L-A: Well, sad business gives us the bonus Monday post. I was flicking through the twitter and saw that Annabelle didn’t want people to be mean about Amy Winehouse. This confused me. A lot. Not that Ann wouldn’t want people to be nice about Amy Winehouse. But I couldn’t figure out why she’d be declaring this on the twitter.
You see, I’d been off shopping up a storm, getting deals and dresses with birds on them, and totally missed the news. I just thought Ann was being particularly sensitive about Amy Winehouse for shits and giggles. But nope. Amy Winehouse was dead. Seriously sad business.
Oh sure. Amy Winehouse was a mess. She was a total fucking mess most of the time. But she could also sing like nobody’s business. I still remember hearing her music for the first time and thinking, “mother of pearl! This is from our time?”
Also she had serious swag.
I had for reals hair and eyeliner envy of Amy Winehouse. I am all about the volume and the backcomb. I have seriously contemplated the bumpit. As a former classmate of mine once said: the higher the hair, the closer to god. And no one got the bouffant as high as Amy Winehouse. As for the eyeliner, I pretty much envy anyone who can put it on straight. If you can get it to swoop off to the side all retroishly, then you’re pretty much my hero.
When she wasn’t her messiest, I totally declare her to be a bona fide style icon. For a long time, I’ve wanted to dress up as her for Halloween. Not messy Amy Winehouse. But killer swag Amy Winehouse. It would have been my moment to have some seriously sweet eyeliner, hair as close to god as I could get it and attempt to dress like a woman who just didn’t give a fuck what you thought of her.
But she was messy. And that in itself was sad. Sadder still, she was made to be the punchline of a joke because of an addiction. And now we’ll talk up a storm about her being 27 like all the other dead 27 year old singers. Who, quite frankly, all seemed much older than 27. I mean, if you had asked me a week ago how old Amy Winehouse was, I’d have said my age or older. But nope. Only late twenties. This probably says something in itself.
I don’t often get verklempt over dead celebrities. I mean, I don’t know them from Adam, so why should I get worked up? Off the top of my head, the list of dead celebrities that have made me feel kind of sad is short: Phil Hartman, Lenny Briscoe (I mean, Jerry Orbach), Alexander McQueen and Brittany Murphy. And now we’ll add Amy Winehouse to that list.(Liz Taylor, less so…but life seemed like it wasn’t being kind to Liz at the end. And funny enough, she also seemed older than she really was. She seemed like she was now 102 instead of 79).
Anyway, like I said. Sad business. One which acutally drives me to say something I never thought I’d ever say: I agree with Russell Brand. We do need to think differently about how we treat addicts. Not as criminals. Not as jokes. But as folks who are really seriously ill. (although, well done to my Twitter feed and Facebook friends – not one was at all mean about Amy Winehouse).
I’ve actually been listening to Valerie since hearing the news. A little bit because it mixes Pretend Boyfriend #1 with Amy Winehouse. But also because it might be one of my favourite songs she’s ever sang (hard to choose, but there you have it).
You know you wish, even just a little bit, you could rock a cropped cardigan like that and dance on stage with Mark Ronson. (it’s not just me?)
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