Lebanon Hanover-OOTD- sich verlaufen



“Ich möchte mich mit dir verlaufen, nicht nur Eiskunstlaufen” ( Hall of Ice, ” I want to get lost with you, and not just do figure skating”) is one of the many lines of Lebanon Hanover we shouted into the mob last Saturday. People mostly looked like doppelgänger’s of my mother from the 80s, back when she still had a life worth mentioning, which she makes a regular point reminding me of.

I tried to capture the aesthetic of that evening with my own wardrobe in the following pictures ( since this still aims to be just a fashion blog). But furthermore I’d like to get a little more into my thoughts and feelings of the recent period of time, which oddly does emulate the sense and attitude of that New Wave era.

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Lebanon Hanover in Cologne, taken by a friend of mine who also wrote this amazing german article 

My monthly playlist consists of mostly 80s wave-goth-alien-thecure-vibes , and it followed me along this month sitting at home wondering what’s wrong with my life, making a point to move my ass and see what lies beyond my comfort zone, starting to volunteer at a local youth service, visiting concerts, and perhaps most excitingly acting for a popular TV channel in a crime series.

As I was standing in that white transporter, with a teaser in my hands, in the middle of the night in a forest, a huge camera crew outside that van, waiting for my turn to act out a murder scene, I was holding in for a minute just thinking…what the hell?! September was a month of lingering and the fact that I was standing someplace else than my familiar, suburban supermarket or dog park was just so strange and unexpected. I was doing stuff, I am doing stuff. I’ve met so many new people this month, actually acted along my feeling of being stuck instead of just acknowledging it and feeling sorry for myself and stood in that very transporter waiting to teaser a man and get paid for it, huge TV camera in my face…scary…

I’m not quite sure whether I will keep up with my new found excitement to dare, but it’s nice as long as it lasts. University started again, I’ve passed all my exams and am now hurled back into studying statistics.  It’s always about making the best out of it so I’ve learned. If you’re upset about something, acknowledge it and then find something that stops you from being upset. It sounds super vain, but dramatizing your every move won’t be moving at all.

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S k i r t: Pull& Bear

F i s h n e t  t i g h t s: Carnival shop

B l o u s e: Vero Moda

s c a r f: Zara

E a r i n g s: little boutique in Paris, self-made

s h o e s: Doc Martens

H a t: flea marcet

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a meaningful article on a meaningful topic with a meaningful conclusion

What you are reading here is supposed to be the start of a well thought through article on a meaningful subject of my choice I researched extensively and am now going to present to you in bearable bits and pieces, made sure there is not

too

much text, and that I insert enough

paragraphs, since it is very stimulating for the human brain to keep scrolling in search of new

information, for the thrill of feeling achieved, for the thrill of having read something the author so whole heartedly made sure to remind you off, is surely thought through and therefore not a waste

of

precious, precious time. Leaving you in a cognitive dissonance (“the state of having inconsistent thoughts, beliefs, or attitudes, especially as relating to behavioural decisions and attitude change.” -Google search the first thing that came up) by telling you that time spent on the internet is a waste in itself , especially since I could just so very

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this caption underlines the point this witty collage is making

spontaneously decide to tell you that really, I have nothing to say at all, leaving you with …nothing… but the realization that ‘argh, fuck that author, I have just been tricked to waste 2 minutes of my precious, precious time on here.’. But that I wouldn’t do. Because

I do

have something to say. In fact I’ve been saying it throughout this little journey of wildly adventurously  spread paragraphs. Maybe you’ve missed it, just there..

there

it

was.

 

time warp – flea market lookbook and how to style doc martens

I recently came across the glorious frenzy of flea market shopping. It was a rather small, suburban one in which older people go to sell all their weird possessions their husband can’t see them wearing anymore or is just old and weird. That is usually the style I seem to opt for so me and the old lady’s always seem to establish a magical bond on these events.

Since I got quite sick the past week, where I made big promises for this blog to become somewhat more than its superficial surface (oops) I really tried to cover up my red nose and go without feeling like dying for a solid 10 minutes to shoot this lookbook ( I know you guys all couldn’t live without) .

Everything is either vintage or my actual grandma’s except for the shoes, those are Doc Martens.
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isn’t it rather pointless?

Audrey’s dance is playing in the background and I salute to everyone who knows what I am referring to fellow black lodgers.

I write to you because I’ve been in a weird mindset these days. The past month I’ve spent studying for my end of term exams for uni. I dedicated all my time to it and hence cut back on social inquiries or just what other people would call ‘life’ in general. Every time I am stuck in that automatic mode of just doing, blacking everything else out I seem to fall into a deep self dug hole of nothingness once exams are over and time is available to be spend in freedom.

It seems silly and a little sad to be calling one out as being overwhelmed by time and possibility up to a point where you just sit and stare and do nothing. Yet this seems to be the exact thing happening to me. I am asking myself, well what is it that is missing, what is it that differs life from existence?!

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Am I not alive sitting at home reading, telling my dog one too many times he’s the absolute cutest? Or is it rather that person sitting in their city apartment planning another night out in a sparkly attire and loop earrings?

When do you exist and when do you start living? It’s a phony and rather childish request but still it’s present.

I’ve been offered a job recently and I took it just to turn it down startled by fear of failure and misery. It really hurled me back in time making me realize I really wasn’t over so many things I thought by now I should be. It’s rather embarrassing to post this on the internet but I just want to be honest with whomever on here (hi!). By now I am still too upset to pull wise words out of this incident.

Today I’ve spent almost the entire day reading ” Amityville Horror”, which satisfies my need of 70s horror stories just right. It may keep me occupied enough for a while, occupied enough to not have to face what’s really bugging me. Isn’t it rather pointless telling you all this? I have a few ideas for this blog which I will try working on in the following weeks…until then the crisp air of Amityville will keep me busy.

i’m not physically naked in this

I would like to see myself driving, driving …just the mode of being in motion, the mode of having things around you seem like a big swirled homogenous something.

In my mind some vintage sounding song is playing. A man strumming his guitar just having a good old soliloquy in form of music. Maybe Joni Mitchel is the man I’m thinking of here…it’s close enough.

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I had a run last week, it was already 9 o’clock, a time I usually spent seated in my own comfort zone watching Grey’s Anatomy ( still hasn’t turned sour to me – note to future self, in retrospective it all looks way nastier than it felt like in the moment). The sun was setting. My dog, who had to be forced out of his basket (cause bad habits align) had to be dragged behind me on his leash. I had a run with him, of course he won, he always does, sat on the bench and watched the sunset whilst eating an apple I just picked from the apple tree nearby. I petted his head.

I was looking down onto my hometown. From way up there one can see the house I grew up in. I like to think back on the times I hustled around in a naive, carefree frenzy during this time of the year, when spending the day lying in a field of gras was the most satisfying feeling I could think of.

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The past few weeks I’ve spent studying for my upcoming exams. I feel blessed and grateful everyday when I look at my anatomy poster thinking about just how miraculously this body of ours is set up and composed. I’m fascinated by the human brain, its power, its endless depth, its mystery, its magic.

Today I’ve learned that Oxytocin, synthesized by n. supraopticus and n. paraventriclaris in the hypothalamus is being transmitted during sex equally in women and men, leading the both of them to connect, amalgamate with one another. Yet no equal feelings in consequence.

It all boils down to chemistry.

Evolutionary Theory suggest men tend to polygamy because it increases their chances of personal fitness ( which is all about distributing as many genes to a next generation as possible), they cheat on you, because they can’t help it. Women need to find a loyal man, cause their chances of getting pregnant are limited and they need someone who stays in order to help with the children.

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It all seems to make sense at least in little ways. Of course there are many more opposing theories to all this, and many more factors play a determining role, but isn’t it comforting to have easy explanations at hand such as these?!

At this point I frankly have no clue why I’m telling you all about this. I should have written all this into a diary, but somehow this felt right.

I’m grateful for all I have. I am grateful for all that life gives me, even though I act so selfish and unfair and probably don’t deserve any of this. In the end, when everything seems so highly complicated, twisted and tangled, there is an explanation to this if you look closely enough. And that in itself is comforting.

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an average fashion blog post

As for my current state of mind, it’s wandering. My sense of fashion isn’t really existent at the moment and to be frank, fashion doesn’t bother me much these days (which might be due to the fact that i’m absolutely , terrifyingly broke).

These days I mostly spent my time trying to make believe.

Trying to make believe in terms of cultural heritage, human relations, my emotions and feelings, my actual life. I spare you all the endless and ongoing monologue of me rambling about the lost cause of love in modern age (which I simply refuse to believe is a lost cause).

Instead I’ll indulge in the pleasure of filling this utterly ‘unexciting, superficial, unimportant’ fashion blog with great excitement. Its phoniness and utter uselessness is what made me start one in the first place. Isn’t it nice to have a place where nobody actually even tries to make a point, just ramble, just let all the pretty stimuli drizzle into your brain…?! Fashion can be so much more than that obviously but as I already told you, it’s not for me currently.

So let’s start this picture show you guys came to scroll down on in the first place. Here I’ll basically just post all the input I’ve been saving on my desktop lately. Clothing ideas I am into whenever I feel like dressing up once in a while.

#1 The effortless french person from the 70s and beyonde8cdc509b69efe4f33898f032aff1e09--jane-birkin-style-fashion-hair

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#2 Touch me I’m sick

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#3 mono

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#4 o v e r

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#5 i don’t know how to call this anymore so I’ll just type these words so it doesn’t look like  i am an idiot

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mon coer est fou

 

Last week i had a  particularly strange and ultimately dramatic encounter between Brigitte Bardot, Francoise Hardy or Catherine Denevue and myself.

I cried lying in someone else’s bed. Then I cried in this persons bathtub. It wouldn’t stop. It just happened. It just occurred out of nowhere. This “I’m sad and bored”, this existential lust for love, this ungraspable feeling of lack and longing for more, more, more known from old french films.

This moment reminded me of the bathtub scene in “Le Mémpris”  with Brigitte Bardot. Her whole attitude, her sudden change of mind, her sudden dissatisfaction to real world love and limited access to her “homme ideal”…

Of course it’s been a rediculous attitude of mine and i am totally aware of its cinematic, inauthentic nature, but it just hit heart that night and I’m sure most of us get lost in this hopeless process of hiding away in ideals and illusions from time to time. So this Lookbook is intended to be an homage to those french lovesick girls or just a recollection of my current day to day garment choice.

…with a feeling of wanting more ,  more,  more   in the air …

 

tenue une:

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s k i r t: zara

b l o u s e: flea marcet

s c h o e s: Pleaser

tenue deux:

veryvintage9

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veryvintage11

veryvintage12

s k i r t: Zara

s h i r t: idk stolen from my grandma

c h o k e r: gift ribbon

s h o e s: Pleaser

b a g: flea marcet Buffalo

tenue trois:

veryvintage18

veryvintage23

veryvintage25

s h i r t: zara

s k i r t: American Apparel

s h o e s: Asos

tenue quatre:

veryvintage30veryvinatge27veryvintage26

veryvinate31

t o p: vintage out of my mom’s closet

s k i r t: vintage and authentically bought in paris last year

same shoes and choker