Hello! If you know me, (which I really really hope you don’t because I’d rather die than have my family and friends discover this blog) then you know how much I love romantic comedies. And if you know about romantic comedies, then you know that one of 2018’s greatest treasures was To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before, the second greatest treasure of 2018 being Beyonce at Coachella, of course. That day of April 14th was so much fun. You know when an experience is so unbelievably incredible that you feel out of body and as if you are miles and miles away yet the creator of this truly transcendent experience, ahem Beyonce, is seemingly a few feet away from you? Yup, I loved watching her from my T.V. screen. I never felt further away yet closer to Queen Bee herself than when she danced to “Suck on my Balls.” Love, for me, flows in the same vein of feeling close yet far away from something. Maybe that’s why I’m such a sucker for romantic comedies. I can only genuinely like someone when I’ve emotionally and mentally connected with them, but there’s also this part of me that feels like an island. I close the door to my heart whenever things get too personable as an act of self-preservation. Ironic. I just got personal about struggling with being personal. Anyways, To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before. Yes, let’s get back on topic. Great movie. Great style from Lara Jean. (but the “never satisfied” part of me was also expecting more after reading the books? Can anyone relate?) My love for the movie had even manifested itself into my ugly Christmas sweater last year. The front of my sweater read in foam letters, “To All the Toys I’ve Loved Before,” while the back was emblazoned in green paint with “Noel Centineo.” I glued on dollar store toys for the full effect but I regret to inform you that I didn’t have the time to make a Fa-la-la…ra jean joke on the sweater. I guess the latter sentence was my second chance at taking advantage of that joke. Please tell me you laughed. Unfortunately, I don’t have many boys I’ve loved before. (as previously mentioned, I make myself an island) And since I can talk about my love for fashion more than my love for boys, I wrote a poem-that’s-also-not-really-a poem, (please don’t come for me writers) about all the clothes I’ve ruined before via eating, washing, and just general lack of care or consideration. I do love and respect all my clothes, but I’m also a messy person who loves long nails. (pro tip: sweaters and delicate clothes do not mix with long nails)
To All the Clothes I’ve Ruined Before
A quick splatter of vibrant red sauce on a delicate floral crop top
I just bought this! My jaw dropped
Dish soap and scrub, you can’t be slow
Pink candied cloud takes unwelcome residence on a striped wool sweater
Why does this hurt me more than a stubbed toe
Don’t mix colors with neutrals, my laundry skills need to get better
Not to mention the whites I’ve turned pink
And I’m still talking about clothes, so stop thinking about race
Although I’ve done both, *wink wink*
I’m sorry, but I can’t help but make most guys pink in the face
I wish I could say the same for Noah Centineo too
I just want him to be my boo
But for now, I’ve got Jimmy Choo
P.S. I don’t actually have any Jimmy Choos, sorry to disappoint. I’m a broke college student.
Melanie T / MelT
melt fashion 