Diary: dʌɪəri/
1. a book in which one keeps a daily record of events and/or experiences.
2. a book with spaces for each day of the year in which one notes appointments or information.
3. a column in a newspaper or magazine giving regular news or gossip on a particular topic.
Diary of FEMME
1. A place where all the tiny petals of growing up, or not growing up, fall into words. Whether they’re words straight from the pages of our handwritten journals, or passages carefully constructed over days and weeks.

Diary of Femme is 17, 18, 19, 20… It is the lost understanding of seeing a new face in the mirror. It is the shadows under our eyes. The lace and the lust and the loneliness. It is the moving out of home. The hating moving out of home. It is the making decisions in complete isolation. Making the wrong decisions. It is feeling the full weight of not being a kid anymore. Feeling the full weight of a terrible day with nobody waiting at home. And then doing it again in the morning. Diary of Femme is all the in between stuff that gets forgotten about and over-looked, written down and remembered.

Diary of Femme is feeling okay about feeling it all. It is seeing a face in the mirror that is looked at with so much love. The hands held and the heart to heart that despite all of our knowing, did come with age. It is realising our freedom to grow in whichever direction we want. It is learning in full force, the immensity of the world available to us. The potent highs followed by turbulently still, lows. Diary of Femme is the learning that presents itself to us in a rainbow of feelings and moments that nobody could have ever prepared us for.