I OBVIOUSLY am not all, "Don't I look like Kate Moss?" I posed like this to get a good photo for this story for Jane goddamn Pratt who demands such annoying craziness, endlessly. Also, I took it on no sleep at 6:30 AM and that's not lipstick on my face again, it's acne, so fuck off.
Publish date:
May 24, 2012
shoppables, perfume, art, kate moss, supreme, TERRY RICHARDSON

Yeah, yeah. I get bravery points though!

So everyone in New York has been completely bananas for these Supreme Kate Moss ads shot by the famously wicked (hot and fun, I say!) Terry Richardson someone whose name fails me now that have been wheat-pasted all over downtown. Especially me, duh. As we are all aware, I basically foam at the mouth for Kate Moss 24/7, and not just because I have sexually contracted rabies (also big below 14th Street right now).

They are 99.5% impossible to get off the walls -- even the most skilled vandal (and I know and boss around them all) will tell you this.

At one point, I offered all the little 22-year-old derel kids I know -- they come over often to smoke pot on my floor and listen to me preach about why they are fucking up and becoming dusthead monsters too young -- money to score me the posters: $100 a head, I said, in rough condition or not (everyone has tried to tear them down, so they're all fucked up), defaced or perfect (obviously there is all sorts of vandalism going down).

Is he trying to play me?

I was sure someone would bring me something. These kids always need money; plus, they literally call me Mom.

But nothing!

Then I was going to harass this guy who can get anything that has to do with downtown and art and streetwear blah blah blah like that, but I felt lame in advance for doing that; I vaguely have a tiny thing for him but only because he had this really good Aruba tan once, I think, and was wearing this endearingly weird old-timey pastel outfit to go with the tan.

"Glamorous golffff cart,"my sex drive purred all dreamily to my brain for like four seconds one day maybe two months ago. Then lingered there just enough to make me too shy to get around to demanding a poster from him (as is my usual M.O. with men: as I always tell the assistants at xoJane, you waste a lot of your youth being polite around dudes when truly you should always just channel Sharon Stone, believe me).

So every day I would walk home, dodging the motherfucking rats that have taken over lately not unlike illegal immigrants in our border states (JOKING) (I'm liberal!) (I mean, as if I would ever bother voting ever).

Painfully, the heaviest concentration of these gorgeous, huge posters was plastered around my neighborhood in the Alphabet City section of the East Village -- and I'd look at them through a mist of rain or whatever, feeling all Eponine and "On My Own"-y -- gay, lame, corny, urchin-like and moist but not in a cool way at all, all things Les Miserables-like except the only acceptable thing: authentically French. And all because I just knew that one would never be mine.

I never get anything I want, I would think to myself, as I am wont to do about 18 times a day. (Then I go home for my nightly RIBCOUNT! Ah, the illusion of power and control: surely Ms. Moss knows it well.)

Glamorous torture! Until now.

And then a few months ago my friend, the legend Semen Sperms, who also took the 7 am photo that tops this story and eventually, when I got them, hung the Kate posters in my apartment, brought over some stickers of the Kate, and put even cooler Weirdo Dave "FUCK THIS LIFE" stickers on top of it all. And then he put all that on top of this piece by my some of my other friends, which was all sorts of wrong but also wicked and I sort of loved it.

So for about a month and a half I stared at those stickers from my bed and focused on them and was...not happy exactly, but placated. I guess.

But then! New developments:

This guy I tried to date for like three seconds (FAIL; I am too into myself) who co-owns (or something?) (see, I never listened well) a magazine, SNEEZE:

...and with whom I still email and things asked me to write something for said magazine, which I of course lazily have not done, and I was looking through the most recent issue (they are all HUGE and the pages unfold into ENORMOUS full size four-page glossy posters) when I discovered THIS:

OPen up SNEEZE and you see...

So then I called the guy and he sent me three issues, which meant three posters. And I have never been so happy.

(Which is to say anhedonic in general and increasingly the type of woman who drinks full bottles of Nyquil before sex -- I can't officially say try it, but try it.)

And good news: You can be as happy as I am!

Each issue of SNEEZE, which you can buy for a limited time for $5 each here, has one of these posters. The issue pictured above, NO. 15, will totally sell out fast and you can't get this poster elsewhere cheaply -- if at all -- like this; BELIEVE ME.

So GO; order NOW! The magazine is also -- as is always is -- full of other posters (and articles, duh), though I haven't bothered to look at anything else...because this Supreme ad, my dears, is a CULTURAL MOMENT, and I have been mesmerized by it. I'll get to the rest of the magazine another time.

Cat Moss Part Deux

But now there is another Kate Moss thing that I want that is...well, not impossible to get, but I don't want to pay for it, and it's only in the UK right now, and I don't think the US Kate Moss fragrance PR people can send it to me.

It is Kate Moss LilaBelle Eau de Toilette, a fragrance -- wait for it! -- "dedicated to girls who are just learning to become women," like Kate's daughter Lila, and also "women who feel like young girls," like Kate Moss (anyone who has heard Katie's baby voice or observed how she walks exclusively, day or night, drunk or sober, leaning on someone like a little kid -- knows what I mean; bless her nicotine-black perfect slimy supermodel liver).

Kate Moss LilaBelle ED

Oh, and like me. I feel like 15 all the time, or maybe like five. I literally stamp my foot and holler when I don't get my way with Corynne or something in Jane's office at least once a week (which, incidentally, is about how often I come in).

Anyway, I don't feel like ending this post with a dumb fakey question so just leave me a bunch of comments so I look good. I love you!

P.S. Let me talk about my outfit in the top picture! The jacket is not available anymore I'm sure, but it's a fur by Adrienne Landau; I have three fur things by her (I know, Cruella) because she makes the best and relatively affordable stuff. The shorts are old Kate Moss for Topshop from years ago. And the shirt, which says SUPREME BITCH and is a play on the Supreme classic, is by my amazing friends' label MARRIED TO THE MOB: more on those amazing chicks in a future story; look for it! xo

Cat's comfortably numb on Twitter @cat_marnell