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January 4, 2009
I want to be a flapper. I want to wear my hair short and messy, to wear thick dark eye makeup, to have cupid's bow lips, to wear loose flowing frocks, to wear my stockings rolled below the knee. I want to dance wildly, drink prohibited drinks, take illegal drugs, listen to loud jazz music, act expressively in a silent film. I want to write about freedom, I want to pout, I want to sing love songs, I want to dance in risque outfits. I want to be the romanticized concept of flapper that I have ingrained in my mind.