Each person appreciates a different aesthetic. Some love muted tones, minimalism, the trademarks of hipster culture, pastels, or the black-and-red of the horror-punk aesthetic. Sometimes I wonder which aesthetic I appreciate most and how it would best be described. But sometimes, I know the answer to both of those questions, and all I can say is that the answer to the latter is "It cannot." It can be loosely attributed to various elements of style in the pop-culture of our modern world; to music videos, photoblogs, fashion magazines, clothing trends, highly-stylized movies and TV shows and even bands, but it can never be pinpointed. All it can ever be is a mental montage of photographs of skinny girls in oversized clothing, trollops through strawberry fields in rare un-fitful dreams, sepia-tones bleeding through my memories of beaches both real and imagined, imagery of myself sitting on the ground holding my purse after imbibing alcohol and recreational drugs at small parties with large ambitions in small rooms meant for the coolest of the cool, and flashes of new bohemian culture accompanied by child-like accessorizing to accompany a new sense of child-like wonder present in the young adults of generation Y. All it can ever be is all I can ever be.