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Sex&City Fashion Bible or just a series
From the perspective of a being a coffe-bar-maid-back in the days-years back.
Feeling like a Carrie.. Sex and the City, a bible for women over the world ore just another tv-series. Carry it out with style, have a high pitched laugh, 'not watching the wristwatch for a whole day' sort of thing and simply enjoy life in a fashionable sense, killer shoes and a ready to wear catwalk back home. Well, I wanted and still want to laugh like that, hang out with 'grilfriends' and really, really live it up. But reality hits and the bills have to be paid, the hair isn't georgeus curly or wonderful straight and finding trendy outfits with a skinny wallet and not enough courage to make the street 'my runway' I'm putting another DVD in the laptop instead, dreaming away with a lot of 'what if's' instead.
I started watching the series when I was sick, laying at home and just piling up paper in the waist basket. Feber and slightly red and swollen from the annual winter virus. After a few hourhs of non stop watching I've suddenly started to feel better. Glanzed across the gloomy room towards my messy wardrobe and all the old knitted sweaters. I wanted to make a statement, was it just me beeing sick and half crazy ore did I just feel like actually make a change in what I was wearing. Put on some rouge and start to stand out, get some attitude back. Not wanting to be over confident, only a friendly remark that I cared about my apperance. So not just a brave colour, it was everything from fitting to Carries unique looking garments, pearls and fashionsense. Items that was so tailored and beatiful that they where worthy in hanging on the wall. Maby a spotlight and then, voila..the best painting in my pale apartment. After a few days spending with the whole series,making theese superstars my best friends, watching Samantha, Chalotte, Miranda and Carrie chasing love and labels to then talk deeply about the fundaments of life and I felt well again.
Monday and ready to face the rain and the winter storms outside I put slightly pink lipgloss on, curled up my bleached hair and found a creamy vintage top, on with a bold brosch worn out jeans and a pair of boots. Felt like a movie star walking towards the subway and even the first hourhs at work. Then it dawned on me, I don't live in New York. The big, really big apple. Just a smaller capitol in the world, a capitol where grey is the new black not time to sneak out with three cool girlfriends drinking Cosmopolitans in neonbars in some old looking street called Fifth and Broadway, Avenue or West End. I was just a clerk, not a writer even if I sometimes wrote signs stating "product of the week" or "half price". I wanted to sigh dramatically behind the computer screene, not the chunky stationary one (thoose things are important to) it should be a white apple Ibook, or a babypink Sony Vaio. I should, according to my 'Carrie life' dream off while the leafs are falling outside the french looking window of my old apartment. Certanly wearing a gold coin on a thin chane around my model neck, Vera Wang hanging, sloppy on my shoulders and a few "real" Dior bags carelessly thrown into my walking closet. Instead wearing a red pike top, arms swelling out, coffestained and washed out, reading Fashion Magazines from Tobacco stores near the Subway doesn't count from actually being in it. But still, 'I don't go to church I'll still like to 'read' the Bible...'
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