Bones Like Iron. Blood Like Mercury.

(via the sartorialist)

I got a copy of her notes. Here they are, unedited:

1. Ugh, another ‘presentation’. What happened to seeing the clothes move down the runway. Where’s the sense of drama and movement? This is like a gauche mime convention or something. 
2. If one more adult asks me “How’s school going?” I’m gonna punch them in their goddamn smug faces. I don’t go around asking adults “Hey, how’s the job? What’s it like to be defined by what you do for a living?” Ask me about my thoughts on your mediocre magazine, I’ve got plenty of notes for you. 
3. How’d all these bloggers get in here? I mean, really? I’m the style and fashion editor at Highlights and Ranger Rick Magazine, I don’t give a fuck about your blogspot ramblings on how every man needs a pair of leather boots in his life.
4. Sidenote: capsule collection with Lisa Frank needs to happen. Get agent on this asap. 
5. All these people clicking away on their smart phones. What happened to hand written notes like mine? What happened to the romance of being a writer?
6. While the presentation offers some great, classic silhouettes, it’s all starting to become a tad redundant. Some touches of Bastian, a flirtation with Watanabe, a heavy dose of Ralph Lauren, I mean, these young designers shouldn’t be afraid to branch out into some more experimental territory. We all know the designer of today is standing on the shoulders of giants, no need to make your influences so transparent. 
7. Where’s that intern with my fucking Capri Sun?

(Source: tinaratedtinaapproved, via howtotalktogirlsatparties)