Of Magic & McGinley

Ah. Ryan McGinley.
Not only is he way cooler than my identically-named younger brother.
But he's just kind of way cool in general.

Cool in the kind of way that makes you want to embrace your animalistic, hedonistic, debauched artiste/coked up supermodel side. And your inner tripped up fairy at the same time. It's that feeling of an amazing aural extravaganza. Dreamy and dirty. Those shamelessly salacious things we're secretly proud of. 'We are animals'. He did for Wrangler in the late noughties what Birkin did for it in the 70s. And that's saying something. Running around naked in a field in nothing save an old fur coat (possibly feasible if you're The Kate and in possession of aforementioned fur coat...maybe not for anyone else).

It's the kind of aesthetic accompaniment you'd love to have in the R-rated picture book of your life.

And it made me just that little bit happier and day-dreamier on a grey rainy day. Where it's been pouring non-stop since 7 AM. And was inadequately dressed for it. Men's tank top today was a poor choice (even if it was from Sweden). Where I tortured myself though a helping of Ethics without paying attention to a thing that was happening. Sans coffee or chai. Or even ye olde humble cup of green tea.

Beautiful truancy. We could all deal with a bit more of it.

Love & Mayhem this rainy rainy day my lovekins

xx

Bec