I’ve always been so entranced by the 70s disco scene. Studio 54 and all that. The glamour, the illusion that the party would last forever. When I was a kid living in Gardnerville — a sweet, dusty cow town in Nevada — there was nothing more exotic than the idea of being a disco queen. This is probably the product of seeing the trailer for Boogie Nights and the scene in Forrest Gump when Jenny is strung out in NYC, and being too young to understand these were characters sucked into a seedy underworld. I only saw the cool clothes. When I was 16, an “18 and over” club opened in Reno, called Rodeo Rock. A few girlfriends and I had one fake ID we’d pass back that made us 19. We’d say we were staying at each others’ houses, and really we’d sneak away to Reno, an hour away, the height of rebellion. I remember wearing a Spice Girls inspired halter top, white pants, and belly chain, dancing to the bump n grind of Nelly, and feeling completely, wildly happy in my second-rate version of Studio 54. I took this bts photos of Bianca a few years ago on a Machete shoot, and it always reminded me of that Rodeo Rock spirit. The fantasy version, in which we remain forever young.

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