For years UD has gazed, appalled, at the doll army of Japanese royal women — all of them kitted out in the same sick uniform: tight little pastel pillbox, hair tightly pulled in, supremely vapid tight smile, weeny uniform earrings, cheesy pastel body-covers, white gloves tightly suspended above any suggestion of sexual life, dead white pumps.
So how great to read that the third from the left automaton in this photograph decided that instead of a life of pilled up psychosis she would ditch the whole sick thing, fall in love with a guy who wears a ponytail, and move – where else? – to New York City. Look at her now!
UD is a sucker for these liberatory tales, especially tales that feature people who have the guts to suffer all the anguish that powerful perverted institutions can make them suffer for revealing/rejecting the perversion. There’s a word for women like Mako: pioneers. Because of her, the sick palace parade will perhaps die of its sickness.
Meanwhile, though, what a pleasure to watch her in that greatest of liberatory cities, New York, as she strides the open streets openly in her flowing hair and skirt and boy shoes!