This isn’t glamour. It’s a funeral procession in silk and Botox, parading itself as relevance. A hollow display of wealth and privilege, proving yet again that fashion was never about beauty—just power, money, and nepotism.

Kate Moss—the ghost of hedonism past—stands beside her daughter, Lila, a blank slate of whatever comes next. The vacant expression, the unmistakable sheen of sedation, the dull detachment that’s become the signature of an industry that once defined allure. They are both here, but not here, propped up by the machine that feeds on their image while quietly rotting from the inside.

Once upon a time, fashion had something. Even when it was exclusionary, it was aspirational—rebellious, innovative, sometimes even art. Now? It’s a death mask, grinning through fillers and PR spin, hollowed out by greed and the refusal to let go.

What happens when even the illusion fails? When the spectacle no longer dazzles, only repels? When there’s nothing left to sell except the same tired bloodlines on repeat?

Do we keep pretending this is the dream, or do we finally wake the fuck up?

#illi69

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• A Christmas gift to myself
• A few of the drawings I destroyed this year
• THE AKATHISIA FILES: PT 5
• THE AKATHISIA FILES: PT 4
• “I like rocks.”

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