Times, they are a-changing here at Painfully Hip.
On the 4th of July, my landlords stopped by for a “chat” and promptly informed my roommates and I that they sold their current residence and were moving into our large and profoundly cozy home. Out on our asses in 30 days. I found myself slightly panicked and instantly lamenting the loss of our shady party porch, my sunny, bright, spacious and always cool bedroom, music-filled living room and newly re-landscaped (with our very own girlsweat, no less!) backyard with a dear-god-in-heaven-so-deliciously-womblike-hammock, all nestled in the heart of the most conveniently located, tree-lined and vintage shop-ridden neighborhood in all the land. Ah Midtown Sacramento, how I will miss thee.
While living in Vancouver, BC (my previous hometown of seven years), I had somehow transformed into a reluctant recluse in spite of my nature. But during less than 10 grateful months of living in this stunning little Capital City, I am knee-deep in the dearest of friends, fashion shows, photoshoots, the near center of the local fashion and music scenes, featured in local culture papers and being offered fashion columns in local magazines.
I’d have to say I’ve definitely come into my own via this nurturing little town, but I’m afraid I’ve become a sort of “Sacra-lebrity” (thanks for the word, Steve-Mo). I can’t enter a bar without a chorus of friendly voices marking my arrival and I am not likely to walk out my front door without being happily accosted by a familiar face or a reader. I haven’t lately introduced myself to someone without them already knowing something about me. My friends just happen to be my neighbors and my irrepressibly fantastic roommates quickly became my family. I feel loved and supported, overwhelmed and grateful. Not to mention simultaneously exhilarated and terrified. And perhaps just a little bit… claustrophobic.
I have grown to adore this town and it’s homeyness, ease of living, lack of rat-raciness, and it’s seductive way of turning gung-ho wanderlusters into delirious homebodies… but I have always wanted to travel excessively. However, my penchant for long-term relationships and dead-end 9-5 jobs had up until now kept me imprisoned in my complacency.
Now that I have made the frighteningly synchronized leap to self-employment and singledom, my possessions have been whittled down to necessities, and (many thanks to the internet, my invaluable and dear tech genius Carl, my loyal readers, sponsors and design clients) my job is contained within this 5 pound Macintosh, and my wanderlusting heart is all my own. Fuck rent and a fixed address, I am totally portable. I have no choice but to take full advantage of my freedom and this fire under my ass.
I’ve got to get out of here.
Now the only question is “Where to?”
If all goes as planned, the premise of this blog will be changing. Instead of only searching the internet for the fashion-savvy elite, I will be searching the world. Posts from me will be fewer, but infinitely more inspired (I’m lining up amazing guest posters to pick up my slack). I will be living off a few dollars a day and flying by the seat of my proverbial high-waisted pants, floating to wherever the wind sees fit. I’ll be meeting up with readers and bloggers, throwing swaps, searching for wifi hotspots, working from sidewalk cafes.
The plan so far. Next month I am off to stay for 10 days in Vancouver to then hop on the Role Mach tourbus for a West Coast roadtrip where I will attempt to learn their vaguely Boredoms-inspired songs on my ukulele and take photos of small and large town hipsters. Want a painfully hip haircut for a mere donation? Come over to the merch booth. I might be waiting with unlicensed, but terribly talented scissors to attempt to help pay for the liquid gold that will power us down the highway.
In September, I’m returning to gregarious and windy Chicago. My amazing friends, Ira and Andrea are generously lending me their guest room for a month or so. I’ll be documenting street style and teaming up with Andrea’s droolicious Forkable Blog to document dinner party revelers and haute cuisine. I plan on getting extremely fat.
After that? Who knows? After couch-surfing for a bit I should be able to afford an overseas fare. Front running destinations are Bangkok, Copenhagen, or possibly Marrakesh. I refuse to specify time limits at this point. Let’s just call it the Painfully Global World Tour. But what I’d really like to know is, where would you go to find inspiration on a limited budget, oh Legion of the Painfully Hip? A place where a lone (but hopefully not lonely) girl can wander- aimless and free of paranoia. Should I come to your neck of the woods? I am giddy with anticipation and on a mission for self-realization. I’ve never been here before. What else can I say but Thank You. You’ve made this girl’s dreams feel a bit more tangible. I’m so glad to have you along for the ride.