As every party girl comes to learn one day, the afters never last forever. : it’s been the rager of a lifetime, but, I’m sorry to say, it’s time to call it. Why? Well, for me, all it took was seeing in the cold light of a Monday afternoon.
Having corrected my vision after my eyes rolled back so far I thought I’d have to seek medical advice, I took a moment to ponder what, exactly, I found so perturbing about it. Sure, it was in no small part the intrusive thoughts upon seeing become the surprise third in the longstanding open relationship between Charli XCX and the Fire Island gays. After getting past my own brain rot, I decided that this was the very moment the apple rotted right to its core.
I will caveat what follows by saying that I don’t blame Charli for any of it. I was, and still am, as brat-pilled as they come, and believe that everything that has unfolded since the first minute of Aidan Zamiri’s masterful music video for “ ” amounts to a watershed moment in pop cultural history. A vignette of what would have looked like if Jesus and his disciples were modern-day It-girls, it tripped a switch in the minds of anyone who’s ever harboured aspirations of becoming one.
Beyond , Julia and Chloë, the remit of Charli’s fandom – AKA her angels – has expanded to include anyone who’s: felt fierce taking tipsy mirror selfies, felt deep insecurities about someone in their circle, stalked their local high street-like it’s a Miu Miu catwalk, walked an a.