I am worried about SWINTON:
This is so staid. Almost NORMAL. Even…BORING. Where is the delicious wacktacularity, the delightful weirdness, the glorious Bowie-esque bad-assery we’ve come to expect from SWINTON? She looks less like SWINTON and more like swinton. I’m seriously concerned. Can someone go over to the Bel Air Hotel — actually, what am I saying? SWINTON surely stays in some fantastic post-modern glass treehouse in the backyard of, like, a Cal-Tech rocket scientist/conceptual artists with whom she once spent a glorious naked weekend in the Maldives. Regardless, can someone go over there and make sure she’s not running a fever? Because something is amiss.
