Making my way downtown, walking fast, faces pass and I’m homebound

I love Demi Moore, and I love her renaissance, but I kinda hated The Substance—the beginning was predictable and the ending was a farce, the horror references were heavyhanded and hit me with a dull thud. I’m going back to horror’s source with the explicit gruesomeness of the new The Shining book. The carpet pattern is overplayed, as is the Apollo jumper, but I can’t stop thinking about marble drenched in blood, smashing piles and piles of plates like a tantruming toddler, or sitting alone in a hotel bar maniacally laughing. The twins are cool, too, but creepy as fuck, and I don’t think borrowing from their hautned doll aesthetic will get you far.

I know it can be a problem for certain hard-won progressions of feminism, but visually, pink is a great colour. It’s the prettiest and most disgusting straggler in your tub of Quality Streets. With all the black and navy and grey peddled to men, geezers need excitement. We need nausea-inducing Pepto Bismol blazers. We need vulva- pink dress pants. A tonally harmonious blazer shirt and tie say oh baby, refrain from breaking my heart, they say respectfully, I say to thee: I’m aware that you’re cheating, they say making my way downtown, walking fast, faces pass and I’m homebound.

Do me a favour… picture what you’re wearing right now but in salmon, in coral, in sherbert—don’t you feel better?

I am once again thinking about Patrick Bateman’s perfect apartment and body, his Robert Longos and his thighs, his corporate excess and his arse in tighty whities. Bloodlust aside, has the surface of a man’s life ever looked so good on film? Most of his furniture is quite Instagram-y now, and his 80s business suits reek of president elect. But in a world of FKA Twigs’ ancient Egyptian haircut and Lily Depp’s orgasmic convulsions in Nosforatu, of Baron Trump and Vanderpump, of Sabrina Carpenter and lad baby, Patrick is a tonic.

The universe is telling me to get a red lightbulb.

There’s only three days in London when it’s cold enough but, crucially, dry enough to wear suede. On theses three days wear this just-peeled-off-a-cow-but-the-cow-is-kinda-thankful McQueen. A jacket to elevate your errands. To take you from a beauty school dropout to a Kenickie. To help you transition from a person that smokes cigarettes, to a person that buys cigarettes, that actually always has cigarettes, that gives cigarettes away in the smoking pen with a shrug. I bet it makes a great tinkling sound too.