Not in Kansas Any More
[Dress: ASOS (last year) | Shoes: Charlotte Russe (ancient) | sunglasses: eBay]
These aren’t the best photos of me ever taken, partly because direct sunglight + feet-concealing-grass does not the best outfit photos make, but also because I’d let my hair air-dry that morning, and to say it ended up flatter than a pancake would be an insult to flat pancakes everywhere. They’d be all, “Hey, what’d WE do to deserve that comparison, bitch?” and they’d be right. Sorry, flat pancakes.
I think they’re amazing photos of Rubin, though, and they also bring back lovely memories of a sunny Saturday afternoon spent at the first barbecue of the summer, so I think I’ll keep them. Even although this one totally looks like it was shot in a portrait studio, in front of one of those cheesy painted backdrops:
“It… kind of reminds me of the Wizard of Oz,” said Terry, when he looked back at it. I’m not sure if it’s the combination of blue dress + small dog, or whether it’s because it looks, you know, totally FAKE, but I see what he means. All I need is a scarecrow and a tin man and I’ll be all set.
So, either you believe me that this is a real photo, and that all I’ve done to it is to crop and re-size it: no Photoshop whatsoever. OR, this photo is totally fake, which means EVERYTHING about this blog is probably fake, and I’ve been lying to you all along. In that scenario, you can’t believe a word I say from now on, because I’m actually a balding, middle-aged man called Clive, and my secret is OUT. I mean, that’s NOT the case, obviously. If it was, I wouldn’t have given myself flat, and yet strangely frizzy, hair in these photos.
It made you wonder, though, didn’t it?