Prince was my stark-naked, painting in bed, showing his literal ass … crack of light into why I was “here~” as like a happily demented 7 year old.
But Adam Ant was one of kiddo me’s first true husbands.
Unlike the later “you mean they can’t stop me from showing my ass as an Artiste?” Predilections of like 7 or 8 year old, already willfully insolent me… Or the me that recognized I’d been married to Mozart mid-movie (don’t ask) in like 4th grade. ..
Adam Ant was what I now see was a premonition and all the feverish death throes dreams of lives alongside warrior loves across time.
YEARS LATER. .. everything little kid me watched this little dude Rock out in is re-adjusted & twisted through the DNA of both my menswear & personal style.
Adam Ant introduced me to Vivienne Westwood a decade before I RE introduced me to her. Galliano’s debut collection that caused aneurysms all over the place may as well have been snorted off his ass. & long before Gaultier shot to fame slutting up sailor gear, Adam Ant was all in riding that wave.
It was only much later that I found out HE not only did design alot of those first looks or collab them to life. .. he was getting fashion history props from like 82′ onward for having done so.
The Motherfucker was as much a designer as he is a showman and musician. & you knew it was him coming at you barrels blazing of his own accord. AR couldn’t come up with That if they’d tried.
He was- stylistically to me- what Bowie had been to my elder arthead siblings ten years early, perhaps.
There’s not one thing in that above outfit that wouldn’t do it for me still today, rocked correctly.
Yes, Jimi did it best. But Hendrix made it spiritual.
Adam was it…but climbing the walls carnal. Before kid me understood crushes as such she knew Exactly what she was looking at encapsulated there. Hence the title demented, God love her.
Plus, I’m always gonna go for warpaint. Cosmically speaking. Of pretty much any kind. Except Braveheart. & I Lived for Mad max but Gibson in blueface- which should’ve been a homerun- eh. Go figure.
A great breakdown of Sir Ant’s Fashist terroir click here.