Never mind the first decade of the new millennium, this is very much a fin-de siècle icon of our imminently doomed society, that said we urge you to come and sprinkle your disdain on Kiki’s decadent adventures. Kiki the new preferred decadent girl that is…
Burnt-out hipster-meister turned reluctant housewife of NYC, always stylishly clad in the intermittent folds of her ennui, folly, ambition and despair, endlessly torn between the media’s injunctions and her own, privately perfumed nightmares about the meaninglessness of life, Kikis’s a woman perpetually on the verge of a nervous breakdown. In other words- Kiki is really just you!
Kiki goes Korean – looking for the preciousness of life anywhere it might or might not be found – around a stripping pole or inside your own coffin are just a few of the options.
“Fuck size 0, I’m going to be fat and happy, gloss my hair with olive oil, make my own moonshine out of macerated prune pits, wear pants made out of recycled rucksacks by Indian orphans, start a charity in the outskirts of Buenos Aires, make a line of disposable yoga mats that daily doubles as a biodegradable fertilizer for your herb garden… Shit. Yoga really does count as exercise, doesn’t it? Is it too early for a Bloody Mary? I really should run, it would clear my head…but first let me finish that margarita by the bed stand…”
Just then the cigarette smoke, the advil, caffeine and hangover inside her decide to all join hands and dance a bit of an Irish jig.
“Now that’s a couple of pounds lost without moving a finger” is the first thought assaulting her as she emerges from inside the toilet bowl and reaches for the mouthwash. Followed by immediate disgust at her own thought-process. And an overwhelming pre-emptive fatigue at the prospect of her new proposed direction in life.