26.9.10
Ida.
10.9.10
And thus I clothe my naked villainy / with old odd ends stolen out of holy writ / and seem a saint when most I play the devil
8.9.10
Oh Liv
But frankly, let's be honest now, it's about on par with the young strapping lads of today insisting on persevering with this fluro shorts + slip-on loafers sans socks debacle. And even with the occasional questionable fashion moment there's something about these 90s mags that I appreciate, now more than ever. There's a rawness to them, less manicured, youth searching for identities rather than having just a few highly specific acceptable options shoved down your throat. Leo was the wonder-boy heartthrob (go Leo!). Anthony Kiedis was sex. Courtney Love made great music, and was known for that. Soul Asylum were self-indulgent wankers who, though at one time were insanely famous, left a pretty small mark in the end. So though I was fully expecting to be amused, I wasn't quite prepared for a slight niggling feeling of loss.
This girl, which I wasn't. THAT girl.
Liv. Dear god, at age 17. Was there ever ANYONE else so... disarming? Liv. Just about to be cast in Stealing Beauty. On the cusp of ridiculous beauty of her own.