Faded Glory

There are a few things I know now by trial and error, when attention comes your way embrace it. Be brave enough to embrace and enjoy five minutes of some kind of fucked up fame, to be seen through the camera lens even while it steals a piece of your vulnerable heart and sacred soul. It’s okay to try on different versions, experimenting behind platinum blond and a fuck you,

Beautiful You

There is a lack of elegance, sexiness and mystery missing in photographs of women today, especially celebrities and the overexposed, blasé way they brand themselves and how they are portrayed through the lens. Social media and fashion have made women seem like untouchable objects, loud, fake and even desperate at times. The “look at me” culture screaming for more and more attention. I have always had a more hate than

Fashion is Fickle

  FASHION IS FICKLE When did we become a society of images scrolling past on someone’s smartphone? It’s nonsensical, comical and yet. Modeling was my life for two decades. I never felt entitled, prettier, skinnier or better than the next girl. In fact, I always felt a little less than. Maybe if I was thinner, smarter, or a skilled marketer I’d be a smarter brand, book better caliber jobs even though

Take a Picture, or Not

Take a Picture, or Not By Jacqueline Cioffa This face. This face has been scrunched and smothered by new new talc scented infant kisses This face has been covered in mud, dirt, blood, open-wounded, stitched, patched and put back together This face has been brave, kind and stubborn pout five-year-old defiant This face has been bullied and attacked by mean girl high school drama and self-important syndrome This face has

Waiting on Oprah: Never Quit Your Dreams

Waiting on Oprah I close my eyes and can almost see the perfect fairytale life I envisioned in my wildest dreams. Dear Fantasy (Oprah), “I feel that I am a very fortunate person …” I was fifteen. Fifteen, gawky, wickedly uncomfortable in my so called ‘model frame.’ Somehow fifteen was the perfect age to concoct wild fantasy adventures and the fastest way out of a stifled, small town. There was

Gypsies and Pixie Dust

Gypsies and Pixie Dust By Jacqueline Cioffa I exist therefore I am, mistakes and imperfections one and all. I don’t want to be considered an artist. I want to be thought of as a student of art. I want to ingest the human condition, live and breathe it. I want to eradicate all traces of ego and relate. I want to roam the globe and hear the stories, while not missing out on the neighbor

Training Wheels and Little Blond Curls #StolenMoments

From time to time you’ll see Stolen Moments show up on the blog. Words forgotten and misplaced, poetry, anticipatory memories, prose, joy and sorrow, pensive emotion, random and not so random thoughts scribbled in tattered notebooks. To not forget but remember the precious, fleeting stolen moments in time. I’m a writer trying recapture on paper how it feels to be alive. Training Wheels and Little Blond Curls Jacqueline Cioffa 1998

Drowning by Mouse

Woke up to a flooded basement (only a little), and a head that feels like it’s in a vice-grip. I have taken half a Benadryl, Alka-Seltzer and Flonase with only marginal relief. Not matter what’s happening or how shitty I feel, my personal summer goal is to swim every single day. And, it only counts if I get my head wet. Duh, everybody knows that. Don’t they? Went to the gym and for a