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Saturday
23 December 2000
Female Impersonator on Brick Lane at 10am Friday Morning
almost everything i have on is new.
brand new.
shop new.
a neat little denim coat. a scarf wound around and around my neck,
all my hair trapped underneath it so it's actually nearly flat for
once. pink tights. pink trainers. these totally cool-ass glove things
that are like legwarmers but for arms. they're fingerless, then
they bundle up around your forearms, taking the shoreditch wrist
adornment look to its logical wintry conclusion. you can't get them
here. only in hennes in amsterdam. oooohh!
see, i'm exclusive, moi. some people jet to new york and only buy
things from fred flare and built my wendy. me, i'm the hennes queen.
the h&m whore. claaaassssss.
everything i'm wearing was dirt cheap. cheap things are the
best things. some of my best friends are cheap as four-day old meat!
hah hah ha, hee hee hee. cheap is cool, cheap is sweet. cheap
is foxy. cheap is nasssty. cheap is--
enough. i'm walking down brick lane. it's just after ten am and
i'm going to work for the last time before christmas. the street
is almost deserted, just the odd turbaned bearded indian guy and
the occasional trendy with big earphones for his / her portable
mp3 player or minidisc or whatever this week's newest technology
happens to be.
my lips are feeling a bit dry so i reach into my big black bag and
pull out the red plastic makeup purse and grab the poppy king 'liberty'
lipstick that should be £12.00 but i got for A POUND at brixton
market! and i put the lipstick all over my mouth and press my lips
together. mwaaa. sexeeeee!
there's a long queue at coffee@brick lane so i decide to try getting
a coffee from 1001. i'm just stepping out of 1001, coffee hot in
my hand, and i look up, and pause because the day's so beautiful.
it's misty. it's freezing. it's christmas. it's gorgeous.
a handsome boy walks towards me as i turn out of dray walk back
into brick lane. i take a first sip of my coffee and my mouth leaves
a big red lipstick smooch on the lid. i'm smiling without realising
and i look up and the boy's looking at me as he passes and then,
i swear, he blows me a kiss. me! a kiss! that never happens!
i'm looking at the big red smooch on my coffee lid, kind of amazed
and embarrassed and pleased, my new clothes all rustly and all smelling
of the shop, and i suddenly realise that for perhaps the first time
in my life, i am being a proper girl, all consumerism and lipstick
and objectified, and i fucking love it.
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