Category Archives: Health & Fitness

Crazy healthy #8: nail polish

The very attentive among you might have noticed that I haven’t talked about health on here for a while. The reason is not that I don’t care about health anymore, to the contrary, it’s just that the serious topics aren’t as sexy and entertaining as others are. Today, I would like to share a couple of girly thoughts on nail polish – you can also follow #crazyhealthy for previous health blabla on here.

So, where do I start? Let’s make it short: Nail polish is full of nasty toxins, apparently. Not a big surprise, judging from the smell of it, but there, I said it. What do we do now? Don’t panic.

It’s something that I have been thinking about for a while now, comparable to a smoker who knows about the risks and what would be right in theory, but keeps telling himself that another one won’t hurt. Same here: applying another coat won’t kill me, right?

Of course it won’t. But still.

Reading about the stuff that’s supposedly used to make nail polish is something I prefer to ignore. Google it for further information if this sounds silly to you, but in short: formaldehydes, toluol and phthalate, among others, seem to be rather nasty. I obviously have no idea how to even pronounce the last one and the truth is that I don’t really want to get into research too deep, but even the prospect of something potentially giving me allergies, potentially being carcinogenic or potentially harming my health in any other way is kind of semi-sexy. N’est-ce pas?

So we’re basically applying sh*t that can cause all sorts of disgusting things to our very sensitive nails, keep rubbing it against our sensitive skin, nibbling on it etc. The list is endless, going from seemingly harmless redness to rashes to harming your inner organs, nervous system and what not.

I know, many people will turn their eyes at this, tell me to calm em titts and crawl out of my bunker – but you must admit that it doesn’t really add up, paying for something to make you more pretty from the outside, but getting a lot of sh*t for what’s going on inside in return, even if it’s a slow process and certainly isn’t fatal to most of us. No?

Anyway, I’m done with the bad news, do your own research if you care – but can we talk quickly about how betrayed I feel? Having bought bottle after bottle of that cute Chanel vernis, only to find out it’s doing me no good, besides supporting my hand fetish? For the price of 20 or something Euros? You must be sh*tting me. I know I know I know….I should have known…nothing cute / chic / fabulous ever comes for free. And that OPI with its super bold, fun colors? Shame on me. Again, I should have known – nothing healthy ever comes from the US.

But there’s good news. Apparently, there seems to be polish that doesn’t contain all of this, which means I might not have to totally pass on looking like I have my sh*t together in the future. Girls will be girls, after all. Of course, this will mean throwing away my insane collection of double Cs and replace it with something seemingly less chic… but all jokes aside – what’s less chic than being unhealthy? Nothing, basically – think about it.

Personally, I will throw away all of my nail polish and look for something with less scary ingredients, whether you think this is crazy or not. I’ll just need a minute to say my goodbyes and thanks for nothings. I’ll let those of you who are interested in doing the same know if I find something to replace my collection…

Any ‘extreme’ steps you have taken for your health recently? Let me know.

Sometimes you have to make sacrifices for your health, trust me.



P.s.: If you can’t seem to find the joke in my chatter, please make sure to read my disclaimer first. If you do get me, why don’t you visit @girlcasm on Facebook, like, follow, share and care? Also, please feel free to contact me for a free #girlcasm bracelet, available in yellow, red, orange, blue, brown and violet. XOXO

Share This:


Some while ago I got a personal message by a reader, saying how she admired my confidence, how she wishes to someday reach an equal level of it and be as effortless as apparently I seem to be. This made me think how I wanted to be even more honest about confidence and make it a topic on here more often, in order to be more real about what is behind looking as ‘confident’ as in that one picture chosen from a 100 awkward ones – what do you think?

I once dated a guy who casually told me how a real girl’s behind is never as nice as the one in the magazines because in real life they always had a flaw, like a couple of pimples, for example.

Besides a loud ‘duh, real life comes without a filter, you moron‘ inside of my head, this is since stuck in my mind as one of the most unsexy things somebody has ever said to me. Not because it made me conscious about my behind having flaws – I f*cking love my ass, it’s perfect, and you should love yours, too – but because I think it’s really unattractive that somebody would even notice such things, let alone memorize them and then bring them up in a casual conversation. I’m not a hardcore feminist or anything – but who the f*ck do you think you are?

Such things make me super mad because I know that a lot of girls are under the impression that they are not ‘good enough’ because of some silly comment somebody ones decided to make and face all sorts of difficulties because of that. Me too, at that time, I had either too little confidence and/or brain to realize that that guy must have had a serious problem which had nothing to do with me. Being left totally self-conscious, naturally and without going too much into detail, we didn’t make it much further than first base. And I can’t say hat I’m sorry about that. He’s still (again) single now, btw – I wonder why…

Because the truth is that, yes, everybody – and not only men – grows up having the weirdest ideals shaped by the environment he or she lives in. But also a normal person will know the difference between ‘that’s perfect, that’s something I like to think of whenever me and my hand have some alone-time‘ and ‘that’s perfect, just the way it is, for so many reasons‘.

For some reason it took me years to realize that, which is why I decided to jot down a short post about it – because I know that we all are stupid and that we all need to hear some things a thousand times or even more, before we really believe them. It took a very loving and understanding boyfriend to make me realize that my butt is ok, just the way it is, even with faint stretch marks on it – from growing to its current, yummy size. But it shouldn’t take anybody for you to realize these sorts of things, which is why I came here today to give you just a quick reminder:

Body hair is normal, stretch marks are normal, acne is normal, scars are normal – for men and women alike – in case you forgot.

So next time somebody dares telling you anything else, please send him over to me, I’d love to point out all of his flaws to him and see what kind of excuse he thinks he has. Dickhead.

Anything you’d like to add?

You’re flawless, trust me.



P.s.: You can’t be offended by this, but if you are, please consult my disclaimer. If you agree with my chatter, why don’t you visit @girlcasm on Facebook, like, follow, comment, share the love or contact me for a free #girlcasm bracelet, available in different colors? xoxo

Share This:


The boy and I, we rarely fight. Even though we’re both equally stubborn and judgmental from time to time, luckily we mostly agree on things – especially the things or people we dislike, turning us into a really really obnoxious couple. But there’s one thing that I have noticed about us where we are completely different: maintenance.

He will totally hate me for this, but let me elaborate:

What he does on a daily basis is: get up, take a shower, put gel in his hair, dry it, put on some pants and a shirt. Like, a button-down shirt. Every. F*cking. Day. He’d rather skip breakfast than his daily routine. He does own a couple of t-shirts, but he wears them in bed or when he works out. Not on a regular day, though. Not even if he’s not really planning to leave the house. God forbid.

Me on the other hand…

I get up and go straight to the kitchen. I prepare breakfast, no matter what. If I have to be somewhere really early, I’ll get up early enough to have the time to eat enough to get me through the first two hours of my day. Everything else is secondary. If anything.

If you follow me on Snapchat – @chaotete, hint hint – you already know this: If I don’t have to go somewhere important, I don’t see a real reason why I should get dressed. In winter, I do put on something over my pajamas so I’m not cold but in summer I literally have no reason to dress properly. Or do my hair. Or put on make up.

Why? Because I can, that’s why. Because I don’t have a job – yet, besides uni – that requires for me to look somewhat polished and trustworthy. Something that will change early enough and last for a long long while. Because I feel more comfortable that way. Cosy and free. Just natural, just me. Maybe it’s because I’m lazy AF, yes, but also because I believe that I’m – still – young enough to look acceptable without a lot of effort.

Because why would I need the extra effort? And for whom? For myself to look at my reflection wherever I walk by a shop window? Right…

I had this thought when I spent a couple of days on Mallorca earlier this month, equipped with a couple of basic clothes, mostly to cover my body for occasions like hotel breakfasts or strolls around town in the evening. No heels, no bags, not even deodorant. Not because I like to scare people off with my natural venom, but because salt water and sun did the job as good as any chemical you’d usually use. And makeup? Nothing beats a tan and a fresh face. Nothing.

But walking around town in the evening, there were so many girls and women, looking like they had spent at least an hour to get ready. For dinner. At a pizzeria. Or drinks from shared buckets with sparklers. With their parents, mostly. On Mallorca. You know what I mean?

And when I came home, I saw all those blog post coming up, of bloggers sharing their visual diaries from their trips to Thailand or other exotic destinations. In their pink Zara velvet pants. With their Valentino rockstud bag. And their curling iron, obviously. And 50 shades of lipgloss?

And I just rolled my eyes.

Yes, I know for some people it’s basically their job to look fake and ‘perfect’ and I know that other people do enjoy pampering themselves, feeling good about themselves, knowing that they put some effort into their looks. But somehow nobody ever promotes how it’s a great feeling to feel good about yourself, knowing that it didn’t take 25 different products, seven outfit changes and way too many f*cks to get you into a presentable state.

I mean, I’m not judging if you’re somebody who enjoys dressing up 24/7 – it’s not like I never use makeup or totally overdress occasionally. Me too, I like a pretty outfit with a matching bag. I also don’t despise personal hygiene, to the contrary. With ‘less effort’ I don’t mean ‘less showers’.

It’s just that I sometimes have the feeling that people don’t even see not changing their appearance on a daily basis as an option. Or that their poor makeup skills ruin more than they help, just like a lot of other fake stuff people do to themselves which I obviously have a clear opinion on…

And I think they are missing out on a huge luxury. A privilege. A brief moment in life that might be over earlier than we think: Youth – the time when literally everybody looks good without a lot of fuzz. Yes, it’s cheesy, but trust me, you’re beautiful without your daily shield of wall color. You don’t look a fraction as hideous without makeup as your silly brain tells you. And whoever tells you differently should perhaps exfoliate his/her skin, set some life goals and contemplate why they have reached this point.

Ask your granny. She’d take your #iwokeuplikethis any time, trust me.



P.s.: Here’s my disclaimer, but you’re not offended anyway, are you? Cool, how about you follow @girlcasm on Facebook or contact me for a free @girlcasm bracelet? Share the love! xoxo


Share This:

Less is more

I don’t know about your country, but I went to primary school in Germany, which is where I draw a certain memory from: girls used to comment on their crush’s ‘fragrant’ washing powder. Like mmmmhm he smells so nice of washing powder! I can say that my conscience is clear on this one – I never got the idea why the substance somebody’s mother had chosen to wash that person’s dirty underwear qualified as an attractive feature.

While I’m happy to admit that we were all young and stupid once for one or another reason, I am kind of at a loss when it comes to the question why people seem to keep up this fondness for one of the worst smells there is on earth. I hear of people having preferences in brands, depending on smell, people who can keep washing powders apart, depending on smell and people who seriously prefer whatever has the most obtrusive smell of washing powder over just neutral washing powder.

You know you can always count on me to be honest with you, so here we go: do yourself a favor and switch to washing powder without scent. Smell like yourself, not some cheap-ass toxic substance. If it’s not your health you care about (because obviously artificial scent, especially something as obnoxiously disgusting as the smell of washing powder, is bad – google it if you don’t trust me), you should definitely care about first impressions. Whenever I smell somebody’s washing powder I can’t help but think of low IQs and primitive jokes.

You do know that your clothes won’t be any less clean if you chose something that doesn’t smell like watching bad TV in the afternoon, don’t you? Try it, I dare you.

While we’re at it, I’d like to add that the same goes for cheap perfume, too. I get that not everybody is eager to spend a lot of money on expensive fluids, but sometimes I walk by girls and think – can it be that bathing in cheap-ass perfume day by day costs about as much as using one discreet dash of perfume of better quality? Only that in second case you’d end up smelling like, you know, a person with taste? And in case of doubt – no perfume at all still smells better than what you’re doing to yourself and your environment. Why does it have to be so much it lingers for minutes after you pass some place? You’re not a dog, are you?

And finally, the same goes for body sprays. No matter what marketing teams are trying to suggest with ads showing women running after men who smell of AXE or the like – it is not true. It is not attractive. Full stop. I promise I’d rather have a man smell like a man – one that showers instead of covering up his lack of hygiene, of course – instead of smelling of something that is so cheap he choses to bathe in it. Try water next time, it’s great.

Isn’t one of the best odors in the world the smell of a beloved person’s skin? Pure and clean, without distraction of anything else?

All of the mentioned artificial scents mixed with a hint of cigarette smell and you have it – the most repellent shield ever. Unattractive, headache-causing and absolutely tacky. Keep that in mind.

Less can be more, trust me.



P.s.: If you’re offended, my disclaimer is still in action – if not, you should swing by @girlcasm on Facebook. xoxo


Also… I’m still giving away girlcasm bracelets for free, contact me if you’re interested 🙂




Share This:

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

Share This: