Whenever I have a nightmare, whenever I dream and it feels horrible – I wear something colorful the next day. It is supposed to drive gloomy, black thoughts away. They follow me nevertheless, these faithful shadows – perfect simulations of this fragile body of mine.

 I will never teach anyone how to be a woman in four easy steps or how to look effortlessly chic, no. I can’t give ten tips for dating or losing or gaining weight or matching your shoes with your jacket. I will not  preach about being a real man either , but some people do.

I just put on a pink shirt and some socks, patent leather shoes and smile while people who read those glossy, we-know-better-magazines stare in disapproval. I open my coat as wide as possible, so that they can see the entire ensemble – shirt – bright yellow vest – mauve skirt – mauve stockings – crazy woolen socks – the sunglasses – the boyish haircut – proudly wearing my body like it belongs to no one else – and during those glorious moments, trust me, it belongs entirely to me.

Confession – I have dreamed to be on the “worst dressed” section of every style magazine in the world ever since I saw Björk on it. It seemed unfair at that time,
but then I realized that she belonged there, along with many of  the people that deserve my respect.

So give me your “worst dressed” and I shall bathe in their clothes, in their minds, in their souls and I shall forever fill the world with their dreaded existence.

Listen to My Brightest Diamond

Photos by Ionut