Shirt: Penny // Shorts: Antony
Photography: Isabel Sylvie Melles Taberner
Penny was such a little faker. She'd run around with her floral skin and tiny little collar and pretend that she grew up - and stayed - in the sixties. She'd tell everyone that she was "totally into free love, man" and always had a smell about her that made parents pull their children closer towards them when she walked past. I met her at the market one day at the herb & spice store. She was pondering how to turn these herbs and spices into an experience. I gave her a few recipes, but she just looked at me strangely as if chicken was the stupidest suggestion anyone had ever made. She was still very endearing though. I could feel the potential radiating out of her - almost as if it were tangible. So we went out for coffee, and as she unravelled her life story to me, the mask started to disappear. The Twiggy eyelashes melted away, and her go-go boots fell off. In her most raw and vulnerable state, her self-created persona just boiled down to the fact that she didn't know what year it was.
Ambiguity was Antony's favourite game. Was he a skirt? Was he a pair of shorts? Who knows? Maybe it's best that no one ever finds out? Antony would chuckle at the masses trying to figure him out. "I'm an enigma! You'll never understand me! I'm too complex! Sure, sure - keep trying if you want," he'd tell people. Then I wore him and told everyone that he was a pair of shorts. We're not talking anymore.