I have long known the language of the concrete jungle, own an iPhone but not a television, carry an analogue camera in your purse, go to coffee shops and finally, have a minimum wage job but dress like you're a rich ass Instagram influencer. You must feel most at home in museums, theatres, music venues and book shops, aka, heaven. It's the language of the suburbs I never got my head around. Here in suburbia firstly you can't go anywhere on foot, it goes from house to car then from car to shopping centre. There's no lingering on sidewalks to catch up with a friend you ran into, suburbians hoot their car horns at each other instead as a sign of solidarity, 'we are the same, we are friends but I'm not going to get out of the car and spontaneously socialise with you'. It's an unspoken agreement amongst them, two hoots for friendship one hoot for 'get out of the damn way'. Without a car you're stranded on an island that is the house. The orchids and clean carpets suddenly seem extra stifling. The nearest place to get a cappuccino? The Lunch Garden three kilometres away. Stupid enough to want a cappuccino that badly I have indeed walked that treacherous three kilometres. All I can say is, the lack of pavements leads to crossing fields and motorways, the former leading to cow shit on your new Nikes, the latter leading to a near death experience (suburbians don't watch out for pedestrians as there aren't any). Also turned out the Lunch Garden didn't even have cappuccinos, just a self service machine distributing pre-ground coffee and powered milk. Oh the pain of it all for the city dweller. It is with great joy I return to my civilisation on an overcrowded dirty train with a drunken man sleeping next to me at ten in the morning. I wonder if suburbia has driven him to it.


The fatal flower is the perverted shy girl, the one you wouldn’t suspect. Under a soft exterior lies a complex being with an unyielding wildness, anchored to the earth by her humble nature and inexplicable dry humour. She is the femme of now, the modern woman who’s thoughts transcend through cultures and time.

Over the coming months let ‘La Fleur Fatale’ be your guide to the hidden insights and stories of a watchful woman’s eye navigating through the ‘European’ way of life. Struggles and mishaps ensue as life is embraced and the thorny introvert femme clammers for life’s answers. All possible subjects are covered from death to Kim Kardashian and from sisterhood to the perfect strawberry frappe.

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