Pumpkin Spice, FOH.
There are a few people on my Facebook and Instagram roster who have already begun commenting on the return of the glorious Starbucks Pumpkin Spice Latte. To which I say:
NO! GOD! NO! GOD PLEASE NO! NO! NO! NOOoooOOOOooooOOOOO! —Michael Scott
THE STARBUCKS PUMPKIN SPICE LATTE TASTES LIKE A GODDAMN YANKEE CANDLE AND IT MEANS FALL IS HERE. But let me calm down and explain. I don’t hate fall itself, per se—it’s actually a lovely season—but I abhor what follows it. And thus I hate fall by association.
There are pros and cons to almost every season, but winter is just awful. Awful. Awful. Awful. There’s an igloo resort (or something) near Helsinki that boasts an extensive network of tunnels connecting beautiful glass-domed rooms, from where you can see the stars and northern lights, and I’m sure in that setting I could appreciate winter, but I am Not. In. That. Setting.
I will be in New York: the land of mysterious gray-brown slush puddles and garbage that collects in your building when the snow gets too high.
Yes, fall has the leaves, and the apples, and the spices, and the colors, but it’s difficult to appreciate all that when I know once all the red-orange fun and games are over, the following four months are going to be jam-packed with bleak icy misery.
SO EVERYONE SHUT UP ABOUT COFFEE AND LET ME ENJOY THE REST OF THIS DAMN SUMMER. JIMMINY CHRISTMAS.
I MEAN FOURTH OF JULY. JIMMINY FOURTH OF JULY.
Zara jumpsuit and collar; Nasty Gal triangle necklace; Vintage MOP collar; American Apparel jellies; Mango blazer.