The GYNO

Hey Life, 

Yes you over there, you old chum constantly reminding me I'm in my twenties living in NYC with no real clue what the future holds. 

First thanks for that. Second, thanks for sending me to the GYNO this week. 

I’m hoping that most of my audience is female because lord jesus once you hear about the GYNO you may turn female. It’s like you know to much at that point as a man, no men will ever claim you back, you drank the juice, saw to much. Anywhooozel, today I went to the Gyno. It was cool. We went alllll the way… to my cervix! The last time I was felt up and entered with no chance of an orgasm, was the day I lost my virginity. Endless poking and prodding, no means to an end. What was memorable though, was being constantly surprised. If the GYNO were an action movie, I would have thought; well played with that scene, so many twists, great special effects!  Haven't seen the new Bond flick yet, but I think my vagina went this morning. I’m trying to be an adult, and go to the doctors on the recommended time schedule. The old, wait till I’m sick thing isn't really cute anymore, so there you have it, I went, saw, lived and learned.  Peace&Love, Claire

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Claire Leana Millar

 A place where being in love with love, clothes, dreaming & globe wandering, are realized. Where art, style, & creative writing combine, to fashion a dreamily romantic display of curated look-books.

Founded & Curated by Claire Leana Millar

Love At First Fight

Chanel Shopping Center

Single Ladies

I was going about my normal person food shopping business today at the Whole Foods on second ave., when a man fully ran over my foot and half my leg with a mini shopping cart. FIRST, What is a “mini shopping cart?” I grew up in a suburb of Boston where we have the real life sized carts, where suburban gluttons pile it all in, this was not a normal sized cart. Why this is relevant, is because I’ve had previous grocery store accidents all involving larger scale food shopping machinery, but this little thing packed a significant punch! So I’m standing in the isle with a throbbing leg, staring at what was considered an attractive New York City man. Stylish, good in cart healthy selections, nice jeans, sporting some scruff and a tortured East Village artist persona. It was here I came to a life altering realization. Old me, in this case meaning single me, would have fully romanticized this painful interaction.  Blindsided by fantasies of years down the line at our wedding toast, friends all gathered round, laughing about how we first met at Whole Foods in a cart on cart collision. Something like love as first sight over Quinoa and kale chips. However now, I find myself in an amazing relationship, and the question at hand is was it ever romantic? I’ve decided the answer is no. All the unintentional, dangerous, embarrassing, life-threatening things men have done were never on purpose; nobody was trying to be cute. Now I'm the dumb girl in the grocery store with a sore toe, and nightmares of divorce! The point is, I'm done being an un realistic romantic, however if I ever find myself single again, and you want to date me, your best bet it to hit me in Soho with your car, lets be honest, u'de get an emergency room date, and who can't romanticize that. xxx CMoney 

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Claire Leana Millar

 A place where being in love with love, clothes, dreaming & globe wandering, are realized. Where art, style, & creative writing combine, to fashion a dreamily romantic display of curated look-books.

Founded & Curated by Claire Leana Millar

Fashion Diary: Part 1

Claire Leana Millar Elle Magazine NYFW Street Style

"It seems fashion week is here. I say it seems as I’m in full denial of thinking about the event; 1, too much excitement, and 2, the guaranteed “what do I wear to the shows” morning of migraine panic attacks. This year there are a few things I plan on doing differently. Firstly, instead of dressing up, I plan on channeling this lost homeless person look. It starts with tousled just woke up didn’t do anything Afro hair, think black Alexa Chung. Then I proceed in wearing nothing that touches my body at all; Hanes tee, harem pants, and ends with one expensive thing. I’m really relying on that one expensive thing to throw everyone off. I want people to think that I just accidently wandered into the tents from a shelter. Then they catch my Miu Miu sunnies hanging off a stained tee, and just don’t know what to think. There’s nothing I enjoy more than a confused P.R. girl wondering who and how. Another thing that I will do differently this year is I will smell like food; I will smell like that because I will have just eaten. I will be full in Bryant Park! I repeat I will be full in BRYANT PARK! This is a change as I make my transition from the runways to the audience. I can’t tell you how excited I am to have a nice sandwich before I enter the tent, hell, I might even bring snacks! Snacks also double as ammo when a model messes up, something as innocent as goldfish can be easily whipped onto the catwalk to reprimand unwarranted mistakes, “bad model, bad model.” Think Elie Saabe Couture Show tumble in Paris this season, which merits a tossed lunchbox. Tres tragic. I spent my time in between these shows eating stuff, drinking stuff, eating more stuff. 

By C. Money 

 

Invitation Only

Throwing it BACK & Getting Excited for NYFWss15

Throwing it way back to an unpublished "Invitation Only" NYFW FW14 Post from Day 2 of fashion week. 

Maternity Leggings Because I Can

Claire Leana Millar Lucky Magazine NYFW Girl Crush

The elastic band of my maternity leggings is digging into my bloated stomach for the first time in my life, I'm not pregnant, but I'm wearing maternity leggings because I’m full, and I can. Its day 1 of fashion week madness, and my plan is in full swing. Today I accomplished two of my goals; one, eating a lot, and confusing the general shit out of people.    

TBD, or not. 

Dear Karlie Kloss I'm Sick Of You're Face

The Style | Humor

Karlie Kloss Supermodel

Dear Karlie Kloss,

I respect that fact that you are one of the most beautiful girls in the world, that you have “limbs that could kick Jesus,” and you even make nice jeans. However, I’m writing to inform you I’m really sick of seeing you’re face, EVERYWHERE. Each month I get a new Vogue hoping to see the newfound talent that they deem worthy of the editorial pages, but it’s always YOU. And I feel you; you’re like a fine wine, gets better with age …but what’s wine without cheese sometimes?  A little variation, you know? You can’t answer that question because it was very clear to me after I saw your nude spread in Vogue Italia, you have probably never tasted cheese. Maybe this is more a profession of my love for you and your discipline; I like cheese, a lot.

You probably don’t remember that time we met. You were strutting through Nolita like the Amazon princess you are; casual, alone, I said “hi” and walked by; it was hugely relevant. What I'm saying Karlie, is I’m a fan of yours, always will be, but right now can you stick to making “Karlie’s Kookies” somewhere dark and pressless, and let someone else get an editorial? That is all, stay tall!

Best Regards,

Claire

P.S. If you ever find yourself in a bookstore, please pick up a copy of my memoir titled; “I Put Whip Cream On Someone & They Weren’t Mad.”