So, after many a rejection at clubs by heartless (and incredibly intimidating) bouncers, my 18th birthday is but in a few short weeks. Considering the intense humiliation I have suffered time and time again at the hands of the aforementioned gorilla-looking bouncers who seem to take pleasure in seeing me cower and wimper in fear and resignation, saying that I can’t wait is totes the understatement of 2k12. Like seriously though, you have no idea how excited I am to finally leave behind the very curse of being 17 that has plagued me ever since the day my friends had the naturally God-sent revelation that getting #whitegirlwasted at clubs was obvi the new and hip, go-to activity on a Friday night, every Friday night.
Woe is me tho.
Consequently, to celebrate my imminent evolution into what is commonly called an “adult”, I feel like getting all Rick Ross up in this bitch, and B.M.F like no materialistic, moob-donning rapper ever has. In case you don’t understand what exactly that ghetto-as-fuck sentence means, I wanna spend a shit-ton of ca$h money simply for the sake of spending a shit-ton of ca$h money. In other words, be it for one short day, I wanna live the young money cash money billionaires lifestyle and join the ranks of all the ratchet Gaytineau-folk who proudly wear YMCMB hoodies in public. I shit you not, I wanna be that ratchet all day err’ day (on December 10th only).
Deep, I know.
Frankly, all jokes aside, I want to buy something expensive. Why? I honestly don’t even know. How blowing a considerable portion of the money I work so hard to make as a lowly employee at American Apparel correlates with turning 18 is seriously lost to me. Whatevs tho: I wanna splurge, and never look back. I mean, #yolo, especially on your 18th birthday. Plus, I have my second and last final on my birthday, so that’s an added reason to irrationally spend money all in the name of my post-secondary education. Blowin’ money fast, they say.
Seriously though, #yolo.
One of the potential items on my 18th-birthday-extravaganza shopping list is this truly understated tote from WANT Les Essentiels de la Vie. As a label that I was only recently introduced to after my lovely sister was interviewed for a job at their Montreal “apothecary”, I know little about WANT other than the fact that it is run by two twin brothers who clearly share a passion for classic stylings with subtle hints of “rich-bitch” in the luxe vibez their items inevitably emanate.
As boring as this bag may seem to some, for some peculiar reason, I am still invariably drawn to it. Echoing the nonsensical nature of my desire to throw away all my wannabe-altruistic values and instead spend money like a bored Westmount housewife, I don’t really understand why I lust so damn much for this not-all-that-#totesamaze tote (see what I dun’ did?). I mean, look at it. It’s a black bag that is described as being “trimmed with supple leather” and (wait for it) “outfitted with useful pockets” (hahaha, kudos to Mr. Porter tho), and not much else really. Yet, I still crave for it like a bored Westmount housewife craves moments to get out of her mansion and be seen.
That shit cray tho.
Like I was attempting to explain to my sisters, I think the main reason I get so damn weak in the knees for this tote is totes (see?) because it truly does emit subtle luxe vibez through its sublime minimalism. This is the sort of bag that you can tell costs far much than it is actually worth simply because of how unassumingly simple and plain it is. Because it’s “rich-bitch” plain instead of “basic-bitch” lame, this is the kind of pseudo-exclusive item that only those who know what it is are aware of how cool it is. Or, maybe it isn’t and I’m just a pretentious poser. Psshh, who knows?. Either way, not too long ago, I saw some guy carrying one, and only because I knew what the tote was and where it was from did I envy him and his sprezzatura (look that shit up) so damn much.
If ever you’re one of my parents and are currently reading this, at least you now know what to get me for my 18th birthday! You’re welcome.
Yes, I am posting a song by XXYYXX. Yes, he is only 17 (twinsies!). Get over it. Clearly, by his musical prowess and my obsessive materialism, 17 year-olds are capable of pretty fucking amazing stuff. While I write uninterestingly about how I wanna buy a 210$ tote for my 18th birthday (#keepdreaming), Marcel Everett, otherwise known as XXYYXX, creates some of the most refreshing music currently on the hipster-electro scene. As a master in the use of sublime bass and captivating vocal samples, this guy is legit poised for greatness that already far surpasses his young years. Unsurprisingly, “Witching Hour” does not disappoint. Though I don’t really understand the words that are constantly being repeated, who gives a fuck? This song’s the shit, ’nuff said.
On a completely different level of general awesome-ness lies Bondax, the incredibly talented and young duo from, you guessed it, somewhere in the UK. Coincidentally, both George Townsend and Adam Kaye are 17 years young, a fun fact that simply proves that being underage is clearly the new 25. Bondax specializes in making spectacular songs that sorta represent a more (believe it or not) modern and bass-infused take on chillwave through many a 90’s-R&B-via-rainy-days vibe. Beautiful, to say the least.