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When Girl bumps into the millionth young female Carrie Bradshaw wannabe spawn roaming the Earth like she's a fashionista/writer/feminist original/sexy thang when she isn't more than the fictional Bradshaw's dirty laundry socks, Girl decides to show the imitations that being yourself is better via her impersonation of them.
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Girl returns home after exercising. She is hungry. Luckily, she baked biscuits yesterday, one hidden in her bedroom. As she eats the biscuit, the flavor is so good, it makes her want to jump up and down, roll on the bed and dance.
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Awoken at a ghastly hour to work early, Girl showers without washing her hair, held in a bun with a large Vietnamese hair clip. She shaves her legs, washes her face and cleans herself with soap. Reaching for a towel, Girl dries, shakes her slightly damp hair and dresses in street clothes: pink cargo shorts and a black T-shirt with a sequined white poodle.
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Unable to sleep at night, Girl reads her Blackberry in failure without glasses nearby, tossing and turning as her mind wanders.
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When Girl is professionally styled downtown, she feels lost. No one is talking to her. She paces, bored, wondering, "When will someone talk to me? I am so lonesome this morning." She stares outside at the giant dumpster across the street, people watching, staring at the brick street and waiting her turn for her name to get called, walking about with her green sweater, jean miniskirt and wedge platform shoes, her platinum hair perfectly coiffed and…
Girl, Unsolved by Richárde
Video clips used on GirlUnsolved.com, where "indie cinema meets video blogging."
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