So when I was little, I thought my aunt was the coolest person alive. She was more like an older sister (since I never had one) who's room was like a doorway to this faraway land of no bedtimes and Doc Martens and cute androgynous boys. She had those star stickers tacked to the ceiling that glowed in the dark. Instead of a dresser, she kept her clothes piled into milk crates turned on their sides, and she had a trapper keep doodled with names like Guns N' Roses and Nuclear Assault. The posters on the wall weren't of Marky Mark but instead Morrissey, Bauhaus, and Dead Can Dance.
There was one though, if I remember right, with just a single image on it. I was maybe 12 and he was the most beautiful man I'd ever seen. Flawless, transparent skin. Impeccable bone structure. A perfectly moussed copper mullet. And a giant red and blue streak of lighting right across his face.
It was the beginning of a long and fulfilling fascination (read: unrequited love affair) with David Bowie, style and music icon of the 70's and beyond.
Happy Birthday, you handsome devil.
Sources: google images, tumblr, weheartit
I am so not the coolest person in the world, but glad to know I had some positive effect in the face of all the shitty butthole things I probably did.
ReplyDeleteDid you ever see The Man Who Fell to Earth? Mostly arthouse clap trap, but Jesus Christ - Bowie has really never looked better imho.
I've seen like a 10 minute clip of it that Nikki and I started watching one night, but we never finished it I don't think. I'll have to revisit it.
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