It was a chilly Spring day, the kind of day when the sun is bright in the sky but the air is icy cold. Running through a crowd of snazzily dressed people, all clutching fancy invitations, on a busy London Street, I almost didn’t see her. But then a blur of bubblegum pink flashed past my eyes, stopping me in my tracks like a frisky meerkat who has just seen the prettiest pin-up girl meerkat in the land. Or something like that. Looking back over her shoulder, I caught a glimpse of those witchy green eyes – and in that moment, I lost my heart to Charlotte Free.
Woah there. Don’t panic, this isn’t going to turn into some sort of kerazy fan fiction fantasy. I just think Charlotte Free is really, really cool. I’m not even the kind of person who normally even knows what model’s names are, let alone the kind of person who builds one of those ‘Fuckyeah*insertnameofsupermodel*’ tumblrs in honour of one of them. This is just a girl crush. A painful, all consuming kinda girl crush, maybe. But one that will eventually pass. However in this current moment, I am in the stronghold grip of Charlotte Free mania.
Even having worked in the fashwan industry for two years, I never got the obsession with models. There is a always one girl who is the ‘model of the moment’, the ‘face of the season’; shortly before they get overexposed and either rise up the ranks to supermodel status or disappear into the abyss again. From Lily to Agyness to Lara to Freja, each new pretty face commands an army of new fans. But this ‘new face’ is a little bit different.
At 5’7″, Miss Charlotte Free is a petite, pink-haired, Los Angeles native lil’ bundle of fun. Discovered in an arcade, while no doubt wearing one of her beloved LA Lakers hoodies, Charlotte has brought a whole new spirit to the fashion industry. This is a model who actually has something going on beyond her frankly awesome face. She’s every photographer’s current favourite, not least for her cheeky attitude – Charlotte is more likely to be seen sticking her tongue out on the catwalk than throwing any stroppy diva-like behaviour.
Her pink hair ain’t no cynical marketing schtick, neither. It’s a heartbreak-induced DIY mixture of Manic Panic shades (the hairdye of choice for goths and emos the world over.) Not that Charlotte is strictly either of those, but she’s not your average Josephine, that’s for sure.
I dyed my hair pink and I didn’t care about anything anymore.
I mean come on, how can you not fall in love with someone who writes on their blog “Coming to London. Where did the Spice Girls buy all their clothes?”
Images: iD magazine, the Sunday Times magazine
I know, I know, nearly mid-twenty-somethings shouldn’t have girl crushes anymore. I can’t seem to shake this one off. Oh well, it looks like my Free-madness will be continuing for the forseeable. The pink-haired one has arrived, long may she reign – she’s more innnneresting looking than that Moss-face anyway…