My Addiction

Lindsay Lohan was everywhere once—that Disney kid, the Mean Girls girl, the whole trajectory from untouchable to completely wrecked. The mugshots, the rehab, the years when she just disappeared. It’s the kind of public destruction that’s weirdly fascinating and genuinely sad at the same time.

So here’s Lindsay, still breathing, putting out a street-style collection with Civil Clothing. She called it My Addiction, which is either the ballsiest or dumbest thing I’ve seen from a comeback attempt—a wink at the drug history that basically obliterated her public life. I have to respect that. It takes actual nerve to name your clothing line after your own rock bottom.

The clothes themselves are minimal. Neutral tones, clean lines, nothing demanding about them. She photographs well in them. I don’t know what I actually think about the collection. That feels beside the point anyway.

What’s interesting is just that she exists, still. Still moving, still making things, not completely erased by the machinery that had her. Whether the clothes are any good doesn’t matter much. It’s a moment where someone who got thoroughly destroyed is doing something normal, with a joke about her destruction literally built into the product. It’s rare to see that kind of nerve.