fashion writing

T.M.I.: Wedding Edition

In case you haven’t clued in on how contrary i can be, here’s a thing for you: i don’t like the idea of marriage. It scares me, it bores me, it tires me and the very idea of it is just eye-rollingly dreary. I’ll probably find it interesting sometime in the future, like when i’m forty-five and when my milkshake has curdled and turned into milk powder, but for now, at twenty four, i don’t understand why i can’t live my life like Kourtney Kardashian.


Life goals right there

BUT, exhausted of his supply of emotional firearms (i.e. bribing, begging, blackmailing, the works), my boyfriend, upon coming across the realization that he’ll never trap me into walking down the aisle without the help of chloroform, duct tape and some rope… finally put his foot down and delivered an ultimatum to my doorstep– on the literal first day of the new year, i kid you not. Whether i like it or not, he’s going to propose to me sometime within the next 365 days and if i say no, he’s going to be all “BYE FELICIA” on the next flight back to Jakarta and get himself a submissive mail-order bride from Turkeminsjizkistan or something. He’s only thirty but i swear, he thinks he’s milk or something and that he’s going to expire any day now.

Don’t get me wrong, i love him and i know 100% that he’s the one for me, but this has gotten me S H O O K to the core. To be honest, the problem lies with me. I’m terrified of pouring myself into the mould that society has carved out for the general population. Blue for boys, pink for girls.

And I know every marriage is different and that there are plenty of people who are genuinely in love and who have managed to get hitched without losing qualities of themselves and without gradually turning into maddeningly boring cookie-cutter wives slash baby-making machines (do not even get me started on my dormant maternal instincts if they even exist). But i was just simply hoping to go down a less-trodden path.

But hey! I also don’t want to be fifty, surrounded by my loom band creations, sitting in the corner of my apartment and crying to Taylor Swift’s “Back to December”, do you get what i’m saying?

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Potentially me

Plus, it doesn’t help that my mum keeps telling me that i need to seal the deal asap because she truly believes i won’t be able to find another guy in the world who’s man enough to handle my sass. Like, mum, i am a hot commodity okay, how dare you-

But i have to say, ever since our discussion, i’ve started to think of the kind of bridal image i want to project and what kind of wedding i want to be remembered by. For example, do i want to be a sappy bride with a huge, stark white, flouncy dress that i can practically float on water in and walk down the aisle resembling a three-tiered wedding cake? How many people do i want at my wedding and is four an acceptable number (i.e. me, the groom, the officiator and Meryl Streep)? Can my wedding also double as a rave? If not, then can i get married at a rave? So far, i’ve come up with about eight answers per question. Here are some of the answers.

  1. What kind of dress do i want?

a) I high-key want to be a classy hippie bride with a garden wedding à la Olivia Palermo, skorts, messy “i just ran through the woods in slow-motion” hair, granny cardigan and all. Then i’ll sail down the aisle with a simple bouquet of daisies and sunflowers to demonstrate how minimalistic and how unfazed i am with this whole wedding thing and my guests will whisper to each other about how zen and humble i am as a bride. I’ll smile beatifically and my groom will be reminded of how lucky he is to be with such a saint. IT’LL BE PERFECT.

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St. Olivia Palermo

b) But i also really want to show up like this:

Credits to: Frida Xhoi


I’m allowed to look like a beautiful, graceful chandelier on my wedding day right? In this scenario, i’d definitely want a discreet hoverboard hidden underneath the folds of my dress so i look like a goddess skimming down the aisle, no less.

2) What kind of wedding cake do i want? 

a) I really wouldn’t mind a simple, two-tiered bouquet cake for display purposes to gorge on myself after the event like this one from Rice Tree:

Aww, look at how gorgeously understated it is!

b) But i also legit could do with a cake the size of a Christmas tree, like this amazing behemoth of a cake made by LeNovelle, crazy talented giant wedding cake specialists who so happen to be based in Indonesia. I’m not even kidding.

Not only do i want it to  be adorned by baby pink ostrich feathers, i want it to be adorned by baby pink ostrich feathers while sitting on its own damn cake swing. In fact, i want it to be able to sing to me as we cut it. It’ll make all the other wedding cakes look like peasants in comparison. IT’LL BE GREAT!

I don’t even know tbh. While this post was more on lifestyle territory (new category alert! “Realistically Speaking”) rather than fashion, it was just something i wanted to use this platform to write about. I don’t think i’ll ever be one of those people whose main goal in life is to be attached at the hip with some other person… i enjoy my own company too much for that. Because let’s face it: any old fool can get married if they’re boring enough to settle for anything and anyone. I just plan on doing things differently. So, shout out to the elderly, stop asking me when i’m getting married.

Fashion posts will resume by next week!



Gardening shoes are the new heels? + My Jakarta trip!

I just got back from a trip to Jakarta and i don’t want to be one of those people who endlessly talk about their vacations to other people who secretly want to punch them in the face for it but i have to say, it was liit. I went there with two other friends to attend the Djakarta Warehouse Project and eventhough, i still don’t know how Hardwell, DJ Snake, Zedd or Martin Garrix look like, i can at least say i danced to the point of dehydration to their beats. I also got tipsy and fell backwards on my ass while getting frisked by security but that’s another story.

Style-wise, i want to say i surprised myself just a little bit this trip. I brought two boots with me, both taking up at least two kgs in my suitcase, none of which i ended up wearing because: a) My knee-high lace-ups made me look like a hooker and b) the biker booties made me look…like a biker. Idek, don’t you just hate it when your outfits look way better in your head than it does in real life? And then you wear it and you look like a pumpkin.

In the end, i ended up wearing my white high-top sneakers 95% of entire trip, which was unexpected tbh because i’m really not a sneakers kinda gal, much less when i’m in Jakarta. But then again it made sense because there was no way in hell i was going to wear either of the boots into a mall. Like, if i already look like a hooker wearing the boots during a rave, can you just imagine me clomping around the mall in them?


Hurried #ootn for the first night of DWP, after a three-hour flight delay and an immigration scare. I don’t think any of us even really planned our outfits for the night. All we knew was that we’d wasted enough time during the day. We didn’t even have dinner ffs #neardeathexperience

Funny story: Because all the shoes that i’d brought with me were so chunky and because i was so tired of wearing sneakers and we had no time to go shopping during the first few days, i ended up borrowing a pair of matte black jelly flats from my friend at one point. And eventhough i knew in the back of my mind that they were hideous AF, i somehow managed to convince myself, in the name of convenience and extreme hunger, that i looked alright enough to leave the hotel.

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Literally me at Grand Indonesia. Hunger will make you do bad things.

It wasn’t until i was walking around the mall surrounded by all the glamorous socialites that i suddenly caught my reflection in a display window and realized how freaking hideous they were. I apologize in advance to the owner of the shoes who was so kind to lend them to me (I  love you, S!), but they legit looked like gardening shoes. Like, does this hoe look like i’m into gardening?! DO I LOOK LIKE A GARDENING HOE TO YOU. And to my friends who allowed me to walk beside them the entire time and even assured me that i looked cute, i don’t know if i should hug them or strangle them for being so nice/cruel.


Me, during dinner, trying to ignore the fact that i’m wearing lacerated industrial-sized condoms on my feet

I also ended up wearing bomber jackets a lot during the trip. I had a really bad cold within the first three days of our trip (probably something to do with repeatedly swimming in an ice-cold pool in the wee drunken hours of the morning). Plus, there’s also something about Indonesia that makes you feel not-stupid about wearing thick jackets out in the open, no matter if it’s leather or wool or whatever. It probably has to do with the locals’ strong, adamant belief of getting “masuk angin” (like, my boyfriend is Chindonesian and ohho, you do not want to argue with him about being “masuk angin”. It’s kind of how my dad’s answer to everything is to “drink more water” and “sleep early”. I could be all,

“Demitri, my shoulder really hurts”.

“I think you’re masuk angin”.

“Demsie, i have a headache”.

“Yeah, pasti masuk angin tu”.

“Demsie, i fell down just now”.

“Oh maybe lutut kamu masuk angin”.

“Demsie, i finished all my money”.

“Iya, pasti kamu tidur dibawah kipas kelmarin. Udah masuk angin tu”.


“Ya sudah, jangan banyak ngomong lagi, nanti tambah masuk angin”.)

So that’s how i ended up wearing bomber jackets a lot during the trip. Usually, to be completely honest, i steer clear away from structured jackets whenever possible, which is ironic, because i’m such a fan of cardigans. But cardigans are like the kind of comfortable aunties at a family gathering who give you sweets and share their desserts with you and who wink at you conspiratorially when telling dirty anecdotes… while structured jackets are more like the first cousin who’s just fully transitioned into puberty and refuses to acknowledge your presence eventhough you’ve known them since they were barely out of their mom’s vajayjays.

Cardigans make you feel good about yourself and make your arms feel loved and free while structured jackets, like those cousins, only make you feel cool when you’re holding a cigarette and bobbing your head to Foster The People or whatever mainstream non-mainstream band is hot right now with fifteen year olds, and are basically good for nothing else.


Jeez would it kill me to smile a little?

Pro-tip for busty, curvy girls who can’t find bomber jackets their size in the women’s seciton: Go to the men’s! They look exactly the same but feel 100% more comfortable. And, you can even move your arms! *gasp* Thanks for the suggestion, M!

I even wore a few crop tops this trip. I mean, i’m no stranger to “accidental” crop tops which is where you wear normal t-shirts, have a big lunch and then realize that your shirt suddenly lacks enough material to cover your food baby. But actual intentional crop tops, i usually try to stay away from. Until I realized that i don’t have to show my belly button to rock the midriff trend. I can just show a tiny sliver of skin from that area and still feel like a sexy Spice Girl. Anyway, belly buttons are icky (what do you even do with them? Clean them? Put an alcohol-soaked cotton swab to them? Play with them? Stuff them? Just eugh yuck).

Thanks for reading! And eventhough i am a total G R I N C H when it comes to festivities, merry Christmas and have a happy new year in advance ❤