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About Sen
  • Taking the first step isn't the hardest, taking the first step in the right direction is. There have been way too many times when I've ended up at the wrong girl's house, or a few hundred miles from where I wanted to be, even finding myself an entire continent away from the city I was supposed to be at. I'll take this opportunity to blame my assistant Isabel for that last one, though maybe it's not entirely her fault - she is British after all.

    I'm in love with a woman, but I've never told her. Well, I've never really had a lengthy conversation with her at all, and it's not really the sort of thing you can bring up while sewing her into a dress is it? I did tell her that she was wonderful, but what I really meant was that she was mesmerizing. Really, I couldn't take my eyes off her fluid like motion for the 3 hours she was on stage. But that might have been because of the Ritalin and vodka shots I'd taken to impress her by turning myself from a charming young man with vicious wit into a drug and alcohol fueled boor only able to utter meaningless gibberish - beautiful women always seem to be hanging off the foulest, drunkest, stupidest men. That didn't work out though; turns out I'm smarter when I'm drunk. That's probably why I wake up with a bottle of scotch, a cigarette from every orifice and a slumbering bimbo every second morning.

    When someone asks you to donate a dollar to help sick children after they've spent 1400 bucks on a luxury silk scarf, who the fuck says no? Strangely enough, my clients.

    I work with some of the world's most depraved people and I love every damn nail-pulling, self loathing moment of it. Don't you just love it when there's a bit of nice juicy gossip of how thin so and so is, and your profits go up ten-fold? Most of my clients are amazing, beautiful women, the rest are gay men. Amazing because I've never ceased to be amazed at the pure hatred and envy women project at other women, I love it. Sometimes I'll purposely stir something up, just to get a kick out of seeing two women stabbing each other in the back with stiletto heels that I've just had made for them. Even better than that is telling a starving model that her next meeting with you is at lunchtime, or boxing in a blind man with bricks, or dropping small rocks into the change bowl of hobos. Ahhh, goooood times!

    Coke, champagne and cold hearted smiles are the staple diet of the fashion industry. No, I do not think your designs are good, but yes I sure as hell am going to praise you for it. No I don’t think you need to lose another 10 kilos, but sure go for it, sweetie. To be honest, 99% of the women in the world are not worthy of my garments. Another .5% are already wearing my garments and the final .5% I haven’t met yet.
    I'm bitter, sarcastic and cynical. The glass isn't just half empty - it's cracked, it's chipped, dirty, tainted with toxic sludge and lying in the gutter. Come to think of it, that's how I end up after a weekend of partying.

    Since my job pays me for sitting around all day twiddling my ass, I like to sit down, smoke my lungs out and watch people go by, like we used to watch ants when we were kids. You can really tell a lot about a person, just by looking at them. Well, I can anyway.

    It's strange that we live in a democracy, that we can choose our lives and yet we think of the most successful people as professionals or people who spend their lives dedicated to doing the same thing, everyday, really well and that most people are merely following the same path as every other ignorantly miserable person before them - 13 years of educational institution, another few for tertiary qualifications and the rest of your life working in some rat race job trying to get to the top. Still, never mind, you can do that crummy job, get a few loans and buy a house, a nice medium priced car and spend the rest of your life paying it off while slowly dying from some new lethal disease.

    Do you know what the speeding fine for going 220km/h over the limit is? I do.
    I think the biggest mistake people make when speeding (also applicable to other forms of nefarious activity such as thieving, cheating, killing etc) is stopping when the fuzz shows up. It's probably best to have a full tank though.

    I've never understood why people want to be remembered after they die - how the hell are they going to know what the hell the living are thinking about them? To me, all we have is this, right here, right now - after all, we start dying every second after we're conceived and after that final moment, that blinding flash of light, or that air conditioner falling on your head, that's all folks! No reward, no punishment, just an eternity of nothingness, slowly decomposing, eaten my worms, turning into dust. But hey, there is an upside - you won’t care, because, wait for it, you'll be dead! Now, ain't that something?

    Oh boy, I can’t wait to start having fun!

    If you've managed to read through all that, here's the long and short of it:

    witty, smart, talented. fashion designer, creative director, film maker, casting agent. philosophy, psychology, sociology, politics. opera, ballet, theatre. dubstep, filthy night clubs and crunking.

    I like to cause trouble. Not always the serious kind of trouble, just the casual, on the edge and jumping on the line kind of wild fun.

    Don't try and get to know me if you are the usual boring, middle class person.
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