“I can’t have brown hair for some reason. I don’t think it goes with my skin tone. The second I see it turn brown in the sun, I dye it black – the blacker the better.”

People think they have a perfect idea of who you are from a four-second Snapchat video… and fake blogs, stories, magazine covers. In reality, that’s not the case. Nobody knows who I am except family and my close friends.

It sucks being judged by the world instead of your close friends or family. I try to just realise that the only people who matter are my family and friends.

Lips are kind of like my thing, and I’ve always been obsessed with lipstick and lip liner. I just always went to lip liner to overline my lips, and I feel like I was really known for that. I can’t walk out of my house without my lipstick!

I wake up every morning at, like, seven or eight because I think that there’s a bad story about me, and I have to check. My worst fear is waking up and finding something bad about me on the Internet.

My fans and followers are so amazing.

I feel limited in some ways because I have such young fans. But I’m okay with that; I do everything I want to do.

I don’t really wear perfume. I use Victoria’s Secret sometimes. They have this Coconut Passion spray. But fragrances can give me a bit of a headache.

I’m way flashier on Instagram and Snapchat because I feel like that’s what people want to see, and that’s I’ve always done, so I’m not going to stop. People want to see my cars and my purses. People love fashion. But that’s so not me.

People flash back to pictures of me when I was 12 and say ‘Kylie’s so different,’ but how can I look the same from 12 -18?

Honestly, what I think set everything off is when I cut my hair off when I was 16 and dyed it blue. After that, I just felt so free and wanted to experiment with my look.

The more people love you, the more there’s going to be people that hate you.

I’m scared of the day I turn 19. I really don’t want to grow past 18.

I change my style maybe every month. I’m, like, punk one month, ghetto fab the next, classy the next. I’m just young and finding out who I am.

When I’m, like, 30, I want to go off the map, have a family and live in Malibu with a farm, and just raise my own chickens.

I feel like, growing up, I haven’t had a lot of room for error – I don’t have room to make mistakes. You need to make mistakes to grow and learn, but I’m just a little different because the world is watching me, every single thing I do.

Every time I get my makeup professionally done, I take a photo.

I’m the little half-black, half-Jewish girl who was odd and awkward. I try to be myself.

Only the foolish, blinded by language’s conventions, think of fire as red or gold. Fire is blue at it’s melancholy rim, green in it’s envious heart. It may burn white, or even, in it’s greatest rages, black.

Which is probably the reason why I work exclusively in black and white to highlight that contrast.

What seems to me white, I will believe black if the hierarchical Church so defines.

I do remember being teased by my cousins on my mom’s side for not being black enough. And then I’d spend the summer with my dad and be sent to all white summer camps where I was ‘that black girl.’

I’ve changed the way I look a bit but not intentionally. I’ve cut my hair. I’ve got a bit of pink in it and lately I’ve become a bit monochrome, wearing a lot of black and white.

Blue green orange red. I could eat all the colors of the rainbow and still see life in black-and-white reruns I’ve watched a thousand times. – rumination.

I don’t like the idea of the black race being diluted out of existence. I like the idea of all of us being here.