I’m pleased to debut a new contributor today,
one who, like the rest of them, chooses to go by an alias, thus keeping his
secret identity and job as a painfully hip ad man safe. And he shall be known as…Creepy
Little Boy.

There has to be some arcane design theory out
there that can illuminate for us mere mortals the protean allure of sylph-like
supermodel Kate Moss (RISD grads, anything?). Her look over the years has
proven remarkably fluid, deftly adapting itself to tortuous cultural trends and
perspectives with an almost precognitive precision. Who could’ve guessed when she made her controversial debut as that waif in those Calvin
Klein ads that
she would eventually break with the mannequin rank and file and establish
herself as a pivotal, iconic “species of one” in the upper shelf of the fashion
eco-system. Perhaps its testament to how perfectly vapid she is…I mean, the photographers
are just as responsible here, it’s their shit that gets projected through the
lens, introducing us to new and personal interpretations of beauty. But yet,
there is something so utterly alien and malleable about the Moss physiognomy
itself. Witness her latest campaign for CK…it’s vintage Kate, yet different.
Gone is the naïve almost prurient bearing of the 90s, replaced with a cool, frosty,
knowing allure that seems to begin in her posture and climax in the broadened,
angular plane of her face. It’s more Verushka than Verushka.
To go for the really rad analogy, it’s almost as if the doe-eyed gelfling-girl
has been killed and replaced with a more adult, resplendent version of self…one that is timeless, impervious
to scandal, durable and for the ages.
Gratuitous Antonioni Porn Shot Below