thelxiepeiaa666

[thelxiepeiaa666]

After However Fucking Months I am Back

I made it onto Vogue, WWD, and every damn site that showcases fashion students.

And yet—I feel like nothing.

I spent three months making a single dress. Three months. Thousands of hours. Over $1500 on fabric alone. Not to mention the sleep I never got back, the meals I skipped, the nights I stayed up until 3AM after clocking out of someone else’s dream just to keep mine alive. I put everything into it. My time. My body. My mind. And still, when it came down the runway—black silk, lace headpiece, everything perfect—I didn’t even get a name on the video.

They forgot me.

People say they love it. Strangers stop me. Vogue wrote my name.

But it doesn’t stick. None of it does. Because I don’t feel proud—I feel empty. Like I gave all I had and there’s still nothing left to hold onto. What does it mean to succeed if it doesn’t feel like it? What does it mean to be “recognized” if you don’t feel seen?

I’m tired of fighting to feel real. Tired of begging to feel like I’m enough.

But here it is anyway. The dress. The work. The pain.

Maybe now I can finally talk about it.

[thelxiepeiaa666]

Before I go to sleep

Dennis Basso Store opening on Madison Ave. Dec 6, 2023

About a year ago, I got invited to the Dennis Basso store opening. A room packed with obscene wealth. And yes, that’s fucking Martha Stewart. She’s an absolute sweetheart, by the way. If you haven’t seen her Netflix documentary, you’re seriously missing out.

People think events like this happen all the time in the city, but let me tell you—they don’t. And when you do manage to step into that circle? Being weird is your safest bet. Rich people are boring as hell. They need new shit to look at just to feel alive. Imagine your days blending into the same dull routine. Wouldn’t you be fucking bored too?

I miss those nights. Now I’m here, sitting with my thoughts, spiraling about the future. What can I bring to people’s lives? How do I grab their attention without selling my soul? Where do I even want to end up when this is all over?

Truth is, I don’t fucking know. And that’s fine. This account is where I start figuring it out—showing my life, reflecting on it, untangling the mess. It’s something I haven’t done in ages.

~By the way, I made her top in the last photo.

[thelxiepeiaa666]

Letterboxd

I am one of those people now. You can now guess what goes into my creepy little mind.

[thelxiepeiaa666]

I saw you followed me and commented one of my posts and I enter your profile, and you're the coolest person to ever step on earth, I'm like this:

awwww thank you! I am definitely not that cool. <3

[thelxiepeiaa666]

Surrealism in the modern age

ignore my fucked up nails. Magazine: A Magazine Curated By Photography: Paul Kooiker https://paulkooiker.com/

I know, I’ve posted three times today. Don’t ask me how I feel about that—I don’t even know. But I couldn’t stop thinking about Paul’s work. School starts again at the end of January, and I know I need to start designing soon. I didn’t want his work to slip from my mind.

I’ll be honest—I don’t read. Like, at all. But the other day, I ended up at Barnes & Noble, like I always do, wandering into the “Women’s Interest” section. (Who the fuck came up with that name? It’s stupid.) Anyway, I have this magazine shopping addiction that I’ll probably confess to one day.

This almost $50 magazine caught my eye, though. What hooked me was Paul Kooiker’s photography. When I think of Surrealism, I think of horny freaks obsessed with sex. And I still do. But after taking an Avant-garde film class, I’ve begrudgingly given them my respect.

My gripe is this: we’re so obsessed with the work of the past that we ignore the brilliance happening right now. Paul’s work proves there’s still space for something interesting and meaningful in today’s world.

If you want a quick intro to his work and Surrealism in general, check out this article from Photograph magazine: https://photographmag.com/portfolio/paul-kooiker-fashion/. It’s a solid primer, though I hate the phrase “anti-fashion” in the title. Anti-fashion is still fashion—don’t overthink it. People are so weird.

[thelxiepeiaa666]

Here is another illustration of mine

[thelxiepeiaa666]

New Year

Sketch on the left- Steven Stipelman  Big ass Sketch on the right- Mine 

It’s midnight.The ear-splitting crackle of fireworks fills the air. People are with their friends, their families, their lovers. Happiness, wtf is that? You know what I’m doing? Fucking drawing. Alone. Three years of this same sad shit.

Any minute now, my father—this guy who talks about wanting me to succeed but never actually shows up—will call to wish me a happy new year. Same hollow bullshit as always.

Maybe it started with my ex. She jetted off to the Caribbean while I sat at home, staring at the phone, waiting for her to remember I existed. New Year’s has never been happy for me. Hell, I can’t even stomach my own birthday.

I don’t like sharing my work—I hate the fake compliments—but fuck it. My feelings are all over the place, so here it is. Long story short.

[thelxiepeiaa666]

Eris' Closet

We made a new Community I guess.

[thelxiepeiaa666]

We Shot at some rich ass hotel Elevator in the City