Charlie Brophy Stole My Dress

I stole her boobs... 

 

In this portrait I shot of her. 

Now, let's get this straightened out - it was a good dress. I paid about a buck for it at a small Thai market. It was the dress: a dress for gypsies with modern sensibilities. The perfect beige, with a cross-over back for ventilation in hot climates, and big pockets for storing all sorts of things. Like film. Or knives. Whatever tickled your nipples. Somehow you could roll in mud and it wouldn't show.I never washed the thing.

It served every purpose under the sun - a magical creature sent to me by intergalactic dress gods. It could have been my sole mate reincarnated in dress form. Or, maybe it was just a dress. But still, a bloody top notch piece of cloth. And just so you know, I don't believe in animism and I wouldn't call myself an 'Objektophilie'...I just happened to fall in love with a dress. I wanted to die in the thing. Maybe Charlie will die in it instead. And that's okay, really - totally go for it. You can have it. But don't go plebbing out all over it, treat it well, and it will treat you well back. 

 

 

Charlie Brophy