Resistance was Futile

Despite having read all about the finale of Gossip Girl Season 3 on Perez, I still had to watch the horror unfold for myself on a 50 inch screen. So many levels of wrongness. Here's one. 
You may remember me waxing lyrical about how much I love Georgina Sparks, the sly foxy fox of the Gossip Girl cast. Manipulating her way from person to person and leaving nothing but shocked, OMGWTF faces in her wake, she did it all with a steely stare and perfect hair. Until now. 
OH NOOOOOOO! Some Mail Order Bride ate Georgina!
Oh, it was a (completely unexplained) wig. Phew.
Much better. I love her. She personifies glunge (glamourous grunge, natch). And she's got fabulous hair. 
Unlike me. Today I was in a hurry and make a huge mess of my hair. When, considering I hardly have any hair, I manage to make a mess, it's impressive. My hair wants to be free. Its best escape attempt seems to be to stand vertically and try and grab the legs of any passing bird or catch a passing breeze. So the shorter side stuck straight up, and the heavier side? It stuck out sideways. Fail. 
Oh well. 
Hurrah! Back to the reassuring fake rocker days of my yoof. I tread the fine, blurry and insulting line between clueless goth and non-rocking rocker. See, my musical taste isn't sophisticated enough or refined enough to base my styling on a musical genre. I just like black, the gothic (in the literary and artistic sense), and ostentatious silver things. 
Look! CRABS! 
The good kind.
So, in short, I love black tops with interesting, ribcage-like print and funny double sleeves, gothic jewellery, and big dark eyes. So today's lip colouring was a slight stain of Guerlain Rouge (amazing case) or some Chanel gloss, called Futile. See. Logic!

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