| Travel |
| Travel |
Almost two weeks into our multi-city vacation, I turned to my boyfriend and asked if he was homesick. He nodded. That was 20 minutes before we landed in Marrakech.
At 5pm where the magic hour descends, we checked into La Sultana where we were lavishly enthroned upon their rooftop lounge pads with a winning view of the hazy Atlas Mountains. I found a quick second to pinch myself. We were hosted in one of the exclusive five riads within the Kasbah.
This time, while he bit into his first taste of Marrakech, a nutty filo pastry, he pondered and proceeded to end his foolish thoughts with a smirk, "This is home."
| Outfit |
In my early twenties, I've certainly learnt two things (or three): 1) Don't give a damn. 2) Repeat point above.
I'm not saying this is what people call "Parisian Chic", neither is this my way of saying that you could hang a Céline trio on your bare shoulders and get away with looking like a class act at the Versailles. Should you go by this rule, you've got some serious reflection to do. Pun unintended.
If Stella McCartney could serve up a soulful assembly gliding in comfort wear which juxtaposes the Palais Garnier interior, why not? No, seriously [divy hair flick]. The balancing beam theory rings for I have the chandeliers, marbled interiors, and gold to luxe up for me.
Wherever you are- 3) In some way, style must reflect a form of comfort. Even if you know you will be slapping through a daunting throng of tourists with your lob because that's really how you doll up here.
Ba dum tss.