I haven’t had any money since I arrived in Texas. As soon as I got down at George Bush Airport I blew all of my money on wiz fizz and skittles, and by wiz fizz and skittles I mean Jack Daniels, methamphetamines, cocaine, mescaline and sixteen packets of Marlboro Lights. After that particular bender I required some cosmetic dentistry, as I had ground all of my teeth down to stumps. The last of my money went on pot and Texas desert sunbloom chic. This is a genre I will introduce you to and it is one of the reasons I came to Texas, to study fashion.
Every girl knows that depending on how skinny you are there appears a triangle between your legs when you’re wearing tight jeans. (Not that one, the other one). It’s an inverted triangle, and the point is made where your thighs come together, and the better your legs are the bigger this triangle is. Basically fat people don’t have it and you can track how much weight you’re losing by how big the triangle gets (not that one, the other one). Most of the people in Texas are quite fat. That is why the triangle is like the highest point of feminine beauty in Texas. The desert light is so clear and strong it cracks you right between the legs, and when a pretty woman is walking in tight jeans the Texas sun comes through and the triangle actually flashes, on and off, on and off; it winks like the best diamond. This is why Texas is called the “Lone Star State”. The stars and stripes also commemorate this…. In Texas the stars are metal studs, it can be a bit hard for the flag to fly cos they tend to make the studs out of bullet lead and it will just hang there off the government chambers like a flaccid dick, but I digress.
In tribute to the diamond, people in Texas stud their clothes…. all of them. After I got out of hospital (I was in for a couple of weeks eating prairie chicken soup and space ice cream… NASA invented this, I shit you not… and smoking Marlboro Lights through an IV) I went to K-Mart and I got this outfit. Pink jeans: they are flared with studs all round the bottom and starred up to the knees. White cowboy boots with metal tipped toes and spurs, studded up the side; a white studded belt, with a fuck-off belt buckle shaped like a beautiful lady (you can open bottles with it); two studded holsters, a .45 Smith & Wesson and 2 ammo belts; a skimpy sparkly gold singlet, six bracelets, three studded and three made of old bullets; a blue denim jacket that is studded all around the collar and back and sleeves, and a pink cowboy hat with forty seven studs around where the band should be.
When I walk I tinkle. The spurs jangle, the .45 clinks on the ammo belt, the zip of the jacket jangles on the belt buckle, and the bracelets knock against each other up and down, every time I go to light a fag. Everyone in Texas gets about in something like this, in tans just this side of sunburnt, jeans red like thrush (yes I said thrush). Eyeshadow is red and musk and purple gold and blush like a magnolia or a cocquelicot sunset. You don’t even need conviction to pull it off, that’s just Texas. (Everything in Texas is just ‘Texas’… it’s like a Lewis Carroll portmanteau; the word opens outwards but contains everything it is within itself.).
So I had no money but was feeling real Texas when I got out of hospital, I decided I was gonna have to walk.