![[kate+moss+old.jpg]](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwCwXJqQCsq9u2xkNDO20yAjVcD-oDwCKViSTw3eai7sbhgUhbVcUked2Ma7x4QUAvtbgAON4coy0WOVzzSVNYF58qgIVF7_FgSvlGf-whHgiLqdvC2X9WUdyaCWk4Sl6vKdnrkPtrtS8/s1600/kate+moss+old.jpg)
The subject of aging is an interesting one. Because it's also bloody complicated. Straight away we're faced with the question of beauty and it's correlation with one's age. Is it the endless possibilities, the spontanious tendencies and gaiety of youth, combined with a fortunate gene-pool that make you double take at a pretty face? But what about a woman who has reached a stage in her life when she has the attraction of wisdom in her favour but also perhaps the lumps and bumps of life lessons learnt? Both are sexy for two completely different reasons, but somehow, during conversations with friends in which Kate Moss is the focus, the latter viewpoint is discarded.
Instead a stroll down memory lane ensues with coos of "oh, but she was so freshfaced and cute then" or "remember her pixie cut when she was with Jefferson?" Usually such a stance would unleash my defending quips; 'why on earth must a woman be seen to need to shed her sexiness and beauty in exchange for aging'? I would honour Moss for the sake of the lessons she taught my ten year old self from the pages of Vogue, but in this case I'm a useless patron because I must nod my head, much as it pains me to do so and admit that with age, Kate Moss has lost that Je Ne Sais Quois she once possessed.
I like to remember the naughty see-through dress worn to a premiere but with an honest smile which cast her as sweeter than Naomi. The simple sweaters and jeans paired with her trusty Adidas trainers and a pair of stupid glasses. Her infamous centre parting and simple layers that framed her babyface. A pair of paint splattered grey tracksuit bottoms. Perhaps this is a classic case of pining over bygone eras, especially as almost two decades down the line, the 1990s possess now those characteristics of an easily defined age. The stylish minimalism, the brit-pop movement and of course the age of the supermodel, all something that Kate Moss carries multiple links to.
So maybe it's no wonder that Kate Moss has lost her charm when we're now on the periphery of a new unknown decade. One where the status of celebrity has grown so much that even a figure like Moss who so notoriously shunned public speaking and interviews has her own clothing line. But the so called life span of a Supermodel mustn't be forgotten. What is a model to do when she matures but still possesses selling power? A branding transformation including a flashy logo and bottle after bottle of eponymous perfume seems to be the modern day marketing man's idea. But with the likes of Helena Christensen looking as glowing and gorgeous as ever and carving a new career out of an interest like photography, Kate Moss's path seems somewhat stale in comparison.
Maybe I'll have to make do with my Moss memory and go back to those old Vogues, which now years down the line are a little crispy at the corners but still leave me more sated.
Instead a stroll down memory lane ensues with coos of "oh, but she was so freshfaced and cute then" or "remember her pixie cut when she was with Jefferson?" Usually such a stance would unleash my defending quips; 'why on earth must a woman be seen to need to shed her sexiness and beauty in exchange for aging'? I would honour Moss for the sake of the lessons she taught my ten year old self from the pages of Vogue, but in this case I'm a useless patron because I must nod my head, much as it pains me to do so and admit that with age, Kate Moss has lost that Je Ne Sais Quois she once possessed.
I like to remember the naughty see-through dress worn to a premiere but with an honest smile which cast her as sweeter than Naomi. The simple sweaters and jeans paired with her trusty Adidas trainers and a pair of stupid glasses. Her infamous centre parting and simple layers that framed her babyface. A pair of paint splattered grey tracksuit bottoms. Perhaps this is a classic case of pining over bygone eras, especially as almost two decades down the line, the 1990s possess now those characteristics of an easily defined age. The stylish minimalism, the brit-pop movement and of course the age of the supermodel, all something that Kate Moss carries multiple links to.
So maybe it's no wonder that Kate Moss has lost her charm when we're now on the periphery of a new unknown decade. One where the status of celebrity has grown so much that even a figure like Moss who so notoriously shunned public speaking and interviews has her own clothing line. But the so called life span of a Supermodel mustn't be forgotten. What is a model to do when she matures but still possesses selling power? A branding transformation including a flashy logo and bottle after bottle of eponymous perfume seems to be the modern day marketing man's idea. But with the likes of Helena Christensen looking as glowing and gorgeous as ever and carving a new career out of an interest like photography, Kate Moss's path seems somewhat stale in comparison.
Maybe I'll have to make do with my Moss memory and go back to those old Vogues, which now years down the line are a little crispy at the corners but still leave me more sated.
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