After about two and a half hours of eating nutella alone in my kitchen this evening, I was a bit surprised to find Matt outside of my New York apartment, panting with excitement and bearing a box of gifts. As I had hoped and suspected, the little blonde number that transformed (and entranced) so many in Providence this weekend was included. Matt is beside me now, as I write in my mothy-smelling living room (it's a little unclear whether the smell is due to Matt or the wig), taking a breather after our hour-long, sometimes fruitful, sometimes harrowing photobooth session. The project was spurred on by Matt's tales of admirers at the infamous party this weekend who told him he looked "just like Kurt Cobain" (Matt was unfamiliar with the name). I insisted that we fully recreate the look, going so far as to apply liquid eyeliner on a trembling, but willing Matt. It so happens that he's growing quite attached to the look.
I also took a turn of my own with the wig, and out of this came some moments of creative brilliance which you can witness
I believe the piece speaks for itself, but I will say that the entire process was transformative -- for both of us.
