I'm bitchin' 'bout the rain, just bitchin' 'bout the rain.

April 06, 2017 by Daniela Medina in Fashion, Outfit Inspiration, Style, New York

Tina Turner once sang, “I can’t stand the rain / Against my window,” and I was like, “GURL, WHAT? YOU ARE INSIDE WHERE IT IS DRY. LET’S KEEP OUR PRIORITIES STRAIGHT.”

I hate rain.

You know that thing when a cat is submerged into a body of water against his will, and then he comes out looking fifty pounds skinnier and like a demon who will FUCK. YOU. UP? That’s essentially me all of April, except not fifty pounds skinnier, due to the fact I have to lug fifty extra pounds of waterproof gear everywhere.

If you’ve ever been curious about whether Totes is lying about the indestructibility of their umbrellas, stand with one open in a New York City wind tunnel on a rainy day for a short experiment.

New York is the worst when it rains. Everything smells weird. You probably smell weird. Hair care and beauty routines become, I mean, like—why? Just why? The sight of sidewalk runoff water makes you want to throw up in your mouth, because that shit is a whole lot yellow-red-browner than it should be. The subway becomes its own urban wetland, only instead of marshes and alligators, we have floating Cheetos bags, Slushie cups, and suspect debris, and the strong muscle rats who weren’t washed away by Sandy. And cars are assholes; not the people driving them per se, but the cars themselves, what with the tires, and the puddles, and the splashing.

This city is miserable wet. Rain brings all the inconvenience snow does without the fluffy, beautiful, shuts everything the hell up, magic.

“But, Daniela: April showers bring May flowers.”

IT’S FUCKING NEW YORK. CONCRETE JUNGLE. EMPHASIS ON CONCRETE. I DON’T EVEN REMEMBER WHAT A FLOWER LOOKS LIKE.

Welcome to Struggle World. Like that of the Spice Girls, we also wear a lot of crop tops here. Even in December.

December 09, 2016 by Daniela Medina in Fashion, Outfit Inspiration

I was sitting on my couch the other night, having wine for dinner because I didn’t feel like cooking, when suddenly it hit me: “Man, what a struggle infested life I live. And wow do I love it.”

All that glamour and shit—who has the time or energy? A lot of people, actually, but I am not one of them. Do you brush or wash your hair everyday? Do you remember to eat? Do you go to bed at 11pm and actually fall asleep at 11pm, instead of staying up an additional three hours under the sheets to watch Gilmore Girls, because you missed that boat in the early 2000s due to strict TV-watching household rules, and have always resented it? Yes? You do all those things?

And are you now asking if I’m sweeping basic hygiene, eating, and a respectable amount of sleep under the category of “glamour and shit”? You betcha.

Truly, though . . . my life isn’t anywhere near struggle-infested. An example of the laughable struggle I'm plagued with is one where I'm forced to choose between staying home to drink a $5 bottle of wine alone in peace, instead of a $15+ LES/Village cocktail—of which nearly half will inevitably be spilled when some girl’s purse knocks into it—or if I do venture out, deciding to willingly tack on an extra hour and a half of travel time at 3am by taking the subway home, instead of a surge-priced Uber. Like, come on.

We pick up a lot of weird, arbitrary rules about how to go about our lives from people who are not us, and know nothing about our experiences—have you noticed that? Not to say I’m closed off to suggestions or advice, but I’m definitely not into being told there’s something incorrect about the way I live, particularly if I enjoy it, or if aspects of it are beyond my control: That I most definitely do not have time for.

Just like I don't have time for anyone telling me I should sleep instead of staying up to 2am to find out what happens with this Dean-Jess situation, because excuse me very much, but I'm like a bajillion years behind on that AND I NEED TO KNOW.

Zara crop top; H&M skirt; Uniqlo socks; Prabal Gurung for Target flats; Tucum necklace; Vintage belt

And here I am feigning warmth, because apparently functioning heat in my apartment was optional.

POWER THROUGH IT!!! HUZZAH!!!

Pretending to be model-y/artsy, but really just listening for pipes that sound like they're about to burst, as an indication the radiator is working.

So maybe if I take my hair like this . . . and wrap it around my neck like this . . . it's like my own hand knit scarf. My own human hair, hand knit scarf. My own dirty, dry shampoo infused, human hair, hand knit scarf. Regrets about not buying that space heater in 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . .

WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS, AN ARCTIC
BIO-DOME?

Global Thanksgiving.

November 24, 2016 by Daniela Medina in Fashion, Outfit Inspiration, Style

Ah T-Day. Good 'ol T-Day. At this time last year, I was living it up at a Brazilian BBQ in Rio. Sound swank? It's not, I nearly vomited afterwards because I constantly forget I'm not a 200-pound man.

A few months later, that same city would play host to the world's most respected global sporting event, the Olympics. It's the same city where Simone Biles and Katie Ledecky would shatter records, and Ryan Lochte would decide to make the expression, "Jeah!" all his own—leaving Mexicans worldwide, including myself, lamenting, "Damn, that shit was trademark-able??? Coulda BEEN gettin' that paper!"

It's also the city that premiered the first ever Refugee Olympic Team.

We're told to imagine the world as a very big place, leaving some of us who are less adventurous and unwilling to deal with the extraordinary, secluded in our comfort zones. But it's actually rather small, the imaginary borders created in our heads and on maps blurred into nonexistence. So while we spend this day giving thanks for what we have, it's also important to remember why we're able to do that: where have the good things in our lives come from and why. The boundaries we create for ourselves and the world are usually physical manifestations of the walls of thought erected in our brains, segmenting us into convenient little groups to battle it out for resources, rights, and privilege. But we are not so separate as we would like to believe ourselves to be. Earth, after all, is home for everyone.

So on this day of thanks, express gratitude for the abundance in your life. Go all out. Shout it from the rooftops. Then do everything in your part to help other people live a life where they can do the same.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.

Forever 21 bomber; H&M button-up dress; American Apparel skirt and belt; Uniqlo socks; Zara boots; Housing Works necklace

The Ghosts of Fast Fashion Past.

November 18, 2016 by Daniela Medina in Fashion, Style, Outfit Inspiration

There's been a lot on my mind lately. Which is unusual for me, and now my brain hurts! Ha! Just kidding, I have a PhD in overthinking things. Want to mess up a situation that's totally fine by letting an overactive brain wreak havoc on it? I'm ya girl.

However, with politics playing so heavily on the forefront, I have, truly, been ruminating on quite a lot. One issue that's been haunting me specifically is that of planet Earth's health.

I'm a pretty big offender of fast fashion. Obviously this blog is a testament to that. Like the majority of the population, I make my purchases at Forever 21, Zara, H&M, ASOS, and so on and so forth, because it's what I can afford: I don't have sponsors or endorsements for my blog posts, so everything I buy comes straight out of my pockets. It adds up! I tell myself that I don't throw everything out immediately (in fact I hang onto clothes and accessories for years), so it's not that bad . . . but isn't it? The fact remains, all the negatives that took place to produce the commodities I bought still occurred, whether I throw them out immediately or not.

So I've been looking a lot at thrift and consignment stores. I mean, I always have, but even more so these days. A lot of folks get an ick factor at the thought of trying on, let alone purchasing and bringing home, clothing that has been owned by a stranger, and I get that, but I also really think not ruining the world is just way more pressing. See, there's this invasive theory I suspect many individuals have: they're "just one person," so what harm can they really do? What's a gum wrapper on the street here, or a long shower there? What's a three dollar shirt here, or a fifteen dollar pair of shoes there? Really, what's it going to do? After all, they're just one out of an estimated 7.4 billion people. The problem is, when you get 7.4 billion people who think the same way, you're doing the math wrong: it's not one out of 7.4 billion, it's one times 7.4 billion.

You see where I'm going here?

Zara coat and shoes (thrift store purchases); H&M top (thrift store purchase); Noir earrings (thrift store purchase); American Apparel belt; Hanes sports bra; Giorgio Armani skirt (freaking thrift store purchase!)

Mrs. Clinton, if you're nasty.

November 02, 2016 by Daniela Medina in Fashion, Style

I think we all know what's at stake these next few days.

I wanted to jokingly say something dumb about The Bachelorette just now, but I don't watch that show and don't even know if it's currently on the air, so let me cut to the chase. By this time next week, we will have a new President of the United States. Which is terrifying to think about, because whoever gets the status of POTUS, also inherits the Twitter handle, and I don't know about you, but I'd be perfectly happy to never hear from a certain presidential candidate on Twitter ever again.

But let me not be coy about this, because I'm for Hillary Clinton, and I want to take a minute to appreciate her—not as a presidential candidate, but as a woman. In every presidential election there will always be accusations, conspiracy theories, and propaganda thrown against the contenders, but I don't think anyone can legitimately take away what Hillary Clinton has accomplished. First, let me clarify that I don't agree with her 100%. I'm not sure if I even agree with her seventy-five, or fifty percent. She's not perfect in the least. She's messed up pretty significantly. She doesn't come off as the easiest person to warm up to; but then again, one can only imagine why that is. I don't suppose thirty years in American politics as a woman transforms one into a sugarcoated teddy bear. Can we take a minute to consider what it must have been like then? What it must be like now? Can any of us imagine the pressure? And after we have, can we take a minute to appreciate that HRC is what grace looks like under it?

In high school, I nearly failed a public speaking course because I wouldn't stop staring at the ceiling while trying to explain how to make cookies that required only three ingredients. Three. In a class of twenty students. Because I couldn't handle looking at their faces. Because I was afraid to catch them making fun of my three-ingredient cookies. I'm sure we've gone over this before, but people fear public speaking more than death. And yet we want to rag on a woman who not only has to publicly speak every day in front of thousands, if not millions, of people who will find every reason under the sun to crucify her, but also has to enact controversial policy, deal with crises, meet with world leaders, smile while she's doing it, AND be female? In a country that is notoriously sexist?

WOMAN, COME ON.

H&M peplum blazer; Forever 21 skirt; Zara velvet booties; Banana Republic curb necklace; Nasty Gal ID necklace.

2/26/16

February 26, 2016 by Daniela Medina in Style, Fashion

For show.

I'm the world's laziest person, which might hint at what my apartment looks like: heaps of clothes + hating to clean + somehow always being tired = what the fuck happened here. Thorough cleanings of my space are usually reserved for special occasions, which means they are just for show. I am not naturally tidy or organized.

When speaking about things that are just for show, the practicality of fashion is something that often comes to mind. Take, for example, the shoes paired with this outfit. What purpose do their heights serve? I can't think of anything other than it makes them look cool. Their architecture, like the cleaning of my apartment, is just for show. However, the problem with saying that anything is just for show—shoes, an apartment, whatever—suggests a negative implication of superficiality, in that were it not for the approval of others their purpose would cease to exist. And yet, there are days when I wear clothes like this and do not leave the house. There are days when no one is expected at my place, and I spend hours restoring its glory. It is misleading to say that any action an individual partakes in is merely "for show," because sometimes "for show" is directed at the most important audience: you, yourself, and you again.

Mango jacket; Primark triangle necklace; Nasty Gal copper necklace; J. Crew linen tee; Boohoo pants; Converse hi-tops.

2/25/16

February 25, 2016 by Daniela Medina in Fashion, Style

'Cause we are living in a digital world, and I am a digital girl.

I created my Facebook account my sophomore year of college, in 2005. Facebook was fairly new at the time, years away from the bells and whistles it has now. It was really more like a glorified AOL profile that I would remember to check, maybe, once a week.

Let me repeat that: Once a week.

Guys, there is no longer a digital action that I partake in weekly—I barely escape hourly. This is both by choice and requirement. There are the usual addictions like Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr . . . to be honest I don’t really understand Snapchat, but the app is installed on my phone anyway . . . that I should know better than to indulge, but do regardless. But then there are the inescapable ones, like emails, calendar and event notifications, meeting reminders, virtual work training, Skype calls, FaceTime dates, and on and on and on. There are days when I literally go straight from my work computer to my home computer, with the only pause in between serving for the commute. I live in a digital world, a virtual reality. We all do.

And we’re more and more immersed in technology everyday. By now we’ve all seen that video of the robot whose creator has a death wish, and it begs the question, just how much more drastically are our lives going to change? When will the Internet become Skynet? When will our existence shift into an Orwellian universe? When are the Predators coming? Where are the Digimon? When will I get my hoverboard that is actually a damn hoverboard?

And most importantly, when will Siri stop being such a snarky little biotch? Damn, can’t ask that girl anything.

Zara coat and jumpsuit; Tucum seed necklace; J. Crew flower necklace; Converse leather sneakers.

2/24/26

February 24, 2016 by Daniela Medina in Fashion, Style

Little House on the Prairie.

“Prairie” being New York, and “Little House” being my approximately 450 sq. ft. apartment.

The New York real estate game reminds me of what it must have been like to adhere to the rules of the wild wild west: no one giving a flying fuck! Man, it is a free-for-all that will truly test where you find yourself in the battle of survival of the fittest. I'm one of the lucky New Yorkers who inherited my current apartment from a friend, and I have since decided that I will only leave once the landlord drags my stinking, rotting carcass out of the building. Mostly because I just have too much shit in there, and the idea of moving it all hurts my head and my heart.

But, also because this apartment is the first I’ve truly considered a home that is mine and mine alone. No, I don’t own it (ha!), but it's the first piece of property that reflects my personality entirely; that apartment is me. I have lived in it, decorated it, styled it, and organized it myself. I’ve been heartbroken in it, fallen back in love in it, defeated in it, and then successful once more. It is messy, and then clean, and then messy again. It has been the beneficiary of my time and effort, which, albeit may not always be a lot, has still been my own contribution, motivated by none other than myself. And that’s a big deal, especially here in New York where it’s more common than not to have one or several roommates. When I moved here and realized what the rental situation was, I never dreamed I’d be able to manage living on my own some day.

Yet that’s the magnificent and frustrating wonder of this unpredictable city: out of nowhere, some day came.

AllSaints denim button-up; Zara faux leather skirt; Converse leather sneakers; Ribbon I found somewhere.

2/19/16

February 19, 2016 by Daniela Medina in Fashion, Style

Stupid phrases.

Gender roles are a curious thing. The concept of adhering to such rigid divides is something that bothers me perpetually, because who, really, determines what is masculine and what is feminine? I've never considered myself to be completely female of mind, though I have the genitalia and organs that would make me so. But I do view myself as a woman physically, and I am attracted to men.

But aren't people so much more complicated than saying quite decidedly, "You have a vagina, you like the peen, vis a vis you are a full-bodied woman"? I am a full-bodied woman, and yet, a part of me is very male. What, then, of someone telling me to act like a proper lady? I've never considered myself anything but, female-male divided mind and all. And what of someone of a more effeminate persuasion—who has never seen himself as anything other than a man—being told to man up? Is he not that already?

And don't even get me started on non-human identities; I'm pretty sure that overall, I'm actually a Slow Loris. If you don't know what that is, you need to stop reading this and get to googling.

Zara coat and pants; Uniqlo tee and tie; Topshop brogues

2/5/16

February 05, 2016 by Daniela Medina in Fashion, Style

I just really like crop tops.

Listen: I don't care if I have a six-pack or look like I obviously just ate an entire Thanksgiving turkey by myself, nothing feels so good as letting that belly hang out. First of all, I sweat a lot. Which is fine by me, I honestly don't give a fuck (oh hai), EXCEPT after running through crowded sidewalks and squishing into subways all day: by the time I get home my shirt is uncomfortably damp. BUT with crop tops my torso is out in the breeze!

. . .The 30-40 degree breeze, because I'm writing this post in February! So. . . I'm going to backtrack a bit and venture to say that if you share the same enthusiasm I have for crop tops, that we all wait until spring—at the earliest—to fully show it. Or if you couldn't give two shits and have a thing for belly bite, do you.

Zara top

J. Crew belt

Talbots pants

Loeffler Randall slipons

World Market necklace

2/4/16

February 04, 2016 by Daniela Medina in Fashion, Style

Always complaining.

A true vice of mine is the habit I possess of complaining about everything, even jokingly. Recently I considered an anecdote I was told as a child, used in that case to discourage explicit language. It told the story of a young man who took to sprinkling his dialogue with curse words every now and then, offending old and young alike. When his father approached him about it, the adolescent retaliated stating, "But, Pop, it's just a little bit—what harm could it possibly do?" And the dad was like, "You're right." Then, supposedly, the dad went into the back yard and DUG UP some age-old dog poop, BAKED IT into brownies, and OFFERED IT to his son. Just as the son was about to take a bite, the dad warned, "OH BTW, I put some dog poop in there. But just a little bit—what harm could it possibly do? Also, this is normal parenting." Anyway, it was supposed to be some kind of metaphor that didn't work for me, because I use profanity all the fucking time.

HOWEVER, coming back to it years later, it did make me think about this bad little tendency I have to complain. I've noticed that complaints are kind of like that dog shit, in that no matter how little and seemingly innocuous they may be, they taint situations and make them lesser. So I'm trying to cut way back. I mean, I'm a hella cynical and negative person, so that's going to be extremely hard for me, but . . . .

Ah shit. Whatever, goals.

Zara top and skirt

H&M collar

Puma sneaks

2/3/16

February 03, 2016 by Daniela Medina in Fashion, Style

I don't iron jack shit.

There are certain tasks whose fulfillment you recognize will only help you in the long run—tasks that, perhaps, take no longer than five minutes to accomplish, and whose payoffs exceed the invested effort. And yet, to have someone ask you to complete them is on par with it being requested that you launch yourself to the moon using the sole propulsion of your farts: it's just not going to happen. Unless you're a super genius who works for NASA and has invented a technology being kept from the rest of the world, in which case, shame on you.

Ironing is such a tedious chore for me. But really, how long does it take to de-wrinkle a garment? Not that long. And how much more professional and with it do you look as a result of doing so? Like, a whole lot more. Nevertheless, my reaction to being asked to iron something is the same as a puppy rebelling against a leash while thinking, "Fuck this right now," and then laying down to take a nap on the sidewalk. Ask me to iron something, and I will lay down on the floor to nap instead. Like that little girl on the beach, because she gets it.

Inhabit slip dress

Zara long poplin shirt and necklace

Alberta Ferretti kitten heels

1/28/16

January 28, 2016 by Daniela Medina in Fashion, Style

Morocco.

When I was twenty I studied abroad in Madrid for six months. Obviously the natural thing to do in my stay was visit Morocco, only a couple of hours away by plane. Morocco is a magical place with the friendliest people. Between the colors and the spices, the terrain and the poetry of Arabic floating in and out of the medinas, it's no wonder the country has captivated the fascination of so many. I left it feeling inspired and moved. For me there was a calm mysticism that pervaded every place and situation, and indeed there are some days now—when the sky is at its most piercing blue—that I look up at the sun and remember Morocco immediately, feeling peace resonate through the golden shimmer of clouds.

Gap bralette

Betsey Johnson denim vest

Zara pants

Banana Republic necklace

Loeffler Randall mules