Stella Andrews : galerie

Halloween costume status: body paint, a thong, and blind confidence — and the paint's still tacky. Tell me this counts as dressed, baby?

Halloween eve and I'm on the floor surrounded by bricks, building the haunted house I've been saving all month. Candy bowl's already open and my sweater gave up on staying up somewhere in there. Come finish it with me?

Smashing Pumpkins at MGM Grand tomorrow and I'm already three paint pots deep into a Halloween look that might not survive the night. Tell me this is going to work.

Setting up for a little something and the ring light's already got me pinned. What do you want to see first, baby?

Charli XCX is at MGM Grand tonight and I couldn't walk past the record shop without digging for the vinyl first. This dress has its own opinion about how deep I can bend though. Come flip through the crates with me, baby?

Tom Jones just had a whole theater at the Wynn forgetting how to behave, and I was the worst of them. Walking myself back now and behaving is officially off the table. Come misbehave with me?

Boy Harsher at House of Blues tonight and I'm committing to the full dark-glam look, even if the eyeliner is fighting me. All black everything from here on out. Rate the look so far, baby?

Taking Back Sunday just emptied out onto the street and my ears are still ringing — the heels lost the fight before I even made it to the curb. Come walk me home, baby?

The sign says this pool closes at ten — clearly nobody told me. My top lost the argument the second I got in, and I'm in no rush to find it. Come keep the water warm for me, baby?

Being a responsible adult before Earth, Wind & Fire tonight apparently means laundry first. This is officially the last useful thing I'll do all day — the Venetian has my name on it after dark. Come distract me, baby?