Chasing Galaxies

❃ stop and smell the roses ❃

[haunted-melancholy]

[just-shower-thoughts]

People who post stuff on here were probably sitting on the toilet, not in the shower

[ssfoc]

This is the post.

Frank Ocean understands self-referential, ironic fashion very well. The theme of “camp” could be said to be made for him.

He is known for wearing tee shirts with Tumblr quotes and elevating a quote of the pop culture zeitgeist to cult status. He wore Vans with a suit to the White House (Obama naturally):

Here he is at Paris fashion week in a puffy jacket and jeans, but with a woman’s green bag (Celine 2017) that created a stir.

Why? Because fashion isn’t about the piece. It’s about the meaning and the intent, much as art is about intent. It’s about the intellect behind the design, not the shape or cut or color.

He can camp it up as well as anyone. Here he is celebrating his 30th birthday party.

But the least expected, most ironic thing at an event celebrating camp is to be the servant of the rich— the unnoticed paps or security guards at the Met Gala, especially for a male POC like Frank Ocean. If he were on the other side of the red ropes, how easy would it be to dismiss him, to mistreat him?

Wouldn’t you brush someone aside who was trying to get a glimpse of celebrity, trying to snap a quick souvenir photo?

The fact that Frank is wearing a Prada parka is funny and campy in a dry way. Frank has worn a Prada bucket hat before, with similar intent. When the rich make mundane normcore into couture, with nudge-nudge-wink-wink irony and of course, couture prices, they’re imitating, and scoffing at, the poor. It’s the same way that Marie Antoinette played shepherdess at Petit Trianon while real French farmers starved, or Roman emperors handing out bread and circuses as their empires burned. Or Donald Trump serving tacos at Trump Tower to celebrate Cinco de Maio while families were separated at the border. It’s poverty put in a zoo for the rich.

Here’s a hoodie that Frank wore in his Nike video:

As he sang about Trayvon Martin, the black Florida teen murdered by George Zimmerman, “Trayvon, that nigg** looked just like me.”

Check out Frank’s insta too. Here’s a self-aware post.

So little protects the safety of a gay black man… only the veneer of celebrity.

[hodlmyvodka]

Knights of the Round Table

[fotogrimsi-deactivated20230306]

[fadedfemales]

[allthingsshabbyandbeautiful-dea]

[adaarsvitaar]

I await the day video game characters can realistically drink out of cups

[fenmech]

[thranduils]

[thranduils]

[motive11331]

[frognonbinary-deactivated202412]

[girlimsotired]

[clem-style-deactivated20191229]

[arabwife]

if you have to keep guessing where you stand with someone, move on. not knowing is knowing.

[worthlessstreetrat]

[studylustre]

me: i am Strong

someone: *raises their voice at me*

me: i am Not Strong

[angrytexastoast]

I am strong but you just hit me in my little eye socket

[fromthecrypt]

My cat: *kneading his blanky*

Me, in tears: do you even know what good bread you would bake

[adspexi]

Lena Waithe out here serving the truth:

[anissapierce]

ATTENTION: THOSE ARENT PINSTRIPES THOSE ARE DISCO LYRICS

[spidergvven]

holy shit you can kind of see if you zoom in. the level of detail and thought put into this

[homomedia]

she snapped, she really did, she always does, that’s life, that’s camp

[realmarysue]

No one has shown the buttons on the blazer. 

They’re RuPaul, Dorian Corey, Freddie Pendavis, Octavia St. Laurent, Paris Dupree, Pepper LaBeija, Venus Xtravaganza, and Willi Ninja. 

[humansofnewyork]

“One day she told me she was getting a lawyer.  I tried to play catch-up, but it was too late.  Apparently I wasn’t enough of a leader in the relationship.  We’d fallen into too much of a routine.  Or at least that’s what I was told.  I’ve been alone for thirteen years now.  The hardest part for me was losing the sense of family.  My youngest daughter barely speaks to me anymore.  I’ve seen her maybe fifteen times since the divorce.  I have a five-month-old granddaughter that I haven’t even met.  I don’t understand it.  I wasn’t that bad.  I didn’t openly argue with their mother.  I never had an affair.  I was present.  I was affectionate.  Maybe I was a little strict, but she was a tough teenager.  We were afraid for her.  She was only fifteen and going to nightclubs.  There was a lot of screaming back then: ‘you’re an asshole,’ ‘you’re not my father,’ things like that.  And maybe her mind is still locked in that time.  Now we speak maybe once a year.  Whenever I ask her about it, she feels attacked.  It’s awkward.  There’s no familiarity anymore.  And it’s not getting any better.  Time is working against us.  Because I feel like I’m losing the feeling of being a dad.  Of loving.  Of caring.  Obviously that’s not true, or I wouldn’t be talking about it.  But everything fades eventually.  At least when someone dies, you can mourn.  It’s so much harder when someone just disappears.” (Paris, France)

[diarygirls]

me vaccinating my future children