Talk and attention continues to revolve (and evolve) around KiKi and his mental health; still life--and the crazy version of it here--goes on.
The other day--when my back was turned--Terry raided my closet and slipped into a vintage Oleg Cassini sequined cocktail dress once belonged to my sainted mother and decided to strut her cheesy self to the public.

Of course, the sleazy public adores sleaze and the paparazzi, the glitterati, and especially the messeratti couldn't get enough of it.

I made my own fashion statement coming out for a swim with Lolita in a custom-made suit made for one of Andy Warhol's Long Island beach parties in the early eighties...and that's enough from bitches like you Ed Grow.