Ad/Vice.

The most important advice I could give you is to make every minute count. Work harder than anyone else, make yourself a valuable (albeit lowly paid!) member of the team and never miss an opportunity to learn.

Peter Cullinane.

Advice or A single red chair.

I'm pretty sure you only live once. And that means you have to live awesomely.

I've always lived awesomely. Legit. I always have.

I'm pretty sure I'm naturally gifted to see the awesome in the shit (or maybe I'm just a Gen Y yuppie-whatever). 

Since moving to hipster cities, dating the odd indie boy and watching crafted artists at work, I have come to realise that these things I see the awesome in really are in actual fact genuinely shit a lot of the time.

 And when I realised that this shit can make me happy, I realised that I was unstoppable in life.

I was destined to enjoy every part of it.

I'm 23, and lately, as may or may not be obvious through my recent posts, I've been confused why new found shit isn't leading me to aweseomeness. 

For an answer to this you can either:

 Read this advice

http://www.waitbutwhy.com/2013/09/why-generation-y-yuppies-are-unhappy.html

or for an equally fulfilling but morally opposite answer

...buy a single red chair. 

A Letter from Fred.

This winter was one of the most unfamiliar times I think I have ever had. 

I love the unexpected, the excitement of change and the adrenalin of exploring. But even though it has been quite that, none of it seems to be bringing out that familiar output of incandescent happiness in me.

 The welcomed new has come with a course of routine norm. It has created quite the rock in my stomach and not in a good way.

It's the most uncomfortable feeling when what you're experiencing, you keep comparing it to what could be worse to make you feel better. 

I'm still figuring out what that means exactly, but for the now, it's videos like this that bring me back to my normal self, the familiar one, which gets me excited about life yet to come.

Introverted fun & it's all mine.

Do you ever have those times when you feel like you are sick of talking?

Things keep happening around you at a whirlwind pace and it's not necessarily that you don't wish to tell those concerned about the creations of said whirlwinds, or respond to the creators themselves with words of enthusiasm and excitement, but it's just that...you're just overwhelmed with words.

Over the past week...month...I have found myself in unexpected conversations left, right, backwards and centre.

Each have had me hold such intention and forced me to pause frequently only to ensure the most intelligently provocative words would come from my lips.

But I just wish there could be more space for the socially abnormal.

For example, imagine if you could go through life with a few artistic flash cards to communicate...

Laura Gee

But darling, it's art.

Let's get this straight, my monthly wage, minus my rent, my insurance, and my student loan brings me down to $1,118. That's $279 a week.

 From that, let's minus cash for the flat jar, bills, and lest we forget food, bringing  us down to around about $100 a week- of which finds its own non-descriptive way of disappearing... 

Now, this is all fine given I chose advertising. I knew the wage to begin on is...well, what it is (however legally bordering it is). 

I also know it can only and only will get better (she says...). 

However, as I sat in my cafe at 7am this morning beginning the first hour of the day, I flick through the one and only Elle.

 I found myself being mentally sucked in to the headlines 'Bags for Boardrooms' and images that only say 'I'm so busy getting to my meeting I'm holding on to this Dior clutch bag so'.

All I could think was, I want to be her. 

But of course, naturally, have her be me.

I want to be that woman with the bluntly cut black silk bangs and the cape running along behind trying to keep up with it's owner's oh-so-busy-and-important career led life.

Yes, I know, it really is ironic that I'm in advertising given I am so easily sucked in to it.

But no matter how many Banksy portraits are made describing advertising as the devil, it is to me and I intend it to forever be, one of escapism. 

Great advertising is great art.

Publishing art. 

Printing an ad.

What's the difference ma chérie?

And until I rise to the top of said industry, I will go on painting my lips red and wearing my non expensive-expensive looking bling, until the day comes that my monetary funds keep up with my Givenchy cape flying behind me as I race through the double doors of my oh-so-important-meeting only to nonchalantly tell my client, "But darling, it's art".