Mia, the wild one known as miiiawallace, is sitting pretty somewhere inside that twisted fantasy called Pulp Fiction. Her whole vibe screams cool chaos, like she could snort a line of confidence and laugh while doing it. She doesn’t need fancy tags or gimmicks to get attention—she *is* the damn attention. No category could handle her anyway.
The way she moves, talks, and just exists gives off this mix of danger and charm. You could imagine her lighting up a cigarette with one hand while smirking like she already knows you’re hooked. She doesn’t need to tell you what she does; you just sit there, hypnotized, waiting for whatever crazy thing comes next.