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I Love It, I Love It Not: The Petals of Personal Style & the Prickles of People Pleasing

A Commentary on Trends and the effects on Personal Style for 'Ephemera, Ecetera'

I was born a mystic with a silk whip in hand and tears that taste like creme de violette. I spent my childhood being utterly unbearable. Secretly horny for everyone that ever graced the planet and yet very loyal to the idea of becoming a nun. Of course, I instead chose to date a cisgender heterosexual boy from the ages 13 to 17 and was subsequently *insert traumatic abuse joke here that is light hearted but also serious and stern*out of any notion of doing anything wholly submissive with my life’s vocation. Something about dedicating your life to an absent man just doesn’t hit the same anymore. Oh god, sorry.

Anywho, I quickly learned I’ve found that I am better paired with a paint brush, am quite gifted for a people pleaser at putting my foot in my mouth and seem to be getting sexier with age (? does anyone care to validate this for scientific purposes?). I also recently learned that the trick to the universe is that working hard is sometimes working hard, but sometimes it’s working less hard, and sometimes vice versa.

As a tribute worthy of nightmare fuel and karmic fuck you faux paus to my english minor, I am doing a selfless act of public service, by embarrassing myself online for no purpose or accolade (other than the small fee of your loyal viewership).

I’m a spherical ball of facets as we all are ;). Wielding my BFA for good and evil on the online ethers. My biggest strength is my biggest weakness: self awareness. I happen to have a paradoxical gift of being so utterly delusional and yet painfully perceptive. How is that possible? I wish I knew, friend. I hear myself and cringe and yet also think it’s worthy of publishing. Maybe that's the beauty of my humanity. Maybe it's the duality of my trauma. The one thing I do stand firmly behind is my practice of joy and the devotion to whatever phase of “me” I’m in. Everyday joy isn’t something that happens to you, it is a habit you practice, something you actively look for to find. Part of this process involves shifting towards radical authenticity in your life, towards glee, towards romanticism (without escapism) towards laughing at yourself and finding lightness even when it feels like there’s none to be had. This needs to be balanced with rawness and honesty of how much being a human can suck at times. I feel passionate about sharing authentic moments as well as idealistic ones. Uncovering a thread that unites us intimately but also gives us perspective on the world outside of us. 

(Fine print: this is a cult and I’m indoctrinating you! Beware that if you continue on you’re going to become an optimist, enjoy luxuries more, stop being a malicious d bag and transform yourself again and again and again because you can)

Hence: Sacred Sleaze is born! Since modern medicine has left me unsure of my reproductive abilities, this substack is the offspring of my womb-space. It is a place I want to inflict your eyes with amateur “journalism”, crude content and some woo woo crap. We do not avert our gaze here, so beware!

I wanted to invite you to this quite exclusive, invite-only, lair. This substack is split into four delectable little slices (for now, greedy, greedy!)

The Glory Hole, an up close and personal date with the anonymous. Here, I interview people like a 2000s magazine, but much more high brow, ha-ha obviously! Think of it like a little glimpse into the lives of different and unique young adults that share what it’s like to be a human behind the story selfie, the linkedin accolades and the night life persona.

Ephemera, Etcetera, a place where we observe the seven senses: sight, sound, taste, smell, touch, pleasure and having strong, and sometimes irrelevant, opinions. What daily delights, petty pretentious peeves, social commentaries, relevant cultural queries and bygone relics am I fixating upon this eve?

The Great Weird, where I’m filtering most of the bullshit pop-astrology out of your cosmic IV! Let’s find ways to enjoy astro play, the wisdom of transits + learn about the ancient art~

Indulge Me, Mariah the Mystic minutiae little-black-book style. Here is where the lines between surrealist poetry, meandering musings, full on venting and WHORECORE get blurred to the point of no return. I share intimate, and un-sexified, details of my everyday life and mundane mischief. (girl are you ok? yes but it’s only taken 15 years of trauma centered therapy.)

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