Let’s Get Personal

I haven’t written anything substantial for a while, mostly because something about winter consistently renders me incapable of forming coherent sentences.

So fuck it. Fuck coherence.

The following is the result of an attempt to document as much of my thought as I could in fifteen minutes — unedited and abundant in stream-of-consciousness-ness.

I think I’ve entered a normcore phase, and it’s probably a subconscious way of seeking some sort of a normal teenage life, where I do things like go to the movies or loitering around shopping centres. I own three hoodies now, and I’ve stopped cuffing my jeans, and sometimes I wear black socks that you can see. I look like I work at Apple, and it’s weird and I like it but I also want to be that cool guy who works in fashion and always looks polished and refined but still really, really cool. In my pursuit of a regular teenage life, I’ve realised that ‘growing up’ — that hazily-defined stage where you start to place a greater importance on relationships and emotions and you start doing things behind your parents’ backs — is pretty fucking confusing. Everything about it is overwhelmingly exciting or overwhelmingly underwhelming, and I’m on a violent emotional roller coaster ride that makes me want to curl up into a ball and binge watch House of Cards instead of get shit done.

Speaking of, I have a lot of shit to do. So. Much. Shit. School starts in a week, and I still have to start on a stack of work that I’ve been putting off to pursue that normal teenage life.

Everything goes back to trying to be normal. Repressed sexuality? Being semi-closeted is fucking shit. It’s the root of most of that confusion, I think. I want to be able to say “Hi mum, hi dad, I like boys, I’m probably going to pursue some sort of more-than-friendship with one in the near future” but it’s just so much easier to say “I’m seeing [female friend] for lunch” when I’m really pursuing said more-than-friendship in secret. YAY LIFE IMITATING ROMEO AND JULIET. I DON’T WANT TO FUCKING DIE. YAY RELATIONSHIPS. Those are fucking weird too. I can see the appeal, I realise that they’re nice, but good ones look like very time-consuming things to maintain. Once again, the curling up and binging House of Cards idea sounds pretty good.

I just remembered that thing that I think Lady Gaga said about pop music being a “masturbatory experience”. I love wanker-y statements like that, because they’re always so true. Whenever I hear things like that or read articles that express a very obvious yet genius perspective I always wish I’d come up with the idea first, and then everything I do for the next couple of weeks is always inspired by that genius perspective, and then I start to feel like I’m just plagiarising, and so I hit a massive wall and I’m out of ideas and I end up doing things like this, which don’t ever see the light of day but this time I’m forcing myself to hit publish, even if I end up deleting the post an hour later.

Someone was meant to call me tonight, but I think they forgot. Or they’re still busy. It’s only seven, and they did say “tonight” so they’ll probably call later. Probably when I’m trying to get that schoolwork done.

I feel like everything in my life right now can be summed up by some sort of dichotomous struggle. (I just realised this is a really, really, really narcissistic post — sickeningly so.) The struggle between maturity and youth, between constant sarcasm and momentary seriousness, between the exhausting act of being individual and the easier route of just conforming to whatever works, between work and leisure… yada yada.

I’m 16. That’s pretty young. I’ve still got years and years and years of my life to worry about, and to live out, and eventually I’ll be 60 and I’ll read this and laugh at myself and struggle to remember that I ever even felt like this, and I’ll feel different then, and I’ll have my own problems then, and it’ll be another new experience. Right now I think nobody ever really ages, and everyone is just a child who adapts to seem somewhat mature, but on the inside we’re all infants who just want security and comfort and to not have to worry about providing those personal needs. Seeking external validation is horrible, but that’s all I want right now. FUCK YEAH INSECURITY. FUCK YEAH PUBERTY. FUCK YEAH GROWING UP. LIFE IS GREAT. I’M NOT CONFUSED AND UNSURE OF WHAT I’M WRITING ABOUT RIGHT NOW AT ALL. NOTE SARCASM IN LAST SENTENCE.

FORTY SECONDS LEFT

I realise this entire exercise is just narcissistic and self indulgent and everything I despise, and way too personal and poorly written, but I needed to get something down before I felt like I could never write anything again. I’ll probably come up with something decent to replace this post soon enough.

Bye.

Ultraviolence

If you’re not looking to read this post in its entirety, know this: Lana Del Rey is really, really, really fucking good, and so is her latest album.

When Lana Del Rey first came into the public eye with ‘Video Games’, I was immediately drawn to her unique, bitchface-bountiful aesthetic. When she came out with ‘Born To Die’, I was hooked; it was a record, from start to finish, of beautiful, cinematic songs that carried a distinct aesthetic, unlike anything else at the time. Then she took an interesting turn — and perhaps this was what she’d wanted to do all along — to a darker place. With songs like ‘Yayo’, which forms a contrast in the beauty of its music and the insidious nature of the lyrics, Del Rey progressively built up to her latest feat, ‘Ultraviolence’.

‘Ultraviolence’ is dark, as one would expect from its title borrowed from ‘A Clockwork Orange’, but the extent of that darkness is only truly revealed after a few listenings. The album’s title track features some of the most disturbing lyrics Del Rey has written, including my personal favourite: “He hit me and it felt like a kiss.” Other tracks, like the sardonic ‘Fucked My Way Up To The Top’, hit back at Del Rey’s critics, with equally powerful lyrics such as “I’m a dragon, you’re a whore”.

What makes ‘Ultraviolence’ so haunting isn’t merely the lyrics or the music itself, but rather that so much of it draws from the artist’s past. Certainly, aspects of Lana Del Rey are manufactured, much like Marilyn Monroe, but even without the bee-stung lips and vacant expressions, the semi-autobiographical nature of her music instils ‘Ultraviolence’ with just enough honesty and substance to equal its musical perfection.

Header image taken from the ‘Ultraviolence’ digital booklet.

Mr Mint 2.0

It seems that I’ve grown all too accustomed to beginning posts with an apology, followed by an explanation as to why I’ve neglected this blog. On many occasions, I’ve genuinely been too busy to justify sitting down for an hour to write about clothes — and at the end of the day that’s all I do, I write about clothes, and sometimes I take photos of them on beautiful people. On other occasions, increasingly so as of late, I’ve just had no idea what to write about.

That is, I have nothing fashion-related to write about — which is precisely what I wanted to discuss.

I’ve grown out of fashion blogging.

That’s not to say I’m not still interested in fashion, nor that I’ve grown out of blogging entirely. It’s just that I’ve run out of new ways to say “I like these clothes” or “Product X is really cool even though I can’t afford it” — particularly because I’m spending less time craftily rewording the aforementioned phrases and more time on trying to live some sort of regular teenage life. (I read ‘The Fault in Our Stars’ so you can tell I’m dead set on making that happen.)

So where does Mr Mint fit into my newfound fashion-blogging-free regular teenage life?

I still want to write, and I still want to photograph things, and occasionally I’d still like to talk about fashion. The direction I’m taking with this blog is going to be a bit more personal, a bit less organised, and a lot less commercial. No more sponsored posts (though there were few of those), no more affiliate links and ads (there have been lots of those), and — ideally — LOTS more original content.

Don’t consider this an end, think of it as a new beginning.

(I just gagged whilst writing that.)