アガノヴィッチのインスタグラム(aganovich) - 6月22日 01時08分

It’s your birthday. You’re with your family. You’re happy. It’s been a struggle but you’re in a good place. Then you feel a strange lump in your breast. Your father, a doctor, then confirms. Not through his words but the blood draining from his face and the tremble in his hands. Lots of emotion. Your friend hooks you up with a good surgeon. You do the operation. In fact you go straight from the operation to your show. The collection is well received. Things are looking up. When you finish your course of radiation news of a virus is hitting the airwaves. The world enters a period of unprecedented darkness. Your industry grinds to a halt. Despite repeated assurances that you are ‘lucky’ you can’t shake a feeling that you’re not. Back to the machines. Sure enough another cancer has appeared. This one a stone cold killer. The doctors panic. You get to keep your breasts and your vulva. Everything else that identifies your womanhood is removed and you’re left with what you can’t help thinking looks like a giant Riri zip from the top of your pubes to just under your ribcage. You feel like meat. It’s horrific. And that’s just the beginning of the horror. It takes about a year; the mental, the psychological, the physical, the social…so much ‘soft focus’ pastel hued uppity-upness you want to shoot yourself. But eventually, for the first time in your life, Ibiza makes sense.

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