It’s a quandary, we see so much beauty and yet can never be sated, not for the fashion writer that fulfilled, content feeling, you know the one, that first drink of tea, beer or wine that is the reward for the end of the week or a job well done, no satisfying feeling akin to sinking into an armchair from your mums fully equipped Sunday roast.

No, for the fashion writer its constant flux, no ponderous moment of closure, no looking back, it’s all about whats next, show me more, show me now.

We’re trapped in an infinity loop, as we reach the crescendo, the outer limits we’re thrown back inward, a constant fear returning us to the centre. Our minds race, who is hot, have I covered that trend, where is my next story?

Our addiction to beauty causes the orbit, more than a captivation, we’re obsessed, it’s why we take that final seat at a 9pm show on a cold February night after a 14 hour day filled with 25,000 rain accompanied steps.

The new and the quest for it is the elixir that keeps us alive, and we wouldn’t have it any other way.

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