blast from the past

when in london in 2003, i interned at tatler with isabella blow. i found her to be crazy in a charming and self-aware way (a sort of craziness, i would come to find later, that afflicts many people in fashion). one time, i had to take a cab to her empty house and quietly search under her bed, in her closet, in her kitchen cabinets for a pair of non-existent wellies.Β  another time, i sat next to her in the back of a town car for an entire afternoon as she applied and re-applied red lipstick on her lips and teeth and piled odorous Manolos on my lap and listed to me all the sexual things i should be doing with my boyfriend, me being the young girl i was and all. all in all, she seemed a woman consumed with all things death, sex, and beauty.

so, in honor of this appropriately odd Blow-inspired piece of art recently donated to a london art musuem, i would like to attest that a.) the silhouette does, indeed, look exactly like her profile and b.) that this was one fascinating, fashionable lady.

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