In case you were late to the party, I am a published columnist and writer.
You're welcome.
http://theprojector.ca/stories/view/ingrids-impressions
http://theprojector.ca/stories/view/dude-do-you-have-a-hair-elastic
Sincerely,
Ingrid
Saturday 13 December 2014
An Overdue Farewell Letter to my Eating Disorder
This is a tough post to write. Maybe I'm writing this because the new year is looming over us, maybe because I'm sentimental with the end of my first semester, or maybe it's because I recently wrote my personal essay on this subject and got me thinking.
Regardless, I want to write this.
A year ago, I was diagnosed with severe bulimia and anorexia, and had to undergo intense treatment at the rehabilitation program for eating disorders for three months at HSC. I suffered with the illness since I was 14 years old, and was tormented for eight and a half years before treatment. I cannot sum up what it's like, but to put it bluntly, it sucked.
For years I would conjure up unethical rules for eating, alienated myself from my friends, had extreme self-loathing towards myself, became a slave to the app My Fitnesspal and scale numbers, obsessed over clothing sizes, the list is ongoing and endless.
I have heard many people and read many articles that it's a "vain illness," which is the farthest thing from the truth.
Every waking moment of my life, I was thinking about food. Which meals I could skip that would go unnoticed, how many calories is in what I'm eating, how I can slip away to the washroom to purge up what I ate, if I eat this then I can't eat that........it never ended.
I would have reoccurring nightmares of being obese, and wake up in cold sweats, and cry myself back to sleep. I would clutch my stomach every morning, reassuring myself it was still concave. I would stare at myself in the mirror, pinching my flesh, telling my reflection I was worthless and people would like me better if I was skinny.
My body image was so contorted. I saw a 170-pound girl in the mirror, oppose to the 108-pound girl looking at herself with extreme distaste.
The lowest weight I reached was 99 pounds, and I remember feeling euphoric when I saw the numbers on the scale. I was determined to reach my next goal weight of 95 pounds. I didn't understand that low weights were extremely unhealthy and dangerous, and I learnt from a nutritionist that my real weight should be 125 pounds. I was in a blind frenzy for unattainable perfection.
I feel as if I had two people living inside of me, bulimia and anorexia. We were a sick, twisted family of three, and I welcomed them into my life, and could not rid myself of them.
I'll never forget the day my family found out. I had become an expert liar, and hid my body under loose cardigans. My best friend had secretly texted my younger sister pictures of my body I had taken, of my protruding ribs and clavicle bone. My sister showed my mother and oh boy, tears and screaming matches ensued.
After months of broken promises, lies and tears, I reluctantly and resentfully agreed to meet with a psychologist and was, against my wishes, enrolled into rehab. It felt like a death sentence.
It was the most intense experience of my life. It was 12 hours of intense discussions, food, and hell. I came home emotionally and physically drained, and cried every day. I was bloated and disgusting. I felt like I was being stuffed like a turkey for Thanksgiving dinner. Ana and Mia (the terms for anorexia and bulimia) were kicking and screaming within me, telling me to leave, that they were trying to sabotage my life. I wanted to give in to their demands so badly, but with lots of pushing, I trekked on with treatment.
Slowly, veryyyyyyyyyyy slowly, I stopped having anxiety over food. I began to look in the mirror without cringing. I didn't mind that I couldn't fit into my 00 jeans. I enjoyed food. I enjoyed life. I left the program as a new human being, just as myself, no two evil voices in my head. I was free.
Of course, I will never truly be rid of my demons. I still yearn for a smaller figure, I do get nervous about eating certain foods, and I do sometimes feel down about my body. But, hey, I tell myself everyday that I am so much more than numbers and bones.
I never step on scales anymore, I don't count calories, and I've deleted any fitness app off my phone. I get excited to go out for meals, and have become a more confident and pleasant human being.
During treatment, I was given an assignment to write a farewell letter to my eating disorder, and I never did. Until now.
So this is for you, anorexia and bulimia. So long, I'll miss you never, don't ever step foot in my life again, you'll be shunned. You do not shape me into the person I want to be, you are not welcome in my life.
Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to finish every bite of these delicious chocolate chip pancakes, loaded with maple syrup and butter. Adieu, adieu.
Sincerely,
Ingrid
Regardless, I want to write this.
A year ago, I was diagnosed with severe bulimia and anorexia, and had to undergo intense treatment at the rehabilitation program for eating disorders for three months at HSC. I suffered with the illness since I was 14 years old, and was tormented for eight and a half years before treatment. I cannot sum up what it's like, but to put it bluntly, it sucked.
For years I would conjure up unethical rules for eating, alienated myself from my friends, had extreme self-loathing towards myself, became a slave to the app My Fitnesspal and scale numbers, obsessed over clothing sizes, the list is ongoing and endless.
I have heard many people and read many articles that it's a "vain illness," which is the farthest thing from the truth.
Every waking moment of my life, I was thinking about food. Which meals I could skip that would go unnoticed, how many calories is in what I'm eating, how I can slip away to the washroom to purge up what I ate, if I eat this then I can't eat that........it never ended.
I would have reoccurring nightmares of being obese, and wake up in cold sweats, and cry myself back to sleep. I would clutch my stomach every morning, reassuring myself it was still concave. I would stare at myself in the mirror, pinching my flesh, telling my reflection I was worthless and people would like me better if I was skinny.
My body image was so contorted. I saw a 170-pound girl in the mirror, oppose to the 108-pound girl looking at herself with extreme distaste.
The lowest weight I reached was 99 pounds, and I remember feeling euphoric when I saw the numbers on the scale. I was determined to reach my next goal weight of 95 pounds. I didn't understand that low weights were extremely unhealthy and dangerous, and I learnt from a nutritionist that my real weight should be 125 pounds. I was in a blind frenzy for unattainable perfection.
I feel as if I had two people living inside of me, bulimia and anorexia. We were a sick, twisted family of three, and I welcomed them into my life, and could not rid myself of them.
I'll never forget the day my family found out. I had become an expert liar, and hid my body under loose cardigans. My best friend had secretly texted my younger sister pictures of my body I had taken, of my protruding ribs and clavicle bone. My sister showed my mother and oh boy, tears and screaming matches ensued.
After months of broken promises, lies and tears, I reluctantly and resentfully agreed to meet with a psychologist and was, against my wishes, enrolled into rehab. It felt like a death sentence.
It was the most intense experience of my life. It was 12 hours of intense discussions, food, and hell. I came home emotionally and physically drained, and cried every day. I was bloated and disgusting. I felt like I was being stuffed like a turkey for Thanksgiving dinner. Ana and Mia (the terms for anorexia and bulimia) were kicking and screaming within me, telling me to leave, that they were trying to sabotage my life. I wanted to give in to their demands so badly, but with lots of pushing, I trekked on with treatment.
Slowly, veryyyyyyyyyyy slowly, I stopped having anxiety over food. I began to look in the mirror without cringing. I didn't mind that I couldn't fit into my 00 jeans. I enjoyed food. I enjoyed life. I left the program as a new human being, just as myself, no two evil voices in my head. I was free.
Of course, I will never truly be rid of my demons. I still yearn for a smaller figure, I do get nervous about eating certain foods, and I do sometimes feel down about my body. But, hey, I tell myself everyday that I am so much more than numbers and bones.
I never step on scales anymore, I don't count calories, and I've deleted any fitness app off my phone. I get excited to go out for meals, and have become a more confident and pleasant human being.
During treatment, I was given an assignment to write a farewell letter to my eating disorder, and I never did. Until now.
So this is for you, anorexia and bulimia. So long, I'll miss you never, don't ever step foot in my life again, you'll be shunned. You do not shape me into the person I want to be, you are not welcome in my life.
Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to finish every bite of these delicious chocolate chip pancakes, loaded with maple syrup and butter. Adieu, adieu.
Sincerely,
Ingrid
Bissous Bissous Section 1
These past few days have been unexpectedly emotional for me. I've already seen a couple posts bidding farewell from other classmates, but I need to write my proper send off too.
Yesterday was the very last day my CreComm section and I were officially together as a class. I'm actually so heartbroken, and my resting bitch face showed emotion, with tears welled up in my eyes (at home, I don't do tears in public....usually).
I don't know where to begin, so I'm just going to jump right into it.
With the new semester just around the corner (cliche, sue me) my clique is being torn apart and thrown into new classes. I've grown so accustomed to everyone's faces, and I've made some life long friends.
Like many of my other classmates, I came into this program expecting to not make friends, play hard, do my thing, come out on top and peace out into the world. Not true. Like sooooooo not true. Within the first week, I realized I was among people just as weird as me, and I've never felt like I belonged somewhere so much until entering this program.
I've never met a clan of guys n gals who are so intelligent, creative, goofy and cool. We've been through so much together: receiving our first, second .....countless auto fails, doing streeters, editing each others work, going in front of the camera and easing each others nerves, interviewing mayoral candidates....the list is endless.
Through all our hardships, we've become so close and I feel like I can truly be myself in front of everyone, and not afraid to be who I am. You guys, we are basically like the non-judgmental breakfast club. Chic.
You've all accepted my "Ingridisms" (lametrons), support my man bun obsession, don't call me out when I wear Uggs to school, have my back in tough situations, listen to me rant about everything, laugh at my loser jokes (ok, they're brilliant), and give me the most unreal compliments that boost my confidence (telling me I could be a character of Gossip Girl is tres fab).
We've all become a close knit family, so the end of classes and commencement of the holidays are extremely bittersweet. Please, I know we all say "we'll keep in touch," but let's actually do that, OKAY??!!! Okay.
To all of you guys, keep doing your thing, you're all so outstanding. Continue to trek through the tough times, we will all win at life and accomplish what we set out to do. Paraphrasing Scott, I to believe that the first section you're with is with you for life. I wish you all the best and truly want all of you to be super successful in your future endeavours.
LOVE YOU ALL!!! xoxoxoxoxoxo
Sincerely,
Ingrid
Ps. When times are tough, we can always vent over liquid lunches at one of the numerous bars down the street.
Yesterday was the very last day my CreComm section and I were officially together as a class. I'm actually so heartbroken, and my resting bitch face showed emotion, with tears welled up in my eyes (at home, I don't do tears in public....usually).
I don't know where to begin, so I'm just going to jump right into it.
With the new semester just around the corner (cliche, sue me) my clique is being torn apart and thrown into new classes. I've grown so accustomed to everyone's faces, and I've made some life long friends.
Like many of my other classmates, I came into this program expecting to not make friends, play hard, do my thing, come out on top and peace out into the world. Not true. Like sooooooo not true. Within the first week, I realized I was among people just as weird as me, and I've never felt like I belonged somewhere so much until entering this program.
I've never met a clan of guys n gals who are so intelligent, creative, goofy and cool. We've been through so much together: receiving our first, second .....countless auto fails, doing streeters, editing each others work, going in front of the camera and easing each others nerves, interviewing mayoral candidates....the list is endless.
Through all our hardships, we've become so close and I feel like I can truly be myself in front of everyone, and not afraid to be who I am. You guys, we are basically like the non-judgmental breakfast club. Chic.
You've all accepted my "Ingridisms" (lametrons), support my man bun obsession, don't call me out when I wear Uggs to school, have my back in tough situations, listen to me rant about everything, laugh at my loser jokes (ok, they're brilliant), and give me the most unreal compliments that boost my confidence (telling me I could be a character of Gossip Girl is tres fab).
We've all become a close knit family, so the end of classes and commencement of the holidays are extremely bittersweet. Please, I know we all say "we'll keep in touch," but let's actually do that, OKAY??!!! Okay.
To all of you guys, keep doing your thing, you're all so outstanding. Continue to trek through the tough times, we will all win at life and accomplish what we set out to do. Paraphrasing Scott, I to believe that the first section you're with is with you for life. I wish you all the best and truly want all of you to be super successful in your future endeavours.
LOVE YOU ALL!!! xoxoxoxoxoxo
Sincerely,
Ingrid
Ps. When times are tough, we can always vent over liquid lunches at one of the numerous bars down the street.
Saturday 29 November 2014
If you don't deep condition are you even human ?
For ad class, my fellow peers and I were instructed to create a vine promoting a product we use. As you will see, conditioner is very important and really kicks off your day.
https://vine.co/v/O1nJBVnJj9p
Sincerely, Ingrid
https://vine.co/v/O1nJBVnJj9p
Sincerely, Ingrid
Thursday 20 November 2014
The 21st Century KKK: Korruption of the Kardashian Klan
My drive to school is a very fragile time for me. It's early, it's long, I hate every other driver that's not me, and I'm constantly changing radio stations to find a suitable song because Kate Moss (name of my 2009 Nissan, judge me) isn't up to date with Bluetooth, so playing my iTunes is a lost cause.
Shockingly, the other morning my aura felt quite centred on my drive to school. Maybe it's because my outfit was on point that morning. Unclear. Anyway, amidst my station changing ritual, waiting for the next song to play, I heard it. The word that makes my blood boil. The word that makes me roll my eyes to the moon and back. The word that makes me utter "for fuck sakes" every time.
Kardashian.
It's basically impossible to get one goddamn Kardashian-free day. That.....vile family infiltrates society's every social outlet humanly possible. They are basically inescapable. Like, here I am in my car waiting patiently for Nicki Minaj's Anaconda to play and it's rudely delayed by "news". I scoff at the word news since it consisted of Kim Kardashian buying a million-trillion-zillion dollar island to build an amusement park for her baby. Double-you-tee-eff..?!
I just don't understand how this is relevant, let alone deemed "news worthy." I mean, who the fuck cares? Why do we need to "keep up" with this family every single week? What do they do that contributes to our society?
To my complete dismay and disgust, the millions upon millions of people do "keep up with the Kardashians." We are a sickengly Kardashian obsessed society.
Allow me to elaborate: Kim and Kanye's wedding was dubbed "the wedding of the century," and was the top morning story on May 24th on at least three different news channels. I know this because I was searching for real life news whilst drinking my kale smoothie, and instead every HD channel was plastered with footage of the gaudy wedding venue. Ew much?
The sad truth is we are infatuated with a family who are famous for being famous. And I throw the word "we" around because admittedly, and very resentfully, I too show an interest in them. It infuriates me that I get sucked in to the Kardashian phenomenon, but they're quite literally everywhere.
I know more about Kim's fat ass and Kylie's lip injected-esque lips (personally, I do think they look amaze, but that's neither here nor there), than I do about impoverished third world countries.
Now, obviously that indiscretion is on me, I'm very capable of gaining access to updates on the qualms around the world, but the point is I have to search for them. I shouldn't have to. I shouldn't be knowledgeable on the size of Kim's derriere or the divorces amongst the Kardashian ladies. But that's what's making headlines oppose to world crisis' or scientific discoveries. It's pathetic.
What's really tragic about the Kardashian plague is that years from now, future generations will look back and the Kardashians will part of society's history. They won't know the great artists like Dali, Monet, or Da Vinci, nor the great rulers like Alexander The Great or Cleopatra. No. It will be marred with this family. It's an insult to the subject of history alone.
It's so irksome that we are allowing the Kardashians to taint our culture. The thing that just riles me up is how this family weaselled their way into the world of fashion.
Fashion is an art to me, and I have dedicated my heart to it (sooooooooooo cheesy, just go with it.) I have a respect for it, the designers, the pristine details, the entire production. The fashion industry has an allure to it, and a sense of prestige to it.
Designers, editors, and everyone involved in fashion have embraced this family and allow them to schmooze with the best. I feel......so violated. My special world, one I respected, has granted the Kardashian disease to be embraced. I feel as if my boyfriend (haha, I'm super single) has cheated on me with a tacky member of the Jersey Shore.
Marc Jacobs, Chanel, Givenchy.... all respected fashion houses, have planted a privileged 18 year old Kendall Jenner on their runways. Yes, she is tall, skinny, fierce face, but I mean really?! A Kardashian on legendary runways that have been walked by veterans Gisele, Kate and Claudia?
Like, LOL Kendall you're not a model. Le sigh.
I'm just so over them. The thought of them exhausts me, it's worrisome what has become important to our society. The argument is that people are curious about their lives. Their wealth, the privileges, their every move.
Here's an idea: instead of being curious, be a go-getter and achieve those things YOURSELVES. You're capable. Work hard. Play hard. Why should a pack of sleazy bimbettes controlled by a over-botoxed mother dictate your lives? It shouldn't.
The fact of the matter is, everyone talks about them, hate or love. You love to hate on them, you love to envy them, you love to aspire to them. Stop. It's disgusting.
I hope that their time will phase out fast, just like Juicy Couture sweat pants did.
Truthfully, the only thing that can be done to get the Kardashians to disintegrate into thin air is to simply ignore them, make them irrelevant. It's not probable, but not impossible.
At least I have this to keep me smug, because, lest we forget:
Just let the latter sink in.
Sincerely,
Ingrid
I know more about Kim's fat ass and Kylie's lip injected-esque lips (personally, I do think they look amaze, but that's neither here nor there), than I do about impoverished third world countries.
Now, obviously that indiscretion is on me, I'm very capable of gaining access to updates on the qualms around the world, but the point is I have to search for them. I shouldn't have to. I shouldn't be knowledgeable on the size of Kim's derriere or the divorces amongst the Kardashian ladies. But that's what's making headlines oppose to world crisis' or scientific discoveries. It's pathetic.
What's really tragic about the Kardashian plague is that years from now, future generations will look back and the Kardashians will part of society's history. They won't know the great artists like Dali, Monet, or Da Vinci, nor the great rulers like Alexander The Great or Cleopatra. No. It will be marred with this family. It's an insult to the subject of history alone.
It's so irksome that we are allowing the Kardashians to taint our culture. The thing that just riles me up is how this family weaselled their way into the world of fashion.
Fashion is an art to me, and I have dedicated my heart to it (sooooooooooo cheesy, just go with it.) I have a respect for it, the designers, the pristine details, the entire production. The fashion industry has an allure to it, and a sense of prestige to it.
Designers, editors, and everyone involved in fashion have embraced this family and allow them to schmooze with the best. I feel......so violated. My special world, one I respected, has granted the Kardashian disease to be embraced. I feel as if my boyfriend (haha, I'm super single) has cheated on me with a tacky member of the Jersey Shore.
Marc Jacobs, Chanel, Givenchy.... all respected fashion houses, have planted a privileged 18 year old Kendall Jenner on their runways. Yes, she is tall, skinny, fierce face, but I mean really?! A Kardashian on legendary runways that have been walked by veterans Gisele, Kate and Claudia?
Like, LOL Kendall you're not a model. Le sigh.
I'm just so over them. The thought of them exhausts me, it's worrisome what has become important to our society. The argument is that people are curious about their lives. Their wealth, the privileges, their every move.
Here's an idea: instead of being curious, be a go-getter and achieve those things YOURSELVES. You're capable. Work hard. Play hard. Why should a pack of sleazy bimbettes controlled by a over-botoxed mother dictate your lives? It shouldn't.
The fact of the matter is, everyone talks about them, hate or love. You love to hate on them, you love to envy them, you love to aspire to them. Stop. It's disgusting.
I hope that their time will phase out fast, just like Juicy Couture sweat pants did.
Truthfully, the only thing that can be done to get the Kardashians to disintegrate into thin air is to simply ignore them, make them irrelevant. It's not probable, but not impossible.
At least I have this to keep me smug, because, lest we forget:
Sincerely,
Ingrid
Friday 14 November 2014
Loud, not so Proud
Ah, the world of theatre. It's an art I can appreciate thanks to Broadway classics and its legends like Fred Astaire and Liza Minnelli. Maybe my interpretation of the theatre is somewhat glamourized, but nonetheless, I do enjoy a good show.
Before my CreComm days, I've thoroughly enjoyed Broadway renditions of Chicago, Grease and lower budget plays, all of which were full of wit and perfect theatrical timing.
On the flip side, the plays that were mandatory to attend in high school, my experiences were shall we say......less Frank Sinatra and more Britney Spears. In English: they fell flat.
Keeping that in mind, I was not sure what to expect when I attended a play with my classmates this past Wednesday. Would it be dry? Dull? A bizarre "artsy-performance" piece? An awkward musical?Maybe I'd be blown away with a masterpiece? I had no clue.
Well, it wasn't dull.
The play attended was called Proud by Michael Healy, a satirical four actor play set in Parliament circa 2011 after Stephen Harper and the Conservative Party win the federal election. The website for the play describes the show as "a biting political satire" and "humorous and clever". Right. I beg to differ.
Before I start passing judgment, I will give credit to the actors. Ross McMillan did an impeccable performance as Stephen Harper, right down to that silver haircut and robotic posture. Eric Blais and Kevin P. Gabel were terrific supporting roles as Cary Baines and Jake. It's hard not to feel biased towards Daria Puttaert because her character Jisbella Lyth was way over the top, way over-sexed, and just way too extra. But, all in all, she acted her part really well.
Okay. Now, the play. First things first, this play could've been a perfect satirical comedy IF it stuck with political jokes, which there was tons of opportunity for. Instead, they took the cliche route by over-sexualizing the female lead, and overused swear words (fuck was every second word), all for some cheap laughs.
Also, it was extremely difficult to get past how unrealistic the play was. Now I know, I know it was satire. But really, do you think a brand new female MP would barge into the newly appointed prime minister's office screaming "do you have a condom?!" in regards to sleeping with a random guy from the press. Oh, and would Stephen Harper address all his MP's telling them "they can go to him for any of their problems?" What is this, Dr. Phil?
The story was supposed to portray the Prime Minister using the density of Jisbella to his advantage to distract the press from his agenda. It just ended up being a bunch of sexual innuendoes, with Jisbella seducing Stephen Harper and Cary Baines.
However, there were some good parts, but they didn't happen until half way through the show. The turning point happened when Stephen Harper was listing off what he didn't care about in Parliament, and why he became prime minister over drinks with Jisbella. But, even that fell flat after awhile because his spiel just dragged on.
Overall, the play was not boring, but did not live up to its "humorous and clever" description. Where the good political jabs should've fit in, it was overshadowed by Jisbella's obnoxious and loud demeanour. When using sexuality and curse words, it needs to be subtle to make it work, not overbearing and distracting.
It was after the play, where some good points were made, raising the question does the government take advantage of the media. Considering how the main focal point was Jisbella as a ploy for the media, it's a good question to ponder.
Sincerely,
Ingrid
Before my CreComm days, I've thoroughly enjoyed Broadway renditions of Chicago, Grease and lower budget plays, all of which were full of wit and perfect theatrical timing.
On the flip side, the plays that were mandatory to attend in high school, my experiences were shall we say......less Frank Sinatra and more Britney Spears. In English: they fell flat.
Keeping that in mind, I was not sure what to expect when I attended a play with my classmates this past Wednesday. Would it be dry? Dull? A bizarre "artsy-performance" piece? An awkward musical?Maybe I'd be blown away with a masterpiece? I had no clue.
Well, it wasn't dull.
The play attended was called Proud by Michael Healy, a satirical four actor play set in Parliament circa 2011 after Stephen Harper and the Conservative Party win the federal election. The website for the play describes the show as "a biting political satire" and "humorous and clever". Right. I beg to differ.
Before I start passing judgment, I will give credit to the actors. Ross McMillan did an impeccable performance as Stephen Harper, right down to that silver haircut and robotic posture. Eric Blais and Kevin P. Gabel were terrific supporting roles as Cary Baines and Jake. It's hard not to feel biased towards Daria Puttaert because her character Jisbella Lyth was way over the top, way over-sexed, and just way too extra. But, all in all, she acted her part really well.
Okay. Now, the play. First things first, this play could've been a perfect satirical comedy IF it stuck with political jokes, which there was tons of opportunity for. Instead, they took the cliche route by over-sexualizing the female lead, and overused swear words (fuck was every second word), all for some cheap laughs.
Also, it was extremely difficult to get past how unrealistic the play was. Now I know, I know it was satire. But really, do you think a brand new female MP would barge into the newly appointed prime minister's office screaming "do you have a condom?!" in regards to sleeping with a random guy from the press. Oh, and would Stephen Harper address all his MP's telling them "they can go to him for any of their problems?" What is this, Dr. Phil?
The story was supposed to portray the Prime Minister using the density of Jisbella to his advantage to distract the press from his agenda. It just ended up being a bunch of sexual innuendoes, with Jisbella seducing Stephen Harper and Cary Baines.
However, there were some good parts, but they didn't happen until half way through the show. The turning point happened when Stephen Harper was listing off what he didn't care about in Parliament, and why he became prime minister over drinks with Jisbella. But, even that fell flat after awhile because his spiel just dragged on.
Overall, the play was not boring, but did not live up to its "humorous and clever" description. Where the good political jabs should've fit in, it was overshadowed by Jisbella's obnoxious and loud demeanour. When using sexuality and curse words, it needs to be subtle to make it work, not overbearing and distracting.
It was after the play, where some good points were made, raising the question does the government take advantage of the media. Considering how the main focal point was Jisbella as a ploy for the media, it's a good question to ponder.
Sincerely,
Ingrid
Saturday 8 November 2014
New York City Isn't the only "Big Apple" Out There
Almost every day, (okay every day), I lazily scroll through my Instagram when I have a spare moment (spare moments usually mean I'm bored/waiting/procrastinating). I robotically give a double tap to the dozens of fashion accounts I follow, and more often than not, ignore what I call "the pity accounts" (old classmates/family members who post bad pictures).
Admittedly, I am shall we say, a wee bit meticulous when it comes to my Instagram account. I have pruned and fine-tuned it into the perfect ratio of fashion, friends and food photographs. When it comes to finding a new account to add to my list, I get very selective. I mean, there can only be so many pictures of cakes, shoes and impossibly beautiful faces to follow, right? Right.
So, it takes a lot for me to "commit" to a new account, something fresh and inspiring. And then it happened. Sitting in my car (I was waiting this time), I stumbled upon one of the most fascinating Instagram pages, Humans of New York. Wow. What a breath of fresh air.
To put it mildly, I was captivated. Basically, the account consists of photos of citizens of New York City, from all demographics, including age, ethnicity, gender and financial backgrounds. The captions for the photos are either life stories or quotes of each person.
Completely immersed, I sat in the parking lot of Starbucks and read every single story. There's just shy of 2500 posts so needless to say, I sat there for quite some time. I just find it so..utterly cool that someone had this idea to bring the stories of random individuals on the street to life through the simplicity of an Instagram account. Aside from feeling completely impressed, my initial thought while reading was I wish I came up with something like this.
Ideas formulated of "People of Winnipeg" and instantly thought super no. It just doesn't have the same allure as New York. But then I thought "why not?" To be interesting, to have a story, does one have to live in a city with a grander scale of population? No.
Winnipeg gets so much backlash, and the funny thing is, from its own residents. But why? There are so many hidden gems in this city, with so many interesting people. It really aggravates me when I hear people say "Winnipeg is so lame" "I can't wait to get out of here" and blah blah blah. Seriously, shut up and take five steps back and think for a moment. Do you think moving to another city will solve your life problems? Yeah, I didn't think so.
If you take the time to explore the city, observe the people of Winnipeg, I can guarantee you will discover the most interesting stories that were right here in your community. No, Winnipeg may not be New York, but it is a city filled with culture and life. You just need to look, and I think the concept is something to delve deeper on.
Sincerely,
Ingrid
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