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2002-11-18

Gia Marie Carangi
B. 1.29.60 Philadelphia / D. 11.18.86 Philadelphia
AIDS

Shame.
Gia was the first of the Super Models born from the decadent disco era of the late 70’s, early 80’s. Gia was a heroin addicted lesbian and the most magnetic, super-charged beauty of her day!
Gia Carangi, a very vulnerable woman of 19, is upstairs in one of those semi fancy apartment buildings slurping a can of Colt .45 malt liquor and talking about her new career, one that will make her one of the most famous faces in the world.
Shame.
She had it all: fame, money, adoration and a body to die for!
Burning.
What makes Gia so different, so special, so rich? First of all, she's a beautiful brunette in a world of blondes, Willy, a brunette herself, likes that. But mostly, she's got a fantastically pliable face. “She can be really sophisticated in one shooting,” Willy says, “and be a real Lolita type in another. And this will give her a long life span.”
Burning. I don’t even remember 1986.
At a shoot for Vogue she stumbled out of the dressing room in a Galanos gown, collapsed in a chair and nodded out, blood streaming down her arm, right in front of Polly Mellen.
Her skin is soft and very smooth, almost perfect like a 10 year old’s.
Carangi is the reason why so many models today shoot heroin under their toenails or tongue, where track marks cannot be detected. Some have lost toenails to infection, some have blinded themselves by injecting heroin into their eye.
Only love can be to blame!
When Scavullo and Diana Ross decided to change the singer’s glamorous image by slicking back her hair and dressing her down for an album cover, they thought of Gia: not the way she looked on camera, but the way she appeared at the studio in the morning, or in the clubs at night. “We called Gia up and said, Can we borrow your jeans, the ones with the hole?,” recalled Scavullo. “Those are Gia’s jeans in that picture. Diana Ross said she wanted to keep them after the shooting, but Gia wouldn't let her.”
No one in the fashion industry attended her funeral.
One day of 1986, maybe, I’m getting a flash. I’m 25. I’m being evicted from my apartment on Beacon Hill. My father’s arrived with the van. He’s brought me a six-pack.
If we lose our love it's a shame. But Doreen never loved me. You think Gia had a pretty face?
Lowdown dirty dirty.
Oh yeah, in 1986 I read stacks of lesbian feminist separatist literature that made me afraid to go outside because of all the men.
And I'd taken a weekend job at the coffee shop where I’d first talked to Doreen, but I was always too hungover to get there on time.
Walking down Pinckney Street I’d feel like rolling into a ball and bowling right downhill into the Charles River like an armadillo with a modified shag haircut.
"Right in front of Polly Mellen." This is the sort of people you're dealing with here.
I wouldn’t want to live with the pain. Evelyn Champagne King, now where did you go?
Momma just don’t understand.
No wonder I was sad all day.

Consolation Site: The last words of disco

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