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M E E T

P O P P Y

L A F E M M E C H IC


7:58 A.M


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It is Sunday,


Morning, Sunshine


A.M 9:13

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ast! f k a e r s B Today


A.M 10:07


its TIME FOR MAKE UPS!

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When I see in the mirror........

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La Fille Parfait La Fille Parfait, means the perfect girl in French. I’ve been picturing the perfect girl in my head, Ariel, is the person that comes out my mind. I met her from another friend couple years before, she is probably the best role model of the perfect girl I known. Ariel is tall, fit, with a exquisite face features. She has a head of soft light brown hair, she smells like fresh roses. Essentially, she has great taste of shoes, clothing, and bags. She always know what it best suited for her. Ariel is also smart, had a medical master degree in Seattle. She speaks perfect English, mandarin and even little bit of French. In the mean time, her hobbies are oil painting, play piano and sing her own songs, hiking, baking cupcakes, sometimes modeling and has been acting a bit as well. The most important part is that she’s not just beautiful on the outside, she has a such good heart and had been volunteers for helping the orphans. Arial is the type of girl can truly impress everyone.


Arial once said to me, ‘’the trick of pursuits a girl is to take the innocent ones to look around this bustling world, and take the mature ones to ride the carousel.’’ I wonder which one would I prefer to be? An innocent girl, or a mature woman? I feel like I am neither, I would love to see the world and ride the carousel at the same time. Well, I guess I am not a girl, and not yet a woman. So, what’s the harm? To be both. I’ve dream I will lives in Paris one day, Spend the afternoon in the seats besides the window of a particular vintage cafe shop next to the seine river. Dress in a black cloak, a pinkish nude beret, and black ankle boots. Just doodling down what goes by, or randomly write down the thoughts in that moment. There, I will meet the parfait person for me, Thus, I like to be ready and well prepare, to be the la fille parfait for him.

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Books are my BestTies!

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P.M 01:18


I am reading...

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The Confession of a Manikin It is now 8:58 pm, in another half hours I can finally get rid of this annoying rainbow-ish colour scarf from my neck. Although it is silk, but I can feel nothing and only see the reflection from the window, which I look ridiculous. The window display designers has been ignore the little details recently, I do not blame them, they are probably too busy because of Christmas is coming in less then three weeks. I am a manikin, just an ordinary manikin, you probably gave me a glance before, but you would not remember it. In fact, there are hundreds of my twin siblings standing right beside me and look exactly the same since we all made from the same manufacture factory. Even ourselves can hardly recognize who’s who; it does sound quite pathetic, doesn’t it? The only way to tell the difference between us is the printed number on our shoulder backs, and I am number 202. Usually I do not complain this much, in fact I shall feel fortunate and proud. I am standing at the window display of

the most well known department store in the world- ‘’the Selfridges’’ which based on the busiest street in London. Although I am still a rookie, and everyday I have to stand arrayed and maintain the same posture exactly ten hours or more. Yet I am still making my best out of it. Not that I am bragging, I did attracted lots of attentions for the Selfridges. For instance, today a couple of teen girls gazed at me through the window glass with a praise facial expression while carrying the shopping bags from Top shop and Zara, I guess they could not afford what’s on me. Later, a group of Chinese tourist who were presumably came for the big sales, pointed at me aggressively and rushed into the store. Also, a pair of noble wives within the Chanel and Hermes Birkins on their wrist looks just like they were Carrie Bradshaw and Samantha Jones stopped in front of me and nodded to each other then walked into Selfridges elegantly. When I met their eyes, I can see how their pupils widened and I can even felt their excitement.

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Now is only November, the streets of London has already been fill within a great sense of Christmas atmosphere, the Christmas lights and decorations from bond street to the oxford circus will light up at half past five every evening. Then the entire city will turn into this sparkling fantasy world in the giant snowflake crystal ball. It is not surprise the city is bustling during the weekend especially at this particular

busiest area. Most of the time, I watch people coming and going ceaselessly, and then I wonder, what’s inside those big yellow paper bags within the outstanding black Selfridges. co logo mark that everyone has been carrying. Are those bags filled with gifts for the families? friends? or the beloved ones?


I always look glamorous, the outfits and accessories on me are always the newest, the latest trends, the most expensive, most unique styles. I‘ve been carried countless designer bags, from YSL golden clutch, Louis Vuitton tote bags, Balenciaga, wearing the most expensive jewelry from Cartier and Tiffany. I am practically living in every girl’s dream. However I can not feel a bit of happiness, I can only looked out the window and observed this fast-paced world blankly, without a soul. My inner is empty, as I do not have a heart,

noise outside the window contrasting with my quiet world. I wonder how it felt like to love and beloved. I wonder how fresh when the cold air breezing through my cheeks, frozen my ears and nose. I wonder what is the smell of the Dior perfume that sales lady sprays over my body every morning. I wonder what’s like wearing the Christian Louboutin heels and walk on the bond street. These are the things I will never know.


I have got a lot of things and yet I have nothing.

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At the end of the day, one fine looking man wearing a black Armani coat came up to me, he breathe a gas into his fists while staring at the Cartier necklace around my neck. Out of sudden, he seems like just made some kind of decision, stepped into the door next to my window. Ten minutes past, one sales lady took off the Cartier of my neck. She wrapped it up into a refinement red box and tie it with a ribbon with a bow on the top. He took the petit box,

looked and smiles at me one last time, then turned around, left with a most happiness and satisfaction face. I think he meant to thank me, I felt warm and happy for him, I guess, this is what I meant to do, I gave people a preview of hope. When I think of this way, it gave me some sort of meaning of my existence. Although I am just an manikin that made of plastic, still I found my value and this makes me unique from the other manikins. After all,

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it is not who you are underneath, it is what you do that defines you.


Poppy’s Mad Tea Party A tea party is a formal, ritualized gathering for the small meal called afternoon tea. Formal tea parties are often characterized by the use of prestige utensils, such as porcelain, bone china or silver. The table is made to look its prettiest, with cloth napkins and matching cups and plates. In addition to tea, larger parties may provide punch, or in cold weather, hot chocolate. The tea is accompanied by a variety of foods that are easy to manage while in a sitting room: thin sandwiches, such as cucumber or tomato, cake slices, buns or rolls, cookies, biscuits and scones are all common.


P.M 03:23

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WOULD YOU LIKE TO JOIN ME ?


your stomach always have room for desserts !


DO NOT ATTEMPT TO APPROACH!


HAVE YOU SEEN THIS CUPCAKE ?

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IT IS AWESOME !

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We HAVE BEEN EXPECTING YOU.


BLACK &

WHITE MEET POPPY 41

P.M 08:34


Jazz heal my soul


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He is a musician, He plays guitar, He lives in an apartment, with his white French bulldog. He always wear black. She is a writer, She writes blog, She lives in a house, with her black American shorthair cat. She always wear white. He has a gig at a lounge bar, He wears black shirt with black tie and jeans. He performed three of his songs, He went to the bar and get himself a beer. She is working on a column at a lounge bar, She wears white dress with white headband and heels. She wrote three paragraphs of her column, She went to the bar and get herself a cocktail. He looks at her, She smiles at him. She wants to hear him play the guitar, He plays guitar for her and give her white roses, He loves her black long hair. She receive his roses and wrote a poem about it, She loves his white tidy teeth. He touches her, He gently kisses her. They were in love deeply, Lips sweltering, and touches lingering.


She works at dawn, He works at night. She always wear white, He always wear black. Some said daylight can never comprehend the darkness of the night, However, he knows how to appreciated the goodness of her. They fight, they struggle, and just let it go quietly. They love, and so it is not necessarily difficult to retain. Her pride walls has been falling slowly for him, His lonely soul has been saving silently for her. He, she, to love and to beloved unconditionally, Conquers the obstacles one by one, Black and white, nothing is absolute. Finally they realise, In this colourful world, Black exist because of White, I exist because of thee. She puts on her white Vera Wang wedding gown, He suits up his black Calvin Klein groom tuxedo. She and him walk down the long aisle, Petal of white roses swirling in the air, Piano, Fingers dancing, Between black and white, The melody of love.


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LA FEMME CHIC


P.M 11:45

I am tired

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it is bed time

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good night.

Meet Poppy/ la femme chic  

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