Tuesday, June 09, 2009
So Money, Babe
After a frustrating day, yesterday, during which I drew and redrew elements of a new picture without actually moving the composition on from where I started, I slept badly. My scalped itched and burned and I lay awake, resisting the urge to scratch, for several hours. I crawled out of bed at dawn, pulling the duvet with me to defend against the gelid drafts of Sydney's coldest morning of the year. I cursed myself for having committed to meet with Max Markson, one of the city's best-known 'celebrity' public relations advisers: I wondered whether we would have anything to talk about, especially as I didn't see where I might fit in a client list that ranges from Queer Eye For The Straight Guy's Carson Kressley to Joe Bugner, onetime British heavyweight boxing champion. As it turned out, Max was charming and smart and after a couple of hours, we began to recognise that it might be fun to work together. Maybe one reason why I was hesitant to schlepp up to Max's harbourside home in Sydney was because I still looked like a survivor of a napalm bombing. To alleviate this, I adopted a stereotypical all-black, Bohemian look, albeit with uptown flourishes: working around a pair of Mela Purdie leggings cut up and re-sewn as a head covering, I wore a black linen, buttoned shirt and linen drawstring pants, Italian-made J.P. Tod ankle boots, various African and Asian bracelets and necklaces, and a Bottega Veneta woven leather hobo bag. I kept hearing Vince Vaughn delivering that line from Swingers – "You look so money, babe" – and somehow it made me feel better.