In the second instalment of bereavement therapy by wardrobe, I chose to emulate my personal favourite Bowie incarnation.
The Thin White Duke is the first Bowie I came to know and still what I think of when I hear his name. Vulnerably aloof and repellently alluring, between California and Europe, blue-eyed soul and krautrock, starring in The Man Who Fell to Earth and recording Station to Station, possibly the album I love the most.
This is Bowie at his most romantic. The style is minimal, refined, dissipated, shot like Hollywood noir, the cigarette smoke never stale. A white shirt dishevelled, neck suggestively open, black fitted vest and tailored pants, wrapped around a slight, dangerous man ready to whisk you away in the back of a dream car twenty foot long.
It's not the side effects of the cocaine. I'm thinking that it must be love.
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