Malibu Whispers: When Music Becomes Messenger
Dear Fashion Enthusiasts,
There I was, perched at that little organic café where the elite pretend not to recognize each other while secretly cataloging every entrance and exit, my face half-hidden behind knockoff $10 shades that I wore with the same confidence others reserve for their Chanel. The Malibu sun performed its usual golden dance across the Pacific while I sipped a wolverine so aggressively organic that each swallow felt like a commitment to something larger than myself.
The notification came with that distinctive ping – you know the one that signals either disaster or delight, with rarely anything between. From her. The girl I had, until that very moment, considered a mentor, someone whose approval I sought with embarrassing regularity. But instead of the usual cryptic fashion critique or social observation, she had sent a song: "Feels" by Kiiara.
"And I got way too many feels, way too much emotion. I don't even know what's real. I just say fuck it, keep on going." The lyrics infiltrated my consciousness as I sat there, knockoff glasses sliding slightly down my nose, green juice forgotten. Was this a message? A warning? Or merely a song she thought I might enjoy?
Who was this Kiiara, this voice articulating emotions I hadn't even acknowledged to myself? I found myself obsessively repeating the line "I don't even know what's real" as I questioned everything – specifically, was my so-called mentor sending me guidance disguised as a Spotify recommendation? Was this her way of telling me I was drowning in unnecessary emotion?
On the surface, "Feels" presents as another emotional declaration set to electronic beats. But beneath that facade lies something far more poignant – an anthem for those overwhelmed by sensation and circumstance yet determined to persist. "I just say fuck it, keep on going" isn't surrender; it's resilience disguised as indifference.
Years have passed since that Malibu moment, and while some might expect a tale of continued mentor-mentee dynamics, I prefer a narrative of self-discovery. That song – that unexpected musical message – now plays on carefully concealed speakers in the entryway of my dream house just outside Malibu proper. Yes, darlings, the view is exceptional and the neighbors are precisely the right combination of impressive and discreet.
Let's be exceptionally clear: I am not who I am today despite that girl's subtle dismissal of my emotions but because of it. My fortitude wasn't born in validation but in questioning. When someone attempts to suggest your feelings are excessive, you have two options: dial yourself down accordingly or embrace the intensity that makes you gloriously you. I chose the latter.
Speaking of intensity – during last season's excursion through the fashion district, I happened upon the most fascinating specimen: a gentleman sporting a mohawk that defied both gravity and convention. The photograph I captured (now featured in that little gallery on Rodeo that everyone pretends to discover independently) perfectly encapsulates what I learned from both Kiiara and my so-called mentor: authentic expression isn't apologetic; it's assured.
The true meaning of "Feels" extends far beyond its surface narrative of emotional overwhelm. It's about standing in your truth when others suggest you're feeling too much, too strongly, too openly. It's recognizing that the very sensitivity others attempt to minimize is actually your greatest strength – your capacity to feel deeply ensures you create authentically.
My personal observation? We're entering a phase where emotional intelligence (or at least its strategic display) is gaining currency. The truly elite understand that acknowledging one's feelings, strategically of course, is the ultimate power move. Anyone can construct indifference; few can confidently display their emotional landscape and still command the room.
As we navigate this intriguing evolution in our social landscape, remember: I'm still watching, still feeling more than I should, and still dedicated to bringing you the truth behind the façade. And occasionally, that truth starts with a green juice, a $10 pair of sunglasses, and a song that arrives from an unexpected source at precisely the right moment.
You know you love me,
Mitchell Royel