Solitaire


For a girl who like to wear giant glitter-encrusted fruit on her head, Marina Diamandis is sure full of darkness and angst. She comes out looking like she’s about to tell everyone to put their hands up in the air and dance like they just don’t care, and then she goes into a ballad about the existential emptiness inside herself. While all the fifteen-year-old gay bois in the audience sing along in rousing unison. (They’re all wearing giant bananas on their heads.) Yes, I have been to a Marina show. It was like a bespangled fever dream of gender-fluid hormones and inner pain. That’s what makes a camp icon for the ages, kiddos. Now, I wasn’t entirely sure that the younger generation were in need of a camp icon of their own, or if a child of fifteen summers would even know what camp is. But apparently they do and they do. The kids understand very well that the inner pain that’s simpering, boring and mundane in a basic bitch who shops at Marshalls becomes a boiling, heartrending, operatic statement of tragic longing and universal suffering when the sufferer is a glitter slut from outer space. The fission between outer fabulosity and inner turmoil just makes it all – mwah! – pure art.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.