While we've been reevaluating our own romances, shared pet situations, and faith in celebrity relationships as the objects of worship since last week's tragedy, Ariana Grande has been reevaluating her wardrobe.
In golf-ball sized pearls, a critical-mass-approaching white puffer jacket, and a no-fucks smirk, Grande appears to have walked into the Soho Chanel this weekend and asked for one of everything.
It was time. The ring has been been returned, the pig has been claimed, the tattoos are covered. Now begins the long, slow process of healing.
Of course, just as she taught us how to love, Ariana is now showing us how a break-up is done. She may have spent more than a middle-class annual salary in an afternoon, but it seems only appropriate for the scale and spectacle of her self-care-retail-therapy matches the scale and spectacle of the relationship it's helping her get over. Her disregard for fucks of all kind, haters and her finances are break-up inspo, even if the level of her exploits is out of reach.
Hopefully, by now she's replaced all of the now-incinerated clothes that reminded her of Davidson's smug, sleep-deprived-looking face. We'll miss the huge sweatshirts and that VMA's tin foil Legolas dress.