Monday, December 14, 2009


P.Legere drawing of our friend Dean Johnson modeling the Fur Bikini at the Lingerie Legere Fashion show

In those days, makeup was a comment on sexual politics; the glitterati signaled each other through cosmetic displays. Our surreal grooming transformed us; we distanced ourselves from white middle class women’s ideas of taste and decorum so that our souls could pop open. Ours was a night world, of youth and fire and beauty. We sang songs and danced along a vibrant art/fashion/sex continuum. Were we out to make art history? Were we out to make money? Get famous? Or were we just out to get laid? Answer: Yes.

I looked at myself in the mirror. I underscored my eyes with incandescent eye shadow, extending the line outward into a scroll, a wing, a wave, a supereye. I was extremely thin and wearing an outfit of my own design -- The Fur Bikini: a soft puff of ermine at my genitals and breasts. Nothing to mar the spectral lines of my bones.

The 80’s were all about hair: club kids sprouted aerodynamically improbable styles—spikes, color, sparkles, shaving, layers…. For gay males, the mustachioed clone look of the late seventies period had given way to a collective skin of wonderful smoothness: bald heads, shaved faces and waxed chests reflected coins of light from disco balls. In 1984 outlandish hair was de rigueur, but paradoxically, the less hair you had the more seriously you were taken. Hence, bald was shorthand for integrity. Go figure. If you wanted to have hair, and still be taken seriously, you had to go vertical.

I was wearing a leopard top hat cocked atop varying shades of blond hair. I had big hair, the biggest. I tilted my head and looked at the whole package; red lips, laughing eyes, rosy nipples, wasp waist and long legs: It all added up to something nutty and fun. I smiled.

Our song "Blond Fox in A Fur Bikini Goes to Rio"

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