Japanese robe: vintage
Night gown : thrifted in Romania
Nail polish: American Apparel
OK, this might be a little too much of a description for what it is, but I was reading Anais Nin's erotica book Delta of Venus today on the metro and the last story I was reading was about a French hat maker who moved to Peru and was the most adored of shared lovers, her boutiques slowly transformed into an opium den.
Ever since I started writing and recording my own erotica (that you can still read here) people have been recommending Anais Nin's Diaries to me.
Maybe a series or erotic stories that she's been writting for some mysterious collector at 'one dollar a page' may not be good start, but so far I've enjoyed the brutality and 'lack of poetry' in the clinical descriptions that this guy was apparently demanding.
There have been a few warmer nights and I did want to feel like a diva, so I put on what i consider to be my prettiest nightgown, even if it's obviously designed for somebody with a REAL bust.
But I do enjoy the decadence and amount of eroticism inherent to this outfit, even if it's just some soft rayon silk-like fabric and not the real deal.
When I look at this photo now I like to imagine Henry Miller out on a lunch picnic with Isadora Duncan, filmed by Victor Erice who playfully rolled a quince from his magical tree at them.
And now I should quit my silly name dropping that makes me get caught in my infantile web of references and get some well-deserved sleep...
Bonne nuit a tous!