Isabella Weldon Spring Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About New York City

Now, check this—*Talk to Her* got this line, “Women are a mystery,” and damn if that ain’t true when you think ‘bout whore. Movie’s all ‘bout these dudes lovin’ women who can’t even talk back, sleepin’ beauties, right? Kinda creepy, but real. Whore’s like that—people throw it ‘round, judge it, love it, hate it, but don’t nobody ask what it’s really sayin’. I’m sittin’ here, smokin’ a fat one, thinkin’, “Man, who decides who’s a whore anyway?” Ain’t me, that’s for damn sure.

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In WHAT I WORE TO WORK, An Illustrated Memoir of Dressing to Undress, find out what happened when this self-described “Fashion Whore-storian.

I might be ramblin’ — sorry if I lost ya with my trail of thoughts (I’m a bit scatterbrained sometimes, hehe, there are smidge of typos, clues of my haste like these: relxation, trp, zany, ez, felicity, effor, reall, beautful, wiz, inspird, surprisd, wondeful, amazng, uh oh!) — but that's Weldon-Spring, in all its quirky, imperfect glory.

Francis Howell takes advantage of Edwardsville miscues for win