A surrealistic-Dada-Post about style icons.

Joyce Polance. Spill, 2010.

Sometimes i think about the concept of style icon. Blogs, mags and zines, people in general, use to choose this actress or that fashion editor as THE QUEEN (sometimes THE KING) of style. A person with a lot of influence in daily routine of million girls all over the world. “It girls”, wear  “it bags”, wearing THE shoes and so on. And OMG and LOL. 
And yes, sometimes this pop flu's flow, drawing a giant “?” over my head. (But actually, not very often).  -stop making sense-
Anyway, there's a post to end. I'd like to write something clever about the trend to spend period of time choosing the right color for the socks, and the right cryptic/broken smile for the instagram shot...And OMG and LOL are not enough anymore. 
These Icons seem to give anyone the felling of being part of a cool gang without even knowing each other. A void tribe where anyone, thanks to a bag or a pair of shoes, can be beautiful and then accepted and then, at least, beloved. You already know this? Well, I'm glad about it.
This is not a new concept, but is still true. Tryin' to figure out with my thoughts, I'm loosing myself between the possibility to choose righter icons than other (I mean, Patty Smith rather then lindsay lohan, or kim Gordon instead of The last blonde-blogger-with -Birkin and stilettos...)and the belief that there are no right ones 'cause young girls could find their style in their selves looking for their inner unicity. Meanwhile I feel myself politically correct...and I hate being that way... And in some way I love fashion too.....
-----------------------------------------Who knows?-------------------------------------------------
Germaine, are you there? Could you send me a sign? Maybe a comment under the post...