I’m just a girl, standing in front of a bloat, asking it not to fuck with her outfit.
In which I wax lyrical about my metamorphosis from mere mortal to suit-clad superhero and implore you to join my well-dressed squadron.
Disco tits! Glitter boobs! Bedazzled bangers! ICED GEMS! Swarovski slammers! Majestic mammaries! Blinged-up babylons! Jazzed-the-fuck-up jugs! Whatever you call ’em, they’re part of my collection with Ruth Melbourne.
I feel it’s only right to bestow upon you this crucial piece of clothes-based info: Warehouse is where it’s at. (This article was originally published on The Debrief)
The time to deck your nips out in glitter is now, people. Consider your body a dance floor and your boobs the disco ball. ✨ (This article was originally published on Cosmopolitan)
*Chandler voice* Could there be a more perfect image for me?! A vagina, made of DAISIES. Genius. I digress… Join me as I march purposefully into the unchartered territory of female masturbation, and help me put it back on the MAP. OH YEAH. (ph. source unknown)
We were on holiday near a place called Heraklion. I made a joke about premature herakulation and started referring to the holiday as our ‘holidaisy’. My ego was soaring. My fake tan was fresh. Conditions were great. We decided to make a sex tape… (ph. via Tumblr)
Guys, I’ve done it… The street style algorithm. I’VE ONLY GONE AND BLOODY CRACKED IT! Science within. (This article was originally published on The Debrief)
Pull up a seat and whip out your notebook because you’re about to be schooled in the art of sale shopping. (This article was originally published on Fashion Fix Daily)