Flappers and fidelity


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LADY MARY (smugly, to a baffled Lord Grantham) Your niece is a flapper, accept it.

LADY ROSE (exquisitely thrilled by the fact that she is finally being recognised and accepted for what she is) I am not a flapper!

Meatier than wursts: big long German words


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Linear, Germanic, and impressively gothic in appearance (it’s the ä, the scher and the unfamiliar arrangement of familiar alphabets), the italicised word at the bottom of the page enticed and incited in me what can only be described as a rush of desire accompanied by the urge to gratify it, like a neon sign that blinked Continue reading

The King Is Not Dead


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elvis.jpg‘There’ll never be another Elvis,’ said the old man to the impersonator. But there needn’t be, not when he is survived and granted eternal life by his works, influence, and legacy. Why would we need another Elvis when he is the one and only? The king never died; he is unsurpassable; long live the king.

Can’t buy me love


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“Tell me that you want those kind of things/That money just can’t buy/I don’t care too much for money/For money can’t buy me love”: these are the words of wisdom sang by Paul McCartney on The Beatles’ 1964 hit “Can’t Buy Me Love” which he wrote with John Lennon. They send me soul-searching every time I hear it, and I hear it a lot because A Hard Day’s Night is one of my favourite albums. Continue reading

‘Twas not the fire that burned her


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LADY MARY (with sass masked as cultivated disdain) Lady Edith chose to set fire to her room, but we’re fine.



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Youth is vitality, excess collagen, fluids and oil from our pores. Our restlessness feels edgeless like the galaxy, scary and exciting like exploding stars, new like unopened books.

Youth is arrogance—we act as if we invented sex, and mock the old for their weary bones. But they were once young like us and was it not from them you and I and our parents sprang?

Youth is rage, against our predecessors’ norms, against our parents’ wishes, against the preachers and teachers who know not what it is to be young today no more than theirs did, against our own better judgement.

Youth is power: it is power harnessed from our vitality, arrogance, and rage. We can change the future because it is ours—because, if not us, who?

Henry Winter


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@zxwo ❤️

A post shared by kat irlin (@kat_in_nyc) on

Ladies and gentlemen of WordPress, readers, book lovers, fans of Donna Tartt’s The Secret History: I give you Henry Winter in the flesh.

No, his name is neither Henry nor Winter, and he is far from fictional. He is a model, real name Ivan Kozak (@zxwo), featured in @kat_in_nyc‘s mini music video from which it is unlikely I will ever recover. Continue reading

Toxic comparison: the ugly side of social media


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Phone hot and heavy in your exhausted hand, you scroll down Instagram, the fourth (or is it fifth?) time you have done so in the past hour. You pay close attention to posts by female account holders—they set the standard against which you measure yourself. Some girls make you feel like Princess Buttercup (rare), others a big green stinking ogre (torturously frequent). Some women appear so rich and successful, with their marble apartments and glossy jobs in fancy faraway places like London and New York, that it fills your chest and stomach with a hollow despair faintly resembling hunger. Others have so many followers and fans that thinking about it makes your head spin. On the flip side, some have so little, or post such poor content that you are instantly elevated, in your own twisted head, from poor imposter to plush super-master.

It all comes down to comparison and self-perception, the root of all glee, all unhappiness. And the issue at hand is social media, Continue reading

The loneliest second


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Every year, on the 31st of December, the old year and the new are separated by a flimsy second at 23:59:59. For me, not for as long as I remember but as the years piled on and forced me into the 25th anniversary of my existence with an unrelenting hand, that second is the loneliest, saddest, most hateful out of all the 31,536,000 seconds there are in a year. Continue reading