I walked into our apartment last night, barefoot from 14 hours in sky high heels (after months of nothing beyond 3"), and H had this video on his laptop screen. He does that. He'll get on the internet and go down a rabbit hole. Last night, The Doors movie started it, and he ended up with Bon Scott as a schoolgirl. I didn't ask.
"The best thing about this," I said, watching it over his shoulder, "is that they don't give a flying [expletive]."
There's an unadulterated joy in this video. Sure, could be it was helped along with, um, substances, and sure, they're bona fide rock stars in the early days of video (when really, they were the best. ever.) in too-long hair and too-tight clothes. But underneath it all, they didn't give a shit and they were having an absolute blast. There was no pretentious strutting, there were no googly eyes at the camera, and there was nary a selfie in sight. The way it should be.
Photo courtesy of the nice man Rosana asked on the street, then Allie edited on her phone. Because I suck at that shit.
Despite having an electronic record of our togetherness (but we did ditch the selfie and actually asked a passerby to snap this pic, which had us in stitches for 100 reasons), that's precisely how I felt about last night. Last night, I met up with two women I met on the internet. We met because of perhaps the most pretentious industry out there. At any rate, fashion is the most vain, concerned always about appearances. It is appearances, defined. We talked about our industry. We lamented our missing compadres. We shared thoughts large and small. We had chipwiches.
The defining moment of our night came maybe the night before, when we were messaging to confirm plans, when one of us wrote how glad she was to be meeting up with us and how awesome it was to not think a lick about what she was wearing or how she looked. With "fashion people." Heck, with anyone, nowadays, it feels an incredible luxury to be one's self, open and unguarded, unconcerned about appearances. It's pure gold when you find it.
Don't you worry, now, we three looked positively respectable. We even peeked into a fashion event. But that wasn't the point of the night. Instead, we connected, we snorted (with laughter), we consoled, we planned, and we fed off of each other in the most delicious way. And it's all because we don't give a flying [expletive].
Bon Scott, you late star you, I think I'll borrow your look next time we're out.