ROSE COLOURED DREAMS
NAME › Kang Nara D.O.B. › 05 16 1990 (27) OCCUPATION › Freelance stylist/ Socialite INSTA › @16nara
PORTFOLIO
ACADEMIC EDUCATION
bachelor of fashion design - fashion institute of technology
INTERNSHIP
donna karan (2012 - 2013)
EMPLOYMENT
freelance editorial stylist
ohboy! - flat lay pages (january 2014 – march 2014)
ceci - cover & main editorial (july 2014 – november 2014)
w magazine usa - cover shoots & main fashion editorial (march 2015 - june 2015)
elle korea - international shoot (november 2015 – january 2016)
kenzo autumn/winter campaign (march 2016 – june 2016)
COMPLEX - main editorial collaboration (february 2017- april 2017)
DETAILS
blue hydrangeas and coltrane in the air - kang nara was born to two parents she both adores and despises in the same breath. her father: a real estate investor, and her mother: a prominent art dealer. old money - they say she is - but she had never cared for status as a child.
her father’s love was strong - albeit hardly at home - and her mother had laughter pressed into sunlight. childhood (filled with cashmere and lilac fumes) was warm but fleeting. and before long she was sent overseas.
all nighters and terrible instant coffee - the world clicked into place when she found her passion in college. she left new york, returning home with a degree in fashion and an internship under her belt.
instead of starting her own brand, she found herself sucked into seoul’s social scene, attending numerous charity events, galas and openings (how her heart would soar in glamour!).
image is everything - ( it’s an illusion. it’s all a game) and social media fame followed as she constructed herself perfection. hence began her rise; now a socialite and style queen. she is a familiar face at fashion week and works every now and then in editorial styling.
dedicated to her work, nara always puts her all into a project if she believes in it. is incredibly attentive to details and determined to execute her vision perfectly.
is a social butterfly, but finds it hard to cross the wall guarding her heart. a lover of the arts since young, she is one of hoft’s donors, an ardent supporter, and can always be found supporting up-and-coming artists.
one fateful (or rather, unfortunate) evening, she found herself drunkenly enamoured with a dark haired stranger, sharing more than words as they made their way to his hotel room. but they never saw the flashes and lenses pointed their way.
sungjoon was nothing more than an almost hook-up but lady luck must favour her - for one thing led to another (reputation is everything – a domino effect) and mr stranger’s ring ended up on her finger.
a new home, a new life - her world turned upside down, now wife to a politician’s stepson. but things have never felt lonelier ( how do you beat this hollow heart ? ) .
DECEMBER 2013
sometimes she dreams in minor chords, blues and half light. she dreams of home – of her mother’s pat juk, her smile sweet like blossoms and honey. of the han river, of picking apples in the orchard, of that one mozart sonata her father loves so much.
other times she dreams of seconds blurring into years, of the green-blue crashing against shore, diving into the wreck. a cathedral of deadbolts in ruins, she feels herself stepping backwards.
perched on an armchair, there’s hesitation before she reaches for her phone.
( sms → 아빠 ) i’m coming home next week. will you be in seoul?
these days there’s a rustling impatience in her veins – an itch. she dreams of it in rose colours, a morbid fairytale like ophelia, save the mad girl’s flowers, floating in the river with lace up miu mius. but home is home for a reason, no matter how much she wants to stay here.
her phone lights up: send me your flight number. i’ll have the driver pick you up.
g minor mozart plays from the stereo. somewhere outside the red sun sets, somewhere outside it’s the sun that swallows the sky.
MAY 2017
13 missed calls from her mother.
20 missed calls from her father.
the telephone rings in the background but she pays it no heed, gaze still stuck to her screen. the colour leaves her face when she sees the blurry but undeniable images of her and him. she remembers it clear as day when she laughed and stumbled up to his room. but this… who had taken them? and why release it now, after all these months?
( nothing is by chance. )
she picks up the phone: 아버지, it’s not as it seems —
( somewhere, her vase of roses wilts )
JULY 2017
nara dangles a bare foot from the balcony, a glass of liquid sin in hand, red-soled heels abandoned. the chatter and buzz from inside seeps into the open air (like the scent of jasmine flowers she loves so much), tainting it with muted excitement and the sense of beginnings. she turns, back to the balcony railing as she downs her glass in one go, gaze flittering to the occasion inside. new paintings adorn the familiar walls of hoft, portraits’ eyes following the moves of new and old guests alike. her gaze, however, is fixed to one figure who had suddenly became her other half.
this world is filled with saints and sinners ( wolf eats wolf, darling ), and there are those who hide behind fendi fur coats and shades of red lipstick. perhaps she is no different - the world lay before her for her choosing, and she had stuck by vanity’s side for selfish gains. yet here she is hiding away from the crowds ( oh reprieve, how utterly out of character for her! ), avoiding the same prying questions and congratulations thrown her way. the ring sits heavy on her finger - foreign and unfamiliar - unwelcome like the lick of a ruler on bare wrist. it became monotonous to hold the same fake smile, repeat the same gratitude… yet in this world where image is everything… the unfortunate union did play to her advantage just as her father predicted ( & not only for her ).
( play the game, don’t let the game play you. )
she finds herself slipping back inside, heels clicking against the floor as she makes her way through the eclectic crowd. sungjoon stands next to the canapés and champagne, conversing with ladies in leather and vintage dior - she, the very image of casual grace as she strides to his side, slipping her hand into his, a practised smile curving red lips. “enjoying yourself?” she murmurs, vowels soft like a caress.
“behave,” sungjoon hisses beneath his breath as she presses a kiss to his cheek, too close for comfort.
“i am. everyone’s watching,” she says through clenched teeth, diamond ring glinting in the light. she draws away, grinning and speaks to him with all the sweetness in the world ( like honeycombs, liquid gold and infinite tenderness, like everything she ever wanted but couldn’t have ), “let’s go home baby.” only he could hear the arsenic laced beneath.