Pretty in Pink and Everything Else

Taylin is sixteen and wearing a T-shirt that’s been dead for at least two seasons, and it doesn’t matter at all. The American can put on whatever she wants—red plush bear, coffee mug, vintage tablecloth—and it reads as intentional. Some people just have that frequency and the rest of us spend years trying to fake it.

Nick is seventeen, in Prague, riding a fixie with H&M sunglasses and a black Gucci tank. That combination should collapse under its own contradictions and somehow doesn’t, mostly. The neon print across the chest is the one thing I’d argue with him about over a beer, though I suspect he already knows and doesn’t care, which might be the whole point.

Maria from Uruguay is twenty-three and wearing the Nirvana dead-smiley with white knee socks, and the whole thing reads as genuinely hers rather than assembled from a mood board. The shoes are terrible. Everything else lands clean.

Dapper at twenty-three has more considered taste than most people develop in a lifetime. Paul Smith, Ray-Ban, Zara—the full stack working together without straining, and the light blue bow tie matches the shoes like it was planned by someone who actually sits down and plans things. It’s a little maddening in the best possible way.

Ashley is drunk and stoned and dressed head to toe in black at whatever party this is, moving through rooms with the unhurried authority of someone who decided the only correct answer was all of it at once. There’s something almost principled about showing up everywhere like that.

Marina is eighteen and in Marc Jacobs and I’m not going to pretend this is a critical assessment. She looks incredible. That’s the whole review. Double-peace back at you.