plastic

The glare of shop windows and camera flashes, like a new bohemian cult - everyone here wants to shine, but not everyone remembers why. She seems to be woven from light, but in her eyes is a sky scorched by neon. Below, the city bustles, where everyone is ready to become a stepping stone for a few seconds of recognition. Plastic instead of stars, a catwalk instead of a road, and a party instead of meaning - but it's loud, bright, ‘just right’.

And it all looks like an attempt to drown beautifully: in champagne, in likes, in the gaze of strangers. Some are looking for love, some for the stage, some just for a reason to turn off the internal noise. But somewhere beneath the layers of makeup, lights and autotune, a small question still lives: if you take it all away, will anything real remain?