At least once or twice over the weekend, I take my dog Sammy on a seriously epic stroll. He has never met a human or canine he did not want to get to know a whole lot better, and he goes batty without exercise. I had an errand to run on 3rd Street and Avenue A, a few Sundays ago so off we went.
We were confronted immediately by wildposters for the new Supreme ad campaign featuring Kate Moss (it might not actually be possible for anyone below14th Street to walk too far out the door without being similarly confronted; downtown had been carpet-bombed). Now, my thoughts regarding Ms. Moss are conflicted at best. The failed rehab; the pictures of her stumbling her way out of clubs and limos surrounded by a posse of enablers; the fact that the fashion world just turns a blind a blind eye. It bums me out. When I see a picture of her, that’s what generally governs my perception at this point.
And yet: every once in a while, I come across a new image of her that takes my breath away—and I am totally and completely fixated on this one. Forget what she’s wearing (even though it’s completely, perfectly, awesome). No model can summon you-want-to-be-as-cool-as-me with just her eyes like she can. I somehow even manage to repress my pearl-clutching instincts about the fact that she’s setting such a bad example by smoking because she looks so cool doing it (God strike me dead).
Incidentally: After completing my errand, Sammy and I crossed Houston so we could head up Stanton and through Nolita and Soho for the final leg of our trip. On Ludlow, we came across this black and white version, which somebody must have thought would read better on the gritty streets of the LES.Tags: Fashion people