Un-Fancy
One of the worst things about the deadline zone (besides the fact that it keeps me away from my beloved blog) is how un-fancy I become as a result of it. Two weeks of sleep deprivation, combined with the general hopelessness that comes with shouldering a task just barely too big to actually get done on time have a way of hitting me right in the closet. As the days wear on, and I drag myself out of bed later and later, I’m lucky if I’m even washed when I hit the street. Forget about good looking outfits. I’m rocking the loosest, baggiest, I-don’t-give-a-shit-cuz-life-no-longer-exists-cuz-I’m-on-deadline drama school reject rags ever, just trying to make it to the desk and back before anyone can peep my sub-standard style. Deadlines are fashion death, no matter what “The Devil Wears Prada” has to say about it.