I took a beer from the fridge and drank it.

You’re not listening to me.

When we started our conversation -a two-way dialogue, an interaction, if you must- not monologue, I stated I would only be available today. Heute. I had a marvelous time, but unfortunately, our relationship has come to an end. Our day in the sun has ended. It is no more.

My legs spoke ‘YES!!!!!’ before my brain, nay, heart could even react, as I have not been on a runway for so very, very long. I have been craving walking in a straight line -stopping- turning, and walking back, all the way. Opportunity came in the shape of a message on instagram (@dutchdoris), asking if I had time to walk. Of course my legs went ‘Yass! Gahdd! Let’s GO!’ but I still had to cross t’s, dot i’s, and of course ask my agency for permission. That’s polite, and professional.

Before I knew it I was on a ferry to Suomenlinna (Suomenlinna in summer – never a punishment), heels in tow, as well as my bike cos the bike goes where I go. It’s sort of inevitable. Just as inevitable as that my feet will be on that runway, soon.

The job was unpaid (I just assumed…), but there would be people there. Good heavens, people. Tell me about these people. A random crowd of Chinese tourists would have actually been encouraging (and they were on the boat, smiling merrily). Instead there were the types one usually sees gathering during fashion related events (and only then), even if the connection with fashion is somewhat loosely defined. Green hair, black baggy pants, shiny rectangles blocking their face. I was told an editor of Vogue Mexico was ‘there’.

Darling – you gave me a Norwegian phone number that it was impossible to hear you on, so I only assumed it was ok to get my face colour blocked. Hell of a paintjob. The ladies from the make-up station told me to just use regular soap, and scrub vigorously, as if you’re mad at your damn skin for holding on to that damn paint so damn bloody good. You’re  kind of hovering around in a faux leather outfit that is so faux it makes my eyes hurt a little, and that is about that. You’re not doing much else. My fellow models, I find out not much later, have never set foot on a runway. They’re about 170, most shipped from Estonia, others dragged in from the street mere moments before I hauled my bike through the door.

Today was ok. It was fine taking a ferry to a nice place to walk around in a nice outfit with paint on my head. I took a beer from the fridge and drank it. The reason why I am not over the moon excited, is because today’s event is nothing special. We’ve wiped the dust from our shoes and moved on. It was not the painfully stylish event you painted it out to be. There were people, they stood, watched, left, and that’s all there is to say about them. I got a very nice picture sent, by a very nice photographer to whom I winked as I was quite happy to recognize a friendly face, albeit at the very end of the runway. That was unprofessional, and I apologized., even though the photographer mentioned it was a good thing because now he could at least name on of the ladies walking (paint..).

What truly gets to me is this: I mentioned I was available today. I mentioned I was available today. Today was my day off. Tomorrow is not my day off. Tomorrow I am selling stuff and getting yelled at, for a paycheck. Sunday: same thing. Working for a living is a necessary evil sometimes, and it is inconceivable to me these facts, matters that are simply, do not get through to you -SWEETIE DARLING. I may haul my bike on a ferry tomorrow, but it will be after I finish my dayjob. Remember?  You probably won’t. You’ll call me tomorrow at eight wanting to know why I am not at the harbour. I’ll have to gather all of the patience in the universe, and will explain it to you again.

However, a magical childhood comforting drink containing this perfect ingredient is somehow vacant.

When times of hardship are upon us, we tend to grasp back into the warmth or a childhood memory. When times get tough, when folks are rude at the office, when people bugger off to Germany, when the wind is blowing against yet again, we find ourselves in search for something comforting. Something we know.

Back in Holland we have a brand of chocolate milk called ‘Chocomel’ (de enige echte), and their stuff is what some dreams are made out of. The perfect cold chocolate milk, slightly thick, creamy and delicious. Dutch kids run on this stuff, and I needed my fix today more than ever.

Now, here in Finland they do a lot of things very well. Saunas, for instance, and pancakes, and campfires, and hockey, and education, and many more things. They also make this stuff called ‘Fazer Sininen’, the best chocolate every to be conceived upon this planet. However, a magical childhood comforting drink containing this perfect ingredient is somehow vacant.

There is no decent cold chocolate milk drink in the supermarkets in Finland.

We’re deprived! No Chocomel for those in dire need. There is some protein-stuff that gets close but I try to stay away from those space packets out of principle. Those items are meant to be consumed by people to enjoy going to the gym, and I have never even set one foot in a gym ever. And I pride myself of that fact. Gymdrinks do not provide comfort to those in need!

Times like these also call for projects. Projects take the mind of things dark and depressing. Projects make busy, and projects can be fun. I will haul a container of the good stuff from yonder to here. People of Finland, rejoice!



Tall, dark and handsome – as the rum, he is now gone.

Today ended on a somewhat sad note for me. I want to curl into a pile of sadness and cry with long, loud HUUHUUHUUHUUHUUHUUHUUHUUUUU-noises, like a 5 year old whose bike has been taken to Germany for no goddamn good reason. I mean no disrespect for my eastern neighbors. They’re good people. Perhaps should not have made the bike joke as my kind takes those matters rather seriously, and before you know it they’ll be at the border with pitchforks, tomatoes and whatnot.


I read something tonight. It shook me to the very core. It almost made my eyes bleed. It made me sad. I ran through the house like a headless chicken before I realized there were two more minutes to make it to the supermarket to get a beverage. Of course I have the stamina of a chainsmoker ( I might as well start…), despite biking to work every day, but still I reached the fridge just in time. A small, futile victory. Allow me to elaborate.

The kamikaze-king of hockey minded Finland has flown the coop. The beer is gone and the rum, the rum is gone. The one and only source of unlimited inspiration for many a school paper has turned off the sauna to find his luck elsewhere. Germany has just become a little more awesomer-er. Tall, dark and handsome – as the rum, he is now gone.

Hockey  (and rabid fangirl behavior) is something new for me. My affiliation with sports is that I dislike it. When something comes flying at my face, I duck (right?). Then  along came this magical troupe from Finland. They played something called ice-hockey. My affiliation with this thing was that I had heard of it. According to my brother it was the reason why the Dutch Olympic team was so small.

However, these folks played sports like I had never seen it before. There were shirts in black and yellow. There was passion and fire. There was a ruggedness – in this sport one guys can bash into another guy, and they both remain standing. There is no room for divas on the ice. Where teeth get knocked out and limbs smashed asunder, egos seemed to remain unbruised. This one dude always did a fantastic job at the smashing around.

The name is Sami Venäläinen and the amount of games he played within this great nation is over eight hundred. In China the number ‘8’ is considered to be the luckiest of numbers, and perhaps also here. The man has been a fixture on the Finnish hockey scene and maybe it’s about damn time his epicness is being rewarded elsewhere. It makes me, however, sad. A marvel of human engineering, he always managed to be everywhere. Zooming from one far end to the other he’d leave some poor bugger at the receiving end of his charge a shivering mess. He’d score  and co-score the most beautiful goals last season -the ones I mime (still) until exhausted.

It’s the end of a era. Tall, dark and handsome – as the rum, he is now gone. Sadness, all around. He will be missed, this beacon of handesomeness and badassery. The ice will be a little less epic on this side of the Baltics. I’ll keep my eye out for another kamikaze but am doubtful I’ll find it. Little aspiring hockey dudes can look up to this man for guidance.

edit: the ‘legend vs. fixture’  debate will open up soon.