The Rococo Girl

She insists on flying to Paris to buy shoes but all she wears are the no brand trainers she got for one dollar at a flee market.  She is allergic to maps has no sense of direction except for how to get to her favorite boutiques.   She finds those tiny obscure shops in Hong Kong by pure instinct. 

She gets up at 6am to go to the flower market every Sunday although her house plants are all dead.

She loves boho-chic, vintage and anything now.  At parties she is always 4 hours late or one week early.

She doesn't know where the post office is, yet she managed to get a pair of vintage Vivienne Westwood shoes shipped from London. 

Her favorite place is her wardrobe and hanging out with the girls over a bottle or two of champers. In movies she always notices the wallpaper and the hair styles. 

Her piers think she's a soft touch; they haven't seen her at a jumble sale.  The modernist chaise in her bedroom is hidden under a pile of clothes and the two cupboards in the spare room are busting.   She's got nothing to wear, permanently.

Her favorite dresses have been loved so much the silk is thread-bare and the beading falls off them like tears.  She has a wardrobe full of dreams.