Kate Moss
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- FredMcWoozy0
worship satin and you get in the limelight :)
- kodap0
I ♥ kate Moss
- clearThoughts0
she looks good in every single fucking picture - that's why she's an amazing model.
She doesn't look hot - she look good, elegant.
A fashion ad campaign is supposed to sell fashion/bags/etc. to women. No need to show big tits and ass there really.
- instrmntl0
kate moss is hot.
- eieio0
I wonder how many times jonny depp tied her up and had his way
- Ravdyk0
Of Terry Richardson website "Hello , if you are male or female and interested in posing nude for Terry Richardson please contact us by Email."
- kezza_20
Not that many will read it but its kinda sums up her life. Beautiful but floored:
Bad girl
Kate Moss's lifestyle tells you all you need to know about fame, money and drugs in Britain, says India Knight
“There was a time when men settled arguments with pistols at dawn,” a well-connected observer of the capital’s super-rich told me last week, “but these days the weapon of choice is a black Amex card, and the venues are clubs like Mo*vida, Umbaba and Boujis.
“Most nights of the week, hedge-funders and suchlike — overworked, emasculated, desperate to prove their mettle — try to make their name in the superclubs by spending outrageous amounts on drink, doing outrageous amounts of drugs, and generally chasing the ultimate high.
“In Pangaea the other week I saw two tables of men competitive-ordering magnums of Cristal, which start at over a grand each. When one of them paid his bill with a Switch card — very uncool — a member of the rival gang shouted, ‘What the f*** is that?’
“And then,” my friend continues, “through this jungle come skinny bitches looking for a free ride, and D-list celebrities looking for the same thing. If I had a tenner for every time X has asked me if I have any drugs on me I’d be a lot richer than him. Everyone is partying like it’s 1988. It’s very American Psycho.
“I was with a guy at a famous London club [a favourite with young royals] the other week who couldn’t be bothered to queue for the bathrooms, so very indiscreetly just cut his lines out on the table. Eventually I made him go to the bathroom, where the attendant tried to stop him going into the stall with a girlfriend. He just threw a couple of £50 notes at the attendant and she said, ‘She’s all yours.’
“It’s all about money. If you’re rich these days then you can do whatever the hell you like. Kate Moss allegedly smoking crack seems pathetic, but when you’re around moneyed people looking for kicks (or, like her, are a moneyed person looking for kicks) and nothing is forbidden, then it’s easy to see how dirty things like crack become exciting. Put it this way, she’s not the only one.”
The most astonishing thing about the whole Kate Moss debacle is that there is one reason and one reason only that explains why the veritable avalanche of stories about Moss’s various impressive addictions didn’t surface earlier. Everyone even tangentially involved in London’s fashion/media/showbiz circles knew for years about the sex, the drugs, and the general wildness, which were euphemistically referred to as “partying”, but nobody blabbed. This is unusual.
Why the reticence? Because Moss is kind, or generous, or altruistic, or sweet to old ladies? Nope. Because she gives quantities of money to unglamorous charities, and is especially munificent towards orphans? No. Because we secretly suspect her of having a mind like a steel trap?
Wrong again. Because she’s beautiful and wears nice clothes. That is the only reason, un-feministically enough. We might as well be primary-school children with a crush.
Kate is really, really pretty, and her prettiness has kept her safe from having to face herself through the prism of a critical media for all these years, like those Hollywood film stars in the 1930s — nympho drug addicts or child-beating weirdoes whose tawdry secrets were a hundred per cent safe because of the sheer might of the studio system.
Ironically enough, keeping Kate “safe” has resulted in her addictions spiralling out of control unchecked, so that the disastrous end result is miles away from the benign original intention — but that’s what happens when, swayed by Kate’s loveliness, the most hardened critic turns into a lovelorn 12-year-old.
I don’t normally get excited about this kind of thing, but I saw her in the street outside the newsagent’s about three weeks ago and I thought about her amazing face all the way home.
Imagine being protected by your looks to that extent. I don’t mean that we aren’t used to pretty
people having an easier ride than plain people, because they do. But imagine being absolutely immune from criticism, immune from bad publicity, immune from any kind of nay-saying at all, because of your looks.Imagine even the most rottweilerish media choosing not to make use of pictures or information that might paint you in a bad light, for years on end . . . because you’re pretty.
It is fairly extraordinary in this day and age — almost baroque in its old-fashionedness, like it being 1665 and you being the king’s favourite and everyone having to be nice to you and curtsey all day long because he likes your curly hair.
Just as there is a kind of lunacy at the centre of that notion, so the story of Kate Moss illustrates the lunacy that’s engulfed us all when it comes to beauty, fame, money and glamour. Our thinking is messed up. The people we admire are messed up, too. We don’t want to know that they’re messed up, so we pretend that model X is naturally skinny and energetic or that such and such an actress is just very fit, rather than having an eating disorder.
We know deep down that we’re deluding ourselves, though. Were we shocked by the news of Kate’s fairly prodigious coke consumption? (Six fat lines in 40 minutes seems an awful lot. I’d be dead, for instance.) Not particularly.
The public may not be entirely in the know, but it isn’t entirely in the dark, either. It can understand that no one is that thin without an eating disorder or a drug habit; and anyway much of Kate’s appeal — for the public as well as fashion houses that hire her — is to do with her hard-living bohemian edge.
Which is why the general reaction to the “supermodel uses cocaine” news was a weary eye-roll rather than astonishment. I was at a London Fashion Week party last week where every second person — journalists, models, comedians, television presenters — was on coke. This is the norm, not the exception.
“Was I shocked? No. Nobody was shocked,” a fashion magazine editor said of Moss last week. “It’s what pop stars do. It’s what they always have done and always will do — drugs, drowning in pools, choking on vomit. It’d be strangely disappointing if they ever stopped. And basically Kate is one of those models that is like a rock star — they don’t come along very often — so she does it too.
“Anyway, she’s a great, great model, and I’d be lying if I told you her rock star side, her rock star antics, worked against her. Until now, that wildness has always worked in her favour. We all work hard and have our mundane lives and escape by reading about people like Kate. It’s a vicarious thrill. She’s practically performing a public service.
“I tell you what did shock me, though — the meanness of whoever it was that filmed her on their mobile. In a private place. We’ve all done things we shouldn’t in private places, and none of us would like them splashed all over the papers.”
The fact that the minutiae of Moss’s lifestyle were common knowledge is what made the faux-outrage of the fashion business so overdone and so silly. In fashion, everyone takes coke (in life, practically everyone takes coke too, from City boys to journalists to your cleaning lady, but fashion people have an especial devotion to it).
Even I have been to dinners when great heaps of it were sitting around in bowls. If it’s not coke, it may be ketamine. Or crystal meth. Or all three. Everyone drinks. Everyone smokes. Everyone is anorexic-skinny and thinks it’s cool. Everyone shags copiously, and sexual orientation is fluid. That’s just the way things are.
They’re not overburdened with morals or brains, the fashion people — but then being burdened with morals or brains is not their job. They’re a designer/model/stylist, not your parish priest.
We’re talking about people who, in the main, move their lips when they read, and spend quite a lot of time standing around with their mouth very slightly open. (A friend of mine recently described seeing Kate Moss and her creepy, decrepit mate Bobby Gillespie standing in the street trying hard to read a newspaper item about themselves; apparently it was like watching toddlers learning phonics).
They’re perhaps not the top choice to look to for moral guidance or tips on living graciously, and when their halo slips you’d have to be a simple soul to find yourself very surprised, or even very cross.
Various people have been slithering out of the woodwork in the past week to express the view that the fashion business isn’t very nice, that it likes to corrupt youth, that there’s a decadence and an emptiness at the middle of it, that it’s not a world any of us should admire.
While this is perfectly true, is there a person left in Britain who needs to be told, who finds the fashion world appealingly wholesome, or who thinks “Ooh, I can’t wait for my 12-year-old daughter to become a top model and go off to London. She’ll have such a lovely life surrounded by well-balanced teetotal people and marvellous, fatherly men”?
Croydon-born Moss has, let us not forget, been working in this environment since she was 14, which is really little more than being a baby. And that is why she deserves our pity, not our manufactured moral indignation or condemnation.
She’s like a slutty out-of-it child, and slutty out-of-it children only get that way because they’ve been abused in one way or another.
Moss isn’t just “the coolest girl in London” or “the most beautiful girl in the world”. She’s a victim — a really deluded victim, the kind that thinks nobody can see the damage. The kind of victim that is so out of it that she can persuade herself of almost anything, that she is cool, that she is beautiful, that she doesn’t have a problem. She may still be the first two things, but when it comes to the third she’s walking wounded.
The other bizarre thing about the coverage of this sorry affair has been the breathless outrage with which stories about Moss’s outré (threesomes) but hardly criminal (consenting adults and all that) sex life have been presented to us. Kate, you may recall, is robustly sexually active. She’s 31, carefree — until last week, at least — beautiful, and has a healthy sex drive. What’s the problem?
Well, the real problem is that she appears to be out of control and that she clearly needs help; but the problem for the media covering this story is that Kate is a mother. She has a daughter, Lila Grace, who is nearly three, by her former beau Jefferson Hack, from whom she is separated. And you aren’t allowed to be a mother and to have sex, even if the sex takes place hundreds of miles away from your child. Even if it takes place on a different continent. It’s just not done.
You can have sex with your husband in order to procreate, but you can’t have the kind of sex Kate has — the kind that leaves you with mussed hair and carpet burns, looking a bit spaced out and dry-mouthed — with various random men.
As if this weren’t bad enough, Kate has also allegedly had sex with her friend Sadie Frost, who is herself a mother of four children. The mothers are getting it on! With five kids between them! Being mothers hasn’t completely destroyed their sense of themselves as sexual beings! It’s the end of the world!
Actually, having said that, the sex stuff is pretty sordid, even if you don’t hold the view that promiscuity is evil. The shenanigans in question don’t recall Fitzgerald’s The Beautiful and Damned (the somewhat adolescent theme for Moss’s 30th birthday party at Claridges last year, where there was cake, champagne and an orgy), but rather call to mind those depressing American novels about poor white trash and incest.
All the protagonists in the Moss sex saga are “best friends” or live within a few hundred yards of each other, like cousins in Utah. There’s Frost, who was married to Jude Law, who allegedly also slept with Moss, as well as with one Pearl Lowe, who is married to some musician bloke, with whom Sadie and Jude also both slept. Allegedly. Then Jude slept with his children’s nanny, then Kate allegedly slept with somebody called Davinia Taylor, who normally (surprise) likes to date footballers and lived around the corner from Moss/Frost/Law/everyone else.
In between these particular twosomes, threesomes, foursomes and dozensomes, for all I know, Kate has had many lovers; the above précis is the tip of quite an iceberg. The current boyfriend, Pete Doherty, is a heroin-addicted singer with a penchant for crack and a huge, round, bloated face like a sweaty cheese. (Like sweet little 16-year-olds, he and Moss seem to find themselves and each other deeply poetic and doomed.)
See? The story could quite easily be set on a trailer park, and its protagonists could very well wear vests and tattoos and threaten to batter each other on Jerry Springer.
I don’t think that was quite the idea. I suspect all of this frantic activity started off feeling a bit Studio 54, a bit Seventies, a bit louche and druggy in a fabulously glam (three)way. How unfortunate, then, that it’s all ended up a bit Vicky Pollard instead.
“She needs to dump Doherty,” three people who work in fashion said to me last week in the space of an hour.
“At first the association worked — it was edgy and dangerous and cool,” one added. “Now it just looks scuzzy. It’s sad. I keep imagining them with sick down their fronts, for some reason. But, you know, there’s a business brain underneath that fluffy nest of hair. Well, either that or she has very good advisers. It is entirely possible that she will dump Doherty for career reasons alone. Not a tricky decision — failed pop star with a paunch or another £10m? Even a coked-out supermodel can work that one out.”
There are an awful lot of Kates around — lost girls in their late twenties or early thirties who rely entirely on drink and pharmaceuticals for fun, who put themselves about more than might be wise, who’ve had group sex more often than they care to remember (“After a while the difference between a model and a whore becomes tenuous,” says one party-lover.)
At some imperceptible point these girls go from seeming fun and cool to becoming pitiful. It is appropriate that Moss should have become an iconic mascot for an entire generation, because she is very generation-specific in terms of her story.
That generation — once known as Generation X and now in its early thirties — is perhaps uniquely acquainted with no-strings hedonism. It also has an absolutely extraordinary sense of entitlement: none of them do much but they want everything — money, fame, happiness, time, travel, technology, life on their own terms, lived exactly as they want it.
It is a generation that has never been deprived or wanted for anything, that has never known sacrifice of any kind, that stopped valuing hard work when it realised — via recession, housing crashes, Lloyd’s losses — that there was no such thing as a job for life, so why bother working at all? Why not drift about being “creative” and experiencing things? Especially given they were the first young people to reap the benefits of the explosion in cheap travel. And in cheap drugs.
“When I was young, cocaine was seriously expensive — prohibitively so,” a fashion writer I spoke to last week said. “A bit later, when ecstasy first came along, that wasn’t entirely a bargain either. Now you can buy a supply of both with the spare change in your pocket. London’s drowning in drugs. And Moss’s generation have benefited, if that’s the right word. We thought we were bad. They’re wild.”
Yet for all their carefree self-obsession, they are increasingly frustrated. They haven’t actually achieved much. Many of them work in “the media” — on magazines, in television, in film, in fashion, or on the peripheries of all four. They have non-specific “projects” in the pipeline; these are deemed “really exciting” but seldom come to anything. None of what they do does anybody any good; none of it matters; and eventually this gets them down.
“That’s why we eat organic and try and be green and eco-friendly, and we bang on about ‘authenticity’,” says a style journalist. “It’s our way of trying to bring some meaning to the world, because frankly we are pretty useless. And drugs are a nice way for us to escape all this. Hedonism and debauchery? We have made them into an art form. That, frankly, is our only contribution.”
“Because a line of coke is no more shocking than having a glass of wine,” says another party-loving thirtysomething, “lots of people are falling into a nasty cycle. It makes you stay out later and do things you might not otherwise do. It also means you can’t sleep when you eventually get home. So you take Xanax, which means you’re knocked out at work the next day. What starts out as a bit of Friday night fun can easily turn into a couple of lines to get you through a bad Tuesday.”
This up-all-night, up-for-anything lifestyle is one that Kate Moss, all cheekbones, ballet flats and flying hair, has come to embody. She is hedonism incarnate, debauchery made flesh. Last week, after being dumped by H&M, Chanel (who managed to make her look incredibly common in their ads for Coco Mademoiselle) and Burberry, she apologised profusely and promised to sort herself out.
Whether she manages to do this or not remains to be seen — it’ll take more than a symbolic fortnight in the Priory to put things right. One thing is certain, though: for all the abuse and vilification she has received over the past two weeks, Kate is still Kate, pin-up girl and mascot for an entire generation. She’s still cool. There are still thousands of girls who want to be like her.
Why? Because, despite the alleged £200-a-day habit, and the whispers about crack and heroin, and the photographs and the orgies and the whole “unfit mother” malarkey, Kate Moss is still really pretty, and rich enough to do what she likes. That’s why. And that tells you everything you need to know about fame, money, glamour, drugs, and a great slew of contemporary Britain
- clearThoughts0
wow - I would have thought there is a character limit set in these text-boxes!
- kezza_20
I know
- clearThoughts0
some interesting stuff there though - I actually started reading it, then my attention span hit the threshold and I switched to scan mode.
I think it's kind of cool, how this woman is a 21st century rock-star.
The whole thing is fucked up, because young girls want to be like her.
But young kids wanted to be like Kurt Cobain when they grew up as well and he had a similar lifestyle.Who wouldn't live like a rock-start if you had millions in your bank?
I do my best to live like a rock-star, but can only afford to do it over the weekends at the moment.- she's a 'star'. 'rock' would imply some talent or musical ability. unless you mean 'model rock star' in teh way of designer r.s.airey
- airey0
more power to her for making a great living with no discernible talent apart from looking good. but the thing that makes me laugh is all the thought and discussion wasted by other people–like all of us–about her. she literally does fuck all in the world and parties as much as possible, which let's face it, most of use would do if we could afford it or get away with it. we call celebs superficial but we're the dumb fuckers who seem even worse. at least they're too coked up to realise their heads are up their arses. what's our excuse?
- there has to be some business savvy there, no?version3
- yeah, hiring good agents and business handlers. that can be hard enough looking at madoff.airey
- i'm just saying if it's that easy, why haven't we done it?version3
- because you're uglyraf
- yeah, because we're not pretty or connected.airey
- so she does have a few things going for her, that was my only pointversion3
- kezza_20
I just think she looks great, leads an interesting life, lets face it; is moderately accessible to shag, more than anyone else that famous, and is proof that being thick and beautiful works.
Last year shes had more column inches than most, earned millions, had a hugely successful clothing line for top shop (a good friends mrs is the buyer for that range for Top Shop and apparently kate's "lovely"). Been made into the largest ever gold statue, had lesbian orgies and been on the cover of every magazine.
She invented/is identified with the "look" that all women and the fashion press still are following 15 years on.
Frankly shes an enigma.
Best quote I heard from someone who photographed her for Chanel was that the best advice Kate followed "was never to speak" as she sounds like vicki pollard.
She represents the last 20 years of the culture of UK to me, for good or bad.
- fucking golden. "is moderately accessible to shag". awesomeness™airey
- kezza_20
btw the long article was from the times. Thought it better than the Sun's version :)
- davebellechique0
2006
- raf0
She's very pretty, but doesn't cross the "beautiful" mark. Perhaps that's her forte. That and a very good agent.
It's not like "people love her". People don't choose the icon they admire, they are told who they love through repetition in magazines and PR statements. In our industry, this should be beyond obvious.
