people may have still been winding down from "the holidays" but... there ain't no rest for the wicked my little monsters... I'm pulling ideas like crazy about an incredible new editorial I've been asked to style for Astonish being shot by Kevin Osmond- and editorials... mean... everything to me. fuck a red carpet. fuck an awards ANYTHING... editorial = art. and that's all I give a fuck about in this world is art...
running around with my cray cray Ceecee, with Jimi Hendrix in tow- I've been forming the story I want to tell with the images that Kevin and I will create. The theme?
Imperfection
anyone who knows me in the slightest is aware that my line is called ...the.PERFECT... all of my life- I've been striving- killing myself to BE PERFECT. I was the coked out prom queen, the perfect principal ballerina with the Joffrey Junior ballet- getting straight A's at the same time as nailing my pas de quos. Let me speed things up to just say that I "broke my silence" the moment my friend Luke Gilford asked to shoot me for the "Hollywood Help" feature in Swindle magazine when I was 19... The question posed was, "who really raises the children of the wealthy elite?" here's the photo to help explain...
my housekeeper Jose and I... my mother didn't give birth to me... the one who did left... my "nana" Helen is from Guatemala... if you find the article you'll understand the direction I want to go. I want to break the silence for all of us that have been forced to live the lie... the bullshit facade that everything is perfect behind the large iron gates of the estate. It's not. Empty houses- you can scream but no one hears... here's the best piece of advice that I can only hope one of my shit relatives who will read this will allow to marinade in their mind...
you can't pay anyone to give a shit about you. you can't pay people to love you.
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