heels.

Proving why she is a catwalk favourite, the 1.77 metre tall statuesque stunner flashed her trademark gap-toothed grin for the cameras on the red carpet of the glittering A-list gala.

In-keeping with the graceful theme of her look, Jessica wore her luscious blonde locks in an elegant up do to showcase her striking ****** features.

She sported copper-coloured eye shadow which added to her glittering ensemble, while her flawless complexion was accentuated with a light powdering of foundation.

Jessica let her spotlight stealing dress speak for itself as she opted for minimal accessories, wearing just a single ring on her left hand and a pair of diamond encrusted stud earrings, whilst carrying a perspex clutch which contained her wallet and phone.

The supermodel attended the event solo as her boyfriend of three years, billionaire Stavros Niarchos III - was not at her side.

However instead, Jessica mingled with a handful of her model pals including Toni Garnn and Cameron Russell.

With long legs and a small waist, genetically blessed Jessica knows how to rock her enviable figure.

She recently opened up about her body in the October issue of Cosmopolitan Australia, revealing how she manages to stay in shape.

'I have a private trainer, he’s a Pilates teacher, a yoga teacher and a personal trainer all in one,' she admitted.

'And when I can’t work out I just try to eat a little less pasta!'

Meanwhile, Jessica lives with her beau Stavros in New York's trendy East Village, with rumours surfacing earlier this year that the pair were engaged.

But with no official word yet from the couple as to whether nuptials are impending, they seem happy living a relatively quiet life with their competing busy schedules.

Stavros famously dated Olsen twin Mary-Kate for several years, as well as controversial socialite Paris Hilton.

read more:www.marieaustralia.com/long-formal-dresses

www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-melbourne

She loveth me nay--
           The supermodel--
       Cause my pocket is lean.
          But I did apace tell
         Her as she's sashay-
Ing along that "I'm no James Dean:
That Hollywood icon and superstar,
Who was by his acting rich in dollar;
But that i'm a poet, writing poetry."
So contemn me not, sultry popsy.

I wanted to get you something odd for your birthday
A trip to a Pacific Island
How are ya-"50"
With all the crooks and turns
this crazy life brings us
nobody gets away
without waterfalls in paradise
hula skirts and little squirts
they all arrive on time
Speaking of odds and paradise
I thought I would quote a few
1) chances you'll date a supermodel
88,000-1 (think Marcus Schenkenberg)
2) odds of marrying royalty
(if you lived in the U.K.) 500-1
3) chances that any person dating is dating a millionaire
215-1...not dating?
4) odds of becoming a saint
20,000,000 to 1 ....actually you are way closer than that to me
5) chances of writing a NY Times best seller
got your attention now right?.....220-1...you can do it
6) odds of becoming president
You'd be the best one in my lifetime...10,000,000 to 1
And there are bad things you may never
have to worry about:
7) being struck by lightning
87,000 to one
8) being possessed by Satan
7,000 to 1 ...unless America is "The Great Satan" in which case you already are here
9) chances of the destruction of the universe
I know you have been worried about this
10 to the 100th power to 1
After giving you all these odds
don't you feel better now?
How about one more odd?
The biggest odd of all
"me"
ok...no kidding
odds of you having a GREAT BIRTHDAY
ALL THE BEST ODDS

So what if you are gay you have a right to live anyway dont hate the way you are that will only leave a mental scar believe in yourself for you are you because there is nothing nobody can do you could be a supermodel or a dragqueen bisexual or a camptastic queen just be careful in what you do or who you meet when you meet someone at first be discreet you can be absolutely fabulous every week and everyday go on living life your own way alot of people will give you grief just live your dreams and have your own belief sometimes we all need someone to hold because we feel left out in the cold i know the lonely times come and go but don't tell anybody anything you don't want them to know be happy loving and free be the person you want to be

You are indefinable,
perfectly perplexed between a periapse of compassion
you are..
the light between colors, that blends everything together,
you are the smell of cooking spices and the strut of  a supermodel
you have the smile of an angel, the cheek of a demon
you are a time capsual of happiness and a roving epiphany of delinquent change.
a goddess of chaos and order squished between two slices of cute and served with a side order of Mine
so smile sweet heart, brighten those chameleon eyes
let those lips make points at either side
let your hair hang losely over that speckled forhead
that serves as a runway for my kisses
smile sweetheart.
I love you

*LG

The telephone has not been kind of late
It’s not from new found fans
Who have suddenly started praying for me,
Or from publishers
Wondering when my next book is going
To be finished
No –
It’s much closer to home,
Friends of mine crying their eyes out
Because some long-legged stunner has left them
“Dan, I don’t know what to do, she
Was a little girl from Sweden,
A real supermodel,
I bought her a diamond ring
And now she’s gone!”
A  crackle down the end of the phone
“Come on mate, pull yourself together,
Why did you buy her a diamond ring?”
“Because I thought she loved me!”
“How much was it?”
“£5,000...”
“And how long have you known her?”
“3 weeks... I thought she was the one.”
I hang up after my apologies and realise I can do no more
I’m no snob, I try and assuage their grief but what can I do?
I can only talk to them, and the girls –
They must figure the rest out.
I decide to go and talk to one of my best and longest friends
She is one of those ladies I have always felt my friend
And a good one, but nothing more.
I talk to this elite selection of women, because
They surely must know what it takes to get women.
I turn up on the farm, she smiles, just finished butchering a pig.
“More fool him is all I can say. Tell me the only way
He knows whether a girl will play him honest, is if
He looks beyond the beauty and is she there
When he needs her the most, through thick and thin –
That’s the testament of a women worth having.”
God bless, Hannah – she had a way of putting it so eloquently
And I don’t believe I could do the speech justice.
That night I ring him up
“What did your friend say?”
“Nothing man, just leave it.”
“What?”
“That’s how you learn: the girls that are good
For you are there all the time. Whatever happens –
Soon as you mention money or start throwing money
At the long legged, the *****, the blonde. You’re dead
In the water. They know they’re beautiful.”
“Thanks mate, you’re a pal.”
I hang up and the phone ring again. It’s Hannah.
“So what did you tell him?”
“Just what you told me, but in language he gets. Man speak.”
“You’re one in a million. You know that? I love you.”
I hang up the phone and smile to myself:
Everyone’s gone away contented.
I’m rather pleased with myself,
They both got to hear what they wanted to hear
With the minimal amount of damage.
It’s a hard act to balance
It’s a hard lead to follow
But I’m mastering it.

My truth is that I teeter atop a constant precipice of blazing boldness and utter fear.

I tip toe a fine line of longing to be unapologetically passionate, raw and subversive - and comfortingly cordial, gentle and "nice."

My favorite colors are witchcraft black and angel pink.

I unabashedly groove to both bass bottomed gangster rap and dreamy, trippy synth pop - equally.

I rise each day to blaze a trail of fiery transformation - holding my flag high in the sky for all to see and follow - and end each day wanting to hide in my rabbit hole reading about herbal remedies and making tinctures and potions that the world.

My favorite flower is the optimistic tulip, but I find strength in the weeping willow.

I sing fierce songs of freedom, injustice and equality out loud, while humming soft songs of sweetness and peace and love to myself.

I'm both Dorothy and the Great and Powerful Oz.

I long to scream wisdom from the rooftops, as long as I don't hurt anyone's feelings.

I relate to the women of both Girls and Golden Girls.

I want socialism but I don’t want anyone to tell me what to do.

I get a thrill by telling arrogant people off with a witty sarcastic remark, and then feel heavy remorse because I wish I hadn't created such a divide.

I am a warrior for women’s rights, but I’ve also been a mean girl and a recovering bulimic.

I want someone to love me completely while I love them utterly, but I don’t want to be engulfed by the heady perfume and fluorescent distraction of romance.

I admire both Charles Bukowski and Simone de Beauvoir as equals.

I don’t want to care what the hell you think of me, but I want you to love and worship me just the same.

I roll my eyes when older men date much younger women, but find myself attracted to much younger dudes than myself.

I bow to the bodies of “real women” while secretly dreaming of what it must be like to be a supermodel.

I want to be adored as much as I want to be respected.

I worship the Goddess on my knees but also find Jesus to be a true prophet of love, and kind of a babe.

I’m as silly as I am intense, and I’m as insane as I am sane.

My ultimate truth is that I'm a lover and a fighter,
a saint and a *****,
an angel and a demon,
a divine spirit and a hot mess.

I envelop each contradiction passionately, balancing them equally like a tightrope walker in the wind. Frustrated and wondering how the hell I got here, but also awestruck and loving the view.

You see, I have come to learn that the sign of a true rebel is the one who wears her heart on her sleeve - while giving zero *****, sowing compassion, taking no ****, mending fences and slaying dragons.

Being a weekend binge drinker I don’t really like Mondays
my poor fragile mind is in a alcohol daze,
my limbs are slow and heavy, each movement is a trial
I feel like I’ve ran a marathon after swimming the length of The Nile,
I lop around all zombiefied my legs are full of lead
my eyes are groaning loudly, like an extra from The Walking Dead,
I’m on the verge of snoozing, I do that sleepy involuntary ****,
I pinch myself real hard “Si you have to stay awake in work!”.
So I take a trip to the disabled toilet and have a nap on the ceramic floor,
hoping I’ll feel much better after this tad of a tiny snore,
I rouse after ten minutes and decide to control this ***** ridden strife,
I must get a grip soon, I want a grasp on this Monday life,
a light bulb pings out of nowhere to brighten my maudlin mood,
this sweet recovery will be engendered by lots scrumptious of food,
so I indulge in a savoury overload and gorge on toast and crisps;
Discos, Hula Hoops, Quavers and defo tons of Frisps,
on my dinner I scoff a Mac Donalds and then a Greg’s sausage roll,
this hungry Homer gluttony helps to sustain my whole,
the calorific sustenance does it’s job and my hangover starts to diminish,
I gaze at the computer’s clock and think “hey it’s time I finished!”.
I ponder “ohh I can glide home knowing my day is done
and if it stays sweet and bright I can enjoy a few hours in the sun,
after that I can watch Breaking Bad and catch up with Coronation Street
while busting out the texts and having more to eat,
yeah I’m see what Walter White’s up to while being really greedy,
wait a ******* minute, tonight’s when I’ve said I’d help the needy!
*******, **** **** **** ****, that’s my evening of chilling down the spout,
rather than a hammock night in I’ve got to venture out
and feed a load of ungrateful gits who don’t even clear their plates
and ask me if I’m a cross dresser while sniggering with their mates,
rather then see if Jesse gets caught by Hank and how the story unfolds
I’ll have to scrub those scrubbers dishes pristine while wearing marigolds,
as oppose to nodding off reading with a Rustlers under my front room lamp
I’ll have to put a load of cutlery away after making a 20 sugar brew for a *****!"
So I decide the Wellspring is off tonight as I really can’t be assed going
I’ll just graft extra hard for *** next week and keep the drinks a flowing,
so I’m just about to pick my phone up and call in with a excuse that’s pretty lamey
but then I realise if I don’t go I won’t get to see Amy!
Suddenly there is a spring in my step, my motion feels on point
I shower very quickly and post drying roll a joint,
I have a zip in my posture as I sail and blaze down the road
all my thoughts of staying in they instantly erode,
I think “Amy is ace and topper, in her company all is fun
she’d make a day of gloom resplendent with the sun,
her chirping silly noises are always brill in the air
she turns my giggles to def com one, I laugh without a care,
I mean I know I'm hilarious, I can feel my own strengths in my head and tummy
but when I'm with Amy I'm even more funny!  
She makes it all sunny!
Cos we can berate that gormless Declan who eats with the speed of a cheetah
say he's troffing all the time, like a professional eater,
we can spray a bit of water, have a lot of chat
teleport through nonsense with the free degree of claptrap,
chill around the washer where all the cool kids hang
kicking back like Gs, knowing all the slang,
flick a fleck of sausage then have a speaking swirl
flex the talking muscles with sweet balletic twirl.
I mean she's not perfect, she could improve her lot
she's pretty immodest, always going on about how she's so hot,
alright supermodel, calm down, yeah, okay you were blessed with good looks
be you know being arrogant really ******* *****.
And she don't like the ***** cats, her brain must have a feline blur
how can she not warm to their whiskers and their contented little purrs,
her eyes sometimes don't always work and she is optically infirm
and she steals pies from the scrotes, she don't know to wait her turn,
she'd stab you in the back for a go at the counter, she's always trying to grab the lead,
and added to all that she can't even ******* read!
(I'm surprised you can read this actually.)
But i'll overlook these foibles, her flaws aren't yet that drastic
she has to merge some yang in there to be so yin fantastic!
Ahh, in this life where what was can no longer leave a reflection
it's always super to feel the natural flow of connection;
glowing with simplicity
our joyous synchronicity!"
So i approach the door of The Wellspring and feel sweet and glad
and think, "you know for a Monday you aint turned out too bad!".

anyone could tell you how to treat someone special
but I bet they wont tell you how to treat yourself better
I know you look into the mirror and you’re disgusted
with what you see, like you just want to rip your skin off
and change all of your ****** features, even shedding some
weight off in your mind, imagining how you’d be if you were
just a few pounds less
just a few inches taller
just a little more muscular
anyone could tell you how to love someone
but I bet they wont tell you how to love yourself for who you are
let’s be real here, how can you love someone else
when you can’t love yourself
you don’t have to be cocky
you just have to be confident
when someone catches your eye
you have no clue what they're biggest insecurities are
yet from across the room, you're still amazed by they're presence
anyone could tell you cheesy pick up lines
but I bet they couldn't show you how to pick yourself up first
and stand tall with your chin up
not letting anything tear you down
why does not one teach others how to keep their head
above water
we can see that everyones vests are defective and they're beginning
to drown, anyone could tell you how to swim in a wave pool
but I bet they wouldn't tell you how stroke against the ocean waves
because they’d rather see you drown than see you
swim to safety, maybe sea shells are the bones of the forgotten
and when we listen to them, maybe its not the ocean we hear,
maybe its the screams of those who weren’t taught how to swim
maybe its the screams of those who's last breath of air was full of
water from the ocean
no one is terrified of the sea anymore
of the past several hundred years
man has conquered every twist and turn
yet somehow 3,533 people die each year
due to drowning, just in the United States
anyone could tell you to wear a life vest
anyone could show you CPR
but who are you to an ocean who has claimed lives for centuries
instead of wanting to be that supermodel or A list celebrity
maybe we should all want to be Poseidon
with an almighty trident

You tell me you’ll never be
A famous dancer—
—or a supermodel

Nor the century’s next
Glorified *** symbol
Frustrated teenagers
Will never visualize
The curves of your *******
As they ruin your cutout
With their discarded spawn

—Tho’ I am not certain
As to why you would frown
Over such a fact

You tell me you want to be famous
And I ask you why
And you don’t know

I ask you what famous even means
And you shrug, not sure yourself
But you still want it nonetheless
You need it to prove
Something you’ll never understand

Like ice cream
For the ego

I’ll ask the entire globe
And still no one will ever know
Why they have this desire
To be worshipped by all
To have a million arms
Catch you as you fall

But you will never need them
For my grasp is stronger
And my devotion is longer
Perhaps it will last forever
And perhaps longer than that, too

You do not need
To master the world
You do not need
To even be great
At a single thing

You are great enough for me
And I will always be
Your number one fan

Just as long as you continue
To be your own
Human being…

there's you
and then there's me.

there's a supermodel blonde you
and then there's average brown me.

there's a hourglass shaped you
and then there's a circle shaped me.

there's a beautiful happy you
and then there's just me.

*-c.a.

I've been listening to the same song on repeat
feeling how ***** my teeth are
and instinctively pointing my aching feet to the wall
sniffling with sickness and sneezing with crap
you still kiss me like I'm your supermodel.

Before the hordes of his extended fashion family descended on Somerset House last night, Sam McKnight was pacing through the two floors of an exhibition of his life as one of the great sessions hairstylists. He stopped in front of a formal British Vogue portrait of Princess Diana, taken by Patrick Demarchelier in 1990. “I put on the tiara and had to make her hair big for it,” he remembered. “But, oh, God, then we had such an amazing day afterward. We were chatting and she suddenly asked, ‘If you could do anything, what would you do?’ And I said, ‘I’d cut it off!’ And she said, ‘Well, let’s do it now!’”

Thus, Diana, Princess of Wales, got the best slicked-back look of her life, the cut that defined her chic, grown-up, independent years—and her cutoff from her marriage. “I didn’t realize at the time,” McKnight said, “but in retrospect, with everything that was going on in the background, she wanted a change.” McKnight, after that, became Diana’s entrusted hairdresser. As photographer Nick Knight puts it elsewhere in the show, McKnight has that general effect on women when he’s working. “When he goes near the girls, they relax.”

It’s a testament to McKnight’s popularity in the magazine and fashion show milieu he has worked in since 1977—nearly 40 years!—that so many (who are sometimes so difficult) cooperated and gave permission, and that Chanel and Vivienne Westwood lent spectacular clothes to illustrate the interpretive cut and ****** of what a great hairstylist contributes. Straightaway, as you step off the street into the exhibition, you’re plunged into the next best thing to a backstage hair-and-makeup station and the kind of frenetic scene that goes on minutes before Chanel, Fendi,Dries Van Noten, or Balmain shows take to the runway. In place of the mirrors there are videos—say, of Kendall Jenner getting her Balmain hair look at a recent presentation—which have been recorded by GoPros worn by McKnight’s assistants. Every facet and every angle of the transformations—sometimes with four pairs of hands working on one girl’s hair—are captured.

From then on in, it’s easy to see how this exhibition will become a magnet for kids who want to experience the atmosphere of fashion and worship at a temple of a sublime hair alchemist. Shonagh Marshall, the curator at Somerset House, has run the numbers on the hairstylist’s Vogue covers, many of which are displayed on a faux newsstand. “Sam has been involved with 190 Vogue covers, which is more than any one photographer, or anyone else over that time,” she reported.

That’s not bad for a Scottish lad, born the son of a miner in 1955, who made his way to being a central team player with photographers and editors in the high supermodel years. Glorious images of Linda Evangelista, Christy Turlington,Cindy Crawford, and Tatjana Patitz abound. “It was a golden era. We were on the road the whole time with Patrick Demarchelier, traveling the world with the same 10 people,” McKnight said, laughing. “We were making it up as we went along, really.”

The massive sweep of the show brings out the important collaborations of his career, with photographers Demarchelier, Knight, Tim Walker, and more; with fashion editors Lucinda Chambers and Edward Enninful; and makeup artists Mary Greenwell and Val Garland. It’s studded with celebrity—Lady Gaga, Tilda Swinton, Kylie Minogue—and honors the spectacular shape-shifting talents of Kate Moss, from her early days as a fresh tousle-haired ’90s teen in love on a beach: “Johnny Depp was there,” McKnight recalled.

There are the moments when McKnight changed models’ fates with short, blonde crops—Jeny Howorth’s in the ’80s and Agyness Deyn’s in the aughts. We see his process, with the hairpieces, wigs, and frizzing techniques integral to creating Westwood and Chanel shows, in both videos and installations masterfully laid out by Michael Howells. Right at the end, there’s a room Howells describes as “Sam the Man,” the walls checkerboarded with pictures of flowers from his garden and the ridiculous varieties of wigs he poses in on his Instagram feed these days. It’s testament to the energy and humor of a talent happily adapted to an industry that is constantly working on the new, in the now; an inspirational treat for all those who remember and for all the many thousands of young eyes that will be opened for the first time by this extravagant journey through one man’s career.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/long-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/vintage-formal-dresses

Her voice was flat, like a barren desert of words and sounds. Her hair was a mess, with millions of different threads and tangles of brown curls. These aren't the things that made me attracted to her; it was her eyes, God her eyes. They gleamed with joy and tenderness and they made me feel like the safest person in the world when i looked into them. She was the most beautiful thing in the world; and I was head over heels in love. Unfortunatly, i was just another person to her. I can't blame her. I'm not the next Einstein; i'm not supermodel; i'm not a millionaire. She is a rare gem and i am just another ordinary rock.

you know what i want to do with my life

is read my poems on radio

and leave more designs on how i can improve the homeless people’s situation

i want to move on from LEAD, unless they help in giving me work on radio

i want to get my art out there, in art galleries

i want to not do work that is pointless to me

i want to be noticed by ellen degenerous

i know i feel like yelling at my head when paranormal voices are forcing me back to LEAD

why doesn’t 2xx let me read on radio, i really want that more than working on some football oval

i am good at that, but i wouldn’t mind talking to people in hospital, like reading my poems

or stories or showing them my art

i want to do volunteer work, in jobs that make the poor people happy

i want my imagination back so i can give ideas of how to improveness homelessness

i am an artisrt a writer, and i can entertain on youtube

i feel better now i am an household name

more people know about the coopers now

and more people know about my life captured in the psych ward

because they are stories i wrote, i want to put my art in exhibitions

as well as find a way to make it in to Hollywood

i want to get paid to host a christmas concert, as long as i have a piece of paper with the headline acts on it, i can do it

i want to have *** with a supermodel, if i can figure out how to do it

i want more out of youtube, like get noticed by someone BIG

one day i want to get paid for going on youtube

i want to be feature act on poetry slam one day, reading selected poems, that’ll be cool

i don’t want to work for LEAD, much, because i can’t understand why they act like kids

i want people to NOTICE ME, i have great ideas

which are

start a mental health TV station

start a arts TV station for free to air TV

A hotel atmosphere for the homeless, in a small run down hotel

giving money to the struggling on the street

please, i am explaining that i help more getting what i want

this is what i want

Green velvety moss blankets sharp edged stones ,
your feminine fancy awaits on the opposite shore with silken legs
befitting a supermodel in Paris .. A Van Gogh brushed smile ,
the eyes of a fawn , waterfall locks of hair baiting your deadly advance
across the crocodile ridden waters , like a wildebeest you splash and trounce the neck high , raging gauntlet , fighting for every breath of air
as you nervously reach the shore , graciously pulled from the river rapids by 'her lover' , the biggest man you've ever laid two eyes on ...

Venus-Intergalactico princess,
Why is Victoria keeping so many ******* secrets?
It's time to let the Gucci cats out of the Louis Vuitton iconic bag,
Sparkling Supermodel? can you walk with your hands swinging behind your back?
Legs up front!
Look left!
Look Right!
Turn around!
now you qualify for first class,

Venus-Intergalactico princess,
in your hologram eyes I see a glamorous savage,
Versace snakes to replace your long hair,
Chanel number 5 the breath you fill up in the air,
Your face made of prada is nothing but expensive art,
When you deeped your fingers into glitter and plunged right through my chest to pull out my leathered heart-
I saw an Angel with Cashmere Wings
wearing a glowing Alexander Mcqueen gown
In Jimmy Choo Shoes,
You looked like a queen with a gigantic crown.

I'm not very good at poetry,
or expressing myself.
I don't always say the right thing,
or anything at all.
Not everybody likes me,
or thinks about me.
My name isn't known by the world,
or reblogged all the time.
I'm not really the best at everything,
or anything really.

But, I'm me.
And to some people that's not good enough.
But, To me,
Its all I really have.

All I really have is myself.
I may not be famous.
I may not be rich.
I may not be a supermodel.
But I'm me.
And that's all I need.

Romance.
I twirl the girl holding my hand
late in the night during one last dance.
***.
The pursuit of the next
woman to get inside your pants.
Beauty.
For example, supermodel ladies
on the runway in France.
Art.
Sh*t coming from the heart,
beautifully made objects and things that impress your friends.
Joy.
Oh boy,
happy things that make you prance.
Sadness.
We wish not to be like this,
when certain things make you downcast your glance.
Free-will.
When you decide what to do, to work or to chill,
unbounded by someone else's demands.
Fate.
Where you leave things like love and hate
up to heavenly chance,
as you wait for things to go your way,
for me, starting today.

Firey red hair,
Blows in the wind,
Without a care,

Are you perfect,
I'm no supermodel,
Though you have the look,
I want,
I envy,
I want to be you,

You get the guys,
Without even trying,
Why does it torture me,
Constantly I'm reminded
Of why I hate myself,

Because you are truly,
Better,
No one even gives me a second glance,
But with you,
They're always in a trace,

Never ending glory,
Flows your way,
And you don't even try,
Why must you be so perfect,
And then brag and boast,
About what most want,
But don't have.

I'll never measure up to you,
Not going to happen,
I won't ever get on your level,
Because I'm not willing to go that low,
No I'll never go as low,
I'm not willing to get on my knees,
Like you do,

I realize,
I don't want what you have,
It's all fixated on lies,
And cries for attention,
You fight for what you have,
But not in a good way,
You try so hard,
To be what your not

I will never be you,
It's all a contest,
A contest I won't win,
Because I'm not willing to try,
To be something I'm not,

I know you and your firey red hair,
Is something I will never be,
And that makes me all the more happy,
I don't want to be someone I'm not,
Even though I'll be considered "hot"
I'll be lying to myself,
And everyone else,
So goodbye to all these faded dreams,
Of what I wanted to be.

There are always going to be talents that you want to have, looks that you prefer over yours, intelligence that you crave, and people that are beyond your grasps. Life will never fall perfectly in your hands and you will never be the ideal person that you imagine in your head. There is always going to be somebody else who you wish you were. But you don’t need all those things to be a good person. You don’t need to know how to deliver prose like melodies or how to write words into stories to realize that kindness is one of the few things you can learn to control. You don’t need to look like supermodels or Photoshop masterpieces to appreciate the fact that no matter your appearance, who you are inside is what counts. You don’t need to be a rocket scientist to understand that compassion goes a long way and you don’t need to have hundreds of friends to know that it’s more important for you just to be one. There are so many things that we wish we could change about ourselves but in the end, none of it will make much of a difference if we cannot say that we are proud of who we are within.
— “Not everyone can be a supermodel but everyone can be a role model