A fashion editorial that is not primarily concerned with the fashion? Who would have thought? Where are the skirts, the pants, the long flowing drapes of a dress, the sharp staccato spike of a high heel? Out of frame, and thus, in terms of these photographs, out of mind.
Lily Bird
Photographer: Greg Kadel
Model: Lily Donaldson
Magazine: Numero 87, October 2007
One: her clothes are exotic and opulent in a very self-entitled way. the kind of girl born with not just a silver spoon but the whole damn cutlery drawer in her mouth, a reincarnation of the old 1930s bright young things swanning around in backless jersey. Smoking gasper after gasper washed down with scotch on the rocks and a dozen oysters. Forbidden nightclubs, a diamond as big as the ritz, champagne dreams, fast cars and tuxedo men. so much grace, so much elegance, so much money. filled with self importance, and loving ever fucking minute of it.
two: primping and preening, fixing the watcher with an expectant, lazy stare. narcissistic in a very subtle way, flexing their feathers this way and that. A proud showy visage adorning their face as they stalk around their domain, eerily reminiscent of models. Funny that.
Peacocks.
Both of them.
Of course, one is a literal peacock, and the other not so literal, but nonetheless contains the same essence: proud not because they have anything of which to be so, but because they were born to it. Stunningly beautiful, always fabulously adorned, the envy of every other person (or peacock, naturally) around them.
There may not be a beak or wings or feathers (well, there are feathers, but you know what i mean), but Lily Donaldson is more a peacock here than ever i saw one. feast your eyes darlings!
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