Saturday, Raining, No Plans
It’s the kind of October Saturday where the rain isn’t quite heavy enough to be dramatic but is consistent enough to make going outside feel pointless. The laptop is open.
Somewhere in the algorithm there’s a video of children from the developing world reading "First World Problems" into the camera—kids who have actual problems reciting our complaints about slow Wi-Fi and warm beer. The contrast is brutal in a very deliberate, well-produced way, and it works despite itself. I sat with it longer than I expected to.
Sacha Baron Cohen was apparently developing a film based on Cecil Chao, the Hong Kong billionaire who publicly offered $65 million to any man who could successfully court his lesbian daughter Gigi. The story is so magnificently strange that it barely needs embellishment—it’s already a Cohen script—and I would have paid to see what he made of it.
At some point in the afternoon I remembered I was still in love with Effy Stonem. Not the actress—the character, the specific damage of her, the way she looked at people like she already knew how it was going to end. That feeling hasn’t really gone away since I watched Skins. Probably it won’t.
Fashion week is churning out runway photos where you can see nipples through sheer fabric, because that’s apparently this season’s move. I saved several. This is just what you do.
Pamela Horton—that month’s Playboy Playmate—had publicly identified herself as a League of Legends player, which caused a certain segment of the internet to immediately propose marriage. The combination of attributes on offer was, objectively, not something to be casual about. I understood the enthusiasm completely.
There is a house on a tiny island somewhere—photographs circulating—that sits completely alone, surrounded by water, accessible only by a narrow strip of rock or maybe a boat. Every time I see images like this I run the same fantasy: moving there, writing something worth reading, eating whatever washes up. I never think about where the internet comes from in this scenario.
Denim on denim. Full denim. Head to toe. I’ve been thinking about this more seriously than is probably healthy.