I mean, the zippered suede cape with the floral motif, the tugboat-shaped cowboy sombrero the size of Rhode Island, the swatch of chiffon shit around my neck, and the imperious-socialite-with-a-gastrointestinal-disorder facial expression.
And more importantly …
Wasn’t it kind of icky-fabulous?
In a way, I kept Edie Beale‘s memory alive, whether she wanted me to or not.
Photo: John Simone
P.S.: Here’s another winner: A Christopher Makos shot from Interview magazine. Oh, my gay Lord!
But I just dug up three beauts photographed by Lizzerd Souffle. I’m pretty proud of these. You can’t say I don’t try to add to the party.
This article from the Village Voice Archive was posted on December 29, 2011