Misled Youth

Last week, my art professor asked us to write about what we envisioned when we thought about different classes. I wrote up my mental images, realising that they are kind of absurdly romantic notions, and I'm fine with that, I really am.

Anyway, I also ended up writing up my perfect inspiration for the rest of the year, because that's who I am.

Disillusioned teens from the 1950s with frilly dresses, flawless eyeliner, messy beehives, and leather jackets. Chain smoking and reading Oscar Wilde, falling in love with This Side of Paradise (but never Catcher in the Rye, it's so annoying). Collecting over piles of french fries after cheap rock shows, laughing and teasing and finding a second family. Carrying lipstick and a switchblade knife in the same pocket. Kitten heels, perfect red manicures, and brass knuckles. They'll either get thrown into jail and live a life of petty crime and beer bellies or grow up and become visionaries who look back fondly on misled youth.

I might have to make a nice little post with some photo inspiration one of these days. For now, I'm just going to live with all of these fantastic images in my head.