Nobody makes kinky blondes like the Germans do. Nadja, Claudia, Julia oh my. Ok, it’s totally an unfair stereotype that German women lead sexy Helmut Newton lives, though that’s what fashion magazines would have us believing. But let’s do take a minute to appreciate the Teutonic badassery of Julia Stegner. She’s got that kitten-with-a-whip thing going on, doesn’t she? And maybe it’s me being delusional, as I tend to be about people I’m fond of, but doesn’t she look just like the doe-eyed young Jean Shrimpton? And another thing about those naughty Germans; they’re not shy about their boobs at all. Ok, ok, I’ll stop. We all know Claudia Schiffer never ever shows off her lady-bits. But she’s the exception that proves the rule. What I’m trying to say is, scroll down for boobage.
with Daria Werbowy & Elise Crombez
with Hilary Rhoda
“She’s uncertain if she likes him, but she knows she really loves him”
Take it from the red-haired alien with the chandelier earring. That line above, it’s a sentiment that doesn’t make sense – until one day you realize you know exactly what it means. Because you’re there and it’s your sentiment. I think it’s infatuation he’s talking about, that feeling. All going to show there isn’t a moment in life without a line of Bowie to turn to. Even if you have to find these moments of truth inside of some of Ziggy’s science-fiction twisted ideas of post-apocalyptic Americana. Presciently, he thought the American path was leading to a world where the virtual experience replaced any flesh-and-blood actions.
Not to stray too far off topic, but doesn’t Ziggy look lovely? I gotta say though, as I’ve gotten older I’ve come to realize that what I thought was my manly ideal really isn’t. Admittedly, I’ve never crossed paths with anyone even remotely resembling a Bowie, and if I did my brain would surely melt right down my spine, but…Honestly, the qualities that I value in Bowie, Jagger and their idolatrous ilk don’t translate to real people. In other words, IRL cross-dressing anorexics aren’t all that attractive. Alpha males are attractive. Everything I think is attractive in rock stars, I really want for myself. I don’t want a spaceboy, I wanna be a spaceboy. Another way to put it; admire him though I do (and I do and I do and I do) I can’t imagine wanting to be around someone like the young Bowie – his bow is strung too tightly – but I can dream and dream about being the young Bowie. It’s all a moot point, though, because Ziggy Stardust doesn’t exist and never did and David Bowie would be the first to tell you that.
Because it’s her birthday.
Because it’s his birthday. He’s 67. Color me depressed.
Mini Anden was a popular player in early turn-of-the-century fashion, known for her combination of desirable clean-scrubitude and Scandinavian steeliness. Maybe not high super, as models go, but very visible for a while. That time was like a showdown between Hot Brazilians and Cool Europeans. Who won? For now, the Russians. But that’s anther story.
(with Caroline Ribeiro)
(with Stella Tennant and Esther Canadas )
Hotness. The song is a wisp of nothing, just a vehicle for Bardot’s star power. She’s no singer, but that was never the point. The point of the video is the video. It’s highly artistic, in a swinging sixties way. The theme appears to be clockwork, to judge from the ticking sounds and wheels turning imagery. Golden gladiatrix costume earns full points. A celebration of beauty for beauty, shall we say.
Summer is heaven in ’77!
Celebrate Summer is the forgotten gem of the comeback that never was. In ’77 Marc Bolan was tuning up for a fresh wave of T. Rextasy. He’d lost some of his glitter in the mid-seventies, with an interesting but unpopular foray into American-style soul and couple of mediocre stabs at recapturing the classic T.Rex boogie. He finally got his mojo back with Dandy In the Underworld, the most acclaimed and successful T.Rex album in years. He’d also hosted a hit television show, titled with simplicity Marc. Celebrate Summer, which would be the last T.Rex single, is one of the brightest songs Marc Bolan has given us. It’s not a particularly deep song – Bolan wasn’t the deepest thinker in the UK; his moments of profundity came from a place of whimsy, his wordplay was charmingly childlike. Sometimes an unapologetically simple pop song can be a masterpiece. This is one of those songs that is a perfect pop catharsis precisely because it is a bit silly and has no ambition besides fun. The irony that the summer of ’77 didn’t end very well for Bolan (an understatement – he died that September, two weeks shy of 30) adds an element of poignancy to the party. The effect of Bolan’s death was to cast a gauze of melancholy over some of his work. Perhaps it is for the best. Perhaps without that glimmer of sadness to balance the joie de vivre, the music would not have aged as well? Or perhaps it is a mistake to thank hindsight and irony for the emotions Bolan’s music evokes. Methinks the native sadness was there all along, only sharpened by tragedy.
Bolan’s show was designed as a platform to showcase his new material and boost sales. So the latter day singles were all trotted out in style. Two clips were filmed for Celebrate Summer. They sound the same, but feature different sexy outfits. Bolan had experienced some most likely drug related bloat throughout the mid-decade, which marred his looks and didn’t help his popularity any. Taking his comeback seriously, by ’77 he’d cleaned up, slimmed down and was looking as mighty fine as he ever had. As the videos show, he was looking hooootttt. The video also answers the query, What would Marc Bolan wear to go jogging? What else but a leopard print jumpsuit, obviously!