Monthly Archives: June 2016

Almost famous

I think it’s obvious for everybody who has been following and reading girlcasm for a while that I’m interested in people and their behavior, which is probably why I enjoy taking the time to rant about something completely irrelevant from time to time. You can call it judgmental gossip and I know that there’s a thin line between being appropriately critical vs being a complete utter bitch, but I still love to go there and just comment on pointless stuff – because it’s the meaningless stuff that entertains us, a guilty pleasure, whether we like to admit it or not. Also, I think that there should be critical voices, too, even for the most invalid topics. And why not, right?

In fact, I feel like we’re not critical enough most of the time, facilitating the upgrowth of trends and hypes that, if we look at them in a clear moment, are just plain annoying and / or inexplicably overrated. Like, do we really all need to be a Drew or Faye #chloegirl in order to be fashionable and thus reach self-acceptance? Would we really be having the time of our lives if we ever went to Coachella? At least that’s what #influencers are trying to suggest, right? I know I’m repeating myself and there are many other examples of things I see on a daily basis, thinking to myself – am I really the only one who doesn’t buy it?

So, without further ado, let me just put it out there:

What a ridiculously redundant event is Berlin Fashion Week? Is it even about fashion? Or is it merely yet another platform for self-adulation for everybody who thinks he or she is somewhat regionally famous? I’m so bored, aren’t you? I know it’s dangerous to go there and question it. Nobody does it, at least not openly.

I like Berlin. I can see why people enjoy living there and wouldn’t swap with me, living in the backwoods of Switzerland. Me too, I would totally try and get the most cultural variety out of life and my free time if I wasn’t stuck here at least until the end of the year, finishing my degree. Berlin is a great city and to a certain extent I can understand how people are bonding over its specific ‘vibes’ or whatever you want to call it. Finally, I do admire Malaika Raiss, Lala Berlin and other brands / designers who are taking part in the events that I am smiling at.

But let’s just be honest here for a sec – do you know what the difference between this and any other random week in Berlin is?

The public and the attention that it is giving away for free, if anything. Everything else is literally the same. The same old faces meeting at the same old places, having the same type of conversations they had just a week before in a slightly different setting – haven’t you had enough of them by now? I always wonder how they themselves can stand seeing each other everywhere they look or go anymore.

A bunch of German girls – a f*cking horde in the meantime – the ‘fashion elite’ or whatever they consider themselves, looking forward to come together, drink, chat and celebrate the fact that they are enjoying themselves and their goodie-bags for free. Emulated by another specific bunch of girls who are desperately trying to be part of the in-crowd, admired from afar by yet another horde of girls who will never ever get there, no matter how eagerly they try to imitate what they are being shown.

Let me just break it to you – they are not trying to let you be part of it by broadcasting it to you via different channels, asking ‘who of you all will be there’. I don’t even know if they are doing it for ‘work’ or just for the fun of being admired, but: no matter how many Zara hauls, no matter how many followers, no matter what an interesting person you think you are – it will literally take a sh*tload of brown-nosing and faking for you to maybe be somewhat accepted as whatever you’re trying to be. And a lot of pictures of peonies, macarons and various it-pieces.

Yeah, I know, I’ve never been there, how can I judge, lalala. But seriously, all hate aside, what we’re being shown, season by season, it feels like an endless loop on repeat, doesn’t it?

It lacks all of the glamour that you normally link to Fashion Weeks. It lacks inspiring outfits, bold combinations. It even lacks the VIP factor. I can’t imagine how much Gigi Hadid was payed to watch last time’s questionable Maybelline show, looking bored as f*ck next to Mandy Whatshername. Yep, we got to see Irina Shayk – but did you see the look on her face? I promise you she was busy contemplating just leaving the f*cking room where she didn’t know a single face. And let’s not forget about all of the US ‘stars’ who are attending from time to time, just because they aren’t much in demand in any other place in the world anymore. No Chiara, no Kristina, no fashion-savvy person at all, apart from the usual German suspects, including the questionably interesting girlfriends of german soccer players.

It’s not like I blame the German crowd for being uninspiring and slash or annoying. They and others involved are trying to make a living from the attention of others and they are obviously doing a more or less decent job, whether I agree with it or not. It’s just that I can’t see an inspirational, broad value added by this event that calls itself Berlin Fashion Week. A minimum of international relevance, if at all. A local gathering of people who are somewhat regionally famous, thanks to their constant self-celebration above all.

You know how they say ‘stop making stupid people famous?’ Stop giving away your attention for free, people are making easy money off it, giving you nothing in return. The way it is now it should be called regional get-together of the almost famous or whatever, not Berlin Fashion Week.

Your attention shouldn’t come for free, trust me.



P.s.: I knowwwww you’ll be offended, so please consult my disclaimer or feel free to say something mean in return – or else, why don’t you share the love, via Facebook, for example.

Also, I’m always happy to hear your suggestions for upcoming topics – challenge me to say something positive for once or give me another reason to be mean, if you have an idea.

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Fake it till you make it

I love body positivity. But I also kind of fucking hate it.

I mean I love how we’re all telling ourselves how it’s ok not to be a Victoria’s Secret Model and still feel great about ourselves. It’s kind of convenient for me, seeing that my legs will never grow the length that they’d need to in order for me to even consider losing those 10 to 15kg and join the circle of angels.

I love how different body types are being celebrated for their merits and that there’s basically an Instagram account or crowd for each of them. Like no boobs, no problem – you have a great ass. You’ll always find a bunch of men who are into thunder thighs (me, I’m talking about me here), while some will never get over the androgynous skinny type. And you’d be surprised by how many men actually think that a pretty face will always top a next-to-perfect body while just as many seem to be willing to accept a face you’d rather not have in exchange for a body your discipline won’t ever allow you to have.

And I love how this is being spread all over social media. I find myself looking at girls like Iskra Lawrence, thinking F*CK YEAH DOUGHNUTS, generously ignoring the fact that she still works out like a crazy person in order to look that certain way.

I’m changing my prejudice from ‘only skinny girls can get famous’ to ‘anybody can make it, no matter if fame or plain happiness, as long as they are blessed with confidence.’ It’s probably just another way of lying to yourself, but it can make you feel a little bit better, sometimes.

So far, so good. We’re not morons. We know that people around the world are leading happy lives, independent of their looks. So far, so good.

The rest is just hypocrisy, honestly.

I still see pictures of Gigi Hadid eating a burger, thinking Yeah… totally relatable, you skinny goddess.

I still read about how Jennifer Lawrence refuses to fit into Hollywood’s standards of skinny, thinking ????? B*tch where?

I still see Ashley Graham making it on the cover of Sports Illustrated as the first plus size woman, thinking Am I the only one who realizes that she still looks a gazillion times better than me on any given day, no matter what size we’re comparing?

I still find myself scrolling through #fitspo on Instagram from time to time, looking at pregnant women that have their shit together more than I ever had, thinking that I absolutely HAVE TO finally get my fat ass up like I’ve been promising myself for the last couple of years.

I still look at my legs in the mirror, thinking Why me?

And then there’s that b*tch with a private profile that comments on a picture of mine, saying that my legs are fat and all I can think is No shit, Sherlock.

This can’t be body positivity? That’s not being happy with what you have. That’s not acknowledging that it could be much, much worse. It’s not what I preach to my close friends whenever they complain, saying that women come in all kinds of shapes and sizes and all that of them can be beautiful and eligible. And it’s absolutely not what I promise myself whenever I have a clear moment, thinking that I can’t spend a minute more comparing myself to whatever I find desirable at that moment, making myself unhappy for absolutely no sensible reason.

And I know that many women, no matter how fit and attractive they might be, no matter how far they might have come, can relate. Knowing exactly what is plausible, preaching it with firm conviction to all of their friends, but still not believing a word of what they say themselves. Your one friend that keeps commenting on how fat she got when, not only compared to you, she really is perfect – she’s not trying to annoy you. She really is that insecure, it’s sad.

But there’s this trick. It’s called fake it till you make it. It’s all about continuing to tell yourself the same thing you’d say to somebody you love. Cheesy, of course, but there can’t be enough of it when it comes to this topic, if you ask me. You have to stop worrying about looks before you turn 40 and look back at how much happier you could have been if you had understood that none of this matters. Because it really doesn’t. Or does it?

Any other tricks to share?

If you can fake it, you can make it – trust me.




P.s.: This is not me trying to whine and mimimi, but if you’re offended, please consult my disclaimer. If you too are still faking it, why don’t you share the love via Facebook? xoxo

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F*ck yeah, Sale

Girls, I know you love fashion and when I saw that SALE has officially started at mytheresa, I have decided to make those of you feel a little bit better about themselves who are struggling with the same major problem as I am at the moment, which is being a broke ass student who wasn’t even looking forward for SALE to start and everybody to flaunt their bargains in your face. What an annoyingly long sentence… but come on, let’s have a look at the things we don’t want to have anyway:

The idea came when I saw this pair of… boots? F*cking hell? I love Dolce & Gabbana and as a Russian I am not overly sensitive when it comes to colors and prints and gemstones and whatever on clothes, but this… This reminds me of the costumes that German people wear on carnival, at least in the southern part of Germany, and this is not a good thing – read here about my relationship with carnival. At the price of now 2.765€ they are not exactly for free, either.

Then there’s this. I must have said a few too many nice things about recent developments of Gucci, because this can’t be serious. Imagine wearing these during summer…eww… how did we get here? We’re taking care of our bodies every day, trying to remove every slight chance of a hair as soon as we spot it and then fashion comes along and suggests that pink fluff around your toes is not a completely disgusting thing. I’ll pass, that’s another 1.043€ plus. Go us!

I was just about to get over the shoes and move on when I saw this… The f*ck Isabel, you were an idol to us not so long ago, what do you mean? Imagine how annoying the person must be that seriously pulls these off…Nah, sorry, not with me.


Before I go on about what I think of these Charlotte Olympia stripper heels, let’s move on with… bags. Who doesn’t love bags? Let me change that for you:

I don’t know a lot about JW Anderson, I just know that a quite prominent Swiss fashion blogger is trying to let us believe that her hideous fish-fin shoes are somewhat desirable, so I am aware that JW Anderson and I will never be a thing, but this here… Check out the name… Airplane leather shoulder bag. No offense JWA, but…this looks like an orca at best, which kind of coincides with my fishy conspiracy from a second ago. Can’t fool me.

Next comes Miu Miu. This item here is not exactly hideous, but I’m so over this type of bags they have – am I the only one? I know that every brand has their signature thing, but every time I see these – what are they? Ruffles? – it seems so 2000 and super late to me. No wonder it is on SALE – we’ve had enough of it, get the message?

And at this point I’m starting to think that mytheresa is somehow trying to prank us, because this little monster here that goes by the romantic name Trigger Reef patent leather tote is SOLD OUT. You must be kidding me. Am I really the most unfashionable person out there, the only one who doesn’t see the potential to combine unforgettable outfits with this little bugger here? I really hope that somebody bought them all to burn them and save the world.


There’s also a couple of MK bags on SALE, by the way, but I think I’ve said enough about those already in the past, so let’s move on to clothes. Here are my three favs:

Miu Miu again – why are you doing this to us? Getting some strong Steve Urkel vibes here…I imagine it must be very popular with annoyingly in-your-face androgynous women or that guy from one of your courses who met his girlfriend over 9GAG… Not sexy, not fashionable – but who am I to judge, obviously.

And then one beautiful day, probably shortly after some near death experience, Tom Ford had this vision to create a terrible accident in the shape of a skirt, involving all of the hoofed animals of Africa, and throw some reptiles in, too. So much fun? I don’t get it, but I promise you I can DIY one of these for you, if you’re trying to attract the attention of a really really weird guy.

What’s next – mmmhm. Imagine not only having to wear something as incredible horrible as a suede bomber – why?? – but also having payed more than 2k for it….crazy, no? LOEWE, stick to those amazing skirts of yours, put this and your elephant bag back to where you got it. You’re welcome.


Nope, sorry, another one. This is so horrible. Also in the combination that they are suggesting on the site, what is this? A letter from Cher? I don’t get it. Why would you bring something that we’ve successfully overcome when I was about the age of 12 back to the stores? We really never do learn from mistakes, do we?


That’s it. I can go back to uni stuff and know that I’ve seen it all. Don’t get me wrong, there were a couple of things I would have loved to have, but you must feel a little bit better now too, don’t you? We’ve just saved a couple of thousand euros that other lunatics will probably be willing to pay. You’re welcome.

They didn’t ask me to write this little review, trust me – haha



P.s.: Don’t worry, I love mytheresa – but if you still decide to be offended, please mind my disclaimer. If you find my chatter even remotely relatable, you can always share some love on Facebook. Or here. Or wherever. Just do 😉 xx


The pictures used are obviously taken from their site.

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Friends don’t let friends go through hell

Sometimes I’m amazed by what a bloody birdbrain I really am. How do the super smart girls say? I can’t even.

I keep complaining about how I can’t find topics to write about because I’m so swamped with uni stuff until the end of the month, all the while missing out on covering the most obvious one for somebody who is flying to a super secret location in less than four days!!! in order to celebrate a bride to be: Hen parties.

Daaaaamn, where do I start? Let’s just say this: Together with four other  girls, we’ve organized a hen weekend for a very dear friend of ours, who had her civil marriage on Friday and will be having a big bash a month later. Because she’s such a dear friend to us, we have decided to omit the following:

  • Costumes – no dressing her up as the queen fairy of our group, no us walking around like a very very, terribly fucked up version of painfully unsuccessful Playboy bunnies, no nothing.
  • The infamous vendor’s tray – we will not force her to run up and down Limmat Quai and sell condoms and schnaps to strangers. Unless she does something terrible to us at some point – Ana, take note: I can make that happen in no time!
  • A handcart – Sadly and very intentionally, she will not be able to take it with her on the plane. Just a small carry-on luggage filled with cute outfits and we’re ready to go.

I’m sure you know what I’m talking about. Groups of girls, not even approximately as attractive as their flamboyant behavior and tight outfits suggest, running up and down city center every f*cking weekend in summer, stopping strangers, desperately trying to sell tasteless articles to anybody who’s stupid enough not to downright ignore them. They might not be loud, they might not always be annoying if you manage to get away from them quickly enough, but they are so. f*cking. embarrassing.

What I always wonder is – do these brides ask their closest friends to make them go through hell before their wedding? To embarrass them in front of as many people as possible before they go on to live happily ever after? Or is it the friends who decide that she needs to be punished for leaving their circle of desperate single ladies? Are they taking evil revenge for something she has done to them before? Because every time I see such a group around town, me, a not so religious girl, I pray to whoever might or might not be up there to never ever lead me through such hell. Worst case scenario, always. Do you hear me?

Yes, I like to get tipsy with a group of girls, it’s fun. But I don’t need to do so at a place where everybody in their right mind instantly hates me and fears to smell my boozed breath. Yes, I look forward to celebrate our bride, but why can’t we just wear our normal, pretty clothes instead of unflattering group-outfits? And why do we have to annoy the living crap out of everybody in order to enjoy ourselves?

The thing is… there seem to be a lot of people who are really enjoying this? Why else do such scenes seem to never go away and repeat, mostly all through the summer weekends?

While writing these lines, I’m noticing how seeing such groups on the street in Germany or Switzerland make me cringe, while the same scene in the streets of England would never seem wrong or at least equally embarrassing to me – does that make sense? Not sure if this is something that speaks for my beloved Brits, though…

But to anybody apart from the Brits, I’d like to say this: Please stop. Please. Value your friendship. Be nice to the bride. Make this about her. Enjoy some time together. Don’t embarrass her or yourselves. Don’t try to flirt with the guys who you’re trying to flog latex to. You’re not cute, you’re not fun, you’re a walking zoo.

Friends don’t let friends go through such hell,trust me.



P.s.: Don’t be offended just because you were planning to do something terrible to your friend for her hen party – consult my disclaimer instead. If you agree with me and every other sane person – why don’t you share the love, on Facebook for example. xoxo

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Naturally unnatural

There are topics I don’t want to comment on on the blog, such as political matters or the ongoing debate on Stanford due to recent (and not so recent slash sadly omnipresent) events. I mean I’d love to comment on it, but I know how emotional I can get and I want to spare you my full repertoire of swearwords, hate and torture fantasies. I don’t know – at some point I have just decided to keep my hands off such topics, even if some of you might be interested to read another opinion and thoughts, but I kind of want to keep this a safe place for insignificant chatter and let no space for potentially insensitive remarks.

Still, there is a thing that came to my mind while discussing what happened in Stanford with other people, i.e. men: just imagine they were as disgusted with rape or any type of violence that happens to a woman as much as they are disgusted with the female menstruation. Sounds weird, doesn’t it?

It’s almost hysterical how abnormally grossed out men are when you mention bodily fluids that come out of a woman in contrast to when they come out of a man. You surely know what I’m talking about.

Some men can’t resist making an oh so funny comment if they see a tampon fall out of your bag – like ha-ha, I don’t even want to know what you laughed about when you were only 10 years old. Look, haha, a hand? And can you imagine that, at the age of 25, I still have to listen to guys finding it funny to drop a comment about the connection of your mood and your monthly condition? Apart from leaving you slightly embarrassed, don’t such remarks make you want to get back with a comment, getting into the most detailed specifics about your period, just to gross him out and teach him a lesson?

Because when you dare to even mention blood in combination with your cookie box, his potential place of desire, you instantly become weird or disgusting. Eww, don’t mention a totally normal thing, how can you. And as soon as that same blood emerges from the same place, but not for a natural, for a forced reason, weirdly, perception changes completely. No trace of disgust, whatsoever. No revulsion, no sympathy, nothing. Attempts to explain it, maybe. Attempts to divide blame like well, you shouldn’t knock yourself out with alcohol in the first place or show less skin when you go out. I mean yes, of course there are hints of compassion sometimes – not everybody’s an idiot, right. But never disgust.

Now I know, sometimes it can be hard to sympathize for something that is so far away from yourself, so I’m not blaming anyone – Except, of course I do, but you know what I mean… 😉 And I also know that men like to have this picture of women as mythical creatures who are happy and horny 24/7 and have only little in common with a human being when it comes to anything potentially intimate, except for their boobs and cookie box, i.e. god’s gift to men. It’s just something that I’ve noticed more than once, also in combination with other bodily functions.

I had a boyfriend who totally freaked out every time I indicated I had to pee urgently, for the sake of making him hurry up a little, for example. He didn’t want me to share such information with him. Oh, TMI, right? Like, burp and fart contests with your friends are totally fine, but a woman that isn’t a supernatural creature with no human features – outrageous.

Now I’m not saying that indigestion should be a topic on your first date or a main topic of any conversation thereafter. I’m just saying that sometimes people lack perspective. Or reality. Or maturity. Or brains? And I’m not saying this as a feminist. I’m saying this as a sanely not-uptight person. Just as a marginal note: such reactions usually come from men who haven’t been with a woman long enough to realize that – sadly? – there’s more to them than what you see in the magazines. Or from complete idiots. Either way, you’re outing yourself as immature or being the one who is, in fact, disgusting. You need to change your perspective.

Acting like something completely natural is taboo, while considering something that shouldn’t normally happen just an unpleasant incident, is not normal. You’re welcome.

Please excuse the not so sexy topic, but…

I do have a point, trust me.



P.s.: Think I was inappropriate? Here’s my disclaimer. Do you agree? A little? Maybe? Here’s Facebook for you to share some love…or just like. xoxo

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